Chapter 947 - 946
The Greyfang contract lasted four days.
It also became the highest-paying job the Maclagan Company had completed since its founding.
For the first time in months, nobody was calculating how many days remained before they couldn't afford another meal.
Instead...
They were discussing the future.
The client was a Union grain factor whose warehouses near Calderport had become the target of an independent debt collector.
Officially, the dispute sat in an awkward legal gray area.
The collector claimed repayment.
The factor denied the debt.
Neither side possessed the proper contracts required under Federation law.
Normally, disputes like that would fall under the Tally-Master's authority.
In practice...
Roswen's office didn't have nearly enough personnel to investigate every questionable debt claim that appeared around Calderport.
So the grain factor had done the practical thing.
He hired mercenaries.
The larger companies refused the contract almost immediately.
Too much legal uncertainty.
Too much paperwork if something went wrong.
Torin accepted within five minutes.
Brogan had raised an eyebrow.
"You're certain?"
Torin shrugged.
"A man is threatening another man without legal authority."
"Seems simple enough."
"The lawyers can argue afterward."
The confrontation came on the second day.
Exactly where the client predicted.
Three hired enforcers arrived outside one of the grain warehouses just after midday.
They expected frightened merchants.
Instead...
Karsh was waiting.
He stood in the middle of the road with his arms folded.
Didn't draw a weapon.
Didn't speak.
Didn't move.
He simply stood there.
The leader of the debt collectors slowed.
"You planning to move?"
Karsh looked at him.
"No."
"...That's all?"
"Yes."
The three men exchanged uncertain glances.
The largest among them stepped forward.
"You know who we work for?"
Karsh nodded once.
"I know."
"And?"
"And you're standing where my client conducts business."
Silence.
The man's confidence began to crack.
Karsh wasn't threatening them.
He wasn't provoking them.
He simply looked like someone who would happily remain exactly where he stood until sunset if necessary.
Torin often said there were two kinds of strength.
The strength that won fights.
And the strength that convinced people not to start them.
Karsh specialized in the second.
After several uncomfortable minutes, one of the collectors muttered,
"This isn't worth it."
The leader looked irritated.
Then looked back at Karsh.
Then quietly agreed.
The three men left.
No punches.
No blood.
No broken bones.
Cass calmly stepped forward with the prepared contract forms.
Under Resolution, she wrote:
Resolved without physical conflict.
Third party withdrew voluntarily.
Client satisfied.
Torin signed beneath it.
"So did the client.
Clean.
Professional.
Exactly how Torin preferred difficult contracts to end.
At the next Posting, Tally-Master Roswen called their name.
"The Maclagan Company."
"Four completed contracts."
"Zero abandoned."
"Standing..."
She glanced at the ledger.
"...Ninety-eighth."
A murmur spread through the courtyard.
Breaking into the double digits mattered.
Not because ninety-eight was impressive.
Because it meant they were finally climbing fast enough for people to notice.
Back at the Tally's End, Brogan carefully updated the company ledger.
He underlined the new standing.
Paused.
Then frowned.
"Too much."
He erased one underline.
Cass watched him.
"You really argued with your own handwriting."
"It was celebrating prematurely."
"We moved eleven places."
"We're still ninety-eighth."
She laughed.
"You'd complain after winning the lottery."
"I'd first confirm the lottery was genuine."
Nobody bothered arguing.
That was simply Brogan.
Three days later, Torin was eating lunch alone in the common room when someone approached his table.
The man carried two mugs of ale.
Without asking permission, he set one in front of Torin before taking the opposite chair.
He looked...
Forgettable.
Average height.
Average build.
Plain traveling clothes.
Even his face seemed designed to disappear into a crowd.
Torin disliked people who looked that ordinary.
In his experience, genuine ordinary people never worked that hard to appear ordinary.
The stranger smiled pleasantly.
"Mind if I join you?"
"You already have."
The man chuckled.
"Fair enough."
"My name's Harlan."
"I work with a shipping concern that handles Union contracts."
Torin gave a polite nod.
The conversation began harmlessly enough.
Cross-border commerce.
Recent changes to Concord regulations.
Registration requirements.
Transit delays.
The sort of small talk merchants enjoyed.
Eventually...
The man arrived where he'd been heading all along.
"I heard your company handled a private escort for House Voss."
Torin didn't react.
"Maybe."
"A collection transfer."
"Federation pickup."
"Union delivery."
"Something like that."
He took another sip before continuing.
"Our company has considered pursuing similar contracts."
"We're trying to understand the sort of clients involved."
Torin shrugged.
"The contract was straightforward."
"What kind of cargo?"
"Private acquisitions."
"Mixed items?"
"Collector's pieces."
"The paperwork?"
"Normal."
The man smiled patiently.
"I'm asking more generally."
"Not for confidential details."
"Just impressions."
"Was the documentation complicated?"
"No."
"Were the clients difficult?"
"No."
"Were the goods unusual?"
Torin looked directly at him.
"The cargo belongs to the client."
"If you have questions..."
"...ask the client."
For the first time, the man's smile slipped slightly.
He leaned forward.
"We pay referral fees."
Torin remained silent.
"Good ones."
"Companies that share useful information about established clients receive preferred introductions."
"We're not asking for secrets."
"Just..."
He searched for a harmless word.
"...context."
Torin pushed the untouched mug back across the table.
"No."
The man blinked.
"The compensation is generous."
"My answer isn't changing."
Silence.
For several seconds they simply looked at each other.
Then the stranger nodded once.
Professional.
Controlled.
No irritation.
No disappointment.
Only reassessment.
"As you wish."
He finished his drink.
Stood.
Walked out without another word.
Torin watched him leave.
Across the room, Cass had been pretending to clean one of her knives while listening to every word.
Their eyes met.
She tilted her head toward the door.
Follow him?
Torin gave the smallest nod.
She waited another forty seconds.
Long enough that nobody watching would connect the two departures.
Then she slipped outside.
Nearly twenty minutes later she returned.
She dropped into the chair opposite Torin.
"Found him."
"Where?"
"Harbor Road."
"Eastern side."
"Factor's office."
"Stayed?"
"He went inside."
"Didn't come back out."
She reached into her pocket and slid over a folded scrap of paper.
"I copied the address."
Torin unfolded it.
Interesting.
Not because of the building.
Because someone had gone to considerable effort to learn about a routine escort contract that should have stopped mattering weeks ago.
"Think they're after Voss?" Cass asked.
"I don't know."
"You believe the shipping story?"
"No."
She smiled faintly.
"Me neither."
Torin folded the paper again.
A professional inquiry.
A carefully rehearsed conversation.
Money offered before pressure.
Whoever employed that man had resources.
More importantly...
They had patience.
Years earlier, before founding the Maclagan Company, Torin had learned an unpleasant lesson.
Danger rarely announced itself with drawn swords.
The dangerous people were usually polite.
Patient.
Willing to spend weeks asking questions instead of making threats.
Those were the ones who stayed alive long enough to become problems.
He handed the note to Brogan.
"Add the address to the company log."
Brogan accepted it.
"Reason?"
Torin thought for a moment.
Then shook his head.
"Just the address."
"If it matters later..."
"...we'll already have it."
Brogan wrote it into the ledger without another question.
The Maclagan Company kept records of anything that might become important.
Most entries never did.
But every now and then...
A single forgotten line in an old ledger became exactly the clue someone needed months later.
Torin had survived too much of life to ignore instincts like that.