The road south ran along the river for half a day, then turned up into the hills. The wagons went slowly on the stones. Hoff rode at the front, and Calen rode beside him with the box of files tied to the saddle behind him.
The Board clerk from the yard had come after them at a distance. He rode a grey mare with a leather case strapped behind the saddle.
He kept well back from the wagons, as if he did not want to be seen with them.
Calen did not look back at him. He had the schedule open on his knee, and he was reading the column of numbers for the third time.
Thirty numbers. Thirty houses. Thirty crimes that the Board could write down in a line.
Count them.
“Three steps to the door,” said Hoff, quietly, from the saddle beside him. “Count them, Orrin. You are doing it with your lips.”
Calen shut the schedule. “I am not afraid of a door.”
