Amanda looked over the paper, frowning at the scribblings on it. She stared at it for a few moments, then turned the sheet upside down. It didn't help it make any more sense. She turned it back in the other direction, hoping it would be more legible. It was still no better.
"You sure this is a ledger?" she asked, squinting at the writing. She found a few things that looked like numbers, if you used your imagination. Either whoever had written this had done it with broken fingers, or they had the intelligence of a toddler. A dumb toddler at that.
"It's inventory," the man in front of her said, waving dismissively at the papers. "What, can't you read?" He scowled at her, tapping his fingers on the desk.
Amanda sighed, rolling her eyes. She was used to dealing with idiots in the bureaucracy, or at least, as much of a bureaucracy as existed in a city like Torchline. But even still, this guy was a whole new level of dumb.
She smirked. It was perfect.
"Listen," she said, setting the pages on the side of the desk. "You don't need me as a cargo lifter. You need a bookkeeper."
The man frowned at her, saying nothing. Amanda waited a moment for the words to work their way through the cobwebs in his mind.
"A whatchacallit now?" he finally asked. "Look, I told ya, we got an inventory. I just need people to haul crates."
Amanda kept a controlled expression on her face. No need to let the man know how much she was internally laughing at him.
"You're going to lose half of those crates," she said, nodding towards the door that led to the main room of the warehouse, "if you don't have a proper bookkeeper. Won't do the war effort much good if you can't tell which boxes have food and which have clean socks. You send them to the wrong places, and you end up with soldiers with sticky feet and gnawing on old cotton."
The man stared at her.
Amanda sighed, rubbing a hand across her forehead. "Look, if you don't want to lose track of everything in the warehouse, hire me as the bookkeeper. I'll make sure the inventory is checked and double checked. All the shipments will get where they're going. Nothing gets lost. You don't want shipments getting lost, right? I'm sure your boss wouldn't be too pleased about that..."
The man's expression darkened. A worried look entered his eyes. "You can make sure it all stays in order, then? Inventory's been messed up from time to time. Last guy didn't have a head for numbers, I s'pose."
Amanda refrained from asking if anyone working here knew how to count to ten. "I'm a professional," she said, sitting up straighter. "I've been working the marketplace for years, and I've never lost a single item. I'll set you up a proper ledger, design a new sorting system, and make sure everything is catalogued properly. It'll make the whole system work better. And with things more organized, your laborers will get the job done faster. Faster work means fewer hours on the payroll, saves you money, right? The boss will love you for that."
The man's face broke out into a grin. She'd hooked him with that one.
She spent a bit more time talking herself up, making sure to use plenty of big words that the idiot couldn't follow. He was the sort of person who would never admit that he didn't understand what she was talking about, so she could make herself sound like an expert even when she was making it all up as she went along. Sure, it was true that she'd worked in the market for years. But she ran a small scavenger's stall that sold junk she fished out of wrecks on the beach. She didn't know the first thing about being the inventory supervisor for a supply warehouse.
But she sold her story well enough to land the job. She was grinning as she left the building, already thinking ahead to what it would be like to be in control of the entire inventory, being the only one who knew exactly what was coming in and out of the warehouse. Being the only one who controlled which crates of supplies went out to fund the war effort...and which ones got 'lost' along the way.
She was whistling to herself as she started heading home. Then a thought occurred to her and she stopped dead in her tracks.
"Oh, gods be damned," she muttered.
She'd remembered something important, something she'd been putting off. It hadn't seemed so urgent before, when she was cooking up this scheme. But now that the wheels were finally in motion, she suddenly had a lot of pieces to get into place all at once.
She sighed, thinking of her bed and a cup of warm tea. But home would have to wait. She had to stop putting this off and start getting serious.
She headed back down to the docks, untying her small outrigger, hopping in, and grabbing the oar. She started paddling away from the docks, looking up at the darkening sky. The night had fully fallen by the time she got where she was going. She cursed herself for not planning this out better, but sometimes she just had to do what she had to do.
She followed the beacon of the lighthouse, using it to mark her path. She'd memorized a number of landmarks: a rock outcropping along the shore, the wreck of an old sailing ship that jutted up just off the coast, a section of cliff face that she thought kind of looked like a rabbit. She used these markers to follow along until she was near to her destination.
She expected to be alone. There normally wasn't anyone out here at this time of night. That was, after all, kind of the point. So she was surprised when the moonlight glinted off the cliffs down near the water, drawing her attention. She started paddling towards the glimmer, hoping for some valuable salvage. But instead, she found a merman, his head bowed down over the rocky outcropping.
He looked familiar. But she didn't want to assume...someone might admonish her for thinking all merfolk looked alike. And without seeing his face from this angle, she couldn't be sure.
