The flat stone slab apron where Master Marrow had once tested blood with cochineal dye was now the weighing station of sovereign justice. Two great iron balance scales, brought from the town docks of Saint Eleanor, hung from timber tripods in the open sunlight.
On the oak tables sat the thirty-two canvas dunnage sacks seized from Bailiff Vance’s strongbox, containing the fourteen thousand two hundred and forty silver crowns of taken away sanitary fees. Hester Quill sat behind the master ledger. She was flanked by Elder Maren and Bram, who had been appointed community trustees by order of the Supreme Circuit Court.
Tomas Reed stood at the balance, his tuned brass weights clicking rhythmically against the pans as each bag was opened, checked, and tallied before the crowd of six hundred waiting wagon drivers.
“Under the decree of Lord Justice Vane,” Tomas announced, his voice carrying clearly across the quiet assembly, “this fund is disbursed in three strict categories of civic payback. First: eight thousand five hundred and forty-four silver crowns—sixty percent of the total—are refunded directly to the carter and cart driver lineages of this delta, reimbursing the extortionate transit tolls paid over the past decade.”
One by one, the wagon drivers stepped to the table. Hester checked their route receipts and names against Vance’s secret daybooks. For every forged testing fee, fourteen silver coins were counted into the worker’s calloused palm. Men who had sold their wedding rings and seed grain to pay the checkpoint fees held the…
