The Terms of an Open Door

The customs house had been built for goods that could be counted, taxed and left in the dark. Accommodating people required more thought. There were beds in rooms that still smelled faintly of pepper, a basin whose crack had been repaired with a metal staple, and a desk with the names of successive inspectors scratched into its underside.

Ada found the names while looking for a dropped pin. One inspector had added a very poor drawing of another inspector's nose.

She was still beneath the desk when Tovan knocked.

“Come in,” Ada said, then hit her head trying to make the invitation less absurd.

The Marshal waited for her to emerge.

“An accident?”

“A desk.”

“I've had difficulty with those myself.”

She had brought no guard into the room. Ada did not mistake that for an absence of guards. Through the open window she could see Serit speaking to two men beside the front steps.

“The Regent will hear the preliminary account the day after tomorrow,” Tovan said. “Six witnesses in the first session. You may choose them.”

“How long?”

“Until the noon bell.”

“For a whole country?”

“For the reason to examine a whole country's measures. The distinction matters.”

Ada sat on the edge of the bed. The blow from the desk had left her eyes watering, which made the discussion more difficult than she wanted to admit.

“Will the Chancellor be there?”

“Yes.”

“Will the records be shown to him beforehand?”

“A copy of the account you intend to present. Not the location of your other evidence, and not the names of witnesses who have declined to be identified.”

“You've learned what to promise.”

Tovan looked towards the open door.

“I've learned what your engineer will cross out.”

For the first time Ada felt the possibility of humour between them. She did not use it to forget anything.

“Why are you helping?” she asked.

“The proposed network would put troops through three northern passes more reliably.”

“That sounds like a reason not to.”

“Unless the men carrying supplies to the lower posts can no longer reach them. The winter schedule treats those journeys as marginal traffic.”

“So you've found people you care about in the margin.”

Tovan received that in silence.

“Yes,” she said eventually. “I should have looked earlier for people I hadn't commanded.”

Ada had expected a better defence. Not receiving one unsettled her more.

They went downstairs to discuss the hearing. Ren argued against limiting the first session to technical witnesses. Tomar wanted a table low enough to sit at. Ysra wanted the questioning recorded in full rather than summarised by a clerk whose superior was answering the questions.

Pella, eating an apple beside the kitchen door, asked whether the audience would be allowed to come and go.

“This is a preliminary hearing, not a market,” Tovan said.

“Markets have useful arrangements for people who need to leave.”

After some discussion, two public scribes would be admitted alongside the official clerks. One would be chosen by the carriers' office, the other by a group of city wards. Visitors could leave between speakers, and leaving would not be recorded as disrespect. Ada had never thought a rule like that would need writing down.

Then Tovan asked about Cal.

The room became quiet.

“He can speak for himself,” Ada said.

“I intend that he should.”

Cal came in from the yard, where he had been helping unload bedding. Tovan waited while he washed his hands.

“Your father is arriving tomorrow,” she told him.

He held the cloth very still.

“Because of the hearing?”

“In part. He has been summoned to account for the northern grain allotments.”

“In part,” he repeated.

“He has also requested that you return to his custody.”

Pella set down her apple. “That's a word to put in front of a person.”

Tovan did not look at her. “The request hasn't been granted.”

Cal folded the cloth, unfolded it and put it beside the basin.

“Will I be permitted to decline?”

“You will be heard.”

“That wasn't my question.”

Ada heard herself in him and wished the resemblance belonged to a happier moment.

Tovan's face changed. For a breath she seemed less like the Marshal than an adult being asked why a door she had watched for years had never been opened.

“I cannot settle that tonight,” she said.

“Then don't describe a hearing as an answer.”

He left the room without asking permission. No one stopped him.

After Tovan had gone, Ada found him at the back gate. It opened onto an alley where boys were throwing a rag ball against a wall. Every fourth throw struck a shutter and produced an objection from inside.

“I won't send any more letters you haven't agreed to,” Cal said when she approached.

“You may send letters. They're yours. Just don't put other people in them as promises.”

He nodded.

“Do you want to see him?” she asked.

“Yes.” He watched the boys retrieve the ball from a drain. “I'm angry that I do.”

Ada leaned against the opposite gatepost.

“You can want your father without agreeing with him.”

“I know that when it's about somebody else.”

She did too. They stood there until the boys finally hit the window instead of the shutter and fled, united by a new understanding of their own accuracy.

Cal started to laugh, stopped as if he had no right to it, then laughed anyway.

Ada let herself share it.

It lasted only a moment. When it ended, the gate was still open.