Hessel came back to the salon two days later, sober, and the sobriety sat on him worse than the wine ever had.
He found Tobian Marrow at the quiet end of the room and sat down without being invited.
He held his cup in both hands, yet never once lifted it to drink, which Alistair had not seen him do in two months.
"The review on your name has moved," said Hessel.
"Reviews move. Most of them move toward the bin, and the rest move toward some other desk," Alistair replied, keeping his voice bored, the voice of a man hearing about a slow lawsuit. "Which way did mine go?"
"Toward the Scrivener, Marrow. It landed on her desk this very morning."
Hessel turned the cup a half-circle on the wood before he went on. "She's asked for supporting documents. Your birth record, your household register, and a written word from the Halversen estate confirming you're their man. The request goes out by council courier to the estate itself, and Caelmari procedure gives them twenty days to answer."
