The survey began when the church bells of Crown-Reach struck the fourth hour after sunset. Just then, the mist from the river was thick enough to swallow the outline of a heavy cart at twenty paces.
The Grand High court of Escrows was not merely a building. It was a castle of high council built over a natural limestone cave system that had been swelled, vaulted, and lined with cut stone stonework across three hundred years. Above the street rose sixty feet of classical limestone porticos. Below the street lay an inverted stone pyramid that sank four tiers into the living bedrock.
Nessa Vale walked the outer edge of the High court wall, her oilskin coat buttoned to the chin, her cart driver gaiters strapped tight over her wool trousers. In her right hand she carried her eight-foot land-mapper’s staff, tuned in brass inches. Slung over her left shoulder was a coil of tarred hemp line tipped with an eight-ounce lead sounding weight. Her brass sound hearing horn was pressed firmly to her right ear, its wide flared bell angled toward the stone floor.
Tomas walked three paces behind her. He carried the leather instrument case and a shielded dark lantern that threw only a narrow slit of yellow light across the cobblestones. Sile Rook brought up the rear. His hooked pruning blade was tucked beneath his long wool cape. His eyes sweeping the was dark alleys for town watch patrols.
