Castalor’s twin ports weren’t exactly the same, despite what the name suggested. East port was almost twice the size of West port, as it was built at least forty years later. They both had large paved walkways aligned to their docking and customs facilities, dabbling as unloading roads for goods and any other kind of imports.

The port roads ended at the large main street; the latter running through half the financial center of the city, before it in turn split itself; one part supporting North Castalor, the other part the South, which was both the larger and the poorest portion.

The Vice Admiralty Royal Court or VARC, as it was written in thick script above its entrance, was a simple two story square building at first; that got dutifully expanded every second generation it seemed, turning into a complex made out of four not exactly analogous, but interconnected through a shared courtyard buildings.

The knight, accompanied by a completely out of his element Glen, sitting subdued on a pompously designed, but totally uncomfortable armchair, waited outside an office on the second floor in one of the newer buildings, aptly named simply ‘four’.

The large waiting hall was decorated with crude stone statues of past officers, captains and even knights. Try as he did, Emerson couldn’t recognize any of them. A minute after the bells rang the time, the fancy decorated door opened and a young navy officer wearing a dark blue gambeson, same color pants and brand new boots, stepped energetically out of the office.

“Sir Lennox.” The man saluted. “Lord Faber is expecting you. If you please.”

Huug Faber was pushing fifty, a stout Issirian, with short cut white hair and an angled hard face full of wrinkles and dark spots, almost hidden courtesy of his even darker skin. He held the scroll Emerson had given him in front of his face and examined it once more; eyes flickering to an opened book with various markings and symbols on its pages, he’d set on his large office desk.

“That’s… the Duke of Raoz’s sign clear as day,” he snorted loudly, looking at both the knight and an awkwardly gawking Glen, standing in front of him. “Impressed next to the King’s. And you found this… where exactly?”

“The young man’s father had it on him. Sir Glenavon Reeves. He carried the Duke’s Shield as well, when he was found.”

“Found? Good gods. Is the man dead?”

“Regrettably lord Faber. He is.”

Huug placed three fingers on his forehead and pressed there for a long moment, as if to relieve the pressure. Glen puffed hard, pushing all the air out to the point of fainting. Emerson cast him a hard side stare and the youth breathed in equally hard trying to recover.

“Uher curse them,” Lord Faber said, “Who were the culprits?”

“A Cofol assassin.”

“Names?”

“Lord Faber,” Emerson replied, wanting to push this bureaucrat towards the problem at hand. “Ye need to open the letter or forward it to the King. Soon as possible. It is a matter of the outmost expedience.”

Huug sat back on his chair, clean shaven face suddenly serious.

“You presume to dictate my actions Sir Lennox? This is Castalor. We’re in Kaltha. Your family holds little sway in these lands.”

Emerson grimaced, but held his tongue.

“Lord Faber,” He tried again. “People died for that scroll to reach here.”

“Sir Reeves.”

“Aye. My squire Villy. Not even twenty, he was. A couple of good men as well, ye wouldn’t know.”

“And I regret your loss.”

“Regret ain’t exactly what I was going for, Lord Faber.”

“This is a Ministry of the Interior matter, Sir Lennox. I will not insert myself in what very well could be, the royal family’s personal affairs. Duke is connected through marriage, I believe.” Lord Faber said after a small consideration. “Hence, I will forward the… scroll, to more suitable hands.”

No ye plaguin’ won’t. Not in time.

Emerson took a determined step forward, heard Glen gasp startled on his back.

“Who is the man in charge of the local office?” He asked a good amount of steel in his voice.

Courtly manners, be damned.

Huug took offence, a frown on his face. “What’s this? You’re threatening me? Have you taken leave of your senses?” But Emerson approached even further and put a gloved hand on Huug’s fancy office table. Stooped over, he still had a good head on him. “Sir Lennox stand down! I will call the guards and have you thrown in the brig! Do not force my hand Sir!”

“No ye won’t. Call the man here. If you don’t and the worst happens, I will make sure they know, you stalled Lord Faber; on purpose.”

Huug appeared just about ready to explode in anger. Grinding his teeth, he stared at the scroll again, then the knight, ignoring Glen completely.

“Argh, for Uher’s sake. GUARD!” He thundered, looking at the closed door behind them.

The door opened wide.

“Lord Faber.” The officer saluted sharply.

Huug smacked his lips. Then sighed deeply, as if the decision pained him a great deal.

“Where’s Primus Molders?” He asked tiredly.

Taking the young officer by surprise. “The… priest…”

“Yes him.”

“Ahm… Sir, well. I… believe he’s in West port at this time.”

“Find him. Bring him here. On the double.”

“He might object milord.” The young officer stalled, which the knight found interesting.

“Tell him it’s a matter of state, dammit! Right at his alley as a matter of bloody fact! What’s this? Why are you still standing there? I gave you an order!” Lord Faber exploded, veins popping on his thick neck.

Emerson noticed Glen stood next to the window, pretending to look outside.

Or whatever it was the youth was doing. Emerson shook his head right and left disappointed, at all that talking gone to waste.

“Come here lad.” The knight said with a weary sigh. “We haven’t finished yet.”