The grand roofed porch of the Royal High court of Public Works remained under an uneasy, armed truce as the morning sun climbed above the High-Arch crags.
Tomas Reed stood upon the third marble step, his cowhide cart driver’s boots planted squarely upon the white stone. Behind him, the four forged iron brads holding the Inquest Notice still gleamed in the cedar door, their red wax seals undisturbed. A crowd of over a hundred borough residents—blacksmiths, flour-haulers, market porters, and several junior clerks from the Town Tax Court trial—stayed near the Great Fountain, their eyes fixed on the heavy iron grilles of the second-story windows.
Beside Tomas, Hester Quill smoothed the dark wool of her advocate’s robe. She had unpacked her formal parchment folio of lawful citations, resting it across her left forearm like a shield. On Tomas’s right, Sile Rook held his tall oak body-shield upright, its iron-shod base resting on the marble, his eyes continuously tracking the movements of the guards stationed along the roofline low roof wall.
A sharp, metal rattle broke the silence.
The heavy bronze latch of the central balcony swung open, and three figures stepped out onto the stone railing overlooking the roofed porch.
