On the fourth morning of the extraordinary assembly, the Court of the King’s Bench convened to address the physical anatomy of the kingdom. While the stolen gold bullion had been returned to the parish coffers, the true instruments of civic oppression still stood across the landscape. Fourteen fortified toll-gates, eight strategic canal lock basins, and six massive stone granaries that the High Guild Assembly and the High court had used to monopolize the life of the realm.
Tomas Reed walked slowly to the center dais of the Great Hall, his ash pack frame resting on the flat stone slabs beside the petitioner’s table. Across his chest hung the heavy bronze Seal of Sovereign Judge, suspended by its braided hemp cord. In his sound right hand, he carried a thick sheepskin folio bound in green morocco leather. The Master Register of Public works and Transit Rights. Beside him stood Hester Quill and Captain Marcus Thorne. He was surrounded by stacks of iron keys, brass padlocks, and town charter rolls.
Tomas paused before the high bench, adjusting the calfskin brace on his left forearm. He tightened the three-inch steel buckle by a fraction of an inch to stabilize the wrist against the chill morning air. He bent his left fingers through his measured test routine. He confirmed that his sixty-five percent grip capacity was stable, firm, and ready. For five years, he had been halted at every toll-bar, threatened with irons at every river lock. Then he turned away from empty granaries…
