Pella refused the urge to stage a dramatic public face-off at the High Terrace gates. Her father had taught her that an arrogant man with private guards, when cornered in public, will burn his own house down rather than surrender the keys.
‘If we march up that hill with this parchment tonight,’ Pella warned, ‘Sorell will order his wardens to bar the doors, claim the document is a forgery. Then he speed up his dedication before the Senate can assemble. We must secure the evidence quietly.’
Under Councilor Vesk’s personal watch, three matching approved copies of Roll Fourteen-A were prepared, signed, and witnessed by four senior guildmasters. One copy was carried by armed escort to the iron vault beneath the Senate House. The second was deposited inside Metal tube Seven in the crypt of St. Jude’s. And the third, wrapped in waterproof oilcloth, was placed in Pella’s leather satchel.
‘Now,’ Pella said, strapping her satchel shut, ‘Sorell can burn the High Terrace library if he chooses. But the truth exists in three separate stone vaults that no academy mace can breach. Our flank is secure. Now we must deal with the water.’
Inside Lowbank Courtesy Workshop & Water chute, the air carried the sharp, clear odor of damp lime mortar, copper green rust, and cold animal fat soap, showed by damp river draft carrying the tang of crushed limestone. With shuttered horn lanterns casting amber pools across the workbench, Pella Rook held the animal fat dip six inches from the…
