The street of the North Channel salt-houses had no paving stones, only a crust of gray sea silt, crushed shells, and dried herring scales that crunched under boot heels. Between the curing sheds, the cold air hung thick with rock salt, salt water, and coal smoke while moisture dripped from laundry lines overhead.
Tomas Reed climbed the narrow outside stairs of Tenement Seven, his right hand on the sodden ash rail. Each step shook through his forearm brace. There, the scar tissue along his cut flexor sheath pulled tight against the bone. Behind him, young Olla kept pace, shielding her inkpot and route slips inside her canvas pouch.
“Recite the custody rule for second-party records,” Tomas said without slowing.
Olla’s breath came in white puffs against her scarf. “Section Nine, Subsection Three. A private record tendered in support of a disputed public bond can’t be admitted upon sworn paper alone. It needs three proof marks. The original scribe’s counter-signed name, proof of nonstop physical custody by an heir or executor. A checked seal match against the originating registry roll.”
“And if the crown board asserts the originating roll was destroyed by sea loss?”
“Then the carrier files an emergency demand for the duplicate audit ledger in the High court under the Lost Record Act of 142,” Olla answered. He stepped over an oily puddle. “A ministry can’t plead its own fault to put out a locked deposit debt.”
