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"Another expense?" Rakiel asked a week later.
Moran grunted. This one was for missing pots and
pans - Tarli had used them in the nightly barracks battle,
for "armor."
"Doesn't anyone ever ask you if you're overspending?"
the cleric demanded.
"No." Moran gritted his teeth, then said calmly, "Knights
trust one another. I write the forms, I sign and seal
documents, and I hold the gold and silver in the treasury
room below, not far from the novices' barracks and ... Oh,
Paladine!" It was the first time in twenty years that Moran
had sworn aloud.
Rakiel watched, amazed to see an old man run so fast.
By the time the cleric arrived, puffing and panting from
his exertions, Moran was standing in the open door, staring
at the shelves laden with sacks of gold, coins, caskets,
bowls, and chalices. There were noticeable gaps.
Moran started down the hall, then turned back around.
"Here." He tossed Rakiel the key. "Make an inventory, then
lock up as tight as a dragon's ... Tight." Rakiel nodded
dazedly. "Then sit against the door till I come back."
Moran was planning for a long search, but it was all too
short. He found the missing items standing on a stone
windowsill in the barracks
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