Dead Level

I hauled my heavy canvas pouch off the coir mat and vaulted straight onto a weathered timber display bench by the antique shop window. Resting in the center was an old brass balance scale with two hanging pans, tilted lazily on a cast-iron pillar. Hmph. An open challenge. I dumped my weighted sack straight into the low dish—it landed with a solid clonk, pinning that side down while the opposite tray shot skyward. Not about to let my own gear out-muscle me. I leaped, caught the raised brass rim with both plush claws, and dropped my entire weight down. The beam creaked, teetered, and locked dead level. Balanced to the millimeter.