The carriage rolled beneath Ashcroft's iron gates just as the church bells struck noon.
I had expected grandeur.
Instead, I found exhaustion.
The city was beautiful in the way an old painting was beautiful—its towering stone buildings still carried intricate carvings, colorful banners still hung from balconies, and elegant bridges stretched over the river that divided the city. Yet beneath the polished surface, cracks had begun to show.
Shuttered storefronts lined the market square.
Merchants called out half-heartedly to passersby who scarcely spared them a glance.
A woman haggled desperately over a loaf of bread while a butcher shook his head with visible regret.
I leaned forward, pushing the carriage curtain aside a little farther.
"This is Ashcroft?"
Edward, seated across from me, nodded.
"It has changed."
"You've been here before?"
"Several years ago."
"And?"
"There were more people."
The streets weren't empty.
But they lacked life.
People walked quickly, heads lowered, conversations kept to hushed whispers. There was none of the bustling confidence one would expect from the Empire's commercial capital.
Something was wrong and whatever it was had begun eating away at Ashcroft had settled deep beneath its foundations.
"Our inn?" I asked.
"The Silver Hart."
My plan was to blend in as a merchant's daughter.
If I announced myself as House Viremont's daughter, every official in the city would suddenly become honest, efficient, and remarkably eager to hide their corruption.
Anonymous observation would tell me far more.
...
The Silver Hart overlooked the central square.
Its owner bowed repeatedly after learning our reservation had already been paid for.
"The finest rooms are prepared, Lady Elise."
Elise was my alias. A merchant's daughter traveling with retainers raised no suspicious.
I smiled politely.
"Thank you."
Once inside my room, I crossed directly to the window.
Perfect.
The marketplace spread beneath me like an open ledger waiting to be balanced.
The room had a wide view of the market, I could see every cart entering the square.
If I couldn't trust reports, I'd trust my own eyes.
Edward entered a moment later.
"The guards have secured the building."
"Good."
I rested my elbows on the windowsill.
"Tell me something."
He waited.
"What was Ashcroft known for?"
He answered without hesitation.
"Trade in shipbuilding, steel, grain distribution and banking."
I nodded slowly.
"Such a diverse economy."
"Yes."
"Which means one failing industry shouldn't cripple the city."
"No."
"So either several sectors are collapsing simultaneously..."
I watched another merchant pack away unsold vegetables before noon.
"...or something is affecting all of them."
Edward remained silent.
He knew I wasn't asking him, I was thinking aloud.
"My father said tax revenue has declined."
"Correct."
"Has production?"
"We don't know."
I needed numbers. It was time to investigate.
After changing into simpler clothing, I left the inn with Edward following several paces behind.
Sebastien had disappeared somewhere immediately we got to the inn.
No doubt gathering information in his own unsettling way.
The market smelled of fresh bread, smoke, and damp timber.
It should have felt lively but instead, tension lingered beneath every conversation.
I stopped at a fruit stall.
"How much?"
The elderly merchant looked almost apologetic.
"Eight copper, miss."
Eight?
That was nearly double.
I bought two apples anyway.
"Business has been slow?"
He sighed.
"Depends who you ask."
"And if I ask you?"
He glanced around before lowering his voice.
"The docks aren't what they used to be."
"Less trade?"
"Ships arrive but they leave half-empty."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"No goods."
That didn't make sense.
Ashcroft produced goods.
Unless production itself had slowed.
"Any idea why?"
The old man gave a helpless shrug.
"Factories say they can't get materials."
I thanked him and walked away.
One conversation meant nothing.
It could simply be a coincidence.
The blacksmith was next
His forge still burned, but only one apprentice worked the bellows.
"You've fewer workers."
The smith wiped sweat from his brow.
"Couldn't afford the others."
"Not enough customers?"
"Plenty of customers."
That caught my attention.
"Then why dismiss them?"
"No iron."
I blinked.
"No iron?"
He laughed bitterly.
"I've orders waiting weeks to be filled."
"Where's your supplier?"
"Waiting on deliveries."
"From?"
"The northern mines."
House Viremont territory.
That couldn't be right.
Our mines were operating.
I'd seen the reports before leaving.
Unless the reports had been altered or the shipments were disappearing before reaching Ashcroft.
My pulse quickened.
Now that...
That was something.
By sunset my notebook held more questions than answers.
Grain shortages.
Iron shortages.
Timber delays.
Factories operating below capacity, workers being dismissed despite high demand.
Prices were rising.
Yet no one blamed poor harvests.
No one mentioned war or natural disaster.
The shortages were selective.
Someone was interrupting and manipulating supply chains.
I returned to the inn just as Sebastien slipped through the back entrance.
He looked as composed as ever.
"You found something."
"I did."
Edward closed the room door behind us.
Sebastien placed a folded document on the table.
"A shipping ledger."
I unfolded it.
My eyes scanned the entries before stopping abruptly.
"What?!
The same shipment of iron ore had been recorded three separate times.
Each copy listed a different destination.
One for Ashcroft, one for the capital and one for a private estate.
The weights and dates were identical.
It seemed like someone had duplicated the records.
I looked up sharply.
"Where did you get this?"
"The dockmaster's office."
"You stole it?"
"I borrowed it."
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
"I suppose that's still theft."
He considered it.
"I can return it."
Despite the gravity of the situation, I nearly laughed.
Nearly.
Instead, I spread the ledgers across the table.
"This isn't incompetence."
"No."
"It isn't an accounting error."
Edward stepped closer.
"Fraud?"
"Worse."
My finger traced the repeated shipment numbers.
"If these records are false, then someone is diverting resources before they ever reach their intended buyers."
Silence settled over the room.
Outside, the bells of Ashcroft echoed through the evening.
Someone wasn't merely profiting from the city's decline.
Someone had engineered it.