Six Different Conditions, One Identical Number
"Push first, figure it out after."
"…Inspector."
It was the old priest. He sat midway down the table, cup in hand.
"How old did you say you were, again?"
"Eighteen."
"Eighteen."
The old priest laughed. A few others followed.
"…I entered the temple at fourteen, you see. So that would be forty years before you were born."
"How many offerings do you suppose I've received in all that time?"
'…'
'Ah. Here it is.'
"…I couldn't say."
"Neither could I. I've never counted."
A few of them laughed again.
"And yet you've come here with a handful of documents, planning to reassign all of it. Inspector, the affairs of the gods simply don't work that way."
The old priest clicked his tongue.
'…'
'…Gods, this man's rhetoric is good.'
Lysias set his brush down on the table.
"You're right. I don't know how the affairs of the gods work either."
"But you did say you've never counted, didn't you?"
"…That is so."
"Then nobody actually knows how much you've received. That's the part I have a problem with."
Lysias tapped the end of his brush against the deposition.
"If it was offered to the gods, then the gods know about it. But what's left in the temple has to be known by people. Counting it is my job. Whether it's sixty years' worth or a single day's, the counting is the same."
"…Inspector."
"Yes."
"…You do talk well."
"Oh no. I actually failed plenty of reviews just because of my tone."
'…That part's true, at least.'
"…Inspector."
The old priest set his cup down.
"What do you think a temple is?"
"…I beg your pardon?"
"Do you think it's a government office?"
'…'
"It is where the gods dwell. And we are the ones who receive their portion on their behalf."
The old priest looked at Lysias.
"When men haggle over that portion — set a price on it, call out their terms — what do you suppose the gods would say if they saw it?"
"…"
'…Ah. He's coming in hard.'
"Inspector, what you're proposing is to put the affairs of the gods on the open market. And you call that justice?"
'…'
Lysias glanced down at the deposition for a moment. Then he picked his brush back up.
"Father."
"…Speak."
"The gods' portion is one-tenth. Is it not?"
"…It is."
"I'm not touching that. I said so earlier as well."
"What I'm deciding is which temple receives that tenth. That isn't the gods' portion — it's man's portion."
"I'm not putting the gods' share on the market. I'm putting man's share in the hands of men to decide."
The old priest's cup stopped halfway to his mouth.
"And, Father—"
"The people of that village are people too."
"To you, they're a few dozen sacks of wheat. To them, it's an entire year."
Lysias set his brush down.
"Is that justice?"
The table went quiet.
The old priest raised his cup, then set it back down without drinking. And then he stood.
"…Very well."
"…I'm sorry?"
"Let's leave it here for today."
The old priest looked away.
"Everyone. We're going."
One man rose. Then two.
Then all six were on their feet.
"Inspector."
"…Yes."
"I understand your point perfectly well."
The old priest said it as he passed behind Lysias's chair.
"But if we refuse to hand anything over, there is nothing you can do about it. Do keep that in mind."
"And we will refuse."
The priests filed out into the courtyard.
Anton left last of all. On his way out, he looked at Lysias exactly once.
Lysias was left alone at the table.
Six depositions lay spread out before him.
Every single line marked Name of Temple with Jurisdiction was blank.
Two days later, the wax tablets began to arrive.
One from each district. With terms written out.
One remeasure. Two rejections. No collection.
'…'
'Ah, here it comes.'
Lysias sorted them one by one.
Nobody had called out terms at the table that day. The old priest had risen, said very well, and all six had walked out together.
'Collusion, basically.'
And yet two days later, they started coming in one at a time.
'…Must have stung, didn't it.'
Agria's tithe was eighty-six sacks. If they could claim it for the price of a day's walk — and if they had to sit there and watch a neighboring district claim it instead—
'…That's how collusion always breaks. Someone blinks.'
Lysias stacked the tablets. It had been the same in his previous life. Everyone agrees to hold out together, one party quietly slips their bid in, and it's over the same day.
'…Except here, all six of them slipped one in. All of them.'
'…Huh. That's actually kind of funny.'
"…Hey."
Dion was staring at the pile of tablets.
"…Is this all of them?"
"Yeah."
"…From all six districts?"
"Yeah."
"…"
Dion picked one up and opened it. One remeasure. Two rejections.
'…'
Dion stared at it for a long time.
'…Wait. This actually works?'
Dion had handled Charon Ferry. It had been the same there — two remeasures, three rejections — and the people had said nothing at all. He'd written unverifiable on the report and moved on.
'…That's what I wrote.'
"…Hey."
"Yeah."
"…Why couldn't I come up with this?"
Lysias looked up from the tablets he was flipping through.
"…What do you mean?"
"This. Swapping jurisdiction."
"…"
"I went too, you know. I saw the same things you saw. Same villages, same mess — and I wrote 'unverifiable.'"
"…"
"But you did this."
Dion set the tablet down.
"…I don't think I'll ever be able to do this. Even in five years."
'…'
Lysias set his brush down for a moment.
"How many days have you been at this job?"
"…Same as you. A month."
