The Lessaran survey book had come to the Hold in the bottom of a Census cart, wrapped in oilcloth that had once been a tent, and it smelled of the cart. Tallow had spent three evenings with it at the gatehouse table, under the lamp he kept for the Register’s own business, and on the third evening he had come to understand that the book was not really a survey at all. It was a list of what the Crown had decided not to see.
He laid it out on the Great Hall’s long table at the candle-clock, page by page, with the margins turned to the light. The Chamber had come in around him in the usual order. Harrow sat by the window with the weather. Korrin sat nearest the door, which was where he sat when he expected to leave. Ysra had the candle-count and Sella had the diagnosis, and Gaunt sat at the far end where he could object to all of them without turning his head. Pell had brought a jug and set it down with the air of a woman who did not expect it to be drunk. The Regent’s chair was empty. Idrin was in the Gatehouse yard with the rod, which he had taken back from Lune for an hour and had not yet returned.
