AF 0, Month 4 — A month later. Quiet errands brought in seven new hands; five others were paid and left alone. Two early agents—Mara and Tomas—passed L2 on dull "deliver-and-tell" jobs and now work as whisperers. Work stays small, fast, and boring on purpose.
Objective: get clean water from the High Well to the Three Spouts fountain before crowds form, so fewer people get sick.
Stakes: if we're late, the bad cistern fills first; anger rises; someone will notice us.
Constraint: stay invisible; use law first; one quiet route change at most.
Morning mist sits low over the stone High Well. The stair down to the market is narrow and slick where moss lives in the cracks. Two agents take the cart handles: a ferryman with calm shoulders and a cooper's helper who keeps his eyes on wheels and lids. Mara checks each cask—wax dots still unbroken. Tomas looks down the stair, then at the side lane that runs toward the fish stalls. Both give a tiny nod. No speeches.
They push off at a steady pace. Why: steady looks normal; rushing looks guilty.
On the first landing, a lantern on a nail hangs left. They keep moving. On the second, a boy with kindling steps in behind them. He turns when they turn. He keeps the gap right where a tail would sit.
"Slow one step," Tomas says, only loud enough for the cart to hear. They slow. The boy slows too, lifts a stick to scratch his ear, and matches them again. Tail.
Tomas tips two fingers toward the fish-lane. The cart slides off the stair into the side lane like it was always the plan. Why: make the small change early; don't feed a chase.
Fish-lane air is sharp with brine. Planks rattle under the wheels. Ahead, two stall porters swing a beam into place, sealing the lane. The cart stops. Mara walks forward with the permit.
The porter reads one line under the wax seal and relaxes. "Market fee?"
"Well water. Market fee," she says—flat and short. Then nothing. Why: short lines sound real and end talks fast.
They lift the beam and let the cart through. The kindling boy has vanished into the smell of salt and eel. Good.
At the lower streets, the Three Spouts dribbles thinly. A ring of jars waits. Someone coughs. Someone else swears at prices. The ferryman keeps the handles level. The helper's grip is clean. Tomas heads for the side gate behind the fountain wall. The gate is rusty; the latch sticks; it always does. Mara leans with the heel of her hand, once, and it opens.
A market clerk steps into the space. He looks bored until he sees the wax dots on the casks. Tomas shows the seal again. The clerk compares wax to wax and nods because nodding makes him feel like the gate is his idea. "Back line," he says, pointing at the hatch. Tomas nods back and says nothing.
They seat the first cask mouth to the feed pipe. The cooper's helper makes the small turn that opens the valve. A wet hiss. Clear water slides into the fountain's throat. A dull sound becomes a steady sheet. Heads turn. A tired laugh flares once and dies.
Two boys start to clap. Mara raises two fingers and lets them fall. They grin and sprint away. Why: praise ties you to the scene; leave before anyone can give it.
The helper watches the level marks on the stone—old scratches at knuckle height. When the water reaches the second line, he shuts the valve. They swap in the second cask fast. The ferryman keeps the cart steady like it's still heavy. Why: leave looking the way you came.
A man with a brown coat and a soft mouth steps close. "Bless you," he says.
Tomas looks past him, counting bricks. He doesn't answer. The cart moves. The man shrugs and turns back to his jar.
They loop behind the cloth stalls into cooler air. A lantern at the corner hangs left. Go. The agents take the long way back uphill to return the now-light casks and collect small stamped receipts that will make tomorrow's clerk feel safe again.
At the rise, the mill is a faint grind in the distance. The helper flexes his fingers. The ferryman's breath is even, as if he never lifted anything at all.
"Good," Mara says, in the plain tone that means it. "You kept pace. You didn't talk. You showed the seal once. That's the job."
They reach the well ring. A ledger woman (front clerk) counts the empties, scribbles a mark, and tears off a slip. Tomas tucks it away. No one says "Remnant." No one needs to.
---
Outcome: Success. Clean water hit Three Spouts first; no crowd formed; one planned route change used; seals checked twice.
Consequence: risk of stomach sickness lowered for the day; two more runs set before noon.
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AF 0, Month 5 — A few weeks later. Three more people passed the quiet L1 errands and were invited under the mill after dark. Four others were paid and never contacted. Two agents moved up to whisperer after a small relay at the clinic door—deliver a wrapped packet and speak one five-word line to the right person on time. The council barely met at all; notes and small slates did the talking.
At dusk, the Mask checked a slate from Strategist: water windows, grain pulls, one clinic escort next week if rain holds. He set the slate down. The World's Seat sat empty in the middle of the room like a reminder.
"The world remembers," he said, quietly, to no one in particular.
---
Archive Entry: 0011
Era: Founding
Years: AF 0 (Months 4–5)
Content: Water runs from High Well to Three Spouts established; first run Success (one route change; two seal checks; no scene). Recruiting: L1 passes 3, fails grouped; promotions: 2 to Whisperer after relay to clinic; orders flow by slate and note; council presence minimal.
SEAL: Recorded before the World's Seat. The Remnant endures. The world remembers.