Morning reached the registry square before the frost left the wagon ruts, bringing miners, roof crews, cooks, and three new merchants. The merchants had never opened stalls inside the Sixth before today.
A cook flipped oat cakes on a hot slab while children counted the chits in their father's palm.
Marrick stood beneath the registry awning with a box at his feet, sorting small brass chits into careful stacks. Two guards watched his hands and kept clear of the box itself.
Each chit carried a stamped pickaxe on one side and the regional seal on the other. It held one copper of value at the registry or any stall accepting the posted rate.
Since a miner could carry proof of work without a purse that invited collectors, the chits changed more than purchases. Nobody could follow a brass square home the way they followed gold.
