The Traitor Baru Cormorant by Seth Dickinson

Aurdwynn Provincial Fiat Bank stood beside her and his makeup ran with his sweat. Bel Latheman was a handsome man by Falcresti eyes, young, by all reports talented, and dressed in such exquisite fashion that she took it as a sign of honesty—no one would advertise corruption so blatantly, would they?
    She hadn’t asked for his papers and marks. It would give the impression that this was personal.
    Save for the quiet sound of her pen, silence took the floor. The clerks and factors sat stiffly under the eyes of the marines. She found it hard, very hard, not to savor their faces, each and individually, like candies in a rack—all united in trepidation, all afraid that she might find something, guilty or innocent—
    Maybe this was how the teachers had felt. Maybe this was how Diline had felt.
    â€œI admire your animal heads,” she answered the Principal Factor, signing the palimpsest in Aphalone letters. “I’ve never seen the like. Take these orders and execute them at once. I’ll wait in your office until you can bring me the records.”
    He pursed his lips and struggled visibly to keep himself reasonable. He’d been sweating since he saw the chained purse—thinking, perhaps, the last two died; this Accountant was mad to take the post . “The records I can, of course, provide, though this is most irregular. But we cannot open the vaults for a hand count. Especially not for these soldiers—Your Excellence, they will be leaving the country within a week and will feel at liberty to steal. It would be criminally irresponsible.”
    â€œA salient point.” He had the diligent, precise mind his bearing and presentation suggested. She laced her gloves in thought. “Lieutenant Aminata, you will have ample time to search Lapetiare during your return to Falcrest, correct? Keelhaul any marine found with contraband.”
    She had no power to dictate military justice, but Aminata saluted smartly nonetheless. Baru smiled coldly at her, and only had to hide the warmth.
    The poor assailed Factor went down into the old ice cellars to open the vaults for inspection and left Baru to make a restless pacing home in his office, wondering at the wisdom of acting so viciously so soon. A pale Stakhi-blood woman in a ruffed bearskin coat offered her beer (the Aurdwynni did not, as a rule, seem to trust their water) and quiet words through pursed lips: “Bel Latheman is very scrupulous. Things were so confused under His Late Excellence Olonori, however, that I do worry—please be kind to him. He’s never bent a rule in his life.”
    â€œThe numbers will speak to that.” She wanted to apologize at once, out of pity for Latheman, and out of respect for the loyalty his staff showed him.
    But the woman in the bearskin coat only bowed and extended the heavy mug. Her downcast eyes were dark as thunderheads. “I am Ake Sentiamut, liaison to the moneyprinters. Whatever you find, Your Excellence, I ask this: be good to Bel Latheman. He has been kind to us.”
    Sentiamut. She remembered that name from tax records—a family from the north. Baru felt a twinge of empathy for Ake, who must have left her home behind to serve in Treatymont. But Baru could not be soft. “He is the Factor of this bank. Responsible for everything and everyone within it.”
    Ake Sentiamut held the bow. “Of course, Your Excellence. I only fear that Latheman would take on blame better left with others.”
    She left the mug and went before Baru could reply.
    At length the Principal Factor returned with a parade of secretaries carrying waxed records and palimpsests reeking of oat bran. She waited in silence for them to set the records out and begin the copying. After a few minutes she found a pen and joined their sullen ranks.
    She had seen rebellion in the eyes of Tain Hu and Xate Yawa. Glimpsed it in the maps and histories. But the stink of it would be here, in the numbers, rotting