The central claims office in the former High court had become the bustling supply heart of the land-wide audit. Across the entire fifty-foot northern wall of the chamber hung the Great Master Chart of the Realm—an amazing survey map drawn to a scale of one inch to three miles, drafted on eighty joined skins of bleached thick parchment and mounted upon seasoned pine stretchers.
The map was covered with hundreds of small brass pins with colored paper flags. It formed a vast, fine, detailed web of office accountability across the forty-eight provinces. Green flags marked completed town audits. Yellow flags denoted active field inspections. And red flags showed contested trade ring claims undergoing court resolution. Waxed linen threads of various colors radiated from Crown-Reach to the outer mountains, tracing the daily transit routes of the fifty apprentice field teams.
Tomas Reed sat at his heavy ash-wood worktable beneath the center of the map, his pack frame propped against the desk leg. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His scarred left forearm rested flat upon the desktop, the calfskin brace providing firm, unbending support as he checked the incoming postal manifests. The damp autumn air was turning sharp with the first bite of northern frost. But his hand moved with steady, clockwork control, dipping an iron quill into soot ink to sign field clearances.
