The dockmaster fumbled with the armful of wax slates in his arms, each covered with manifests and work logs. Droplets of rain gathering on his bald head, eyes fixed on the cobbled ground, the dockmaster mumbled something Urikh could not hear.
"What did you say?" said the governor. "Do me the courtesy of making your pathetic excuses audible."
"The morning shift at dock three are not working because they haven't been paid, governor."
Urikh lifted the man's chin with a finger and stared into his narrowed eyes.
"You know what my next question is going to be, don't you, Liirat?"
The dockmaster nodded and shuffled his feet. A tablet dropped from his grasp and broke on the ground. Two more tumbled out of his arms as he stooped to retrieve the pieces.
Urikh's kick caught the man in the ribs, sending him sprawling, wax plates falling around him.
"They haven't been paid because you are an imbecile!" Urikh rasped. "Money comes out of my treasury and the payment coming in disappears somewhere between the docks and my vault. That is not just my fucking money; it is the empire's money!"
One hand nursing his side, Liirat crawled in a circle, gathering up the scattered slates. He piled them neatly and rose to his feet, a look of sudden defiance on his face.
"I ain't stealing your money, governor. It ain't my fault, honest. The Brothers used to work the payroll, taking out the taxes and such, but I don't know how they worked it out. There was twenty of them, used to run these docks, and now there's just me."
"Can you count?" said Urikh, calming himself.
Liirat nodded.
"Then count one tin to the taxes for every askharin in pay. It is not difficult. That means one whole askharin for every twenty the ship captains pay you for berthing. Do I need someone else to do this for me?"
"No, no, governor," said Liirat. "I can do that. But… Maybe I could have some help with the wages, someone who looks after the money going the other way?"
Urikh tapped his foot impatiently and folded his arms.
"I have sixteen wharfs and four harbour masters," he said slowly. "Three of those harbour masters are having no problem at all. Why should I spend more money hiring another person when I could replace you at no extra cost?"
"Please, governor…" The dockmaster wrung his hands and fidgeted with the belt of his robe. "I'll try harder. I need this work."
"The empire needs many types of men, Liirat. Perhaps you would be better suited to a hoe and plough than a tablet and stylus?"
"It's my back, governor. Can't work the fields, not with my back."
Urikh sighed, shook his head and considered what to do. It had been a lie that there were no problems with the other dockmasters. Across the whole river harbour a third less ships were being passed through each day. Now was the worst time to remove an official while he found another, with the harvest cargo and last surge before winter moving up and down the river.
"Go on, get back to it," he said, waving the dockmaster away. Liirat scurried along the quay, only to turn at a shout from the governor. Urikh pointed at the pile of wax tablets still on the wharf. "You will need these! Get the men paid and get them working."
Urikh heard laughter and turned to see three pilots leaning against the planks of a warehouse a short distance away. The men sheltered under the eaves of the roof as the rain fell harder, chewing strips of cured meat. They straightened up as Urikh stalked over to them.
"Enjoying an early lunch?" he asked. The men shrugged. Infuriated, Urikh grabbed the shirt collar of the closest and dragged him around the corner of the building and pointed out across the river. "See that? That's a berth at dock five empty. And you see that? That's a ship in mid-channel waiting for a pilot to bring it through the flats. Why are you here?"
"No boat, governor," the pilot replied sullenly. "Can't get out to a ship without a boat."
Urikh let go of the man and clenched his fists, causing the pilot to shrink back, fearing a punch.
"Why are there no boats?" Urikh barely stopped a scream of frustration.
"They're all up round docks ten and eleven, governor," came the reply from one of the others. "The rotation is all out of order, governor. Boats not coming back to where they started and leaving from docks where the ship ain't coming in. It's a mess, governor."
"Let me guess; the rotation was organised by the Brotherhood?"
There were nods of agreement. Urikh walked over to the pilot who had spoken and laid his arm across his shoulders, pulling him close. When he spoke, the governor kept his anger in check, his tone mild.
"Do you remember how the rotation worked when the Brothers were running it?" he asked gently.
"Yes, I do, governor," said the pilot, trying to edge out of Urikh's grasp, his discomfort clear.
"What is your name?"
"Kiraan Allin, governor."
"Tell me, Kiraan, could you run the rotation for me?"
Kiraan looked around nervously for a moment.
"But I'm a pilot, governor," he said.
Urikh smiled, adding to the man's unease.
"For an extra Askharin a week, I could make you chief pilot, in charge of the rotation. Would that suit you, Kiraan?"
The pilot smiled, eyes widening as he imagined his wages doubled.
"I think I could do that, governor, yes I could," said Kiraan.
Urikh fished into his pouch and brought out a golden coin.
"You best get started, chief pilot," said Urikh, pressing the askharin into the pilot's hand. Kiraan took a step away but was tugged back by Urikh's tight grip on his arm. "By tonight, I want every boat and every pilot working as fast as possible. If they are not, you answer to me. Is that understood?"
Kiraan nodded and swallowed hard.
"Yes, governor. Can I go now, governor?"
Urikh let the man go and watched all three of them hurry away along the quayside. He slumped against the wooden boards of the warehouse, kneading his forehead to ease the ache there that had plagued him since coming to Geria to take up office. Twenty days of misery, confusion and frustration.
Without the Brotherhood, nothing was working as it was meant to.
It had been more than two years since his father had removed the Brotherhood and though there had been problems before, it was not until now, with a province to govern, that Urikh realised how much had changed.
Without the Brotherhood's calendars, sowing and harvesting crops was haphazard, and the yield was perilously low; without the Brotherhood's records, taxes were not being collected and payments not being made; without the Brotherhood's courts, wrongdoers were left to old tribal justice, with mob beatings and executions increasing at an alarming rate; without the Brotherhood's communications, goods were sitting on wharfs and in warehouses, while ships pointlessly plied the Greenwater with empty holds or slowly rotted at their berths.
Without the Brotherhood, Greater Askhor was degenerating into isolated towns and villages, breaking apart from within.
Urikh was not given to despair, but when he contemplated the task of administrating Okhar with the people he had, he was unsettled. He had rounded up every man and woman in Geria that could write and count and pressed them into service as clerks, accountants and overseers. As many of these people came from the nobility, it had taken days of wrangling and concessions to have them leave their comfortable estates to take up office. Most of them were clearly serving their own interests as much as the empire's but they were his only option at present.
Leaving the riverside docks, he kicked at loose cobbles on the road and wondered whose job it was to fix them. Maintenance of public properties had been another area dealt with by the Brotherhood.