The order reached the West Market, and a Genuine Order from the Grand Preceptor's Residence soon appeared beside the wooden post.
The Genuine Order stated only three things.
Family letters from the Northern Border would continue to be delivered.
The Third Beacon Battalion would not redeploy its troops.
The Grand Preceptor's Residence had never asked soldiers' families to press their fingerprints onto a petition.
There were no lofty lectures.
Nor were the families told to keep away.
The clerk nailed the fake Transfer Order, the fake petition, and the Genuine Order side by side.
The old woman was the first to step forward.
She could read very little.
So the clerk read it to her, line by line.
When he finished, the old woman picked up the scissors by the Rope Workshop's entrance and cut her household's entry out of the list.
"I'm taking this home."
"If anyone ever asks which battalion my son serves in again, I'll show this to the neighbors first."
The other family members stepped forward one by one and identified their own details.
Some settled their children securely in their arms.
Some slipped their vegetable baskets back over their arms.
Some withdrew their hands from beside the ink dish and wiped them clean on their hems.
They did not smash the shop.
Nor did they storm the Grand Preceptor's Residence.
They repeated everything the brown-robed man had said to the Armored Guards, sentence by sentence.
Who had first asked about family letters.
Who had first mentioned stopping the letters.
Who had said a fingerprint would bring their men home.
They made everything clear.
Before Golden Turtle Island, the shimmering water reflected the West Market Rope Workshop.
Several hairline cracks had already formed in the stone beneath Holy Mother Guiling's palm.
She looked at the forty-seven