Before dawn… the ledger spoke.
> [Kitchen Ledger] Notice… Daily Dish Boon (Stall Arc)
Each dawn, the first new dish posted carries a small, paid effect for the eater… 1 hour, quiet, lawful.
Paid bowls only… no stack with itself… breaks on shouting or fighting under Oath Bowl.
Cap holds… 1★.
The board is already chalked, the lines are straight, coins have a place to land.
Today's new line:
NIGHT FISH… MARKET PRICE… PAN or POT… WEIGHED IN SIGHT… Boon: Sea Legs (1 hr).
Canvas up, heat on. The five point seal glows under the stove stone… one ring easy for broth, one bright for the pan. Jaro's pail waits under the counter… river cold, eyes clear.
"Scale first," I say.
He nods. We weigh in sight… honest weight, honest price. The hair line seam along my counter keeps its small warm note… true money.
Pan hot… oil ready. I salt the fish for its own sake, pat it dry, lay it down skin first. It tightens, then relaxes. I baste with a spoon… tilt, return, a steady rain of fat. For pot service, I set a clay bowl with ginger, green onion, a little rice wine… fish lowered in, lid on… quiet heat.
The lantern mender from yesterday arrives with a coil of wire and a better mood.
"NIGHT FISH," he says, reading each word like it might change on him.
"Pan," I say, "or pot."
"Pan."
He pays. The seam agrees. I slide the first plate across… skin crisp, flesh set. Steam smells like clean rain on slate.
He takes one careful bite… then steps away and does not sway when a cart bumps the curb behind him.
He looks at his own feet, surprised. "The boards do not argue with me," he says.
"Boon," I say, touching the line on the board.
He nods… grateful in a quiet way.
A ferry girl comes with damp sleeves and a face that has been awake too long. "Pot," she says, and counts copper without looking down. I knot the carry lid in two places… she lifts, turns toward the wharf, and crosses a slick patch without the usual dance.
She glances back, startled… then grins, then goes.
Arlo appears at first bell, not to argue, only to watch. He reads the notice I wrote under the dish line.
"Boon," he says. He does not make a face like a man who hates new words.
"Paid," I say.
He tips a silver to Jaro for the next pail, then sets coin for a plate of his own. "Pan," he says. He eats standing, then steps onto the wet gutter stone and does not slip. He writes one line in his book and tears the page free for me.
"Observed," the paper says. "Duration recorded."
A boy with rope burns on his palms watches me lay the next fish skin side down.
"Will it help on the pier?" he asks.
"It will help for an hour if you paid," I say.
He counts his coins twice, then a third time, then holds them out like a promise. He eats fast, sets the plate back neat, and runs toward the river with a step that looks practiced instead of lucky.
Kade leans in from two stalls down, smiling the way a man smiles who wants an argument he can sell.
"Balance fish?" he says. "I should try that line."
"Try the fish first," I say.
He does not.
Pera brings a small sack—dry rice, no speeches. He watches the pan work the skin to glass and admires the sound it makes when it lifts whole.
"Market price," he says, looking at my chalk.
"Market price," I say, tapping Jaro's pail.
A river trader sets shell silver on the wood. The seam hums… the board writes a clean conversion under today's lines… he adds copper, nods, and eats at the awning edge. When the breeze tilts the canvas wrong, he does not. He laughs once, surprised at his own legs for choosing sense.
A watch pair arrive in step. One pays for both. They stand where the cobbles have always been a little mean and practice turning without throwing each other off. They do not make a show of it. They learn what they came for.
Mara the singer warms her hands at the steam and buys pot fish with onion and ginger. No free. One bowl, one coin. She walks the lane singing the soft line under the melody… the one that keeps time for men who tie knots and for women who lift boards… her feet place themselves where the puddles are not. People breathe easier a finger's width for no named reason.
A child presses a flattened copper to the seam. It stays quiet.
"That is for toys," I say. "Mine listens to coins with faces."
She produces a true copper from the other hand, shy and pleased. "Pan," she says, brave now, "please."
"Small fish," I say, "small plate."
She eats with both hands around the edge like it might leap away. When she hops the gutter to her mother, she lands where she meant to.
The line learns the dish… quick orders, clean money, no rush that bends the rules. I keep one pan for crisp, one pot for gentle. I set aside the bones for broth that does not brag. Jaro returns with another pail, colder than the first.
Arlo drifts back at second bell. He stands where the stones slope and checks the time on the boon without asking me to stop working.
"Fifty minutes," he says, watching the lantern mender test a ladder on wet rungs. "An hour on the paper. Enough for a shift change or a ferry crossing."
"Enough," I say.
Kade tries a laugh. The wind does not carry it. My bell at the pass keeps a small, clear note… it travels farther than talk.
A man in a new coat tries to buy the line with his smile. The board answers for me. He pays the rate, eats the plate, and walks off as if he meant to walk that way all his life.
Near noon, the tide turns in the river mouth and every shoulder in the lane hears it without listening. The boon holds to its hour, then fades like good smoke. People do not stumble when it leaves; they simply remember how to place a foot without help.
I chalk the lines for evening while the pot breathes and the pan rests:
NIGHT FISH… MARKET PRICE… PAN or POT… WEIGHED IN SIGHT… Boon: Sea Legs (1 hr).
VINEGAR NOODLES… TWO COPPERS… MILD ON ASK.
PUBLIC SCALE… WEST BENCH… DAWN… STAMP POSTED.
Under that, the one rule that pays the oil:
PAY FAIR.
I bank the heat… the seal keeps its ember, the seam holds the last warmth of true coin, the jar sits still, the pail sweats an honest cold ring on the wood.
The street breathes. So do I.
> [Kitchen Ledger] Dish Boon, today: Sea Legs (1★ · 1 hr) — paid Night Fish only… steadier balance on wet stone, decks, planks… breaks on shouting or a fight under the canvas.
Cap: 1★.
Next at L6: Door Line (2★).
Bowls and plates served: enough to warm the seam… coins true.