The courtyard of the Salt-Reach Common Hall was jammed with hundreds of working wagon drivers, draymen, and lightermen. Their caps were held in their hands, their breath steaming in the cool autumn twilight. On the raised stone porch stood a long wooden frame stand table upon which sat the Trade ring’s heavy iron strongbox, its lid thrown open to display the stacked rolls of silver and gold.
Hester Quill sat at the end of the table with the great roll of the Seven Communities spread out before her. Beside her, Tomas Reed stood with his leather ledger open, calling out names from the yellowed pages of the original flood-bond manifests.
“Kael Miller!” Tomas called out, his voice carrying clearly over the hushed crowd. “Eighty silver coins repaid for tolls illegally pulled out between Year 028 and Year 032!”
A weathered carter with silver hair and hands twisted by rheumatism stepped forward. His eyes were wide as he looked at the polished silver coins Hester counted into his palm. The old man tried to speak, his lips trembling, but no sound came from his throat. He looked at Tomas. His gaze dropped to the heavy calfskin brace and the white scar on Tomas’s left forearm.
