Chapter 13

Tribute

Abner had charged them for escaping a battle that had not yet happened.

Yehudah checked the dates again, giving the supplier every opportunity to become less dishonest, but the figures remained stubbornly unhelpful. The consignment had arrived nine days before the fighting cited as justification for its increased transport costs. According to the receiving clerk, it had also arrived by the usual road, suggesting Abner's carriers had escaped a conflict they had neither encountered nor possessed any reason to anticipate. Yehudah recognised the underlying optimism. Abner was relying upon the possibility that nobody responsible for approving payment would trouble themselves to compare two dates.

Across the room, Nathan was searching beneath a collection of documents large enough to conceal a modest family. He lifted a cup, inspected the damp circle beneath it, and put it down somewhere worse.

“Abner claims his carriers were forced to take another road,” Yehudah said, turning the account around. “Ask which road they took.”

“The eastern trouble?” Nathan glanced up. “Everyone's charging more because of that.”

“The delivery arrived before the trouble began.”

“He'll say the roads were already unsafe.”

“Then ask why his carriers told the receiving clerk they came by the usual crossing.”

Nathan rubbed his eyes. He was capable when circumstances obliged him to be, but regarded every additional enquiry as an admission that the first explanation had failed to perform its proper function. “They're saying the western crossing's closed now. Another convoy attacked.”

“Who says this?”

“Men coming in.”

“Find one who has been there.” Yehudah marked the disputed charge. “Until then, do not tell Abner.”

Nathan made a note, then glanced towards the window. “They've stationed another six guards at the southern entrance. Four days the Governor's been here, and every morning there are more of them.”

“Perhaps they're expecting him to escape.”

Nathan looked genuinely concerned. “Do you ever worry about saying things like that?”

“Only when you're listening.”

The Governor had arrived four days earlier with officers, attendants, and enough armed men to suggest that the city's existing arrangements for protecting him were considered inadequate. Guards occupied the principal entrances, deliveries were inspected, and men who had entered the same gates for years now found themselves required to establish their identities before soldiers who had arrived that week. Even the priests had been questioned, although the practice had apparently ended when a senior member of the council suggested the guards might prefer to explain their conduct to the High Priest.

The Temple itself remained unfinished. Its principal buildings had stood for decades, but work continued upon the surrounding courts, walls, passages, and facilities required to accommodate the thousands who came to worship. Some labourers had inherited their employment from their fathers. Yehudah suspected their sons would inherit it in turn. Nathan had once suggested that improvements in materials and organisation might finally allow the Temple to be completed within their lifetimes. Yehudah had advised him against making promises on behalf of future generations.

The treasury occupied chambers adjoining the outer courts, where clerks managed the considerable resources required to maintain an institution of such size. Offerings, wages, construction materials, repairs, and charitable obligations generated an endless procession of accounts. Some funds were available for ordinary expenditure. Others had been entrusted for purposes that could not simply be altered because an official had discovered a more convenient use for them. Yehudah's position within this arrangement was unusual. His title was Arcarius, an appointment recognised by the western administration and one that had acquired a distinctly unpleasant reputation among certain members of the Temple establishment. The treasury remained under the authority of the High Priest and council, whose officials controlled its expenditure. Yehudah possessed no authority to dispose of sacred funds or approve new obligations. He could, however, examine the records, investigate discrepancies, question payments, and report irregularities to the administration that had appointed him.

The distinction mattered considerably to the men whose accounts he examined. A treasurer could answer to the council. Yehudah could attract the attention of officers whose investigations were seldom confined to the original complaint. His appointment had therefore been accepted with little enthusiasm. He had received an office, access to the records, and the assistance of Nathan, whose position within the treasury made him useful when documents had to be obtained from departments reluctant to surrender them.

Yehudah understood the resentment. He had served institutions in more capacities than he could conveniently remember and had seldom encountered one that welcomed scrutiny. Religious institutions were particularly sensitive because the money entrusted to them frequently carried obligations that could not be measured in ordinary financial terms. The western administration considered these distinctions inconvenient. The Temple regarded them as fundamental. Yehudah considered both positions capable of producing excellent opportunities for dishonesty.

