Loch cuts the kid a glance but doesn't reply at once. Instead she leads him away from the warehouse, toward the docks again, where the shouts and curses of dockhands and sailors alike will nicely cover their own conversation.
"My friend back there deals in imported amulets and the like, items for the superstitious," she says finally. "Some of those are more than glorified paperweights. They've been enchanted by mages from other guilds away from Emillion. Well, you heard what he had to say about that."
She withdraws a folded document from a pocket and hands it to Sky. "That's what he's supposedly making off them, a misery on account of the mage paranoia, so he says. But here," she takes out a notebook, shows the first page to the kid, "is what he's actually charging, I've had some people buy from him and report to me. Second page is the percentage I should be getting, and what I'm actually getting. Run the numbers and tell me how much he owes me." She smirks. "You can do that much, the job's yours."
Sitting on a nearby crate like a queen upon a throne, she hands him a pencil and takes out a cigarette, settles in to wait.