The silence in the square of Split-Stone was as taut as a tuned crossbow string.
Tomas held the paper ticket in his hand. The slip was four inches square, cut from rough gray rag paper and printed with an engraved woodblock border showing the dragon and lance. At the center, in wet, purple-black ink, the numbers were set down with indisputable clarity: Measure: 1/2 Gal · Sum: 2 Bits · Authorized: G. Garret, Guard.
He turned the ticket toward the gathered townspeople. He held it high so that every man, woman, and child could see the ink.
“Two copper bits for half a gallon,” Tomas said, his voice ringing through the limestone tiered arena of the village. “Under the Imperial Charter of the River March, which has hung in the country hall since the reign of Emperor Justin, one copper bit purchases ten gallons of culinary water from any town or chartered source. This ticket isn’t a receipt. It’s a confession of criminal usury.”
Court guard Garret’s face had gone from purple to a mottled, pasty white. His small, wet eyes darted from Sile’s drawn sword to the crowd of two hundred townspeople who were now slowly, silently closing the distance behind the crossbowmen.
