The pavilion door bore a brass seal pressed into fresh red wax. The city warden who had witnessed the copper insert stood beside Wei, while Bai Jiu’s clerk copied the seal’s shape into his notebook. The captured captain sat under guard in the courtyard. His eyes followed every movement around the door.
“It contains dispatches,” he said. “Nothing that concerns the city.”
“Then the city can read them,” Mara replied. She had arrived from the east gate with two wardens and the baker, Talla, who would count whatever the siege had left in the storehouses. “No one enters alone.”
Bai tested the wax with the edge of a thin wooden pick. It had not hardened. A smear ran down the side of the brass stamp, as if someone had pressed it only moments ago.
“This was sealed after the fighting began,” she said. “The clerk inside knows it.”
The pavilion clerk appeared at the narrow window. He carried a small firepot by its handle. Yan saw the orange surface glow and crossed the yard before the man could tip it. He planted himself in front of the doorway. The clerk shoved the pot through the opening. Yan caught it with both hands and kicked it away from the papers stacked near the threshold. It struck the empty courtyard and cracked, scattering coals across the stone.
