The first faint gray light of dawn was beginning to seep through the leaded glass windows of Sister Merrow’s back kitchen when Auditor Varo Nenn reached for the fifth sheet of Dutch rag paper. Outside, the bells of the river watch struck four bells—six o’clock in the morning. The Gray Rush was running smooth and steady between its stone embankments, the water level holding at ten feet above mean, down another full foot since midnight.
On the kitchen table, five empty tea mugs stood in a circle around the cold teapot. Their dregs were dark as harbor mud. Pella Rook was rubbing her temples. Her eyes burned with fatigue, but her thoughts were sharper than they had been in weeks. Beside her, Eren Tal was brushing wood shavings from his trousers. Meanwhile, Sister Merrow stoked the embers and set a large iron kettle of fresh water over the iron grate.
“Article Five,” Nenn said, dipping his quill for the fiftieth time that night. “The Governance Structure. In traditional civic commissions, executive power is vested in a single Director or High Commissioner who possesses total command over staff, budgets, and working deployments. Even the reform bloc at the College suggested yesterday that Pella be named ‘High Warden of the Threshold’ with supreme emergency power. Why do you reject that title, Candidate Rook?”
