The Chamber met at the candle-clock, as it always did, and Tallow laid out the minutes the way he always laid them out. The slate went at his right hand. The Register went at his left, open at the day’s blank page. The pen lay square across the blotter with its nib pointed at whichever chair he would be asked to record. There were nine places, cut into the long table as a ring of oak pegs that had been replaced twice and never moved, because the Charter of Shares had given the Hold nine voices and the Hold had not yet found a reason to argue with the number.
The Hands came in through the east doors one at a time. Harrow came first, with plaster on his cuffs. Pell came next, with flour to the elbow, and she did not apologise for it. Gaunt arrived with the bellows-boy trailing him and sat down without a word, which Tallow noted, because Gaunt had not been silent at a sitting since the second winter. Korrin came in from the granary yard smelling of grain. Mourner came last, from the back of the hall, singing a name so low that only the minutes-clerk could hear the shape of it.
