Chương 1: Chapter 0: Weight

Prologue: Weight Jack picked a crate before anyone could question his presence. The wagon he took it from had peeled off from the main caravan before coming to a stop in the alley behind the shop, allowing him to slide into the queue. Joining the offload team was a risk, but one he needed to take to be sure of his hypothesis. No one said a word. The delivery crew assumed he was with the shop. The shop assumed he came with the delivery. His confidence did the rest.

Most people didn't second-guess another set of hands helping with menial labor. He carried the crate through the rear entrance with the others, setting it down in line without breaking stride. The man calling inventory didn't pause or look up. He simply marked the entry as it was spoken aloud.

"Four textiles, two dried spices, one mixed solution." The numbers were right, and that was what he was here to confirm. Jack adjusted his grip on the next crate as it came off the cart. Its weight told the truth before ink ever did. This one matched as well, as did the next. And the next after that. It was a clean intake. That narrowed his options down significantly. He set the crate down and stepped back into the rhythm, then out of it just as easily, peeling away as the last of the shipment moved inside.

No one noticed the absence, as they were happy to be finished with the last load for the day. Inside, the air shifted from the salty brine of the ocean into something warmer. Spices, oils, and the faint dryness of stored parchment. Voices carried from the front of the shop, low and steady. Business as usual. Jack moved through the space without pause, turning left instead of right, slipping past a curtain that separated the storage area from the back rooms. The room beyond was smaller, quieter.

Shelving lined the walls, ledgers stacked in neat rows, each one bound in worn leather and marked with a careful hand. A single table sat near the center, ink and quill laid out with more precision than the rest of the shop suggested. Jack didn't touch anything at first. A whisper had drawn his attention.

"…it balances." The voice was low and hurried.

"It balances because you're only looking at one side of it," another voice replied, sharper, impatient.

"You're not accounting for—""I am accounting for it," the first voice said angrily under his breath. A pause settled as a creak filled the empty storefront. Jack shifted slightly, angling himself toward the partially closed door on the far side of the room. Light spilled through the gap, cutting a thin line across the floor.

"…you said it wouldn't draw attention," the second voice said.

"It doesn't," the first replied.

"Not the way we're doing it."

"And the totals?"

"They match. They always do. I make sure of it."

"Good. I'll tell Warwick it's going well." Jack let the implications fall away, unwilling to dive in deeper than he needed to. He was hired to pinpoint the owner's losses, not get tangled up in the personnel factor. He crossed the room once the voices departed. Quick and quiet, he pulled a thin book from the middle shelf. Not one of the large ledgers, but something smaller, a working record. He flipped it open quickly, checking over the dates, shipment totals, and adjustments.

Everything balanced as far as this ledger was concerned. Totals aligned cleanly at the end of each page, too cleanly. A proper accounting book was typically covered in smudges and often crossed out with corrections in the margins. He knew there was missing inventory, and this confirmed where and when it disappeared. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. Voices approached. He didn't rush.

He slid the book back onto the bookshelf and stepped back through the curtain just in time to lift a crate, just as one of the workers came through the opposite door.

"Where's this go?" Jack asked, taking the man off guard. The man blinked, glanced at the crate, then pointed toward a stack near the wall.

"Just there." Jack nodded, carried it over, set it down, and walked out the front without another word. No one stopped him. He returned to the shop later that night. The owner was waiting upstairs, his portly frame pressed behind the desk. He looked like a man already buckling under pressure. He gestured for Jack to sit, which Jack politely declined.

"Well?" the owner asked.

"Someone's skimming."

"That's not possible," the owner said.

"The counts all match."

"Precisely," Jack said. The owner stilled.

"…Then how is he doing it?" Jack nodded.

"Your shipments leave light or slightly shifted to show inconsistency. The more variable the shipment, the easier it is to hide the losses." The owner's expression shifted, irritation giving way to focus.

"Light how?"

"Not enough to notice on a single crate," Jack said.

"Enough that it adds up over time. You deal with small quantities of highly valuable merchandise. It doesn't take much to make a big impact." The owner's gaze drifted, working through the problem.

"But the weights—" Jack cut him off. He was growing impatient.

"The intake records are being adjusted to match the outbound," he said.

"Both sides assume inconsistent packaging and quality control."

"I thought it was the seller shorting me." Jack nodded once. That made sense. The room settled around the realization.

"Which one?" the owner asked. Jack didn't hesitate.

"The one who doesn't check twice," he said.

"Because he already knows what it should say." Silence stretched.

"That's not proof. I paid you to deliver me proof." Jack met his eyes.

"No, you paid me to answer your question. It's not proof," he said as he moved to walk out the door.

"But it's enough." Jack left the shop without looking back. He knew he would be paid for his services. The street moved as it had before, carts rolling, voices carrying, goods changing hands. But the pattern sat differently now. Cleaner. Resolved. He adjusted his coat as he walked. The employee had been careful. Careful enough to avoid notice. Careful enough not to be alone in this endeavor, and Jack had seen the mark in the back room. It was small and covert, something an untrained eye would pass over at a glance.

It wasn't exactly proof, but thieves' guilds didn't leave marks for decoration. They left them as a warning and a claim to other thieves' guilds Encroaching on a guild's score was borderline suicidal. The thieves of Greyhaven had a code. It wasn't one of morality, but it was a code nonetheless. They tended to avoid each other unless they were purposefully looking to start a fight. Keeping that fact out of his findings was part of the tightrope he walked each day in order to stay alive.

The problem in this matter was small. Contained. Fixable without drawing further attention. Adding the thieves' guild to his explanation would change that. He wouldn't. He couldn't afford to draw that level of unwanted attention, especially from a group like the Brotherhood. Jack preferred problems that stayed the size they started. That way, they didn't grow to be his problems. More importantly, he preferred entities like the thieves' guilds in the city not know his name.

The owner would fire the thief, and that was enough. If he divulged that information, it would bring in guards who were all too easy to leak information. Either to a pretty girl in a bar while too lost in their cups, or because one was all too willing to allow details of an investigation to slip if they felt them unimportant. Corruption didn't always come with a cash transaction. Jack turned down a narrower street, one that curved just enough to break the line of sight from either end. He didn't stop walking.

"You were investigating that one longer than I expected," a voice said. Jack didn't look over.

"It took longer to confirm," he said.

"The employee was smart."

"Apparently not smart enough."

"Thieves rarely are."

"And?"

"It's handled." A pause.

"No complications?" Jack considered that.

"None that matter." None he was willing to claim. The man studied him, then nodded. A pouch changed hands. Solid weight, an honest payment. Not that he expected anything else from Devran. He had always been honest in his dealings with him so far.

"I heard someone is looking for you. They have a crew and need a hand with a time-sensitive matter," he said.

"If you're inclined." Jack slowed slightly.

"Looking for me? How?"

"Your reputation precedes you," the man said. That would need correcting.

"I didn't know I had one, and I pay you to keep it that way," Jack said calmly. A faint shift in the man's posture.

"Aye, and I have for almost a year. It's not surprising that a man of your talents has caused a stir."

"Where?"

"The Grey Keel." Jack nodded once.

"I'll consider it," Jack said, but the decision was already made. He would need to find out why someone was so keen on finding him. The man turned and was gone within a few steps. Jack continued on alone. The weight of the coin settled at his side. The city moved as it always did, blind to the darkness shifting beneath it. It was why Jack preferred staying unnoticed. Unfortunately, despite all his caution, something in Greyhaven was waking up to his presence.