8
Donicus, the squinting curator civitatis, welcomed Argolicus into his study. The table was strewn with sheets covered in columns of numbers. An stylus rested under his left hand.
“Jumped into the fray, didn’t you?” he said as Argolicus settled in a chair across the table. His creaky voice was just above a whisper. “Stood right up at your first council meeting and bit off a huge bite.”
Argolicus smiled at the jumbled metaphors, and nodded. “That’s why I’m here. Vespasianus said you should be the first man I see.”
“You know my appointment is honorary.” He blinked as if trying to clear his thoughts. “I keep track of the numbers others give me. Look at this desk. It’s like a repository of numbers. But really, I don’t know what to do with them, other than report at the council.”
“How do
