The kitchen had a fire in it.
Beorn clocked that before anything else that morning. The smell reached him in the corridor before he opened the door leading into the working section. Bread baking, something brothy underneath it.
For years the building had produced nothing but cold dust and stale air. Less than a week of occupation had already changed that.
He kept walking. Aestrith was two steps behind him.
Tam was at the far end of the corridor with a bucket and brush, scrubbing the floor. Her movements were steady and even. She didn't look up until he was close. He gave a single nod in acknowledgment. She returned to the floor and continued working.
Godric stood at the main internal gate. Beorn had put him there that morning. His eyes followed Beorn through the gate.
The clean section of the building had begun to look differently from the abandoned wings. These rooms had the working quarters, the offices, and the spaces now belonging to the prince's household.
The rest of the citadel still carried cold dust and silence. Here, people moved and worked.
Eadric waited where the main corridor met the administrative passage. As soon as Beorn rounded the corner, Eadric stepped into place beside him and kept pace.
"Good morning, my lord." His voice carried its usual warmth. "I hoped to speak with you before the rest of your schedule claimed the morning."
"Walk with me," Beorn said. He did not slow.
Eadric matched his pace. "The new household arrangements seem to be settling well. The cook has made an excellent start in the kitchen, and the guards appear to be positioning themselves appropriately."
He paused, thinking over the next point.
"I did want to raise a few considerations about the composition of the staff, if I may."
"Go ahead."
"Some of the new hires come from districts where documentation is incomplete." Eadric kept his tone mild. "The slums district especially has a rather transient population. I only mention it because the security of the building is important, and proper vetting becomes difficult when records are sparse."
"The ones I hired from the slums are on the payroll now," Beorn said. "They've been vetted."
"Of course. Certainly." Eadric adjusted his stride slightly so he could keep pace without visibly hurrying. "I only thought the matter worth mentioning. A few existing staff have expressed uncertainty about which areas they are now permitted to enter."
"The areas they're confused about aren't theirs anymore." Beorn turned left at the corridor junction toward the administrative section. "If they're unsure, they can ask Godric."
"Yes. That does simplify things." Eadric's warmth continued. The effort behind it was visible for a moment.
"I was also made notice of a garrison decree this morning, my lord. I wanted to discuss the timing. Restoring the garrison is a commendable objective, certainly. Although the complications of recruiting personnel and establishing a command structure while everything else here is still in motion..."
Beorn removed the ledger he had in his coat, and flipped to the last page he had been using. The charcoal stub came out of his pocket.
He began marking the margin.
Eadric continued speaking.
Beorn sketched simple shapes while he listened. A rectangle. A dividing line. The basic framework of a duty roster. He needed to visualize how the shifts would actually function once recruits arrived.
His hand kept moving while Eadric carefully navigated around the word objection.
"The decree is already written," Beorn said when Eadric finally reached the end of his sentence.
A short pause followed.
"I see."
"It goes up today." Beorn closed the ledger and tucked it under his arm. "Garrison notices across the city. Anyone who wants a position reports to this office."
Eadric stayed beside him. "Today is perhaps somewhat quick. The administrative preparation alone would normally require..."
"The administrative preparation is you writing the notice," Beorn said, "and Aldred posting it. That takes about an hour."
They reached the passage leading toward the front entrance.
Beorn stopped, reached into his coat, and produced a folded page. He held it out.
Eadric accepted it.
Eadric read the heading first. His expression adjusted almost immediately. The warmth remained. The effort behind it was now plain.
The decree itself used the formal language required for official documents.
By order of the Representative of the Badlands Protectorate, the Garrison of Ashmark is hereby declared restored to active establishment. All former garrison members in good standing are invited to present themselves for reinstatement. New appointments shall be made to fill vacancies, with terms of service, compensation, and chain of command as specified herein. This decree supersedes all prior arrangements affecting garrison positions. Notice to be posted throughout the city forthwith.
Eadric lowered the page.
He began to speak. The warmth returned to his voice. He had found his way back to something that sounded reasonable.
"Today," Beorn said.
He had already started walking toward the door.
The morning outside was bright and cold. The sky had its usual pale color, and the Scar cut faintly across it.
Godric moved into position on Beorn's right as they passed through the gate. A stocky man named Weard, already in his place along the wall, fell in on the left flank.
Together with Aestrith besides him, the four of them stepped onto the main road together.
The formation arranged itself without discussion. The prince, his bodyguard, and two guards walked into the city.
Traffic already filled the streets. Cart wheels on stone, calls carrying back and forth between loading crews. The warehouse district ahead had begun operating. Workers crossed the road in daily patterns.
Beorn watched the street while they walked.
A man stood near a loading bay at the corner of the warehouse district, facing the street. His attention didn't move when the carts went by, only when people did. The pedestrian movement around the market stalls flowed in paths that curved away from certain buildings and kept clear of the alleys behind them.
"Where are we going?" Aestrith asked.
"Builders' guild. South side of the high quarter. Secondary road."
She glanced at him. "Why them?"
"Because they're the correct pressure point." Beorn kept watching the street ahead as he explained.
"The construction trade in Ashmark runs through Coss's network like everything else. The guild holds a measure of independence that pure contract crews don't. They've existed here longer than Coss. They maintain their own clients and their own reputation. They operate inside his arrangement because no alternative has existed. They're not loyal to him for any deeper reason than that."
Aestrith considered that. "The pitch is profit," she said.
"I'll be asking them to consider a proposal."
She made the approving sound she used when something met her standards for practicality.
"And if they've already been informed you're coming?"
"Then they'll tell me what terms they want," Beorn said. "And I'll adjust." He glanced at her briefly. "They won't report it to Coss before we speak."
He guided them south at the next junction, passing into an older section of the high quarter where the buildings showed better maintenance.
"The project requires two resources. First, the raw materials necessary to test the cement mixture. Second, a labor structure capable of running repeated construction trials. Both run through the guild's supply network. They also have a financial incentive, I'm sure we can offer much better terms than Coss."
The building appeared along the secondary road as they turned. The stonework on the facade surpassed anything else on the street. Above the door a carved mark displayed the guild's symbol.
Two men worked near the entrance, adjusting a section of the outer wall where a facing stone had worked loose. They looked up as the four approached. Their expressions were curious while they watched the group.
Beorn stepped to the door and pushed it open.
Inside was a hall built for clients. A counter ran along one wall with ledgers filled the shelves behind it. On a side table rested samples of stone and other materials, set out for anyone coming to decide.
The interior was cool. The air smelled of cut stone, the mineral edge of a space that handled these materials every day.
Somewhere in the back, a tool struck stone in a steady rhythm.
A man behind the counter looked up from the ledger he had been marking. His eyes moved across the four of them and stopped on Beorn.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
Beorn placed his ledger on the counter.