27 August 2026
Thursday. The clerks brought down the tallies this morning. Of all the rooms under Hay Street Mall, my vault lets out fewer crews than all but one. Only a little over a third of them leave with the gold. I was delighted for nearly a whole minute.
Then I learned which room was the one. It is the gaol down the corridor. The Sheriff’s gaol. The Sheriff, who has had the tallies framed and hung in his office, and who writes in his own diary that my robbers are show-offs.
I would like to put on record that my robbers are not showing off. They are showing off my gold, which is a different thing entirely, and the gold deserves it. Also, his outlaws start out locked in cells. Mine start out in a vault they broke into on purpose. I consider that a harder customer.
In fairness to my crews: the clues in my bank are not hidden very hard. The trouble is working out what they are for. First-timers get out all the time if they talk to one another and take the hints the gamesmaster sends. I find this deeply annoying and entirely fair.
I have sent the Sheriff a polite note congratulating him. I have also sent Clive to count his bars.
— The Manager