Beyond the Temple, the city had been quiet long enough for people to begin making plans again. Markets remained open, construction continued, and arguments concerned wages more often than soldiers. Elsewhere, however, reports of fighting arrived with travellers: raids, reprisals, abandoned settlements, and roads controlled by men whose authority depended upon who was asking. War had returned, according to some. Others insisted it had never properly ended.

The western administration described its presence as protection against such uncertainty. Its officers maintained roads, supervised rebuilding, protected trade, and collected the money required to continue doing so. Local men had other descriptions, most unsuitable for official correspondence. Yehudah understood both positions. The roads were generally better maintained, although a man could still lose half a day explaining why he wished to travel upon one his own taxes had helped repair.

A young clerk appeared in the doorway. “The Governor has requested the Arcarius. The High Priest is already with him. The council has been assembled.”

Yehudah glanced at the unfinished accounts. He had intended to complete his work before leaving. There was also the matter of the stonemason, a man whose unexpected observations had occupied considerably more of Yehudah's thoughts than he cared to admit. He had considered returning to the construction works before the labourers departed, although whether the man would still be there was another question. Apparently the Governor had spent four days preparing to interrupt an afternoon Yehudah had already allocated elsewhere. “Has he said what he requires?”

“No. You are expected immediately.”

“Then we shall discover it together.” Yehudah gathered his tablet and rose.

Nathan watched him. “What do you suppose he wants?”

“Money. Keep Abner's account apart from the others.”

Yehudah crossed the outer court, where the usual movement of workers had been confined between temporary barriers. At the southern entrance, a line of delivery vehicles waited while an officer inspected their contents. One operator had begun unloading his goods onto the ground, apparently hoping the growing obstruction might persuade the officer to reconsider his thoroughness. Two guards stood outside the meeting chamber. One examined Yehudah's tablet, consulted a list, and eventually stepped aside.

Inside, senior officials occupied a long table beneath high windows. At its far end sat the Governor, attended by officers and an interpreter whose pleasant face suggested a man accustomed to carrying unpleasant words between important people. Opposite him sat Qayafa, the High Priest, composed and carefully dressed, with the bearing of someone accustomed to being obeyed without armed assistance. The arrangement made the division of authority unusually clear. The Governor commanded the soldiers outside. The High Priest commanded the institution within. Neither appeared particularly pleased to find the other exercising authority in the same room.

Beside the High Priest sat the Temple's senior treasurer, a narrow-faced man whose relationship with Yehudah was courteous, precise, and almost entirely devoid of warmth. He acknowledged the Arcarius with a slight inclination of his head. The Governor waited until Yehudah had taken his seat before continuing in the western tongue.

“We were discussing the security situation. The quiet here is encouraging, but we cannot assume it will maintain itself.”

The interpreter translated.

“Nor should we disturb it without cause,” the High Priest replied.

The interpreter translated again. The room's reaction always came at a delay, blossoming only after the interpreter had finished. The words would change but the meaning remained.

“A sentiment with which I agree. People need work, food, and confidence that tomorrow will resemble today. They also need water. The existing supply is inadequate.”

Yehudah glanced at the estimates arranged before them. 

A construction supervisor cleared his throat. “Additional sources have been examined. The distance presents difficulties.”

“Difficulties can be addressed,” the Governor replied.

“Maintaining the necessary fall would require careful surveying. There are valleys along the proposed route.”

“Then we should employ competent surveyors.” The Governor turned towards the treasurer. “The treasury possesses sufficient reserves?”

“The reserves are considerable, but many are held against existing obligations. Others cannot be reassigned without the council's authority.”

“I am asking whether the money exists.”

“It exists.”

“Then the question is whether it can be put to useful employment.”

“The purpose of an offering is not determined by the convenience of the man wishing to spend it,” the High Priest said.

