Master Orson Vane was the wealthiest timber factor in Lowbank. A sharp-eyed, hard-nosed merchant who had spent thirty years buying highland logs and selling them to the city shipwrights at twenty percent profit. Two months prior, he had filed a formal grievance against Hal Rook’s estate, claiming that Pella had overcharged him two silver coins for repairing the boat ramp boom.
Pella walked into his gas-lit timber office on the High Wharf. Then, her boots caked with red clay, her satchel dripping river water, Vane didn’t look up from his invoice ledger. ‘If you’ve come to beg for charity, apprentice, you can turn right around. I pay my town tithes, and I pay my guild dues. The river is the Council’s business, not mine.’
Pella didn’t argue. She didn’t invoke civic virtue or plead for the drowning families on Fish Street. She set Hal Rook’s brass measuring tongs on the desk. She pulled a clean sheet of pipe hub paper from her pocket, and laid down two unclipped silver coins.
‘I haven’t come for charity, Master Vane,’ Pella said, her voice fully businesslike. ‘I have come to rent your ten-ton derrick crane for six hours tonight. Two silver coins cash in advance, full indemnity for any cable wear, and a written guarantee that your crane worker will be paid double overtime from the Upkeep Backup fund.’
