Chapter 938 - 937
The room above the Tally's End had exactly one window.
It was small.
Drafty.
And impossible to close completely whenever the weather turned.
According to Cass, it was the worst room in Kestrel's Reach.
According to Torin Maclagan...
It was the best room they could afford.
Its greatest advantage had nothing to do with comfort.
It faced east.
Every morning the rising sun poured directly through the window and into the faces of whoever had been unlucky enough to sleep nearest it.
Which meant no one could oversleep.
Not anymore.
Cass had complained for the first month.
Eventually she'd given up.
These days she was usually awake before everyone else.
Torin opened his eyes to the familiar scrape of whetstone against steel.
Shhk...
Shhk...
Shhk...
Cass sat cross-legged beneath the window, her boots already laced, methodically sharpening one of her throwing knives.
Not that it needed sharpening.
She had sharpened the same knife yesterday.
And the day before that.
Torin had stopped asking why years ago.
Some people needed coffee before conversation.
Cass needed something in her hands.
"Rent's due in four days."
She didn't even glance up.
Torin stretched slowly.
"I know."
"I'm aware you know."
Another scrape.
"I'm saying it loudly enough for Brogan to hear it too."
Across the room, Brogan Fellstone sat with the company ledger resting across his knees.
A short stick of charcoal moved steadily over the pages.
Numbers.
Columns.
Expenses.
Income.
Then the numbers were erased.
Written again.
Erased again.
"It still doesn't work," Brogan muttered.
Cass smiled faintly.
"Worth checking."
"No."
He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"It really isn't."
Torin climbed to his feet and crossed the room.
"You've done the sums again?"
"For the seventh morning in a row."
"And?"
"They continue displaying a disappointing lack of imagination."
Torin laughed quietly.
"I was hoping arithmetic might take pity on us."
"It has not."
Brogan closed the ledger with a sigh.
The room fell briefly silent.
In the far corner, Karsh remained sprawled against the wall, one arm covering his eyes.
The massive swordsman hadn't fully recovered from their previous contract.
Two days escorting merchants through bandit country.
Enough bruises to remember it.
Enough coin to regret it.
Without opening his eyes, he grunted,
"If anyone's talking about money before breakfast..."
He shifted slightly.
"...I object."
"You object every morning," Cass replied.
"I've been consistent."
Before anyone could answer, footsteps echoed up the staircase.
The door swung open.
Wren entered carrying a loaf of bread beneath one arm and looking entirely too pleased with herself.
"I negotiated."
Torin accepted the bread.
"Should I be worried?"
"No."
She grinned.
"The baker was selling yesterday's loaves at half price."
Cass raised an eyebrow.
"And?"
"I told him we'd buy his entire remaining tray."
Torin looked at her.
"We couldn't."
"I know."
"You lied."
"I exaggerated future possibilities."
Brogan snorted.
"To a baker."
"He believed me."
"No, he didn't."
"He definitely didn't."
Wren shrugged.
"Still lowered the price."
She tore the loaf cleanly in half.
The larger portion landed squarely on Karsh's chest.
Without opening his eyes, he caught it.
"You're my favorite."
"I know."
The smaller piece went to Torin.
Within moments everyone had gathered around the battered wooden table.
Breakfast wasn't impressive.
Neither was the mood.
Brogan reopened the ledger.
"I've finished the accounting."
Torin nodded.
"Tell me."
"After buying bread..."
He checked the figures one final time.
"We have three silver and eleven copper remaining."
Cass whistled softly.
"And rent?"
"Two gold."
"In four days."
Silence.
Karsh chewed thoughtfully.
"I dislike numbers."
"They dislike us," Brogan replied.
Torin leaned over the ledger.
"How short are we?"
Brogan looked up.
"Short enough that I've stopped treating it as a calculation."
He shut the book.
"It's simply reality."
Cass set her knife aside.
"We need work."
"We know."
"Any work."
Torin shook his head immediately.
"No."
She frowned.
"We can't afford to be picky."
"We also can't afford another funeral."
"The Harrow contract would've paid."
"It also would've gotten someone killed."
Cass folded her arms.
