At the carrier landing, a clerk offered to send her case ahead with the visiting delegation baggage.
Tamsin kept the handle.
“Instrument evidence room. Ordinary route, please.”
He pointed her toward the canal walk and gave an estimate that assumed she didn’t stop to admire every bridge. She thanked him and stopped at none of them.
Her pocket held Pell’s note beneath the home handover. He wanted to know whether the stalls really floated, whether people ever forgot which stair led to land, and whether she could bring back a small ordinary canal stone unlike the ones at home.
She had answered the last question before leaving. One stone. Not a sack.
At the first public crossing, a child was arguing with a parent about a much larger souvenir. Tamsin went past with a private smile and tightened her hold on her own case.
The fee record and agreed scope lay ready beside the tools. She had customers expecting a return date, a local worker maintaining the reserve, and no intention of making indefinite availability part of her arrival gift.
