Varo Nenn sat on a three-legged ash stool on Sister Merrow’s front porch, his heavy wool cloak wrapped tight against the river dampness. Before him on a folding pine frame stand lay his master check docket—a thick, brass-bound register of ruled thick parchment containing three hundred pages of civic grievances, tax checks, and load-bearing survey certificates.
In his right hand he held an ivory dip-pen tipped with hardened steel. It drew dark, permanent strokes of dark oak-ink across the legal grid. Beside his inkwell rested a thick slice of warm sourdough crust Sister Merrow had buttered for him ten minutes ago. Its steam still rose into the cold morning air.
On the corner of the frame stand, a chipped clay pot mug of hot boiled tea gave off a steady curl of herbal vapor, while below the porch steps, the tidal mud of the riverfront released its customary silt stench into the rising wind. The rain had paused. But the wet stonework of the surrounding apartments gleamed dark gray under the overcast winter sky.
Examiner Corvin Hest emerged from the kitchen back kitchen, his violet cowl pulled low over his forehead. He stopped at the edge of the porch, looking down at the senior clerk with tight, strained lips. ‘Have you completed the closure order, Auditor Nenn?’
