The first case slid while the clerk was arguing that it should not be moved.
Orin caught its corner with both hands. A porter took the other side. Together they pushed it back against the stop before the deck’s next movement could carry it into the rail.
“What is it?” Orin asked.
“Sealed formation stock,” the clerk said.
“Then give it a sound place to wait. Not a ceremonial one.”
Beyond the landing, two supply vessels lay outside Bellwater’s protected unloading space. Cold wind drove spray across their covered decks. The quay schedule had allowed a gentler interval than the one arriving over the water.
Orin put his own delegation staff on the immediate receiving tasks. Their uniforms were useful identification, not protection from wet rope.
A messenger found him beside the load board.
