Cursor's Fury (Codex Alera #3)(40)

Gracchus shook his head. "Do you have a point, Subtribune?"

"Yes, sir. I investigated the matter, and it seemed likely that some of the flour was going missing between the storehouse and the mess." Tavi paused for a moment, then said, "I started by verifying the accuracy of the measuring cups. Sir."

Gracchus's face went florid and angry.

"Though the cups appear to be standard-issue, sir, they are in fact forgeries that hold nine-tenths of what the actual cups will contain. I asked one of the smiths to beat out a few cups of the proper size, sir, until they could be replaced with standard-issue gear."

"I see," Gracchus said. His upper lip had beaded with sweat.

"Sir, I figure that someone must have replaced the cups with forgeries, then skimmed the excess flour off to a market for it-or perhaps they were utterly unscrupulous thieves with the gall to sell the excess grain back to the Legion at a profit." Tavi shrugged his shoulders. "If you wish me to face charges, sir, I understand your decision. But I estimate that the amount of money gained from this business wouldn't buy much more than a silver ring and a new pair of boots. I think we caught it before any real harm could be done."

"That's enough, Subtribune," Gracchus said in a quivering voice.

"Of course," Tavi went on, "if you wish to put me up on charges or take disciplinary measures against me, the captain would be obligated to open an investigation. I'm sure he'll be able to sort out exactly who was stealing what from whom, sir. That might be for the best."

Gracchus's face turned purple. He closed his eyes, and the silver ring on his left hand rapped nervously upon his breastplate. His new boots rasped against the floor as he shifted uncomfortably in place. "Subtribune Scipio, you are sorely trying my patience."

"Beg pardon, sir," Tavi said. "That was not my intention."

"Oh yes it was," Gracchus snarled. "You're lucky I don't drop you into a pit where you stand and close it after you."

From the entry to the building, someone coughed politely and rapped knuckles against wood. "Good afternoon, sirs," said Maestro Magnus, stepping forward to smile politely at them. "I hope this is not a bad time."

Gracchus's stare was almost poisonous, and Tavi was sure that if looks could kill, he would already be a dead man. "Not at all, centurion," he murmured, before Gracchus could answer. "How may I assist you?"

"Captain Cyril's compliments, Tribune, and will Subtribune Scipio join him at the practice field?"

Tavi frowned at Magnus, but the old Maestro's expression told him nothing. "With your permission, sir?"

"Why not," Gracchus said, his voice smooth. "I can use the time to consider how best to employ your energies. Something in the way of sanitation, perhaps."

Tavi managed not to scowl at the Tribune, but felt his cheek twitch in a nervous tic. He saluted, then departed with Magnus.

"Was that about the measuring cups?" Magnus murmured, after they had walked away.

Tavi arched a brow. "You knew about it?"

"Tribunes Logistica skimming from their Legion is not precisely unheard of," Magnus said. "Though in general they cover their tracks a little more carefully. Gracchus lacks the guile to do it well."

They strode past one neat row of tents after another. In the week since they'd arrived, the fish had at least learned the proper procedure for pitching a tent. Tavi frowned at Magnus. "Did the captain know?"

"Naturally."