The interpreter delivered the words carefully. The Governor regarded the High Priest before turning towards Yehudah. “You are the Arcarius appointed to examine these accounts?”

“I am,” Yehudah replied in the western tongue, dispensing with the interpreter's assistance. The unexpected response produced a small disturbance among the council members. Several exchanged glances while the interpreter hurried to convey his answer to those who had not understood it. 

“Then you can confirm the reserves.”

“I can confirm the balances recorded. Whether those balances are available for this project is another matter.”

“Explain.”

“The treasurer is correct. Some funds are committed to existing expenditure. Others have been entrusted for purposes determined by the council. The presence of money in an account does not establish that it may be spent upon whatever project happens to require it.”

“Naturally. Possession does not necessarily confer permission. A distinction that ought to be explained more frequently to men entrusted with other people's money.”

“Then we agree,” Yehudah replied.

The Governor smiled. “On the principle, certainly. Whether we agree upon its application remains to be seen. Agreement is a rather broad word, Arcarius. Two men may agree that a door should remain closed while holding entirely different opinions about who ought to possess the key.”

Across the table, the High Priest remained silent.

The Governor indicated the estimates. “Now, tell me what you think of the project. Not what you imagine I should like to hear. I have enough men employed for that purpose already.”

“These figures justify examining the route. They do not justify approving expenditure. We need reliable measurements of the source, particularly during the dry season, agreements concerning access to land, and an understanding of who will maintain the finished works,” Yehudah replied.

The engineering itself presented no insurmountable obstacle. Water could be transported over considerable distances through channels maintaining a controlled descent, provided the surveyors understood the terrain and the builders respected their measurements. The difficulty lay in accumulated errors. An insufficient gradient could prevent water reaching its destination, while excessive descent increased velocity, erosion, and structural damage. Valleys could be negotiated by following the surrounding contours, although the resulting distance might increase costs considerably.

Foundations required stability, linings had to resist seepage, and maintenance access was essential for removing sediment and repairing damage. More importantly, a source abundant during wetter months might prove inadequate after prolonged drought, particularly if settlements along the route also drew upon it. Yehudah had seen ambitious projects fail because the men authorising them had mistaken the existence of water for the ability to deliver it reliably. Those responsible would congratulate themselves when water first arrived. Someone else would have to explain why it stopped arriving years later.

“Which is why the project must be properly funded,” the Governor said.

“And why you have come to us,” the High Priest replied.

“The institution requires water. So do the people supporting it.”

“The institution also requires the confidence of those who worship here.”

“Surely their welfare is among your obligations.”

“It is. We have not agreed that you possess the authority to determine how sacred funds should be used.”

A silence settled across the table. The Governor regarded the High Priest with an expression that remained courteous but had ceased to be accommodating. “Your treasury contains considerable reserves.”

“Those reserves are not yours.”

“They are held within a territory under my administration.”

“And the prayers offered here are spoken within that same territory. Would you claim authority over those as well?”

The Governor regarded him thoughtfully. “An interesting comparison, although prayers and money possess rather different practical properties. I have never encountered a prayer that could be weighed, counted, or used to purchase stone. Money, regrettably, has a much greater tendency to attract the attention of administrators.”

A few men smiled. the High Priest did not.

“I claim responsibility for the peace and prosperity of the people,” the Governor continued. “And I should prefer to exercise that responsibility before their circumstances become sufficiently unpleasant to require more drastic measures.”

“And I am responsible for obligations that existed before your administration and will remain after it.”

The Governor inclined his head. “I should hope they do. Institutions that survive changes of government provide a continuity that governments themselves are notoriously poor at maintaining. But continuity should not become an excuse for refusing every alteration. A man who refuses to repair his roof because his father built it will eventually find himself sleeping beneath the stars. Tradition may explain why the roof matters. It will not prevent the rain from entering.”

