The Ministry of Finance building occupied the eastern quarter of the palace's administrative complex — a solid, three-story structure that had housed the empire's financial records for one hundred and forty years and which had, in that time, accumulated the specific, dense quality of a building that took its function seriously.
It burned at the third bell of the night.
Not slowly — not the gradual fire of poor maintenance and accumulated neglect, but the specific, committed fire of something that had been arranged to be thorough. By the time the palace's fire response had reached the building, the lower two floors were compromised and the records rooms on the second floor — the rooms that contained the physical documentation of the current fiscal period, the budget allocations, the authorization records — were beyond recovery.
The Minister of Finance arrived at the fourth bell.
He arrived and he looked at the building and he stood on the eastern plaza and he felt the specific, physical quality of a man who has been in a profession for thirty years and has just watched a significant portion of his professional life become smoke.
"How," he said, to no one in particular.
No one had a definitive answer.
"How does a building that has been standing for one hundred and forty years—" he stopped.
He looked at the building.
He looked at the smoke.
He thought about the documents on his desk at home — the ones he had taken home to review, the ones that had made him go to the king's chamber and had been turned away, the ones that now constituted the only surviving copy of the allocation authorization.
He stood on the plaza.
He was still standing there when the attendant arrived.
— — —
His name was Preen.
He was twenty-four years old and had the specific, unremarkable quality of a young palace attendant — pleasant face, adequate competence, the kind of person who inhabited a room without claiming any particular part of it.
He had been assigned to the Minister's office six months ago through the standard rotation of palace administrative staff.
He was there when the minister needed him and absent when he didn't, which was the correct calibration, the one that took time to develop and which he had developed quickly.
He appeared now at the minister's elbow with the warm, genuine quality of a young man who was distressed by what he was seeing and wanted to help.
"Minister Aldren," he said. "I came as soon as I heard. I'm so sorry."
The minister looked at him.
He looked at the building.
He said: "Thirty years of records."
"I know," Preen said. "I know. It's — we can rebuild. The operational documents, the current period records — we can reconstruct from the departmental copies. It will take time but it's not—" he paused, calculating, the visible calculation of a young man thinking through a practical problem. "The individual departments keep copies of their allocation notifications for sixty days. If we move quickly, we can reconstruct most of the current fiscal period's documentation before the sixty-day window closes."
The minister looked at him.
Preen had the expression of someone who has been helpful and knows it and is allowing the knowing to be visible without making a performance of it.
"That's — that's correct," the minister said. "The departmental copies. Yes."
"I can start the coordination tomorrow morning," Preen said. "If you want. I know the department heads. I can reach them before the official channels catch up and we can have the first wave of reconstructed documentation by end of week."
The minister looked at the burning building.
He looked at Preen.
He thought: this is a young man who is good at his job and who is here, at the fourth bell of the night, because he cares about the work.
He thought: I am glad to have him.
He said: "Start tomorrow morning. I'll give you the full authority to coordinate."
"Of course," Preen said.
He said it with the warm, slightly relieved quality of a young man who has offered help and had it accepted and is glad to have been useful.
He stood with the minister until the fire was under control.
He asked the right questions.
He took the right notes.
He was, in every observable quality, exactly what he appeared to be.
He went home at the seventh bell.
He did not go directly home.
He made one stop.
The stop took seven minutes.
He then went home.
He slept very well.