Hajin hauled the first desk across the command hall's threshold while two scribes stumbled after him with the wobbling second. He kicked the stone beneath its legs, and a third desk completed the line where petitioners usually stopped before guards.
The scribes scrambled to place the waiting chairs within reach while he left a clear lane beside the desks.
'A throne would fit in there, but three ugly desks will earn their space a lot faster.'
Marrick stopped inside the hall with an inkpot clutched in both hands, eyebrows climbing.
"Across the entrance?" He set the pot down and peered at the empty reception rooms, "most lords put three guard posts between this door and their paperwork."
Hajin shoved the central desk until its wobbling leg found a firmer place along the joint.
"Three rooms gives a stolen wage time to turn into a misplaced form," he said, dropping into the first chair, "so let people bring the damn form straight to us."