Yehudah lowered his gaze. There was nothing original in the disagreement. Men governing territory had always believed that everything within it ought eventually to answer to them. Men governing belief generally considered their authority to extend somewhat further. Both positions had survived the collapse of civilisations that once considered themselves eternal.

The Governor turned towards him. “If the council approved the expenditure, could the treasury support it?”

“Not on the present estimates.”

“And if sufficient funds exist?”

“Then the council may decide whether they should be used.”

“You are remarkably reluctant to answer a simple question.”

“It is not a simple question.”

“Your appointment was made under western authority.”

“My appointment permits me to examine the treasury. It does not make the treasury western property.”

For the first time, something approaching interest appeared in the High Priest's expression. The Governor leaned back, studying Yehudah for a moment before returning his attention to the table.

“Very well. Let us discuss authority.”

The lamps flickered, and Yehudah noticed a movement upon the wall behind the High Priest. A narrow darkness had appeared beside the High Priest's shoulder, resembling the shadow of someone leaning towards the table. But the High Priest sat upright, and the darkness behind him had begun moving independently. Its upper portion extended along the plaster, narrowing into an arm. Five elongated fingers opened slowly, spread against the wall, and closed again.

Yehudah lowered his eyes to the estimates. He had seen such things before, although familiarity had never made them welcome. Their attachment to surfaces was consistent. Their behaviour was not. They moved where shadows belonged, yet paid little attention to the objects or sources of light that should have produced them. Some favoured particular individuals. Others moved between people as though searching for something. He had observed them responding to anger, fear, humiliation, and grief, but had never established whether those emotions attracted them or whether their presence encouraged the emotions themselves.

When he looked again, the fingers had disappeared. The darkness had gathered behind the High Priest's head, broadening into the suggestion of a hunched shoulder as the argument continued.

“People are already struggling to meet the demands made upon them,” the High Priest said. “You collect their taxes. Must you have their offerings also?”

The shadow inclined its head towards him with an attentiveness Yehudah found particularly disagreeable.

The Governor folded his hands. “Elsewhere, attention is occupied by fighting and preparations for fighting. We have an opportunity to undertake useful work while action remains possible.”

“You would move the money while objections can be set aside.”

“I would improve the city's position.”

“And when the people learn what has been done?”

“They will discover they have more water.”

“They may discover sacred funds have been taken without their consent.”

The Governor's expression changed very little. His voice remained pleasant, although something beneath its warmth had disappeared. “Careful. There is a considerable difference between proposing an expenditure and taking something unlawfully. I should prefer that we preserve the distinction. Words have a troublesome habit of acquiring consequences once they leave the room in which they were spoken.”

The shadow slipped from the wall and gathered beneath the construction supervisor's chair. Its outline lengthened across the floor, an elongated head leading the movement towards the Governor. Yehudah watched with growing interest as the thing advanced until it reached the boundary of the table's shadow, then stopped. Nothing physically obstructed it. The same stone continued towards the Governor's feet, crossed by the same unsteady light illuminating the rest of the chamber. For several seconds it remained there, its head flattening against the floor as though searching for a passage it could not find.

The Governor leaned forward. “I trust we understand one another.”

The shadow recoiled. Its head collapsed into a shapeless smear, and the darkness flowed backwards beneath the supervisor's chair.

Yehudah considered the retreat. The creature had approached other men readily enough, but something about the Governor discouraged it. Perhaps his composure offered nothing attractive. Perhaps the creature had encountered something it recognised. Yehudah disliked the second possibility, principally because it was more interesting.

A shout rose from the courtyard, followed by an order and the heavy sound of something falling. Several men looked towards the windows. Another shout followed, sufficiently clear for Yehudah to distinguish a demand to be heard. One officer started towards the door, but the Governor stopped him with a raised hand.

“Bring the man upstairs.”

The shadow moved before the officer reached the entrance. It slid from beneath the chair, crossed a strip of light, and climbed the wall beside the doorway. Its limbs lengthened and contracted without regard for the proportions they imitated. Then it settled and waited. Yehudah returned his attention to the table. He had no intention of announcing that something was crawling up the wall. Experience had taught him that such observations rarely improved a meeting.

