Selton Calvin sat in a black-and-gold carriage painted with his family's crest, holding an Autumn Harvest Statistics Report that still smelled of ink between his fingertips.
Expensive agarwood burned inside the carriage, yet even so, the strange odor seeping through the window stubbornly penetrated the wooden walls.
Selton frowned and opened a narrow gap in the velvet curtain.
The streets outside were busier than at any time in previous years.
Heavy grain wagons formed a long procession, their wheels making the stone paving creak under their weight.
Through tears in the sacks, he could see golden wheat kernels so plump they almost spilled out. This was a genuine bumper harvest, without a trace of exaggeration.
He glanced down at the report in his hand.
Production had increased by thirty percent year over year, but only fifteen percent had entered storage.
"Damn it." His quill slashed viciously across the paper, leaving a glaring red line.
This was no accounting error. Selton knew perfectly well that the grain had not disappeared.
The carriage slowed at an intersection. He watched the grain wagons turn, not toward the Calvin Family's trading district, but in perfect order toward the waterfront, which belonged to the Holy See.
White grain ships from the Holy City lay moored beside the docks, their hulls almost blindingly white, like a row of sea beasts silently baring their fangs.
The grain was unloaded sack by sack, disappearing deep into the holds.
Selton was not angry that the grain was being shipped away.
He was angry that it had not passed through his hands, giving him a chance to take a cut.
The carriage continued onward, entering the Provincial Capital's busiest thoroughfare.
On either side of the street, a brand-new Golden Feather Flower statue stood every fifty paces.
The statues were gilded