The request was accepted because the law left no room to refuse it, and a clerk who was not Hessel led Tobian Marrow down a narrow corridor into a public reading room with one high window and a single long table.
He set the warrant register on the wood without a word, then went to stand by the door with his hands folded in front of him.
Alistair sat and opened it to the current week.
"This is the full record, then?" he asked, keeping his voice mild, the voice of a scholar bored by one more dull ledger.
"Everything the Scrivener touches passes through this book, Ser," replied the clerk. "Warrants, sentences, and the reviews that come before them. It has been opened more than usual these past days."
Hearing this, Alistair gave no sign of the small cold thing that moved through him, and turned his attention to the page.
'So they set down more than the finished work in here,' he thought.
