The morning arrived cold.
The citadel at that hour carried its own stillness. A building intact, with work beginning to return to it. The smell of burning wood drifted through the corridor as he walked toward the office he had claimed for administrative work.
Inside, Aestrith was already waiting.
She had placed two chairs facing the desk, evenly spaced. Now she leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, her attention on the door.
"The first one is waiting in the corridor," she said.
Beorn nodded once. "Send them in."
Aestrith stepped out. Moments later she returned with a woman who walked in a calm pace and stopped. She studied the space before speaking. Her eyes moved over the room, then stopped on Beorn. He had seen that look before.
She was old. Old from work.
Her hands rested together in front of her. The skin and calluses said enough, she had spent years cooking over open flames in cramped spaces with poor ventilation. Her coat told the same story. Worn but carefully patched. Twice, at least.
She remained standing until Beorn gestured toward the chair.
"You're from the slums," he said.
"Born elsewhere." She sat. "But I've lived in the slums for the last five years."
He noted it.
"Your children are there?"
"Yes," she confirmed flatly. "They stay with a neighbor two buildings over. We've got a deal. I watch her grandchildren when she needs it, she watches mine when I work. It's been working for years."
"How old are they?"
"The younger one is four. The older is seven." She paused briefly.
Beorn picked up the charcoal and opened the ledger beside him. His hand started moving without thought. A rough rectangle formed on the page. It had no immediate purpose. His attention stayed on the conversation.
"You cooked for the household that recommended you?"
"For them and before them a merchant stall." She watched the charcoal for a brief moment, then returned her attention to him. "Before that I worked in a boarding house in an east settlement. Nine years. Until that place stopped being a place."
She paused only long enough to confirm he understood the implication.
"I know my stuff," she continued. "I know how to feed the same number of people with or without fresh ingredients and still have the food come out worth eating."
Beorn considered the claim.
"How many people can you feed at scale?" he asked. "A working household."
Her answer came without pause.
"That depends on what I have available."
She'd answered that before.
"If I have a proper hearth, working pots, and consistent provisions," she continued, "I can feed thirty people three meals a day. I've handled forty twice when the season required it. It was harder. Nobody went hungry."
Beorn adjusted the charcoal lines slightly.
"The citadel kitchen is larger than what you're used to," he said. "At the moment it's understocked and barely used. That'll change."
He made a small note beside the sketch.
"You would run the kitchen. That includes managing provisions when they arrive, deciding meal schedules, and reporting any supply delays."
She matched his gaze.
"I can do that."
"Very well," Beorn said.
He set the charcoal down and studied her directly.
"What information do you need before deciding?"
She did not pause.
"The pay."
"Five silver per month. Full kitchen access. What you cook feeds you and the household. Provisions stay here."
She went silent.
She was working something out.
Beorn watched her eyes shift slightly toward the middle distance. Two children. Four and seven. Shared childcare. What she was currently earning.
"When would I start?" she asked.
"Tomorrow morning."
She studied him again.
"The children come here during the day if something happens."
He thought about it. A few children inside a large citadel would not matter once staffing increased.
"Once the staff expands, there'll be enough people here that it won't cause problems."
She examined the statement, thinking whether it could actually be done. She read what she could see. The desk. The ledger. Aestrith at the wall.
Finally she spoke.
"Five silver."
"Indeed."
"All right."
She stood, adjusted her coat, and walked out of the room without ceremony. Aestrith closed the door behind her.
Beorn glanced at the ledger.
The rectangle on the page now had a second line cutting through it. He had not consciously drawn it. His hand had simply continued moving during the conversation until the marks formed something incomplete.
He turned to a new section, wrote the woman's name beside a number, and prepared for the next interview.
The day had found its rhythm.
Several others arrived. Basic work. Names taken from Aestrith's list. Each needed meeting in person before anything was confirmed. Most followed the same steps. Questions, answers, the number stated plainly, decision made.
Two were gone in under three minutes each.
Neither appeared on Aestrith's list.
Beorn did not ask why they had come. Instead he asked the only relevant question.
"What can you do?"
Their answers contained enough information. He said no to both without explanation. They left.