"It might."
"It would've."
Neither raised their voice.
The room had argued about this before.
Several times.
Torin remembered the contract clearly.
Dangerous route.
Poor pay.
High casualty rate.
Exactly the sort of work desperate companies accepted.
Exactly the sort of work buried desperate companies.
"We may become desperate enough," Cass said quietly.
"Not yet."
"And if we are by the fourth day?"
Torin didn't answer.
Instead...
His eyes drifted toward the window.
Toward the sunlight spilling across the floorboards.
For just a moment...
He wasn't in Kestrel's Reach anymore.
He stood on a windswept ridge beneath dark skies.
Rain.
Mud.
Hundreds of exhausted warriors waiting for an order.
An order he had refused to give.
A decision that had cost him everything.
The memory passed as quickly as it came.
"Torin."
Wren's voice was gentle.
"You're doing it again."
He blinked.
"What?"
"The ridge."
Cass glanced between them.
Brogan did the same.
Neither asked.
Neither needed to.
Some memories belonged only to the people who had survived them.
Torin smiled weakly.
"I'm thinking about rent."
Wren shook her head.
"No."
"Same arithmetic."
He forced a chuckle.
"Different ridge."
"It isn't the same."
"Close enough."
Only Wren understood what he meant.
She had stood beside him that day.
She had watched him refuse the command that would have saved his position... and sacrificed hundreds of his own people.
She had left the Highlands with him afterward.
Everyone else had remained behind.
"The clan would take you back," she said softly.
"If you asked."
The room grew still.
Torin met her gaze.
"I know."
"You could."
"I could."
"You won't."
"I won't."
No hesitation.
No anger.
Only certainty.
Years ago he had made peace with that decision.
Returning meant admitting he had been wrong.
He wasn't prepared to do either.
Wren studied him for another second before nodding.
The conversation ended there.
Not because it was finished.
Because it never truly was.
Brogan cleared his throat.
He possessed an uncanny ability to recognize precisely when a room needed changing topics.
"The Posting."
Everyone looked toward him.
He tapped the ledger.
"Today's the ninth day."
"The Roll gets updated."
Cass nodded.
"So?"
"So after every Posting..."
Brogan smiled faintly.
"...the contract board fills up."
Torin considered that.
Fresh rankings meant fresh opportunities.
Merchants who couldn't afford the higher-ranked companies often sought cheaper alternatives immediately afterward.
Sometimes...
Those jobs reached companies like theirs.
Cass stood.
"I'm going."
"So quickly?"
"If there are contracts, I want first look."
Karsh stretched lazily.
"I'll come."
"No."
Cass pointed toward him.
"You still look like someone beat you with a cart."
"They did."
"Exactly."
"I can walk."
"Barely."
"I can threaten people while walking."
Torin laughed.
"Stay."
Karsh sighed dramatically.
"My talents remain unappreciated."
Wren was already reaching for her cloak.
"I'll go with Cass."
Cass immediately shook her head.
"No."
"Why not?"
"The last time you read a public notice..."
Wren frowned.
"I remember."
"You started a fight."
"I disagreed with someone's opinion."
"You punched him."
"He deserved it."
"It was a menu."
"The prices were offensive."
Brogan burst out laughing.
Torin couldn't help joining him.
Even Karsh chuckled.
For a few precious seconds...
The room forgot about rent.
Forgot about empty purses.
Forgot about impossible odds.
Cass opened the door.
"I'll check the board."
She looked back toward Torin.
"If there's nothing worthwhile..."
"Don't walk back slowly trying to soften the news."
He smiled.
"We'll know the answer the moment we see your face."
She rolled her eyes.
"You know me too well."
Then she was gone.
Her boots thundered down the wooden stairs two steps at a time before disappearing into the noise of the street below.
Silence settled over the room once more.
Not uncomfortable.
Simply...
Expectant.
Four days.
Two gold.
Three silver.
Eleven copper.
And somewhere outside, nailed to a weathered posting board beneath the Wall of the Roll...
Might be the contract that decided whether the Maclagan Company survived another month.
Or disappeared from the Roll entirely.