The two court guards spun around at the sound of Len’s voice. Their boots splashed in the shallow drainage trench. Their hands dropped to their leather truncheon frogs with practiced speed, their lanterns swinging up to light up the intruder standing in the center aisle.
“Who let an outside courier into the holding bays?” the heavy court guard barked, his small, piggish eyes raking over Len’s pinned coat, his linen sling. The ash sounding pole held across his chest. “Get back up the stairs before I put a copper collar around your neck, boy.”
Bram stepped out of the shadow directly behind Len. His brass precinct breastplate caught the green lantern glare. His hand rested firmly on the handle knob of his short sword. His bulk filled the narrow aisle between the pens. His presence streaming the was heavy, dangerous power of an officer who had spent twenty years breaking dock riots.
“Stand down, Kroll,” Bram said. His voice dropped into the deep, authoritative register of a senior precinct court guard who had walked Gate Street for twenty years. “The courier is under my escort. Official Survey dispatch hearing.”
The court guard named Kroll blinked, his grip on his baton loosening slightly. His eyes flicked from Bram’s impassive face to the short sword at his hip, then to the younger court guard standing near the stair foot. The younger man, whose badge read Harl, took half a step backward, his truncheon lowering toward his thigh.
