The administrative office of the sixth region smelled of damp paper, cold ash, and sickness trapped behind closed windows.
Three clerks crowded around a rusted brazier while a fat guard leaned against the wall, enjoying warmth that never reached the streets.
"Have you heard the capital's latest rumor about the new regional lord?" the guard asked, flicking a crumpled notice onto the nearest desk.
The greasy-haired clerk lifted a cup of watered ale and let ink-stained fingers wobble above the rim.
"They say the new ruler arrives before sunset, barely old enough to shave," he replied, scratching the rash along his neck.
"A child from the capital will not survive one week among these Houses," another clerk added, stretching his boots toward the weak flame.
The guard slapped his thigh and laughed while the third clerk checked the shutter for movement outside.
