The merchant sat at his desk before dawn, the ledgers open and exact, each entry in the same careful hand that had recorded every transaction for forty-three years. The sun had not yet cleared the horizon, but he knew the exact moment it would. He had calculated it yesterday evening, as he did every evening, knowing that Amaunator's eye would follow its eternal path. A clerk entered, nervous. 'The agreement with the westbound caravan, sir. They want to renegotiate the fee.' 'No.' 'But the roads are worse this season, and...' 'The contract was signed under clear terms. The roads were always going to be worse in spring. That is why we settled on that fee.' He did not look up from the ledger. 'Tell them they may proceed at the agreed rate or not at all.' The clerk hesitated. The merchant waited. This too was order. 'Yes, sir.' When the sun crested the city walls, it found the merchant exactly where he always stood at that moment, watching from his tower window, and the light fell across his face without judgment or doubt, and he was satisfied...