Scout Wu climbed down from the bridge in twenty seconds. His boots hit the foul water at the bottom. He splashed along the canal to Drainage Pipe Nine.
The cedar box was still wedged between the bars. His hands shook when he lifted it free. The oiled silk was dry. He cut the cord with his dagger and pried up the lid.
Instead of needles, he found folded mulberry paper with a scarlet seal. An iron anvil split by lightning.
Wu skipped straight to the figures. A hundred needles at Warehouse Seven, with two hundred mid-grade stones due at the water gate one hour before dusk.
“A hundred,” Wu whispered.
Captain Hong Tao’s crew had paid fifteen mid-grade stones for three. At the South Gate, hunters were offering eight each. Eight hundred mid-grade stones, and Wu earned four low-grade stones a week.
He stuffed the dispatch into his coat and climbed the ladder again.
“Pack up,” he called to the crossbowman. “We’re going to the dry dock.”
