The merchant did not refuse to sell Iven the packing. She had already sold it to someone else.
On day 1269, she showed him the stock book, the paid advance and the collection dates. The archive’s regional service office had bought thirty-two rolls of the required section for winter repairs. Twenty were already on the road. The remaining twelve stood in her dry room, marked with the purchaser’s name.
“You can ask them to release some,” she said. “You cannot ask me to sell the same roll twice.”
Iven read the dates. The order had been placed before North Tally’s course began. It was not a last-minute miracle designed to shut his left arm down. It was money, forecasting and a warehouse that held a finite quantity of a useful thing.
Tavin thanked the merchant for the book and asked about the next shipment. Sixteen freight days if the upper road stayed open, longer if its bridge needed work. Their intended return through Ember Wash could not wait indefinitely for a promise stamped over an empty shelf.
“Could another section be dressed to fit?” Iven asked.
“Ask the responsible fitter. I sell it. I don’t certify the substitution.”
Umet examined the alternative stock that afternoon. Some could serve cold joints. None of the immediate substitutes had the known working behavior required for the heat-loop packing they meant to send back to Ember Wash. He refused to make the public booklet say otherwise to rescue its authors from inconvenience.
