Elder Sterling lowered his sleeve, his knuckles white as he clamped down on the Iron Tally Rod.
He did not leave the Outer Bamboo Courtyard.
Instead, the Iron Abacus planted his heavy boots into the gravel and began an exhaustive disciplinary audit of the premises.
For eleven straight hours, twenty disciplinary guards combed through every corner of the property. They overturned empty fertilizer barrels, prodded the compost heaps with iron-tipped poles, and measured the boundary fence with spirit-iron chains.
They checked the registration stamps on every cracked clay tile in the roof. They inspected Barnaby’s drying racks for illegal herbs. They even scrutinized the puddle by the well to ensure no unregistered water spirits were dwelling beneath the surface.
Through every minute of it, Kaelen Vance did not leave his hemp hammock.
He brewed fresh pots of jasmine tea on the porch brazier. He peeled the charred skin from his roasted sweet potatoes and enjoyed the sweet, caramelized flesh. Whenever the guards marched past his porch, he simply tilted his straw hat and offered them a warm cup.
The guards looked terrified, refusing to even glance at his teacups. Accepting hospitality from a suspect under disciplinary audit was punishable by twenty cane strikes.
