A wet canvas ledger sleeve slapped the center of the counting table, sending a fine cloud of chalk dust into the drafty air of the Golden Ledger administrative office.
Hannah Harper did not look up immediately from her quarterly shipping balance sheets. She dipped her iron stylus into black gall ink, completed a double-entry entry regarding the autumn barley yields along the southern wharves, and set the tool into its brass groove before raising her eyes. Standing across the oak counter was Toby, a veteran dockhand from the lower canal basin whose coat reeked of river mud, pitch, and cold fish scales.
Toby leaned forward, resting two cracked, calloused hands on the polished wood.
"Four flat-bottom freight wagons crossed the southern drainage gate two hours past midnight, Director," Toby
