The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Remnants of Governance

Able's footsteps sounded gargantuan in the empty hall. He hadn't been sure this building was the municipal from the outside, as every building inside the fortifications in Aimsby was an indistinct wood-framed structured filled with cob. He'd bet on this one because of its size and now stood in the dim reception chamber lined with empty desks.

Able could clearly picture the reception officer and his underlings at work here, and their absence made the room feel colder. He approached the officer's desk and, leaving handprints in the dust, checked several drawers. All empty. He let the other desks be and turned down the hallway on the right, past the pale outlines of frames that no longer hung on the walls, though some of the chambers of the council members still had placards affixed to their doors. The councilman from Fairbanks was apparently also the Minister of Commerce, whenever this building last hosted any such thing. Some furnishings and forgotten personal effects and ruined memos remained in some of these chambers, but little else.

Able carried on looking around until he found the door to the legislative chamber. It was comparatively bright inside, the clerestory doing its job even if only for a congregation of dancing motes. He proceeded to the lonely floor and estimated the hall could seat two hundred people. He approached the Speaker's Chair, assuming this was like a Dagobari council, and looked up to the seats that he easily filled with the figures from Heedful Fairweather's story. But they remained actors on the stage of his imagination, and he had to leave the municipal without evidence that they had ever existed.

He loitered in the yard to consider the other buildings. The grounds were underpopulated and despite—or perhaps because of—the heavy stone walls and fortified gates, the security was lax. In contrast to Kettlebrook, the guards here had waved him in without another thought when he claimed Larbant citizenship. Probably the majority of the enforcers were still dealing with the rioters.

He scrutinized the other buildings. Part of the fortress wall and something that looked like a barracks had workers crawling on them making repairs. He turned to scan the intact older buildings until he found the largest one that had smoke coming out of its chimneys. Inside, a Borealunder was manning the counter in the entry chamber. He watched Able uncertainly and did not grow more certain upon hearing his request.

Instead, the receptionist went to fetch the mayor through the private access door behind him. Able could see aids at work in the room beyond and imagined Prudent Nightwatch once having staff like this. He didn't wonder long why this municipal was still at work while Fairbanks's limped along, for the receptionist returned with a man who had the swarth and strong brow of a heartlander.

"I apologize for the confusion, scholar," he spoke with a sonorous voice and the decorum of a gentleman.

"These are confusing times." Able felt his spine unclenching as he held out his hand. "Able Houser, affiliated with the University at Fourwind Heights."

"Civil Rosefarm." The mayor shook his hand with a nod. "That's the one near the coast in Southern Shores, right? Between Blueport and Rainbow Hills? Do you know Lucent Standard?"

"Professor of Arithmetic." Able smiled easily. "I studied under him for calculus and statistics."

"My cousin's husband." Rosefarm pointed to himself and smiled back.

He then led Able back to his office, remarking on the warm inland breezes known to sweep across the Rainbow Hills and asked how the University handled the rains in the wet season as they settled into the leather chairs on either side of his desk. Able answered that the run-off mostly handled itself thanks to the elevation and a few more questions about the campus besides. Normally it was all Able could do to keep his patience during this sort of idle chatter, but right now it was like a freshly baked roll warming his hands as the aroma of melting cheese wafted off of it. So he let the Larbant pleasantries stroll their well-worn course before asking about the council records.