Two officers brought the man upstairs several minutes later. He was broad across the shoulders, dressed for physical work, with dust upon his legs and blood beneath one nostril. One officer held his arm behind his back, forcing him to lean forward. The man looked around the table, searching the faces until his attention settled upon the High Priest.

“Your name?” the Governor asked.

“Micah. I came to speak to the council.”

Yehudah examined him. He did not recognise the man, although there was nothing unusual about his appearance. The city employed hundreds of labourers whose work brought them into contact with the Temple's administration. Most remained invisible to the men responsible for paying them until something went wrong.

“Then you have succeeded in finding it, although I suspect the journey was rather less pleasant than you intended. Tell us what troubles you.” the Governor said.

“Men are being taken. From their homes. From their work. We ask where they've gone and nobody tells us.” Micah looked towards the High Priest. “My brother has been gone six days.”

The Governor's expression became attentive. “Six days. And nobody has explained his absence?”

“No.”

“On what charge was he detained?”

“They will not tell us.”

“Then let us establish what we know. Your brother is missing, you believe he was taken by officers, and you have been unable to obtain an explanation. Have I understood you correctly?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Not good that he is missing, naturally. Good that we understand the complaint. Confusion has a way of making unpleasant situations considerably worse.”

“I have been asking for six days.”

Beside the doorway, the shadow climbed until its head rested above Micah's, tilted sideways in an attitude of almost tender attention. The man's natural shadow lay across the floor. This second darkness remained upon the wall, moving independently as his frustration mounted.

“And I imagine those six days have been very difficult. Have you given his name to the officers?” the Governor asked.

“Yes.”

“And what were you told?”

“That there was nothing to investigate.”

“Perhaps they possessed information you did not. Or perhaps they were mistaken. Both possibilities deserve consideration before we decide which is more likely.”

Micah pulled against the officer holding him. His arm was forced higher, and the breath left him in a short, ugly sound. The shadow reacted immediately. Its lower portion spread downwards until it met the darkness cast by Micah's body. For an instant the two shapes merged, forming something much larger than either should have been.

“You take a man and ask his family to prove he's been taken,” Micah said. “What answer would satisfy you? Shall I bring his empty bed?”

“Lower your voice,” the officer ordered.

“Where is he?”

Yehudah watched the man's grip. He was applying more force than necessary, a familiar method of establishing authority among men who possessed very little of it when their weapons were taken away. Another movement could damage Micah's shoulder. Yehudah had seen arms broken for less. He had arranged it himself when circumstances warranted. There was, however, a considerable difference between breaking a man's arm and making him believe it was about to be broken. The latter generally produced cooperation without the inconvenience of leaving somebody unable to work.

He had no particular sympathy for Micah's method of presenting his complaint. Barging into a meeting of senior officials and demanding answers rarely improved a man's circumstances. Nevertheless, the complaint itself interested him. The labourer was alleging that workers were disappearing without records of their detention being made available.

If the authorities were removing men from employment, there would be consequences in the accounts. Wages might continue to be claimed, supervisors might conceal absences, and contractors might submit charges for labour that was no longer being performed. It was precisely the sort of irregularity Yehudah was empowered to investigate.

“Micah,” he interrupted. “What work does your brother do?”

The man turned towards him, surprised that someone at the table had addressed him directly. “Construction.”

“At which works?”

“The northern works.”

“His name?”

“Daniel. He's worked there nearly three years.”

“Who supervises his section?”

“An overseer called Hanan.”

“Then there is a record of his employment. Give the clerk his name and address. Someone will have recorded his last attendance.”

Micah stared at him. “You will look?”

“I will examine the records.”

“And if they say nothing?”

“Then we shall have established that the records say nothing. That is considerably more useful than guessing.”

Micah seemed uncertain whether he had been offered assistance or another variety of dismissal. The High Priest regarded him for a moment before turning towards the Governor.

