The midday bell of Dry-Wells was striking twelve when Tomas Reed mounted the limestone steps of the Provincial Land Registry for the second time. This time, he didn’t bring an empty docket.
In his right hand, Tomas carried a framed folio of heavy drafting thick parchment containing the approved graphite rubbings of Caleb Thorne’s copper datum plate from Milestone Fourteen, signed by ten sworn witnesses and co-signed by Master Surveyor Nessa Vale. Across his chest hung his brass chain of office as Master Assessor of the High court.
Behind him marched Sile Rook. It carried his blackened tall body-shield, and twenty veteran wagon drivers wearing clean cart driver’s aprons, their arms folded across their chests in quiet, unbending discipline.
The double oak doors of the registry were open, guarded by four of Sheriff Gault’s court guards armed with heavy clubs. Tomas reached the threshold. Then, the court guards looked at the size of Sile Rook’s oak shield, looked at the twenty wagon drivers behind him, and quietly stepped aside into the shadows of the roofed porch.
Tomas strode through the arched entry hall into the high-ceilinged records hall. The air inside smelled of damp thick parchment, stale ink, and old dust. Behind the heavy oak counter sat Registrar Orlo Vane, his glasses perched on his trembling nose, wildly shuffling stacks of tax rolls.
