Dream d3454-s: Figures in the Flour

I had a dream where...

I had a dream where the counting room was lower than I expected, the ceiling just clearing my head, the beams dark with old smoke. I laid the notebook open on the bench and left it there. The page held what it held.

The entry-keeper moved along the far wall, checking figures in a column I couldn't read from where I stood. Their hand traced down the margin without stopping. Lano settled near the door, nose low, reading the floor in slow arcs before she chose a spot and sat.

The keeper of the place came through from the milling floor and did not look at the bench. They set a tallow cup on the ledge and trimmed the wick with two fingers, then turned back toward the sound of the wheel. It was still turning. I could hear it through the boards underfoot, the slow mechanical pull of water doing its work.

The relay clerk sat at the other end of the bench with a separate ledger, making marks that had nothing to do with mine. They were counting something - sacks, maybe, or deliveries - and their pen moved in short strokes, not hurrying.

I stood by the window. The glass was old, green at the edges, and the yard outside was dim with late afternoon. A cart was parked against the granary wall. No one was loading it.

Lano lifted her head once when the wheel sound changed - a shift in the water, some small hesitation - and then settled again, her chin on her forepaws. The notebook page didn't move. The room smelled of grain and iron and something like vinegar, old and dried into the wood.

The entry-keeper finished their column and turned to a fresh page without ceremony. The keeper came back through with a sack over one shoulder, set it in the corner, and went out again. None of them looked at the bench.

I didn't explain it to them. There was nothing to explain. The page was there and the mill was turning and the yard outside held the same light it had held for the last hour. I watched the cart. No one came for it.

After a while Lano stood, walked once around the room with her nose moving steadily, and came back to the door. The notebook was still open on the bench when I followed her out.

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