When she paddled up closer to the figure in the water, she set her oar over her knees and called out, "Hey there. Nice night for...well, nice night, right?"
"You sure this is a ledger?" she asked, squinting at the writing. She found a few things that looked like numbers, if you used your imagination. Either whoever had written this had done it with broken fingers, or they had the intelligence of a toddler. A dumb toddler at that.
"It's inventory," the man in front of her said, waving dismissively at the papers. "What, can't you read?" He scowled at her, tapping his fingers on the desk.
Amanda sighed, rolling her eyes. She was used to dealing with idiots in the bureaucracy, or at least, as much of a bureaucracy as existed in a city like Torchline. But even still, this guy was a whole new level of dumb.
She smirked. It was perfect.
"Listen," she said, setting the pages on the side of the desk. "You don't need me as a cargo lifter. You need a bookkeeper."
The man frowned at her, saying nothing. Amanda waited a moment for the words to work their way through the cobwebs in his mind.
"A whatchacallit now?" he finally asked. "Look, I told ya, we got an inventory. I just need people to haul crates."
Amanda kept a controlled expression on her face. No need to let the man know how much she was internally laughing at him.
"You're going to lose half of those crates," she said, nodding towards the door that led to the main room of the warehouse, "if you don't have a proper bookkeeper. Won't do the war effort much good if you can't tell which boxes have food and which have clean socks. You send them to the wrong places, and you end up with soldiers with sticky feet and gnawing on old cotton."
The man stared at her.
Amanda sighed, rubbing a hand across her forehead. "Look, if you don't want to lose track of everything in the warehouse, hire me as the bookkeeper. I'll make sure the inventory is checked and double checked. All the shipments will get where they're going. Nothing gets lost. You don't want shipments getting lost, right? I'm sure your boss wouldn't be too pleased about that..."
The man's expression darkened. A worried look entered his eyes. "You can make sure it all stays in order, then? Inventory's been messed up from time to time. Last guy didn't have a head for numbers, I s'pose."
Amanda refrained from asking if anyone working here knew how to count to ten. "I'm a professional," she said, sitting up straighter. "I've been working the marketplace for years, and I've never lost a single item. I'll set you up a proper ledger, design a new sorting system, and make sure everything is catalogued properly. It'll make the whole system work better. And with things more organized, your laborers will get the job done faster. Faster work means fewer hours on the payroll, saves you money, right? The boss will love you for that."
The man's face broke out into a grin. She'd hooked him with that one.
She spent a bit more time talking herself up, making sure to use plenty of big words that the idiot couldn't follow. He was the sort of person who would never admit that he didn't understand what she was talking about, so she could make herself sound like an expert even when she was making it all up as she went along. Sure, it was true that she'd worked in the market for years. But she ran a small scavenger's stall that sold junk she fished out of wrecks on the beach. She didn't know the first thing about being the inventory supervisor for a supply warehouse.
But she sold her story well enough to land the job. She was grinning as she left the building, already thinking ahead to what it would be like to be in control of the entire inventory, being the only one who knew exactly what was coming in and out of the warehouse. Being the only one who controlled which crates of supplies went out to fund the war effort...and which ones got 'lost' along the way.
She was whistling to herself as she started heading home. Then a thought occurred to her and she stopped dead in her tracks.
"Oh, gods be damned," she muttered.
She'd remembered something important, something she'd been putting off. It hadn't seemed so urgent before, when she was cooking up this scheme. But now that the wheels were finally in motion, she suddenly had a lot of pieces to get into place all at once.
She sighed, thinking of her bed and a cup of warm tea. But home would have to wait. She had to stop putting this off and start getting serious.
She headed back down to the docks, untying her small outrigger, hopping in, and grabbing the oar. She started paddling away from the docks, looking up at the darkening sky. The night had fully fallen by the time she got where she was going. She cursed herself for not planning this out better, but sometimes she just had to do what she had to do.
She followed the beacon of the lighthouse, using it to mark her path. She'd memorized a number of landmarks: a rock outcropping along the shore, the wreck of an old sailing ship that jutted up just off the coast, a section of cliff face that she thought kind of looked like a rabbit. She used these markers to follow along until she was near to her destination.
She expected to be alone. There normally wasn't anyone out here at this time of night. That was, after all, kind of the point. So she was surprised when the moonlight glinted off the cliffs down near the water, drawing her attention. She started paddling towards the glimmer, hoping for some valuable salvage. But instead, she found a merman, his head bowed down over the rocky outcropping.
He looked familiar. But she didn't want to assume...someone might admonish her for thinking all merfolk looked alike. And without seeing his face from this angle, she couldn't be sure.
When she paddled up closer to the figure in the water, she set her oar over her knees and called out, "Hey there. Nice night for...well, nice night, right?"
