The carriage of Councilor Elna Vesk smelled of polished morocco leather, lavender pomander, and the expensive beeswax used to seal private town dispatches. Outside its curtained glass windows, the cobblestones of the High Terraces glistened in the cold afternoon drizzle, swept clean of the horse dung and vegetable scraps that rotted in the lower districts.
The carriage lurched to a halt before the marble roofed porch of the Municipal Works Board. The footman in gold-laced livery stepped down to open the brass-handled door. But before his white-gloved hand could touch the handle, a heavy iron-tipped ash walking cane blocked the step.
Senior Surveyor Korr Var stood in the rain, his oilskin cape shedding water in thick streams across the carriage footboard. His bicorne hat was pulled low over his weathered brow, and upon his lapel gleamed the silver eight-pointed star of the High Admiralty Court. An emblem that carried lawful power over every lock, weir, and navigability channel in the province. The brass rim of his pocket watch showed thick traces of copper green rust, earned from forty years of pacing damp tide docks.
“Councilor Vesk,” Korr said, his voice cutting through the patter of the rain like a horn across a foggy anchorage.
