Korrin read the Charter a second time after it was carried, because a clause that had been signed was a clause that could still be lying in wait for you, and he had been taught that by better men than the Chamber. He had learned it himself at Lantern Ford, where he had signed a promise for a separate count in exchange for a password, and the promise had turned out to be a rope with his own name knotted in it.
He stood at the Great Hall’s door with his shoulder against the jamb and his bad arm held in against his ribs. The vote was over. The lamps had been lowered along the walls, and most of the Hands had gone up the stair in twos and threes, arguing about the Mason’s Lending as they went. Gaunt had carried the stool out to the Smithy on his shoulder without a word to anyone, and had come back without it, and had sat down by the Register’s brass stand with a face like a closed forge. Tallow was still at the lectern, bent over his board in the dim light, with his spectacles still lost and his nose almost on the vellum. He had not looked up in some time.
