The Ministry clerk came through the gate on Day fifty-five with a board under one arm and a leather case under the other. He was younger than Hoff. He had ink on his thumb and a grey coat buttoned to the throat, and he did not look at the yard.
He looked at the guardroom door, as if it owed him money.
“The box,” he said. “Where is the box?”
“On the shelf,” said Hoff.
“Open it, Captain.”
Calen stood in the doorway with his hands in his coat. His fingers found the cold edge of the lock box through the cloth, and he took them away again.
Count the coins twice. Count the people once.
Hoff looked at Calen. Calen gave him one nod, and Hoff went to the shelf and took the iron box down.
