The nights in Minas Tirith were as boisterous as ever, but unlike before, the hubbub had moved from the taverns into the courtyard residences.
The lighting supplies in the Points Shop had long since sold out, but this did little to dampen the people's thirst for knowledge.
In their rooms, young people lit tallow lamps and gathered in small groups. They sat huddled under the dim, yellow glow, poring over the official textbooks and discussing them in low voices.
The SHUSH of turning pages and the murmur of debate drifted through the windows, rising and falling in the night air.
"How do you solve this? Three hundred seventy Golden Suns, eight Silver Moons, and eleven and three-quarters Copper Leaves... This damned duodecimal system!"
A young artisan wailed, scratching his head as he repeatedly scribbled out numbers on a piece of paper with a charcoal pencil.
