By the third bell the day had begun to balance, and Elias, who distrusted anything that balanced without being audited, audited it anyway.
Crossing the upper terrace with Sera beside him, he took her report smallest first. Attendance held. Demonstrations were running near their slates. One item.
"The Alchemists' cold-fire," Sera said. "Two deep at the rope, and the back row is leaning on the front."
Below, pale flame stood in a glass ring, and the crowd around it had the forward tilt of people who had paid nothing and meant to see everything.
"How many posts in the store?"
"Six."
"Send four. Rope back three paces. Give them margin." A first-year leaned over the cordon, thought better of it, and leaned back. "Crowds, like creditors, keep better at a distance."
Sera's weight sat forward on her front foot. She wrote it down and went.
The day was under control. Elias did not say so aloud. Days that were told as much had a way of taking it as a challenge.
