The ink in Cale’s horn pot was thick with oak gall and soot, drying on the willow-framed slate in dark, purplish lines that smelled of iron water.
“A ten-year term,” Cale said, holding the ruler straight with his left thumb. “Amortized across forty-quarters. The initial principal: two hundred and forty-one silver pieces, representing the displaced bullion from Debts D-03 and D-04. Interest: zero. The Hall of Witness does not charge usury on debts born of emergency defense.”
Prit leaned over the edge of the ash table, his small bone jaw clicking as he read the figures upside down. “Source of repayment, clerk? A core cannot dig ditches.”
“Section Three,” Cale answered, tapping the wet line with the dry end of his pen. “Future legitimate operational income. Gate tariffs on commercial timber haulage through the northern gap: two coppers per loaded wain. Secure winter storage rentals in the lower bomb-proof vaults for Mere’s grain reserves: one silver piece per quarter. Fair shelter fees for traveling merchants and drovers using the hearth room, set at ordinary roadside rates. All receipts audited quarterly by an elected board of three valley citizens and one town reeve.”
From the second tier of benches, six men and women in stained campaign uniforms rose and stepped down into the well of the room.
