The carriage of Councilor Elna Vesk came to a halt twenty paces from the test frame stands. Then, four men stepped out from the ranks of the lightermen to form a formal reception line. They weren’t ruffians or tavern brawlers. They were the elected ward masters of the five ancient riverine guilds of Lowbank, dressed in their ritual dark wool coats with silver-plated guild badges pinned to their lapels.
At their head walked Guildmaster Renn Vos, his six-foot frame straight as an ash spar. He held a heavy calfskin register bound with brass corners. Behind him came Master Durn of the Timber Dockwrights, carrying his three-foot brass measuring rule. Mistress Hesta of the South Laundresses, her gray hair pinned neatly beneath a clean linen cap. And Master Corley of the Brick and Kiln Guild, whose thumbs were permanently stained with red brick dust.
The carriage door swung open. A liveried footman in gold lace stepped down, his patent-leather pumps sinking instantly into the cold mud and horse manure that coated the market stones. He opened a silk umbrella with an awkward, nervous flutter. He held it over the carriage step.
Councilor Elna Vesk stepped out onto the cobblestones. She was dressed in a dark traveling gown of deep plum-colored broadcloth, trimmed with beaver fur at the collar, her fine silver hair gathered beneath a velvet bonnet. She carried no escort of academy exam guards or armed guards. Beside her walked only Chief Archivist Malden. She grabbed his bundle of town…
