Vokey had hoped for the gallows; it would have been quicker. Instead, the guards dragged him to something far worse: an administrative office. The air, thick with the dust of crumbling parchment and the waxy ghost of a million broken seals, was a physical weight. A clerk with a mustache like a sad caterpillar and a posture of immense self-importance sat perched behind a mountain of scrolls. This was the Department of Banishment, Enrollment, and Other Clerical Inconveniences.
"Next!" the clerk squawked, not looking up.
Vokey was shoved into a chair. "For the scroll," the clerk announced, finally peering at him over a pair of spectacles. "We require your official measurements." He pulled out a series of bizarre instruments from a velvet-lined case. First was a petrified leather shoe.
System Alert: Object identified. Length: 12.00 inches (1 foot).
"The Prime Foot," the clerk said reverently, "modeled from the Archmage Invoker Prime himself."
Vokey's brain stuttered. It can't be. The Archmage just happened to have a foot that was exactly one 'foot' long? What are the odds?
He measured Vokey, who stood begrudgingly. "Height: Five point nine two Prime Feet," the clerk declared.
A small, shimmering text box appeared in Vokey's mind. System Conversion: 5 feet, 11 inches. The numbers matched perfectly. This was no longer just absurd; it was statistically impossible.
Next came a set of polished, oddly shaped stones that he placed on an old balance scale. "And your mass," he whispered, "weighed against the Sacred Droppings of Fluffy, the Archmage's Spirit Ferret."
As a single stone was placed on the scale, the System flashed again. System Alert: Object analyzed. Standardized Mass: 1.00 ounce.
You have got to be kidding me, Vokey thought, a vein beginning to throb in his temple. His spirit ferret just happened to produce perfectly standardized one-'ounce' droppings?
Vokey watched as the scale balanced. "Two thousand seven hundred twenty Droppings," the clerk announced.
The System dutifully provided another conversion. System Conversion: 170 pounds. The math was flawless. The coincidence was maddening.
The sheer, unadulterated stupidity of it was staggering. Just then, a familiar, unwelcome shimmer appeared in Vokey's mind.
New Lesson Unlocked: Significant Figures
A mental chart materialized, explaining the rules for calculations.
Adding and Subtracting: Your answer must have the same number of decimal places as the measurement with the fewest decimal places.
Multiplying and Dividing: Your answer must have the same number of significant figures as the measurement with the fewest significant figures.
"Now, for the Banishment Burden Index," the clerk droned, "we must multiply your height by your shoulder width..." He grabbed a smaller relic—a mummified pinky bone—and measured Vokey's shoulders with the hurried, imprecise air of a man who was already thinking about his lunch. "Shoulder width... we'll call that one point five Prime Feet."
He scribbled furiously on a slate, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Which gives us a total of... eight point eight eight zero square Prime Feet!" he declared with a triumphant flourish.
Before Vokey could stop himself, his System flashed a bright red warning in his mind's eye.
ERROR: Violation of Multiplication Rule. Final answer exceeds precision of input values.
The chemist in him, a creature he didn't even know existed, overruled his common sense. "Hold on," Vokey blurted out. "That's wrong."
The clerk froze, his quill hovering over the scroll. "What did you say?"
"Your math is sloppy," Vokey said, a manic glee rising within him. "According to the fundamental rules of precision, when multiplying measurements, your answer can only have as many significant figures as your least precise measurement! Your shoulder measurement only had two significant figures, so your answer can only have two! It should be eight point nine square Prime Feet!"
The clerk's face went from pale parchment to a blotchy, furious purple. He, a master of the Sacred Calculus, was being lectured on precision by a magicless failure.
"This isn't just 'math,' you insolent whelp! This is the Sacred Calculus, derived from the Holy Relics!" the clerk shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at his tools. "The very foot of the First Invoker! The pinky from his right hand! The very turds of his favorite spirit pet!"
Vokey was appalled. He had just defended the integrity of a calculation based on ferret poop.
His System, ever helpful, chimed in. Note: Measurement systems can be arbitrary. The English System is based on historical precedent, while the Metric System is based on powers of ten. Both require standardized units for consistent results.
Great, Vokey thought, a fresh wave of despair washing over him. So, one system is based on a dead king's foot, and this one is based on a dead mage's foot and his pet's bowel movements that—by some cosmic joke—perfectly align with it. And my 'power' expects me to apply the same cold, hard logic to both. He realized with sickening clarity that the clerk's absurd devotion to his relic-based measurements and the System's rigid adherence to its own rules were two sides of the same insane coin. Both were utterly, hopelessly absurd.
"I'd rather take my chances with the monsters," he muttered.
The clerk, having heard enough, shrieked for the guards. "Insolence! Contempt for the Sacred Calculus! Expedite his banishment!"
A meaty thud connected with the back of Vokey's skull. One of the guards had clearly had enough. For good measure, the clerk leaned over the desk and smacked Vokey's outstretched hand with the mummified pinky bone, as if sealing the final document. He was then unceremoniously hauled out of the office, his head swimming with the insanity of significant figures.
Back in the quiet of his office, the clerk straightened his scrolls, his composure returning. He poured himself a cup of calming herb tea. As he took a delicate sip, his own pinky finger rose instinctively, a perfect, rigid salute to the sacred relic resting on his desk.