Outside, the bells of Ashcroft echoed through the evening.
I leaned over the table, comparing the ledgers once more.
They were three records, three destinations but only one shipment.
The handwriting differed slightly between entries, but the shipment numbers remained identical. The dates matched. The weights matched.
Only the destinations changed to Ashcroft, The capital and a private estate.
Somehow one shipment had become three.
"How many of these did you find?" I asked.
Sebastien crossed his arms, "Only one ledger, but there were others."
I looked up.
"Others?"
He nodded.
"The dockmaster's office keeps separate records of merchant copies, tax records and other official records."
Edward frowned.
"Why maintain so many?"
"Because different people pay for different truths," Sebastien replied.
That was an unpleasant but accurate thought. I lowered my eyes to the pages again.
When I had first awakened in this world, I had basically lived inside House Viremont's library, reading everything I could find. Histories, laws, trade agreements, tax records, maps.
At the time, it had simply been survival.
A person dropped into an unfamiliar world needed knowledge the same way a drowning person needed air.
But through all those months of reading I learnt that the Empire's economy was not one great machine, It was thousands of smaller parts moving together and someone had learned how to remove pieces without causing immediate collapse.
That was a dangerously clever move.
I reached for my notebook.
"What are you doing?" Edward asked.
"Organizing."
I opened to a blank page.
"If someone is diverting resources, there are only a few possibilities."
I wrote as I spoke.
"First, the theft occurs at the mines."
Edward shook his head.
"House Viremont inspections would notice."
I crossed it out.
"Okay, the theft occurs during transportation, On carriages, ships and storage depots."
"Or..."
My pen paused.
"The records themselves are false."
Silence settled over the room.
That possibility was the most dangerous because false records meant too any people behind it.
An operation this large couldn't survive with only one man behind it.
It required a network.
I closed the notebook.
"We need more information."
Sebastien smiled faintly.
"I assumed you would say that."
Edward looked toward the window.
"It is already dark."
"Then tomorrow."
I gathered the ledgers carefully.
"Tomorrow we visit the docks."
---
Morning came with fog rolling over the river
Ashcroft looked different beneath the pale gray light.
The market square had begun to fill, but there was little energy in it.
Merchants arranged goods with practiced motions.
Customers examined prices with weary expressions.
Money still moved through Ashcroft.
Just not enough of it.
I wore plain clothes once again.
A dark dress with a simple cloak and no jewellery.
I was Lady Elise, merchant's daughter not Elara Viremont.
The docks stretched along the river like a second city.
Warehouses stood shoulder to shoulder, workers moved crates, carts rolled over stone roads and ships unloaded timber, grain, and barrels of goods.
At first glance, everything seemed normal.
That was what made it dangerous.
Corruption rarely announced itself.
It hid inside ordinary things.
I stood quietly near a warehouse while Edward remained several steps behind.
People spoke more freely when they believed no one important was listening.
"...still waiting on iron."
"...heard three shipments disappeared."
"...warehouse fees increased again."
"...my brother lost his work."
They were just fragments that didn't amount to anything.
I watched a clerk standing near one of the warehouses.
He carried papers beneath his arm and moved between offices with hurried steps.
Every few minutes, another worker approached him.
Paper moved almost as often as cargo.
That caught my attention.
I turned to Edward.
"How many records does a shipment require?"
He thought for a moment.
"Several."
"How many?"
"Mine records. Transport records. Dock records. Warehouse records. Tax records."
Five at minimum.
I looked toward the clerk again.
One false document could become five and five false records could become ten.
Enough paperwork could create any truth someone wanted.
It wasn't theft. Atleast not in the usual sense.
Someone was stealing information and creating fake trails and no one noticed because everyone trusted the records.
I felt a chill despite the morning air.
Books had taught me trade and politics, but standing here watching workers move crates beneath a sky filled with fog — I understood something else.
Empires were not built on gold and trust.
Trust that weights were correct and that the records were honest.
Trust that what left one place arrived at another.
If that trust was broken an entire city could starve while warehouses remained full.
A voice interrupted my thoughts.
"Miss?"
I turned.
An elderly dock worker stood nearby. His clothes were worn, his hands rough with years of labor.
"You're not from Ashcroft."
I smiled politely.
"No I'm not."
He studied me for a moment then he lowered his voice.
"If you're looking into the shortages don't watch the ships."
He glanced toward the eastern district.
"Watch the warehouses."
Warehouse Nine.
The number surfaced in my mind instantly.
The unusual ownership records and the repeated lease charges in the Eastern district.
I looked toward the old worker.
"What happens there?"
His expression darkened.
"Nothing good."
Before I could ask another question, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Edward stepped beside me.
"Do you trust him?"
I watched the eastern warehouses in the distance where rows of silent buildings standing beneath the morning mist.
"No,but I trust patterns."
And every pattern I had found in Ashcroft was beginning to point in the same direction.
...
I didn't go to Warehouse Nine immediately.
That would have been foolish.
If someone was using the warehouse to conceal stolen goods, showing up there after a dock worker had just warned me about it would be the equivalent of knocking on a criminal's door and announcing that I knew what he was doing.
