Reeta skeeter's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Reeta Skeeter wanted a seat among the dealers who set prices for the rarest goods in the universe. To reach that table, she needed sellers who trusted her. This morning, on the trading floor of Tudtar, not one seller would touch her hand. She stopped at the first stall. The old spice merchant folded his arms. "Word says you shave your weights," he said. "I keep my good stock for honest buyers." He turned away. The next seller did the same. And the next. Her ledger held real money, but every hand kept its best crates hidden. Reeta knew the source. A rival trader had spread the lie. He wanted her routes and her contacts. If sellers only fed her junk, she could never move goods worth a cabal's notice. Her whole climb would stall here, in the dust of a market that had once welcomed her. She needed proof that he cheated, not she. She needed someone who had seen his scales up close. So Reeta went to the one person who knew his tricks. Claire Sketcre had once been her partner, before a deal went bad and they split apart. Now Claire worked the rival's back rooms, counting his crates and hating every hour of it. Reeta found her behind the tiny post office, hands jammed in her jacket pockets, eyes tired and sharp. Claire looked up and laughed, short and bitter. "You," Claire said. "You cost me a year of my life, and now you come begging." "He's cutting my throat with a lie," Reeta said. "You know his scales are rigged. You count his crates. Help me prove it." Claire studied her a long moment. "Why would I hand you the whole market?" "Because he treats you worse than I ever did," Reeta said. "And because when I have a seat at the top table, I'll owe you. You know I pay my debts. That part was never the lie." Claire's jaw worked. She stared at the ground, then pulled a folded paper from her pocket. "His true weights," she said. "Every crate short by a tenth. I copied it last week. I was waiting for a reason to use it." Reeta took the paper. Her hands shook. "This ends him." They brought it to the market council at midday. Reeta laid Claire's figures beside the rival's public ledgers. The numbers did not match. The council weighed three of his crates in front of the crowd. Each came up short, just as Claire had written. The hall turned. Sellers who had shunned Reeta now shunned him. By dusk the council barred him from the floor. Merchants pressed their best crates on Reeta, eager to prove their loyalty. But Claire caught her arm before she left. "He won't crawl away quiet," Claire said. "He has friends higher up than this market. The kind who sit at the table you want. You just made your enemy in the exact room you're trying to enter."