A third arrived who had not been on the list. He had thought about how to walk in. Claimed someone in the warehouse district had told him the citadel was hiring.
He spoke politely. His answers were thorough. When Beorn asked about his previous work, the man kept his eyes on the desk.
Beorn told him no and thanked him for coming. The man left with his expression closed.
Other hires followed.
Two cleaners.
One records runner. A young woman who had worked for a notary until that office became entangled with Coss's supply network.
One archivist. Older. Previously responsible for records in a textile business. She asked only for work that did not require falsifying documents.
Each role paid four silver per month.
By the time Godric knocked, the work had found a stable pace. A growing stack of notes sat at his elbow.
Godric entered and paused long enough to survey the room.
He read the exits before he read the desk. Then he sat in the offered chair without making the movement ceremonial.
His hands rested on his knees.
He waited.
Beorn had already picked up the charcoal again. This time the lines suggested part of a wall elevation.
"Aestrith said you serve in the garrison," Beorn said.
"Served," Godric corrected. "Four years ago. The commander's term expired and the capital never sent a replacement."
Beorn understood what that meant.
"So you left."
"The garrison stopped paying." Godric kept his tone neutral. "I remained three additional months in case the situation resolved."
"It didn't."
He met Beorn's eyes.
"I've no interest in presenting it differently."
"Good," Beorn said, adding another mark to the page. "The role here is guard work. Citadel security. Day hours. The chain of command runs directly to this office."
Godric repeated the key phrase.
"Directly."
"Yes."
Godric's hands remained still.
"That raises a question," he said.
He spoke without apology.
"In this city," he continued, "nothing operates on a single chain. There's always a secondary dealing. Someone above the official authority."
He watched Beorn carefully.
"The one before you failed because the official arrangement wasn't the real one."
He leaned slightly forward.
"I need to know if this situation is the same."
Beorn set the charcoal down. The silence between them was chosen.
"You know who runs this city," Beorn said.
"I know who has been running it."
"Then you're asking whether I'll make a deal with him. And whether that deal will eventually control the role."
Beorn picked the charcoal up again.
"The answer is no. The role answers to me. That doesn't change when it becomes inconvenient."
Godric did not respond immediately. Something older than salary was being considered. Whether Beorn would hold.
Finally Godric spoke.
"You've been here less than a week," he said. "You don't yet have the leverage required to guarantee that."
"I know," Beorn said.
He kept his tone matter-of-fact.
"I'm not claiming the outcome is already secured. I'm explaining the authority I intend to build. You can decide whether that's worth your time."
Another silence followed.
Outside the office someone walked down the corridor. A door opened and closed. The sounds of a building gradually returning to use.
"You're not going to claim you're different from the others," Godric said.
"No," Beorn replied. "You'll determine that yourself."
Godric looked down at his hands briefly.
Then he returned his gaze to Beorn.
"What's the pay?"
"Eight silver a month," Beorn said. "Equivalent to a standard garrison posting."
He matched Godric's eyes.
"You know that's not what the garrison actually paid."
Godric's expression shifted slightly.
"That's the value of it."
Godric considered the statement longer than any previous applicant had needed.
Then he nodded once.
"I'll take it."
He stood. Beorn recorded the hire in the ledger.
After Godric left, Aestrith remained where she was, still leaning against the wall. She studied the list in her hand, running her thumb slowly down the page.
"Some of the candidates you rejected weren't on my list," she said.
Beorn looked up.
"No?"
"Three of them." She kept reading. "I suspected something when they entered. They looked around the room instead of focusing on you."
She tapped the paper lightly.
"Their questions were wrong. They asked the kind of questions someone asks when they want to understand what you're doing."
"And?"
She turned to him.
"You refusing them confirmed the suspicion."
Beorn considered that thought for a moment.
The charcoal was still in his hand. He looked down. Wall elevation lines. The failed rectangles from earlier. Several other small sketches that had appeared during the interviews.
Then he laughed.
A short, real sound.
"Who sends people to a job interview to collect intelligence?" he said.
Aestrith's expression did not change.
It was the same calm expression she had worn when explaining the mistress cover earlier.
"Someone who has controlled this city for decades," she said, "and wants to know what you're hiring for."
Beorn turned to the next page.
"Who's next?"