They moved slow. Mira led and Lyria followed close enough to grab if needed. The reeds pressed at their legs.
Mira stopped at an old boathouse half sunk into the bank. It looked abandoned. The wood was soaked and soft. Mira pushed the door with one hand. It groaned noisily.
Inside it was dark and full of junk. Rowboat ribs leaned against the wall. A coil of rope and a broken crate in one corner. Mira moved to the back and lifted a loose board. A shallow space waited under the floor. She pulled out a leather pack and a roll of papers tied tight.
Lyria waited, heart kicking.
Mira unrolled the papers. The edges were black where fire had licked them and then stopped. Mira flattened the sheets out on a flat plank. There were numbers, names, a list of trades and transfers. Some lines were crossed out. Some names had little marks next to them.
