“I got one, too,” said the fat merchant. “I delivered six wagonloads of hardtack and four hundred head of horses, and they gave me a paper with a stamp on it.”

“I’m sure the Vordanai treasury will honor those bills in full, once the war is over,” Winter said, though she was actually certain of no such thing. Finance, beyond the kind that clinked in your pocket, had always been vague and mysterious to her.

“What am I supposed to do until then?” the tradesman said. “Cut this into pieces and feed it to my family?”

Winter sat back in her chair and looked desperately at Cyte for help. The ex-student stepped in smoothly.

“I suggest,” Cyte said, “you take it to a bank. I’m sure they would be happy to convert it into coin for a reasonable percentage.”

“I tried that,” said the fat one, “and they told me to shove it where the sun don’t shine.” He eyed Cyte and added, “Begging your pardon, ma’am.”

“Lieutenant,” Winter said, “would you make a point of visiting Gold Row tomorrow morning and impressing on the local financiers the absolute sincerity of Her Majesty’s government? I’m sure once you explain the position, they’ll be happy to assist these gentlemen.” Winter looked from one man to another. “Will that do?”

The tradesman scratched his cheek and nodded. The merchant looked unhappy, but he turned to follow his companion out, which was all Winter really wanted. Once the office door closed behind them, Cyte gave her a mischievous grin.

“You’re getting the hang of this. I take it I’m to tell these bankers what will happen to them if they don’t play along?”

“Be as polite as you can,” Winter said.

Cyte nodded. “You should know, though, that this can’t go on indefinitely. It’s just pillage by degrees.”

“Without the rape and murder,” Winter said.

“That is an improvement,” Cyte admitted. “But we’re already not getting enough food in the city. The merchants won’t bring it in once they figure out that we’re only paying in paper promises. The nobles are already moving everything they can carry to the country, and the bankers will follow suit before long.”

“Our squads at the gate are going to have to start searching any cart or wagon that leaves,” Winter said. “I don’t want an ounce of gold or a pound of food to leave the city if we can stop it. Anybody who tries forfeits their property.”

“That may not go over well.”

“As long as the quartermasters keep ‘requisitioning’ everything in sight, we don’t have a choice.” The Ministry of War seemed to view Desland as a storeroom to be sacked, regardless of the fact that its inhabitants had surrendered peacefully and largely sympathized with the invaders.

“I know.” Cyte sighed. “Hopefully Janus will send for us before too much longer.”