Though the weather was bleak, the day had begun brightly for Tenedos Torr. In the month since he and his comrade Damascus escaped the chaos of the Brotherhood’s assault on Radasanth, they had returned to Tylmerande, to the site of where the madness had all began and where the Brotherhood had sent a message to the nation of Corone they would not soon forget or forgive. He swallowed a mouthful of coffee and placed the half empty cup down on the oak table. Back in the day they’d called Tenedos “the needle”, and soon the people who had trusted him with this dangerous task would etch the name into the annals of Althanian history.

Perhaps.

The man picked his teeth with a bone toothpick, chiseling out the remains of breakfast from the gaps, and examined his reflection in the wall mounted mirror.

His cheeks had color from the cold, and his face had gained a little weight. His narrow blue eyes still had a handsome sheen to them. Looking down, he pulled his left sleeve up to reveal puckered, rough skin covering the length of his forearm. Tenedos ran his other hand over it slowly; the texture felt like that of a cheese grater, the result of his skin melting and bubbling from being struck by a scolding hot missle from a Brotherhood trebuchet. Although he had recovered well from the injuries of the siege, the constant discomfort reminded him everyday that there was a score to settle. He had lost so much more than the feeling in his arm that day, and the time was drawing near for the Brotherhood to settle the debt.

As the front door slid open, Tenedos quickly rolled his sleeve down and turned to see Damascus pace in, followed by the scent of sea salt. His heavy boots thumped across the clean tile floor. The scarred enforcer looked nonchalant as usual, with his white-seamed face drawn in complete indifference. Tenedos gestured for him to to sit at the small table, so the larger, muscular man pulled back a chair and dumped his heavy frame down in it. He spared a quick glance at the flintlock rifle in the corner and then cleared his throat, reaching inside his leather jacket. A marked hand produced a folded piece of paper and placed it on the table. Damascus slid the paper slowly across, navigating the coffee cup.

"The Brotherhood just arrived, with those two in tow," Damascus said, his deep voice echoing through the hall. He raked a hand through disheveled dark hair, hazel eyes blazing like coals. "They’ve shut down the port, as we expected, so we’re stuck here until the job’s done." he muttered darkly.

Tenedos picked up the paper and unfolded it, and after a brief glance at the tidy scrawl on the page tucked it into his pocket.

“By the time they have figured out what’s going on, we’ll be whoring it up in the best brothels in Radasanth,” Tenedos cleared his throat and wiped his lips before shooting a suspicious glare at Damascus, “You did make sure to set the trail for them?”

The enforcer nodded curtly.

“The paperwork will lead exactly where we need it to, Tenedos. Don’t worry.”

***

As the effective trading hub for Tylmerande, the Headquarters for Revenue and Commerce on the outskirts of town often played host to a variety of people, ranging from passing traders looking to apply for merchant permits to high-level officials. Thanks to the blanket lockdown now in effect, people quite literally packed the building from wall to wall, prevented from leaving until all appropriate checks were done by security. The main hall opened up to a roofed balcony walkway that was intended for observation of the port, but so unprecedented was the occupancy of the building that men and women were crammed into it with only thin cushions for comfort and small portions of basic food and water for sustenance.

In the main administrative offices, Shinsou and Storm sat opposite each other at desks on the far side of the room. Their features were creased with concentration as each man carefully checked manifests, reconciled ledgers and cross checked sums, attempting to narrow down the leak from the huge pile of papers that sat on the wood.

“Storm, check this out,” Shinsou eventually said after a prolonged silence, thumbing through a three page report, “Your man was saying that wheat was being traded at triple rates? Look at this entry. The standard tariff stands at fifty a kilo. Here, we have two kilos being paid at a hundred. So, that stacks up to our normal tariffs, right? But then, ten lines down, we have some sort of adjustment to the cash account for an extra two hundred.”

Storm took the opportunity to glance at the account from Shinsou’s side.

“Shit, there’s our triple rate,” The powerful electromancer grimaced, “Better look at the other duties and see what else is mouldy in the cupboard.”

The hours meandered on. The sun rose higher into the cloudless blue sky and drowned the pair in uncomfortable heat, magnified through a glass pane window. The pair ate only sparingly and drunk none. Once, twice, the tension threatened to explode. Further discoveries of costly anomalies had been made and one or both of the partnership were actively considering a policy shift from softly-softly to full-on genocide of the entire town, before reasoning that it was better to keep their emotions in check. There was no catalyst quite like losing money for triggering rage.

By the time the last of the paperwork had been checked and the trays of half eaten food cleared away, the sun had almost reached the horizon. Pools of soft orange light cast uneven shadows amongst the office interior as Shinsou finally tucked the last report away.

“Three-hundred thousand,” His boots rasped on the floorboards as he walked; hackles on the back of his neck rose as they fielded the anger inherent in his tone, “All from commodity trading. Gone, just like that.”

“Whoever was recording all of this was too fucking stupid to keep the cash adjustments off the ledgers,” Storm spoke now, bowing low, ignoring the snorts that echoed on the edge of his hearing, “So that makes me think the problem lies on the front lines. No true money-man would be so careless. Time to pay a visit to the port, I think.”