Marked by Magic (The Baine Chronicles #4)(37)

“Let’s start with shipping records, from the past six months,” I supplied helpfully.

The man’s high forehead crinkled. “What exactly do you need the shipping records for?” he asked.

“You’re not interested in our reasons for looking at the shipment records,” Fenris said, magic resonating in his voice. I’d witnessed him use this talent only once before, to make a pair of Coazi forget they’d seen us, and I held my breath, hoping it would work. Fenris had said it was less effective on the strong-willed. “You want to show us what we need to know quickly, so you can get back to work.”

“Right!” the manager’s face cleared, and he turned on his heel. “I know exactly where the shipping records are. Come this way.”

I gave Fenris an arch look as we followed the manager over to the opposite corner, where he immediately started opening cabinet drawers. “I’d hate to think what would have happened if that didn’t work. Our cover would have been blown for sure.”

“I am a fairly good judge of character,” Fenris said, sounding a little offended that I would doubt him. “I’ve rarely been wrong about suitable subjects for suggestion magic.”

Suggestion magic. That was what Iannis had called it too, during that time when he had used it to break into the house where the sick Federation Minister had been held against his will. That would be such a useful talent to have…

“Here we are.” The manager pulled out a logbook, then turned and handed it to us. It was a little beat up, and the leather binding had seen better days, but the handwriting on the pages was clear and neat.

“Thank you. We’ll be just a moment,” I told the manager before turning around and placing the book on the desk nearest us. Fenris and I bent our heads together to look over the pages, and I quickly flipped through the last few months, scanning the records with ease. I’d developed an eye for paperwork after weeks of doing grunt work for the Mages Guild, and though I never thought I’d be thanking them for putting me through that hellish torture, I had to admit it was paying off now.

“Here. And here. And here again,” I told Fenris, pointing to certain shipments that caught my eye. “These must be the ones who are going to the Resistance.”

“Ah, yes, I see.” Fenris’s eyes narrowed as he nodded in agreement. “These shipments are much larger than any of their other customers, and unlike the other recipients, there is no shipping address listed here.” The records only showed that the merchandise was picked up by boat, but not where it was delivered to, and that the bills were promptly paid by a company called Supplysafe.

“Do you know where Supplysafe is located?” I asked over my shoulder.

“W-what?” the manager stuttered, clearly unprepared for the question.

I turned around to face him. “Supplysafe. According to these shipment records, they’re currently your biggest customer. Where are they located?”

“I’m not sure. Gaston, I think,” the manager said, referring to a distant town on the East Coast. “We don’t know very much about them.”

I arched a brow. “I noticed. You don’t list an address for them on your shipments. Isn’t that unusual?”

“Yes, it is,” the manager mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at the ground. But then, he pulled himself together and looked straight at me. “But as you mentioned, Inspector, they’re currently our best customer, and business had slowed down in the past year. With the quantities they order and their willingness to pay promptly, it didn’t seem wise to push them when they neglected to provide a delivery address. The extra income from their business has allowed us to purchase several additional steam-canning machines, and for the first time in years, we’re looking at expanding again.” He folded his arms and gave us a beady eye, as if the explanation could justify his apparent willingness to look the other way. “There aren’t very many businesses that can say that in these troubling times.”

“Indeed,” I said sharply, and he flinched. “Your records say that the shipments go out by boat. Where are your captains told to bring the freight?”

“They aren’t,” the manager admitted. “Supplysafe sends their own boats to pick up the shipments. Like I said, they’re a great customer.”

Fantastic, I grumbled to myself. “How did Timbran’s first come into contact with them?” I demanded. “Surely a representative must have gotten in touch with you, or vice versa.”

“All our business with Supplysafe has been via letter and messenger,” the manager explained. “And the messengers work for courier companies, as far as I can tell.”

“So you’ve never met the owners?”

“Never.” The manager frowned. “What did you say this was about again?”

I bit back a sigh as Fenris took control of the conversation, using his suggestion magic to steer the manager’s suspicions away. We asked him a few more questions, but the only other information we managed to get out of him was the billing address Supplysafe had given them, and the account numbers used to pay the bills. My eyebrows went up as I noticed the account belonged to Sandin Federal Bank. There was no way that was a coincidence. If I could find a link between Sandin and Supplysafe – aside from their initials – we might be that much closer to discovering the Benefactor’s identity.