"Right. A month."
Lysias shrugged.
"Name one guy who pulls this off in a month."
"I couldn't do it at first either."
'…Okay, that might be pushing it a little.'
Lysias smiled a little as he said it.
"…'At first'?"
"Yeah. At first I only did what I was told. They said write this, I wrote it. They said cut that, I cut it. Then I got rejected on a report. Rejected again. And again."
"…"
"Do that for a few years and you figure it out. If you only do what you're told, the guy giving the orders wins. Every time."
"…Hey."
"Yeah."
"…You're eighteen, aren't you."
'…'
'…Oh, crap.'
"…Well. You pick things up, living long enough."
It was the second time Dion had heard that line.
"But hey, one thing I've got to ask."
"Go ahead."
"That day. Were you actually going to write it down?"
'…'
"…Write what down?"
"That you'd plant the fields without paying the offering."
Lysias set his brush down.
"…No."
"…What?"
"I couldn't write that. Obviously."
Dion's mouth fell open.
"…Wait, then why did you even say it at the—"
"Because if they didn't accept, I had nothing. No moves left."
Lysias straightened the tablets.
"If they'd all refused together, there was genuinely nothing I could do. So I just called the bluff."
"If they hadn't taken it, I'd have been screwed too."
"…But they did take it."
Lysias shrugged again.
Dion just looked at his face.
'…'
'…This guy is unbelievable.'
Three years at the academy together. Entered the Court the same day. Sat the same exams.
And yet this one seemed to have come from somewhere else entirely.
'…Never met anyone like him.'
'…'
'…Hold on. Wait a minute.'
Lysias laid out all six sheets side by side.
On the surface, they were all different. Different remeasures, different rejections, different collection terms.
'…Then why does this feel so familiar?'
He'd seen this exact trick several times in his previous life. A contract with a perfectly clean body — and one clause tucked at the bottom that, all by itself, voided the entire document.
'…'
Lysias opened the District A deposition.
- The remeasure shall be performed once.
- Provided, however, that re-measurement shall not count toward the remeasure.
'…'
'…Oh, son of a—'
The remeasure happens once. And re-measuring doesn't count as a remeasure.
Which means they can measure as many times as they like, and the remeasure is still just "once."
'…'
He opened District B.
- No rejections shall be performed.
- Provided, however, that returns shall not constitute rejection.
'…'
District C.
- No collection shall be performed.
- Provided, however, that goods found to be impure shall be deemed subject to burning, not collection.
'…'
Lysias spread out all six sheets. Every one of them.
'…'
'…These sons of—'
'…'
Lysias picked up his brush and began to calculate.
Under District A's terms, how much would Agria pay out in a year?
'…'
'…Eighty-six sacks.'
District B.
'…Eighty-six sacks.'
District C.
'…'
He finished all six.
Eighty-six sacks. Every single one.
Exactly the same as last year.
'…'
Lysias put down his brush.
'…You people didn't draft this. You engineered it.'
On the surface, six districts had all submitted different bids. Different terms from every one of them — to anyone glancing at it, this looked like genuine competition.
But run the numbers, and they all land on the same figure.
'…To make that come out even, all six of them would have had to sit down and draft it together.'
And to catch it, you'd have to calculate all six sheets through to the end.
'…'
'…So you figured nobody would bother doing the math.'
Lysias gathered up the depositions.
'…'
'…Oh, son of a—'
'…These bastards, how dare they.'
'…What do you take this Court for?'
Lysias pulled out a blank wax tablet.
'…All six of you are getting subpoenaed.'
Three days later, the six gathered again.
This time, it was in the courtroom.
Lysias stood at the front of the room with the six depositions spread out before him.
"Thank you all for coming. This won't take long. I've summoned you simply to deliver the results."
"……"
The priests of the six districts were seated. Anton was there, and the old priest sat about midway down.
'Look at those faces. Unbelievable.'
All of them looked at ease. These were the faces of men who had submitted their depositions and now only needed to hear the outcome announced.
"First, my thanks. All six districts called terms this time. When nobody bid last week, I thought we had a failed auction — but three days later, all six sheets arrived."
A few of them chuckled.
"…Well, on reflection, it did seem only right to look after that village."
"Of course. I'm sure that's exactly how it happened."
Lysias fanned the depositions open with his fingertip.
"And all your terms were different, too."
Just then, the door opened.
'…?'
Lysias looked up.
A woman walked in.
Tall, and slow of step. She was carrying something in her hand — a wax slate.
'…Who is that?'
Lysias didn't recognize her face.
But all six priests rose to their feet at once.
"…Lady Eunomia."
"Be seated."
'…Huh?'
Lysias knew that name. He'd memorized it at the academy.
The line of Themis. The goddess of Order.
'…Wait. Isn't she one of OUR higher-ups?'
'Did I screw something up? What did I do?'
Eunomia took a seat at the end of the table.
"I heard jurisdiction was changing hands. That falls under my review, you see. Pay me no mind and carry on."
Eunomia rested the wax slate on her knee.
