Page 32 of Innocent Until Proven Witch

"Trade permits," she says.

"Harbor contracts. Shipping registrations. Council approvals."

The secretary narrows her eyes. "That's a lot of paperwork."

"I've been told."

She studies me for several moments, then asks, "Who authorized this request?"

"No one."

The answer earns another stare. "Mr. Blackwater⁠—"

"They're public records," I say. Technically, the secretary knows it. I know it. Neither of us enjoys the conversation.

She pinches the bridge of her nose. "Wait here."

I smile. "You're my favorite council employee."

"I doubt that," she says, disappearing into the archives.

Several minutes later she returns carrying a stack of ledgers, the pile landing heavily on the desk. Dust rises immediately. I stare at it. The secretary stares at me. "Still interested?"

I pick up the first ledger. "Very."

Her expression becomes suspicious again. "You're looking for something specific."

I flip open the cover. "Maybe," I say. Unfortunately, I don't know exactly what. Not yet.

The records consume my attention quickly. Trade routes. Ownership transfers. Dock assignments. Shipping permits. Names. Dates. Signatures. The information begins forming connections, some obvious, some less so.

I become so focused that I don't immediately notice someone approaching. A shadow falls across the table. I look up. Aldric Yurich stands nearby.

Of course.

The harbor elder offers a polite smile, the expression never reaching his eyes. "Mr. Blackwater."

I close the ledger. "Elder Yurich."

Aldric glances toward the records. "You've been busy."

"Trying."

His gaze lingers on the paperwork. "Research?"

"Something like that."

Aldric folds his hands behind his back, the posture appearing relaxed, comfortable, practiced. "I hear you've taken a particular interest in recent events."

I lean back in my chair. "I live here."

"Recently," he says, the correction arriving smoothly, without accusation, without hostility, which somehow makes it more noticeable.

Aldric's smile remains intact. "Moonhaven has always had storms."

"These seem different."

"Perhaps," he says, studying me carefully, measuring, calculating. The sensation crawls across my skin, not because he's threatening, but because he's curious. Aldric wants to know how much I've discovered. The realization settles quietly in my mind. Interesting.