Cressida Faull Lends Against the Gift

Cressida Faull drew the gauge-rod out of the Foundry’s cask at Hemmick Quay, wiped it on her apron, and read the wet line. Low. It had been low since midsummer, when Brannoch Vell lit forty new lamps and stopped paying his coal-men on time.

Edda Pike stood at the counter with the Foundry’s tally for the link just caught: three thousand seven hundred and seventy-seven carried, a drop a span, and amidships a great band in grey, hood on hood, crossing to nobody anyone could say. “Full boat,” Edda said. “Full gift paid.”

“Full boat, empty hold,” said Cressida. “Your oil wouldn’t light my stairs. You live on the Lantern, same as everyone.” She tapped the tally. “But the Lantern pays on time, which is more than your pictures did.”

She took down a fresh sheet and wrote an advance. Not against Scribes’ hares, and not against the grey band, whose purses nobody could read. Against the gift alone, three and an eighth coins a link, repayable link by link. Then she wrote the last day of the term and underlined it twice: well short of link 1,050,000.

“He’ll want longer,” Edda said.

“He’ll want a lot of things. After the Halvenfall the gift is half, and so is my patience.” Cressida slid the sheet across. “Tell him the Lantern’s credit is good. His isn’t. Yet.”