'…How exactly am I supposed to pay you no mind?'
"…Then, proceeding."
Lysias opened the depositions.
"District A: one remeasure. The lowest of the six. District B: no rejections. Also the lowest."
Lysias pushed the depositions forward one by one.
"District C: no collection. District D: one remeasure and one rejection. District E has offered to move the offering season later in the year, and District F will handle transport from the temple's side."
"Frankly, I was surprised when I first read them. All six districts bidding completely differently. Not a single term overlapping."
Several of the priests nodded.
'And there they go, nodding.'
Eunomia was looking down at the slate on her knee.
"So I did some calculating. All six sheets."
"…"
"Under District A's terms, how much does Agria pay in a given year?"
"…What?"
"I calculated it."
Lysias touched the number.
"Eighty-six sacks."
"…"
"District B comes to eighty-six sacks as well. And District C is eighty-six."
Lysias turned over the tablets.
"D is eighty-six. E is eighty-six. F is eighty-six."
The table went silent.
"All six districts. Eighty-six sacks."
Lysias set the tablets down on the table.
"The same as last year."
Eunomia's hand stilled above the wax slate.
"Inspector, surely that's coincid—"
"It is not coincidence."
Lysias opened the depositions.
"District A, second line. 'The remeasure shall be performed once — provided, however, that re-measurement shall not count toward the remeasure.'"
"You remeasure only once, you say — but you've written in that re-measuring doesn't count. Which means they can measure ten times over, and it's still a single remeasure."
"District B performs no rejections. Provided, however, that returns shall not constitute rejection."
Lysias worked through the depositions one at a time.
"District C performs no collection — but goods found to be impure aren't collected, they're burned. And the burning happens at the temple. Which is to say, the temple takes them anyway."
"Every one of the six sheets has a line like this in it. Just one line, tucked underneath."
Lysias lowered his hand.
"Which is why the terms are all different, and the results are all identical."
No one said a word.
Lysias looked around at their faces.
"There's one thing I can't understand, though. To bid completely different terms, the six of you would have had to divide them up in advance. You take remeasures, I take rejections, that sort of thing. And to make the final figures match, all six of you would have had to sit down and run the calculations together."
"That's not something you manage in a day or two."
The old priest set his cup down.
"…Inspector. I'd say you've gone too far."
"I have?"
Lysias gathered up the depositions.
"All I did was state the arithmetic. The rest is for the fathers to explain, I would think."
'These absolute—'
Honestly, it made his blood boil.
Drafting this would have taken all six of them several days at a table. Splitting up the terms, polishing the wording, tuning the numbers until they matched.
All that effort — when all they had to do was remeasure the grain once, honestly.
'And one more thing.'
This was them saying they'd assumed nobody would ever catch it.
That nobody would ever bother with the math.
'…What do you take this Court for?'
"…Inspector."
The old priest rose to his feet.
"…Fine. Let's say everything you've said is true. What then? What exactly can you do about it?"
'And there it is.'
"If you're unhappy with the depositions you submitted, you're free to withdraw them. Then we go back to nothing. And if all six districts refuse, that village can't pay its offering. If they can't pay, they can't plant. If they can't plant, they have no year."
"Inspector — you are the state. Offerings are received by temples, and the six of us are the only district temples in this land."
The old priest placed his cup on the table.
"The state cannot replace the temple."
'Ah. He came prepared with this one.'
A few of them nodded along.
Anton did not lift his head.
Eunomia said nothing.
Lysias opened the deposition.
The line for Name of Temple with Jurisdiction was still blank.
"Say, Father."
"…Speak."
"Do you know which god this Court serves? This courtroom, I mean."
"…What?"
"The line of Themis, no? And among them, one who presides over justice itself."
The old priest's eyes widened slightly.
"…You mean Dike."
"Yes."
Lysias raised his brush.
"And isn't it strange, when you think about it? There isn't a single temple of Dike anywhere in this land."
"I looked. I genuinely could not find one. There are temples by the rivers, on the mountains, in people's kitchens."
"Just not one for justice."
No one spoke.
Then Eunomia lifted her head.
"Then why don't you establish one?"
"…"
"If a god exists and no temple stands for her, that is the strange part. Building one isn't strange at all."
"…Inspector."
"Yes."
"…There is no such temple."
"I know. That's why we're building one."
Lysias touched his brush to the blank line.
"…Inspector."
It was Eunomia.
Lysias's brush stopped.
"…Yes."
"Do you know what must be in place before a temple can be founded?"
"…"
'…That one, I don't.'
"…No, I don't."
"Neither do I."
"…I'm sorry?"
Eunomia took the wax slate off her knee.
"No one has ever defined it, you see. A temple comes into being because a god is present there — not because men decide to build one. And so, no procedure exists."
The old priest leaned forward.
"…Lady Eunomia. Then this is—"
"And nothing says it cannot be done, either."
"…"
Eunomia turned to look at him.
"If you can find somewhere it is written that a temple may not be established, bring it to me. Then I will stop this."
"…"
"You can't. Can you."
The old priest could not find a single word.