She became intensely present.
A subsidy program for small industrial cooperatives was producing less private investment than predicted.
Cut it? No. Restructure eligibility.
Agricultural mechanization grants were being disproportionately claimed by three large estates.
Cap individual claims.
A municipal computer-implementation program had spent nearly half its annual allocation in one quarter.
Why? Imported storage hardware.
From where? Dinnlan.
The revenue officer sighed.
“Of course.”
Kimia looked at him.
“Your people are expensive.”
“My people know it.”
“Do zhey enjoy it?”
“Immensely.”
They moved onward. At intervals, Kimia checked the clock.
Nine nineteen. Nine forty-one. Ten oh-six.
Time behaved correctly. She appreciated this.
Tarkhe eventually sat at another table and pretended to read.
The indrel never moved except when someone approached Kimia too closely. Then its head altered by a fraction and the person somehow remembered another route.
Kalgkur continued studying irrigation agreements from a century nobody else cared about.
The revenue officer removed his spectacles, cleaned them, and replaced them.
Finally, there were no more pages. He closed the binder.
“Projected discretionary remainder, assuming the revisions we’ve made, comes to approximately one hundred fourteen million dalasi.”
Kimia leaned back.
“One hundred fourteen.”
“Yes.”
“Before emergency reserve?”
“After.”
“Debt service?”
“Accounted.”
“Provincial obligations?”
“Accounted.”
“Pending litigation?”
The man hesitated. Kimia noticed.
“What?”
“Zhere are 'zhree cases.”
“How much?”
“Potentially fourteen million.”
“Potentially?”
“Worst case.”
“Zhen assume worst case.”
“That leaves one hundred.”
“Yes.”
He made another note.
Kimia looked at the figures on the terminal. One hundred million dalasi. A vast amount of money.
Not enough.
Money possessed the peculiar property of becoming inadequate at exactly the scale at which it became incomprehensible.
She closed the file.
“Send me zhe amended projection before council tomorrow.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“And tell engineering I want zhe freight terminal estimate returned with an actual contingency reserve.”
“I will.”
“If zhey send zhe same figure again, return it unopened.”
The Dinnish man smiled.
“I suspect they’ll dislike that.”
“Zhey may dislike it for free.”
He shut down the terminal.
Kimia reached into her kaftan and removed the pocket watch.
Ten twenty-three.
The meeting with the Ivenmoth and baxxid delegation was at eleven.
Thirty-seven minutes.
She committed the number to memory.
Thirty-seven.
The revenue officer gathered his papers.
“Anything else?”
“No.”
He stood, then seemed to think of something.
“Your Grace.”
“Yes?”
He nodded toward the terminal.
“You caught the infrastructure error quickly.”
Kimia looked at the blank screen.
“Zhat is why you people keep making me attend zhese.”
The man laughed.
“Fair.”
He took the binder under one arm.
“Until tomorrow.”
“Until tomorrow.”
He left.
The library became quiet again. Kimia remained seated.
For the past hour she had been precise. Attentive. Useful.
No stairs had shifted beneath her. No reflection had moved incorrectly. No strings had appeared.
The machinery of the House had passed through her and emerged altered in sensible ways.
One might conclude from this that she was well.
Kimia knew better, or believed she did.
The distinction had become irritating.
She looked across the library. Kalgkur was still there. The old baxxid had not turned toward her, but one of his eyes had.
Tarkhe closed his book. The indrel stood beside the door waiting to protect her from dangers with bodies.
Kimia put the pocket watch away.
Thirty-six minutes now.
Enough time to breathe. Not enough time to become anybody else.
She stood.
The duchess stood with her.
For the moment, they were in agreement.