The sacks waiting for the Sill filled three warehouse bays and made the whole lane smell like a mill.
Iven stood beside Tavin at the open doors, looking past the first stacks toward the scales. Grain on a page weighed nothing. Here it occupied floor, needed dry air, attracted vermin and required people who could lift without ruining their backs before the second shift.
A crew leader held out the night-work rate.
Tavin read it, checked the hours and signed.
“You didn’t argue,” she said.
“You put the extra hands in the price.”
“I did.”
“Then I’d be arguing for tired people carrying food badly.”
