Counting House

Oak panelling, oiled to a deep shine, lines a single high hall that fills the ground floor of the tallest guild house on the square. Ledgers bound in brown calf climb from floor to ceiling on three walls, their spines rubbed dull by generations of handling. A gallery with a wrought-iron rail circles the upper level, reached by a spiral stair barely wide enough to turn on. Below it, long counting desks stand in exact rows, each top worn pale and set with a brass balance and a pewter inkwell. Light slants in from tall leaded windows in bars full of slow dust. Nothing on any desk is out of place, and the pans of every balance have been rubbed bright. Hinges as thick as a wrist hold an iron strongroom door shut behind a low counter at the back of the hall.