The tablet lay open on the table between them.
Thin columns of numbers scratched into wax.
Refined metal output. Furnace counts. Cooling losses.
At first glance it looked like ordinary accounting.
The noble watched Aelius read.
The supervisor stood stiffly beside the wall, arms folded, waiting for the slave to make a mistake.
Aelius did not rush.
He studied the marks quietly.
Several weeks of reports.
Same sections.
Same shifts.
Small losses.
Never large enough to cause alarm.
But they repeated.
That was the problem.
The noble spoke first.
“Well.”
Aelius lifted his eyes.
“Not spillage.”
The supervisor snorted.
“My lord, with respect, he cannot possibly—”
The noble raised a finger without looking at him.
Silence returned.
He looked back at Aelius.
“Why.”
Aelius tapped the tablet lightly.
“If metal spilled from cooling channels, the losses would appear randomly.”
The noble leaned closer.
Aelius turned the tablet slightly.
“These repeat.”
He pointed to three entries.
“Same shift.”
Another mark.
“Same section.”
Another.
“Same day each week.”
The noble followed the pattern.
The supervisor shifted uncomfortably.
“That could still be accounting error,” he muttered.
Aelius shook his head.
“No.”
The noble’s eyes sharpened.
“Explain.”
Aelius spoke calmly.
“If this were error, the totals would drift.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
He tapped the wax again.
“They don’t drift.”
The room went quiet.
The noble straightened slowly.
“Someone is taking it.”
“Yes.”
The supervisor stepped forward immediately.
“My lord, that is impossible. The ingots are weighed, logged, and sealed before storage. There is no opportunity for—”
“Walk with me,” the noble said.
The supervisor stopped talking.
The noble turned toward the door.
Aelius followed.
The guards fell in behind them.
They moved through the administrative corridor and back into the industrial complex.
The noise returned immediately.
Hammers striking iron.
Furnaces roaring.
Workers shouting over the sound.
The noble slowed as they reached the smelting chamber.
“You said someone is taking metal,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Where.”
Aelius did not answer immediately.
He watched the process.
Ore carts arrived from the hauling lanes.
Workers shoveled the ore into furnace mouths.
Molten metal flowed through channels.
The ingots cooled.
Hammer crews shaped them.
Then the finished bars moved toward storage.
Everything looked orderly.
That was the point.
The noble folded his arms.
“Show me.”
Aelius stepped toward the hammering stations.
Workers stiffened when the group approached.
The supervisor spoke loudly.
“Continue your work.”
The hammer rhythm resumed.
Iron rang against iron.
Aelius watched the shaping process.
Hammer crews struck the cooling ingots repeatedly until they formed proper bars.
Each strike shaved thin fragments of metal from the surface.
Those fragments fell into scrap baskets beside the stations.
Aelius pointed.
“There.”
The noble looked.
“Scrap.”
“Yes.”
The supervisor frowned.
“That waste is recycled.”
“Yes.”
Aelius moved toward the scrap baskets.
Workers stepped aside quickly.
He picked up one of the fragments between two fingers.
Small.
Irregular.
Worthless by itself.
He dropped it back into the basket.
“Not whole ingots,” he said.
The noble watched him.
“Small pieces.”
The supervisor shook his head.
“That would require dozens of workers cooperating.”
Aelius nodded.
“Yes.”
The noble studied the hammer crews again.
“How.”
Aelius pointed toward the far corridor.
Scrap carts rolled through there at regular intervals.
Workers emptied the baskets into the carts before the waste was taken away for melting.
“That cart leaves the chamber,” Aelius said.
The noble followed the route with his eyes.
The corridor turned twice before reaching the recycling furnace.
No counters.
No scales.
No supervisors.
The noble’s jaw tightened slightly.
“They mix refined fragments into scrap.”
Aelius nodded.
“Small amounts.”
The supervisor still looked unconvinced.
“My lord, even if that were possible, the scrap is melted immediately.”
“No,” Aelius said.
The supervisor glared at him.
“You presume to correct—”
“The scrap cart stops before the furnace,” Aelius continued calmly.
The noble looked back at him.
“Where.”
Aelius gestured toward the corridor.
“Second turn.”
The noble said nothing for several seconds.
Then he turned to the guards.
“Inspect the scrap carts.”
The guards moved immediately.
Workers froze.
Overseers began shouting orders.
The chamber filled with sudden tension.
Aelius stepped back from the hammer stations.
The noble remained beside him.
“You’re very certain,” the noble said.
Aelius shrugged.
The supervisor muttered under his breath.
“This is absurd.”
Minutes passed.
The guards returned.
Empty handed.
The supervisor smiled thinly.
“My lord.”
The noble did not react.
He looked at Aelius.
“You’re not surprised.”
“No.”
The noble’s voice dropped slightly.
“Why.”
“They know you’re looking.”
The supervisor stopped smiling.
The noble studied Aelius for several long seconds.
“You believe someone warned them.”
“Yes.”
“Who.”
Aelius did not answer.
The noble’s gaze sharpened.
“You have an idea.”
“Yes.”
Silence settled between them.
The noise of the chamber continued around them.
The noble leaned slightly closer.
“Can you find the metal.”
Aelius looked at him.
“Yes.”
The noble held his gaze.
“How.”
Aelius glanced once toward the corridor where the scrap carts had disappeared.
“I already know where to look.”
The noble studied his face carefully.
“You’re very confident.”
Aelius said nothing.
The noble tapped one finger against his arm.
“If you recover the stolen metal…”
He paused.
“…what do you want.”
Aelius answered immediately.
“My freedom.”
The supervisor inhaled sharply.
The noble did not react.
Aelius continued.
“The boy’s freedom.”
He did not need to say Lucius’s name.
The noble understood.
“And one object from the confiscated contraband vault.”
Now the noble frowned slightly.
“What object.”
“A small arcane focus.”
The noble watched him carefully.
“Why.”
“It belongs to me.”
That was not entirely true.
But it was close enough.
The noble considered the request.
Recovering stolen refined metal was worth far more than one slave and a useless object from storage.
Finally he nodded.
“Find the metal.”
Aelius met his eyes calmly.
“I already have.”
Silence settled between them.
The noble’s expression shifted.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
For the first time he understood something important.
The slave had not discovered the theft.
He had walked into the room already knowing it existed.
The noble spoke quietly.
“Then show me.”
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