Borrowed Levels

Chapter 18: The Weighing Floor

Ilyra moved into the Merrow cellar that night, with Pip, Hesk, and enough bread to feed an army.

Ren went back to the Weighing Floor the next morning with Dara, dressed as a pair of grain merchants. They carried a purse of Notes that Odalys had lent them and a sealed ledger that said nothing. The idea was simple. They would watch. They would count. They would find out where the days went.

The floor was busier than the day before. A long line stretched out the door and around the corner. Clerks called names in tired voices. A guard stood at every pillar, wearing the gray-blue of the Treasury.

"I count nineteen guards," Dara murmured.

"I count one hundred and sixty people in line."

"How long until they all sell?"

"Before noon."

They took a bench by the wall and pretended to compare figures. Ren kept his eyes on the iron door at the back of the hall. It was marked with a bronze scale, and every few minutes, a clerk carried a fresh stack of stamped forms through it.

"That's where it goes," he whispered. "The shaft."

"We can't walk through there."

"We might not have to."

The Ledger stirred.

[ LIFESPAN TRANSFER DETECTED: HIGH VOLUME. ] [ DESTINATION: BELOW. ]

He pressed a hand flat against the stone floor. A faint hum came up through his palm, deep and steady, like the sound he'd heard in the Hollow Vaults. His stomach turned over.

"It's the same sound," he said. "The Bank's vault. The god."

"Ren, we need to go."

"Dara."

"We need to go." She was staring across the hall. "Look."

A tall woman in a gray-blue robe stood by the far pillar, her stamp in one hand and a small book in the other. She was looking directly at them.

Sable Marrow.

She crossed the floor unhurriedly, as if she were taking a stroll, and stopped in front of their bench.

"Merchants," she said politely. "You have been sitting here for two hours and have bought nothing."

"We're comparing prices," said Dara.

"Of course." Sable's gaze dropped to Ren. She leaned in and spoke very softly, so that no one else could hear. "On the day you arrived, you declared nothing. I wrote nothing. Do you understand what that means?"

Ren's pulse pounded in his ears. "It means you knew."

"It means I decided to give you time." She glanced at the guards by the door and lowered her voice further. "The Treasurer's tournament opens in nine days. He needs fresh champions, and he is very good at finding reasons to take people. If you value your companions, keep them out of the street."

"Why are you helping us?"

"I am not helping you." Her face was perfectly blank. "I am performing an audit."

She straightened, stamped something in her little book, and walked away. The crowd closed behind her.

"What was that?" Dara breathed.

"A warning," said Ren. "I think. I really hope."

They left through a side door, taking a looping route back through the Counting Terrace. Ren kept looking over his shoulder. By the time they reached House Merrow's gates, the sun was high, and a sick, creeping feeling had settled in his gut.

The doorman met them at the entrance, pale as paper.

"Mister Calder," he said. "Something has happened. You must come inside."