“The man has brought a legitimate concern before the council. His details should be taken.”

The Governor considered the request. “Very well. Take his details. Release him afterwards.”

The officer loosened his grip. Micah lowered his arm carefully, flexing his fingers before allowing it to hang beside him. He glanced towards Yehudah with an expression that contained more suspicion than gratitude, then allowed himself to be led away.

The shadow did not follow. It moved beneath the table, passing between the chairs, and continued towards Yehudah. A thin black extension slid across the stone beside his sandal. Another followed, joining the first in the suggestion of a hand. The fingers spread and advanced until their tips almost touched his foot.

Yehudah remained still, considering the creature's behaviour. It had followed the argument between the Governor and High Priest, approached the anxious supervisor, and responded eagerly to Micah's distress. Now it had turned towards him. He wondered what it expected to find, and the question brought an unwelcome memory: The stonemason. 

Yehudah remembered the injured worker, the argyrion in his purse, and the humiliating realisation that he had gone seeking knowledge only to find himself defending his conduct before a man whose opinion should have meant nothing to him. He had been careless. Not because the worker had suffered. Workers suffered every day. Bodies were fragile, and their owners were forever discovering new ways to damage them. His carelessness lay in allowing an insignificant man to make him answer for something that required no explanation.

Yehudah had witnessed suffering on a scale the stonemason could scarcely imagine. He had watched entire populations perish from hunger, disease, and the ambitions of men who believed themselves destined to rule. He had lived among people who considered pain a punishment, a test, a purification, or the inevitable consequence of possessing a body. None of these explanations had satisfied him. Suffering was an experience, not an achievement. Its existence did not automatically confer wisdom upon those enduring it. And yet the stonemason had looked at him as though Yehudah were the one who understood nothing.

The memory irritated him. Irritation became anger, and anger offered several excellent reasons why the man ought to be persuaded to cooperate. Yehudah knew methods that left no lasting damage. Others produced injuries that could be repaired. He had employed both, and the recollection of their effectiveness came with an ease he found almost comforting.

The dark fingers extended another fraction. Yehudah recognised what was happening. The creature had found a weakness and was worrying at it. Whether it created these emotions or merely encouraged those already present remained uncertain. The distinction was important in principle, but considerably less useful while the thing was approaching his feet.

He allowed his breath to leave him slowly. There was a familiar way of becoming unimportant. The discipline had been refined through meditation, silence, and the patient examination of his own mind. It was not invisibility. Light still struck his body. Anyone deliberately looking for him could find him. What changed was the attention he attracted. People saw him without retaining the observation, their thoughts moving elsewhere before his presence became important enough to remember.

The practice required more than stillness. He released his anger first, allowing the imagined confrontation with the stonemason to lose its appeal. Then he surrendered his irritation at being delayed. Curiosity proved harder. He wanted to know whether the creature was watching him, whether it understood what he was doing, whether it could be made to respond. He released that desire too.

The voices around him became sounds, neither threatening nor significant. He had no grievance requiring satisfaction, no opinion worth expressing, no need to impress or correct anyone. He was merely a man sitting quietly at a table.

Then the fingers withdrew. The shadow contracted beside his chair, remaining motionless as though the person it had been approaching had ceased to exist. Several seconds passed before it slipped away towards a council representative worrying the skin beside his thumbnail.

Yehudah allowed his thoughts to return gradually. Whatever attracted the creature could be interrupted, at least temporarily, by the same discipline that allowed him to escape the attention of men. Whether this meant the creature perceived consciousness in a similar manner was a question he would have preferred to investigate somewhere less crowded.

At the far end of the table, the Governor had fallen silent. “We have reports,” he said at last, “of private gatherings, collections of money, and materials moved without proper authority.”

Yehudah raised his eyes. The Governor was watching him. Their gazes met briefly, and something in the man's expression suggested curiosity. Then he turned towards an officer.

“Explain.”

