The Head Clerk frowned at Eli. "That is your best robe?"

"Yes, mir," Eli said.

"Hmph. I suppose that's your best face, as well."

"Er," Eli said.

"It will have to do." The Head Clerk smacked his lips. "Do you know how to bow? Do you know how to address your betters? Don't answer! That's the first rule. Don't speak, you hunched crab of a junior scribe. I will speak. You remain silent. Do you understand?"

"Yes, m--" Eli started.

The Head Clerk cuffed him. "Exactly not like that! Say nothing. Not a word. Now do you understand?"

Eli nodded.

"Better," the Head Clerk said, boarding the cart. "Except for your posture. Now come along. Stop dawdling."

The Keep stood proudly on a plateau that overlooked the city. Redstone outer walls surrounded the sprawling bailey grounds, a town-within-a-town where most of the gentry lived. The cart rattled unchallenged through the outer gate after a cursory inspection by a handful of bored guards. The horse nickered, and when the wind shifted, the voices of a choir swept across the street before fading in the direction of the Church of the Chained Angel.

Eli gazed at the pedestrians with interest. They were mostly servants running errands, he knew that, but still he marveled at how tidy and confident they looked. Those who served the Keep were superior to other servants. Even the kitchen maids seemed to walk with pride, their skirts swishing and their baskets swinging.

A militia-woman in Rockbridge armor touched her helm respectfully when a fancy carriage drove past. Eli peered closer, but didn't recognize her. He hadn't been within the outer walls since the militia discharged him for lack of keenness.

And he'd only been within the inner wall once, on an errand, so he gaze curiously at the high stone fortification as the cart approached. The guards at that gate were far more alert--and numerous. Not that any force had attacked Rockbridge for decades, excepting shadowy creatures on the night of the Rust Moon a few years back. Still, the Marquis believed in readiness.

The cart veered away from the grand entrance of the Keep, toward a side door. A servant's entrance. The Head Clerk spoke for a moment to a footman who looked as fancy as an Earl. Then they stepped into the cool stone interior of the Keep.

"Remember," the Head Clerk hissed. "Keep your teeth together."

Eli nodded again.

The Marquis--or even just his advisors--would never meet mere archivists in the proper audience chamber. Instead, the footman led them to a rectangular room with ornate chairs lining the wall opposite the entrance. An empty room.

"Wait here," the footman said, and padded away.

The Head Clerk crossed to the center of the room while Eli remained two steps behind him, as instructed. Then they waited. Sunlight glowed through the windows. The sound of the choir came again. Servants shouted in the yard outside, organizing some kind of delivery.

Finally, a smaller door beside the ornate chairs opened and two soldiers entered. A man and woman, both older than Eli. Both heavily armed and hard-eyed. They checked the chamber then took up positions flaking the largest chair.

A mage came next, a woman with silver-streaked black hair. At least, Eli guessed she was a mage because she wore a necklace of metal beads, like marbles, which she could propel with impossible speed and force, harder than a crossbow bolt, harder than a sling stone.

Finally, a handful of courtiers emerged--advisors, maybe--and the marquis himself. He was an ordinary-looking man. Regular build, average height. But somehow, his mere presence commanded the room.

"The Master of the Western Keep," one of the courtiers announced, "Lord-Protector of the High Pass, Marquis of Rockbridge."

The Head Clerk knelt, and a moment later Eli remembered to do the same. A moment after that, he remembered to stop gaping at the marquis and look at the floor, too.

"You are responsible for the report," the Marquis said after a brief silence, "that was prepared for the office of the Stipend Geld."

"Yes, m'lord," Head Clerk said.

"Impressive work," the Marquis said.

The Head Clerk exhaled in obvious relief. "We try, in our little way, to support the glory of you--"

"Attention to detail in every paragraph. An extremely decisive conclusion. And frankly, I own myself surprised at your ability to unearth such ... historical documents."

"I do not deserve such praise, m'lord."

"You prepared this yourself?"

"With some trivial help from my assistant," the Head Clerk said.

Eli felt the weight of the Marquis's attention bear down on him. He didn't squirm. Didn't raise his gaze.

"Then why don't you explain the conclusion," the Marquis said, draping himself in the largest chair, "so the duller members of my court might understand."

"Yes, m'lord. The documents hearken back to legal agreements forged in the first years after the Warding. When the final survivors of humanity, battered and almost-broken, retreated here, to the valley. Before the Warding, only a handful cities stood in the valley, widely separated and with a history of contention, but now of course--"

The mage cleared her throat. "Too much detail."

"Forgive me," the Head Clerk immediately said. "Er, after the Warding, contracts were written which obliged every person of property to remit or, or tithe, money to the capital, for the purpose of communal defense."

"More costly than a mere tithe," the mage said.

"Oh, far more, yes, m'lady mage. The payments dwindled over the generations. Then stopped. And now they merely exist as, erm, as you said, m'lord Marquis, historical documents."

The Marquis stood from his chair and smiled. "And your conclusion, Head Clerk?"

"That, erm, that as a matter of law, if not actuality, the contracts are still in force. That is, they remain legally binding."

"An extremely well-documented summation," the Marquis said, ambling closer.

"Thank you, m'lord."

"And one that implies ..." He paused as the guards moved to join him. "No, that's not the correct word. One that asserts that I must forward a hefty chunk of my treasury to the provincial capital."

"Oh." The Head Clerk swallowed, his chins wobbling. "Oh, erm ..."

"And how do you think I feel about that?"

"Well, that is ..." The Head Clerk pressed his forehead to the floor. "It's a purely academic--"

"Not entirely happy," the Marquis said, and kicked the Head Clerk in the ear.

The Head Clerk shrieked in pain and curled onto his side. Eli jerked upright and the Marquis kicked the Head Clerk again and blood trickled to the floor.

Eli heard himself shout something. Wordless panic, a babble of pure shock as the Head Clerk twitched and jerked.

When Eli automatically reached to help the Head Clerk, to comfort him or--he didn't know know what--pain flared in his back. The floor smacked his face and blood spurted from his nose. One of the guards had clubbed him or kicked him or--or the mage had struck him with one of her beads.

He gasped in pain, tears filling his eyes, then whimpered, "Please, don't..."

The Marquis crouched over the Head Clerk. "Do you think you can steal from me?"

The Head Clerk sobbed instead of answering.

"How do we treat thieves in Rockbridge? How do we treat traitors? With mercy, for the ignorant followers, of course." He gestured toward Eli. "The poor, deluded, hangers-on. But with swift justice for the instigators."

"Please," Eli whispered. "No."

The Marquis stretched out his hand and one of the guards put the grip of a mace in his palm. Not a ceremonial mace. An ugly length of flanged steel that the Marquis brought down on the Head Clerk's temple.

Once, twice. A terrible wheeze sounded. A blood bubble swelled from the Head Clerk's nose, then burst.

Another blow landed, and another. The sound was terrible. The meaty, splattered whacks. The sight was even worse. But Eli couldn't move, the guard's boot on his neck, facing the murder.

When it was over, the Marquis tapped Eli's nose with the toe of his blood-splattered boot. "Let this be a lesson to you, boy. Justice must be swift."

Eli didn't say anything. He couldn't. He just panted.

"However, for you," the Marquis continued. "I will indulge in mercy. Without which, justice is mere cruelty. Thank me, boy."

Eli still couldn't speak.

"Thank his lordship," the guard grunted, pressing down on his neck.

"Th-tha," Eli managed.

"You're very welcome," the Marquis said. "Now take him away."