In the center of the refugee camp, atop the tailgate of Old Kaelen Brant’s heavy freight wain, Tomas Reed prepared the instrument of seizure.
Surrounding the wagon stood two hundred refugee wagon drivers, their faces grim, their leather aprons buckled tight. They held heavy timber-felling axes, splitting mauls, and five-foot hickory wheel-wrenches. They didn’t shout. They didn’t raise angry fists. They stood in disciplined, unbroken ranks. They waited for the legal word that would transform their desperation into lawful power.
Tomas dipped his steel nib into the soot ink, drafting the formal order on royal high court thick parchment. The language was precise, ancient, and merciless:
“ORDER OF PROVISIONAL CUSTODIAL ATTACHMENT.
“Whereas the Grand Merchant Trade group Land Trust has been found in total, criminal default of its fiduciary duties under Royal Sweet-Water Trust Number Seven-Twelve;
“And whereas the outstanding debt, including accrued lawful interest and assessed exemplary damages for bodily harm, stands at Thirteen Thousand Six Hundred Silver Crowns;
“It’s hereby ordered under Section Twenty-Four of the Royal Chancery Code that all real property, structures, and stored agricultural commodities held by the defaulting trustee within the Precinct of Dry-Wells are seized into the provisional custody of the Master Tax clerk for the preservation of human life.”
