ARNOLD DE NOTTOIR WAS asleep at his table, which gave Roger a few moments to consider the weight of what he was about to do. The senior tax collector had inherited the maintenance of the records in this room, and was likely the only person who knew how to navigate their numbers. Roger selected a pile of papers that would look most dramatic when scattered off the table, and set them on their way.

“What is it?” The old man drew out of slumber, wiping a chain of saliva from the corner of his mouth to his shirt. The muscles about his eyes strained to focus on Roger, but he worried at the papers in the air. “What is it?”

“A most curious thing happened to me,” Roger said, purposefully selecting papers at random from the table and replacing them elsewhere, “as the reports came in today from Lord Gisbourne’s raids. Perhaps you remember them? Surely you caught a word or two in between naps at our council meeting the other day?”

“I don’t, I never! I was not asleep! What is the problem? What day did you say it was?”

“You gave Gisbourne a list of parties with significant tax debts, did you not?”

The tax collector’s face exploded with recognition. “I did! Yes, I did. I have it here.”

To Roger’s surprise, Arnold’s fingers darted into a mound of papers on the table and promptly removed a leather tome, which he placed open amongst the rabble and rifled through with unusual dexterity. Roger was reminded that there were many versions of talent, and found in the unlikeliest of places.

“Let me see it,” Roger said, rounding behind Arnold and dragging his fingers across the ledger.

“It’s quite extensive,” Arnold said proudly.

“Quite extensive, is it? Do tell how that differs from normally extensive.” Roger mumbled through a few names which were legible enough, then took the offensive again. “You idiot. This list is an exact duplicate of another. One that I gave your predecessor last year. A list of men who are away at the Crusade and are thus exempt from paying taxes.”

Arnold’s mouth dropped, and he pored himself over the document. “It cannot be, I’ve been over these names, we went over them twice. It cannot be!”

“Not only can it be, but far worse, it is. I don’t know what blind picnicking you substitute for work down here, but you have evidently been copying from the wrong list for months.”

What Roger was saying probably didn’t make sense. He knew little about how the records were kept, but was hoping to be vague enough that Arnold would fill in the gaps for himself. To his satisfaction, the man started muttering any number of possible explanations, calculating potential mistakes, listing exemptions and loopholes they might use to right the error.

“Terrible, yes,” Arnold concluded, “but we can fix this.”