Down in the sunken floor of the Hall of Witness, Noll Vey smelled the sea-wax and old flour before the echo of Captain Dorn’s voice died in the speaking flues.
The Dominion ring did not simply carry sound; it carried the physical resonance of metal, bone, and oath. When Dorn shook open Hobb’s grease-stained cook’s cloth four hundred paces up the mountain, the sudden, staggering weight of Master Serit’s Great Seal struck through the foundation stone like an iron plumb-bob dropped into a well. The lead and gilded silver of the royal seal, paired with the notched iron rim of Saved Chorus Token Number One, sent a deep, vibrating hum through the limestone under Noll’s boots.
Across the circular room, Lord Auditor Orin Vane sat behind his brass-cornered portable register chassis. His long, liver-spotted hands rested on the ivory operating keys, but his fingers had gone rigid.
The speaking flue behind Vane’s head—an open lead pipe running through the bedrock to the battery ditch—hissed with mountain wind, carrying down the shouting voices from the ridge.
“By the throne... it’s the Council’s own wax.”
That was Battery-Chief Gant’s voice, rough as gravel, trembling with awe.
Then came the high, frantic screech of Deputy Parget: “Where did you get that? The envoy is detained! The Auditor declared her party—”
