Physical violence was rarely the most efficient way to catch an enemy infiltrator.
Standard office paperwork was far more lethal.
Lord Giles Croft stood at the passenger arrival threshold of Wharf Three. He held a brass fine-scale measuring tongs and a freshly sharpened wooden ruler.
Before him stretched three newly made passenger screening lanes, partitioned by polished oak handrails and leaded glass screens.
At the neck of each lane sat a waist-high turnstile made from solid yellow brass, its three rotating arms polished bright.
Beside Giles, Captain Kenneth Drake leaned lightly upon his iron-shod pacing rod, observing the crowd dropping from the morning sky-galleons.
“A curtain wall of granite keeps out siege battalions, Lord Giles,” Kenneth observed in his dry, clipped tone.
“Covert saboteurs don’t march in battle squares under silk heraldry.