“Men already known to us have been meeting outside their districts,” the officer said. “There are reports of weapons being acquired and supplies concealed. Money passes through intermediaries.”

“Whose reports?” the High Priest asked.

“Sources we consider reliable.”

“Do you have evidence of a militia?” Yehudah asked.

“We have indications.”

“Men meeting and money changing hands could describe half the business conducted in this city. What establishes their purpose?”

“Would you prefer to wait until our officers are attacked?” the Governor asked.

“I would prefer evidence before assigning expenditure to a particular purpose.”

The Governor gave a brief laugh. “Which is why I require the assistance of men capable of examining it.” He looked around the table. “You oversee payments, employment, and supplies. If you find unexplained expenditure, missing materials, or payments to men nobody can account for, you are to report them.”

A construction supervisor shifted forward. “Tools have gone missing. Small quantities.”

“Have the losses been recorded?” Yehudah asked.

“Some.”

“Record the rest.”

The Governor indicated the officer beside him. “Anything suggesting preparations for violence is to come through my office. We are seeking information, gentlemen. If an innocent explanation exists, we shall be pleased to discover it.”

“Then I trust your officers will be equally pleased to discover the innocent explanations for those already detained,” the High Priest replied.

The Governor smiled. “I should hope so.”

The remainder of the meeting concerned access to stores, movements of labour, and additional guards. Yehudah spoke only when necessary, clarifying which records could be supplied directly and which required authorisation from the council. He had no objection to investigating missing materials. He objected to the suggestion that an irregularity in an account should automatically be treated as evidence of rebellion. Money disappeared for a great many reasons, most considerably less ambitious than overthrowing a government.

When the Governor finally rose, Yehudah gathered his records, but before he could leave, the man addressed him.

“A moment.”

The others began filing towards the door. the High Priest exchanged a few quiet words with the council before leaving, accompanied by his attendants. The Governor waited until the chamber was empty, then dismissed the interpreter.

Below the windows, workers were collecting their belongings. The afternoon light had begun to soften. Yehudah thought again of the stonemason. If he had intended to find the man at work, the opportunity was rapidly disappearing.

“You were helpful with the man brought upstairs,” the Governor said.

“He had information relevant to the accounts.”

“Indeed he did. Although I suspect his immediate concerns were rather less financial.”

“They need not be mutually exclusive.”

“No. Quite right. People have a tendency to divide problems into categories because it makes them easier to manage. Financial problems, political problems, personal problems. Convenient distinctions, but the world seldom troubles itself to respect them. A missing labourer becomes a missing wage, a missing wage becomes a discrepancy, and a discrepancy may eventually lead us somewhere neither of us expected.”

The Governor watched him for a moment. “You understand people rather well, Arcarius.”

“Sometimes they explain themselves.”

“Not always in words.”

The Governor moved towards the window. “Tell me, were you unwell?”

“During the meeting?”

“Yes. Towards the end. You became very quiet.”

“It was a long discussion.”

“Indeed it was. I take full responsibility for a considerable portion of its length. I have been accused of speaking more than circumstances strictly require, although I prefer to think of it as ensuring that everyone has been given a reasonable opportunity to understand me.” He smiled.

“But that was not quite what I meant.” Yehudah waited.

“For a moment, I thought you were unwell. Your expression changed, your breathing became almost imperceptible, and you appeared to withdraw from the conversation entirely. Nothing particularly remarkable about that, of course. Men grow tired, especially when obliged to listen to arguments concerning money.” He paused. “Then I looked again, and almost overlooked you.”

“Perhaps I had ceased to be interesting,” Yehudah said.

The Governor gave a quiet laugh. “An attractive explanation, although not one I find entirely convincing. You see, I had been watching you. Not continuously, naturally. That would have been rather discourteous. But you had interested me earlier, and I was curious to hear what you might contribute to the discussion.” He rested one hand against the window ledge.

“And then, quite suddenly, I found myself looking elsewhere. Nothing had distracted me. Nobody had spoken. I simply discovered that my attention had moved on without consulting me.”