Instead, I walked away.
"Back to the inn," I said.
Edward glanced at me.
"You're not going to investigate?"
"Not yet."
His expression suggested he already knew why.
"We need to know who we're dealing with before we let them know we're interested."
I looked toward the eastern district one last time.
Warehouse Nine stood among dozens of others, its dark wooden doors shut despite the activity surrounding it.
There were no workers, carts or visible guards.
It was too quiet and that alone made it suspicious.
When we returned to the Silver Hart, Sebastien was already waiting.
He had changed clothes and looked entirely too comfortable for someone who had spent the morning disappearing into the most questionable corners of Ashcroft.
"You found something," he said.
"We found something."
I removed my cloak.
"Warehouse Nine."
His expression changed slightly but I noticed.
"You know it?"
"I've heard the name."
"From whom?"
"Three different people."
I stopped.
"Three?"
He nodded.
"All of them refused to talk about it."
That was enough to make my suspicion deepen.
"Tell me everything."
Sebastien leaned against the table.
"Warehouse Nine officially belongs to the city. It's been leased repeatedly for years, but the companies holding the leases don't appear to have any connection."
"Appear?"
"They're all registered separately."
"But?"
"Their registration documents were filed by the same clerk."
I stared at him.
"Who?"
He gave me the name.
I immediately reached for my notebook.
The name was familiar because I had seen it in Father's records.
I flipped through several pages until I found it.
He was a minor customs official.
Had done nothing remarkable, had no noble title, no significant wealth nor political influence.
Exactly the kind of person everyone would overlook.
I underlined his name.
"Where does he work?"
"The eastern customs office."
I looked at Edward.
"Then that's where we're going."
---
The eastern customs office was considerably smaller than the main customs house.
That made sense as fewer ships came through this section of the river.
At least, officially.
I entered wearing the identity of Lady Elise, daughter of a provincial merchant.
Edward remained outside and Sebastien had already gone ahead.
The clerk at the front desk barely looked at me.
"Business?"
"I need a copy of the latest commercial tariff."
He pointed toward a shelf.
"Third cabinet."
I smiled.
"Thank you."
I walked toward the cabinet, pretending to examine the documents.
The clerk returned to his paperwork.
Good, I wasn't here to steal anything.
I simply wanted to observe.
The office was small with four desks, two clerks and one supervisor with a door leading to the records room.
The door was locked which was interesting since customs records weren't normally treated like state secrets.
I picked up a tariff document.
The figures were ordinary but handwriting wasn't.
I had seen the same script on the warehouse lease records.
The clerk who registered Warehouse Nine.
I glanced toward the man sitting behind the desk.
He was perhaps forty years old with slightly gray hair that was already balding.
Completely unremarkable.
As he looked up our eyes met.
I smiled and he smiled back. Then his gaze dropped to the document in my hands and something like fear flickered across his face
It was gone almost instantly but I had seen it.
I returned the paper.
"Thank you."
I left the office without another word.
Edward was waiting outside.
"Well?"
"The clerk is nervous."
"That's all?"
"No."
I looked back at the building.
"He recognized the document I was holding."
Edward frowned.
"Did he know you?"
"No."
"Then why—"
"Because he knew what I was looking at."
We spent the rest of the afternoon following the eastern customs route.
Not directly though, we watched.
A cart arrived, a clerk signed something, the cart continued toward the river and another arrived twenty minutes later.
Same process but different merchant.
Then another.
But something bothered me.
The carts were supposedly carrying grain yet none of them smelled like grain.
I turned to Edward.
"How much does a grain shipment usually weigh?"
"Depends on the cart."
"Estimate."
He considered it.
"Several hundred kilograms."
I watched the fourth cart disappear around the corner.
"Then why is the driver struggling to control it?"
Edward's eyes narrowed.
The cart was too light.
I smiled.
"There."
We followed at a distance.
The cart didn't go toward the main warehouses instead it turned toward the eastern district, towards Warehouse Nine.
My pulse quickened as we stopped before the next intersection.
The cart disappeared behind the warehouse.
Then nothing happened.
There was no movement until about twenty minutes had passed.
Then the cart emerged empty.
I stared at it.
"It entered carrying grain."
Edward nodded.
"It left empty."
"Where's the grain?"
He looked toward Warehouse Nine.
"Exactly."
I opened my notebook.
For the first time since arriving in Ashcroft, I drew a single line beneath a conclusion.
Warehouse Nine is involved.
But that wasn't enough.
I needed real proof.
Something that couldn't be explained away as coincidence.
"Tonight," I said quietly, "we go inside."
Edward's expression hardened.
"You mean break in."
"I mean investigate."
"At night, without permission."
I looked at him.
"Do you have a better suggestion?"
He stared at me for several seconds.
"Anything you say my lady."
I closed my notebook.
"Then we have until midnight to find a way inside."
Because if Warehouse Nine truly held the missing goods, then tomorrow I would finally learn where Ashcroft's wealth was disappearing.