The clarification arrived as an attachment.
Not a new order.Not a change.
An explanation of how the existing rules were to be followed.
It was sent with notices that had already been posted. The wording was plain, broken into short points meant to be read quickly and obeyed without discussion.
Restricted routes were closed unless directly opened.Past exceptions did not apply.If no instruction was given, movement was not allowed.
Each point was followed by an example.
None matched the situations people were dealing with.
Guards were gathered in small groups.
Not trained.Told.
They were reminded what they were allowed to stop.What they were not allowed to assume.What they were no longer expected to decide.
Questions were allowed.
Answers were brief.
At the depots, clerks adjusted their ledgers.
Margins once used for notes were left empty.Entries were written straight, without explanation.
When something did not fit, it was left unresolved.
Leaving it untouched was safer.
He received the clarification with his morning assignments.
He read it once.
Then again.
Nothing in it matched what he had seen.
Nothing in it contradicted what he had been doing.
That, he understood, was the point.
By midday, movement slowed.
Not suddenly.Not visibly.
Carts waited longer at markers. Guards checked papers twice. Clerks passed decisions upward instead of making them.
The city did not stop.
It waited.
At the infirmary, a request for additional linen was returned.
No reason was given.
The surgeon read it, tightened his jaw, and set it aside.
The cloth was washed again.
That afternoon, a guard stopped a wagon carrying stone for roof repairs.
The route crossed a restricted stretch.
"It went through last week," the driver said.
"That was before the clarification," the guard replied.
"Then how am I supposed to—"
"You're not," the guard said, already turning away.
The first appeal was submitted before evening.
It was filed correctly.Sent to the proper office.Received.
Nothing came back.
He stood near the boundary marker outside the records hall and watched a man read the notice twice before folding it carefully and putting it away.
The man did not look confused.
He looked done.
That night, the river rose again.
Not enough to flood.Not enough to alarm.
Just enough to press against barriers that had been reinforced without room to shift.
Stone strained.
Held.
Then cracked.
By morning, the damage was contained.
The report stated that procedures had been followed.
No fault was listed.
He read the summary and said nothing.
The ground beneath his feet remained still.
There was no warning.
No correction.
Only the sense that the matter was closed.