Yehudah examined him carefully. “People become distracted.”

“Constantly. It is one of their more endearing qualities. A man may spend an hour insisting upon the importance of a particular matter, then forget it entirely because someone has brought him food.” The Governor's smile remained. “But I generally remember when something has distracted me. In your case, I remembered only that I had stopped looking.”

Yehudah said nothing.

“A curious thing, wouldn't you agree?”

“Perhaps the discussion required your attention elsewhere.”

“Perhaps.” The Governor allowed the silence to continue, his expression offering no indication of whether the explanation satisfied him.

Yehudah examined him with renewed care. There was nothing physically remarkable about the man. His face possessed the ordinary composure of someone accustomed to being listened to. Nothing suggested he had seen the shadow or understood the discipline Yehudah had employed. That was no longer reassuring.

He might simply have noticed Yehudah becoming unusually still. Or perhaps he had recognised something. Asking would risk confirming that there was something worth investigating, and Yehudah had no intention of supplying a stranger with evidence merely to satisfy his curiosity.

The Governor gestured towards the documents beneath his arm. “I shall expect your assessment of the reserves.”

“You will have it.”

“Good.” The Governor returned his attention to the courtyard, and Yehudah understood that he had been dismissed.

He left without looking back. In the corridor, he found himself examining the base of the walls. The habit annoyed him sufficiently that he stopped walking. There was nothing there but pale plaster, stone, and the ordinary shadows of an afternoon approaching evening. The Governor might have noticed a change in his manner. He might have noticed considerably more. Neither possibility improved when considered while standing outside the man's door. Yehudah continued downstairs.

Nathan had gone by the time he returned to the office. Abner's disputed account lay apart from the others, weighed down by a cup Nathan had apparently considered an appropriate instrument of preservation. Yehudah moved it, checked that the document was dry, and sat.

The daylight was fading. He had intended to finish the payment summary before leaving, but several entries still required attention. Among them was a supplementary payment for materials transferred between the northern and southern works. The quantities appeared familiar, and when he compared the entry with the original order, he discovered that the same consignment appeared to have been entered twice.

An error, perhaps, or another supplier displaying Abner's admirable talent for making money from circumstances that had not occurred.

The original materials had been received at the northern works. Several days later, a supplementary account recorded their transfer south. Such movements were ordinary enough. Supplies were frequently reassigned between construction projects. The difficulty was that the second account charged for the materials themselves rather than their transport.

He examined the receiving endorsements. The first bore the mark of the northern stores. The second had been approved through a separate account, without any corresponding reduction in the quantities recorded at the original location. If both entries were accepted, the treasury would pay for one consignment twice. More troublingly, the records would suggest that materials existed in two places when they had only ever occupied one.

Yehudah made a note. Construction accounts were rarely as orderly as their supervisors claimed, particularly when supplies moved between departments. It might be an innocent error. But the Governor's remarks concerning missing materials and unexplained payments had given the discrepancy additional significance.

The northern works were where Daniel had been employed.

That established nothing. The site employed a considerable number of men, and a missing labourer did not transform an irregular payment into evidence of conspiracy. Yehudah had encountered enough coincidences to distrust the human tendency to manufacture explanations merely because two events occurred in the same place. Nevertheless, the account offered him a second reason to examine the northern records.

Tomorrow Nathan would obtain the receiving documents and establish who had authorised the transfer. He would also request the employment register, including Daniel's last recorded attendance and any subsequent payments made in his name. If the entries were incorrect, they could be amended. If somebody had deliberately submitted the same materials for payment twice, the explanation would require considerably more attention. And if the records revealed nothing, Yehudah would at least have satisfied himself that the coincidence was precisely that.

For now, the accounts could wait. He gathered his tablet, put away his stylus, and rose.

Outside, workers were preparing to leave, their voices carrying across the courtyard as the last afternoon light settled upon the unfinished Temple. Yehudah stepped into the cooling air, considering whether the stonemason might still be found among the departing labourers.