In the quiet counting room above the Ferry Kitchen, the afternoon light fell across rows of leather-bound ledgers, stacks of stamped brass pay-tokens, and clean sheets of thick parchment bearing the seal of the Lathmere Municipal Court. At the head of the oak table sat Tamsin Drew, the independent legal scrivener who managed the Courtesy Bridge locked deposit trust, her steel glasses perched on the tip of her nose.
Beside her stood Pella Rook and Sister Merrow. She watched as Tamsin counted out stacks of heavy silver coins from an iron-banded cedar cash box. The metal clink of silver against oak was steady, rhythmic, and reassuring. He carried the weight of economic justice into a room that had long known only unpaid hardship.
‘Here is the math, Candidate Rook,’ Tamsin Drew said, her quill scratching across the parchment with crisp power. ‘Under the revised locked deposit deed, twenty-five percent of every town drainage invoice is segregated into the Emergency Wage Guarantee Fund. We have one hundred and forty-two silver coins in reserve. Bessa Marr halted the piling ram yesterday. Then, her entire crew of six wagon drivers was entitled to four hours of full downtime pay.’
Pella picked up the approved muster roll, checking the names and trade marks with Hal Rook’s brass measuring tongs. Her fingers were smudged with black dark oak-ink and the faint yellow dust of pipe lime from her morning check of the high walkways.
