A Face at Second Bell

Dask’s fist struck the table hard enough to scatter the claim slips.

“Make me walk into that temple,” he said, “and I’ll tell Pell exactly how you got my seal.”

I closed my hand around the slips before they could fall to the floor. “You can tell him anything you like.”

Dask’s eyes flicked to my fingers. He had learned the location of the schedule through his own soul. He knew I could make that soul answer again. He had not yet learned how much I was willing to spend to keep him useful.

Outside, men waited in the narrow hall. His men, by the smell of cheap spirits and wet wool. One had a cudgel. None of them had a reason to let a sick boy lead their boss away.

I pressed my thumb against the faint black script on the underside of the seal. Dask’s jaw locked. His hand opened, one finger at a time.

“Get up,” I said.

He stayed seated. His breath came short through his nose. Sweat appeared along his hairline.

I tightened the clause. Pain was a poor instrument. It made people stupid and drew attention. A precise command was cheaper.

“Stand. Walk to the temple. Answer Pell’s questions truthfully.”

Dask rose so abruptly the chair scraped backward. The men in the hall fell quiet as he passed them. He did not look at them, and he did not look at me. They watched their boss go down the stairs with a pale boy at his shoulder.

One of them started after us.

Dask stopped. His hand twitched toward the cudgel at the man’s belt, then settled at his side. I had not ordered him to defend me. He understood that a damaged asset was still an asset, but a dead one was difficult to bill.

“Second bell,” I reminded him.

He kept walking.

The temple’s public hall had filled by the time we arrived. Borrowers stood beneath painted saints, clutching stamped slips and trying to look as if the accounts were under their control. Pell had placed our file apart from the others. The original schedule and seal lay beside it, precisely aligned with the edge of his desk.

His gaze went first to Dask’s face, then to mine.

“You are here before second bell,” Pell said.

“I can read a clock,” Dask replied.

Pell pushed the schedule toward him. “Confirm that this is your claim register. Confirm that the seal is yours. Then affirm the consolidation and assumption of the listed debt.”

Dask examined the first page. He could have kept his mouth shut. He could have spat at Pell. He could have named me. The first would freeze the loan; the second would likely do the same. The third would put a question in the examiner’s mind, and questions in temples were usually answered with restraint collars and a second, more expensive examination.