Caravellum

Belsam tugged at his fastened collar to find some cool air in the stifling humidity. He glanced at his reflection in the reflective brass of the double doors ahead of him. His height meant his face was poorly distorted by the intricate carving of the official sigil of the Justician Order. The soft pealing of a bell from afar brought him out of his reverie. He glanced around. It was time, and yet nobody had arrived. He tensed as his mind returned to the sight of Elinn, his ever-unreliable secretary, asleep at his desk, and the possibility of a change of venue being unnoticed made itself at home within his mind. He heard a shuffle of feet from behind him. Belsam turned to find the hunched figure of Albath Torsund. The man, bent and bowed in his age, was weighed down by the hefty length of grey hair atop his hunched shoulders, like a reef of bleached coral. Master Torsund crooked his neck forward to look in the vague direction of Belsam, the murky greys of his eyes always seeming to see just past him.
“Ah, Arcanist Pebawud.” He said with a timbre as if he had been taught to enunciate by a creaky door. “No, my apologies, Justician Pebawud.”
Belsam offered a short bow. “Master Torsund. I trust that I am in the right place?”
“Indeed, you are.” He said as he slowly worked his way around the chain of keys that sat upon his waist, feeling the bitting of each one until he found the one he was searching for. “Rather early, mind you.”
“I had been informed the meeting would start at second bell.”
“It does, all are usually rather late. On account of busyness, you see.”
Belsam suddenly became aware of how his early arrival to his first meeting may give the impression that he was not entirely occupied by his new work. As the ancient attendant stepped towards the doors, Belsam glanced around, the open windows and skylights which afforded direct line of sight with the grand towers of the Justicians’ offices suddenly made him feel very perceived.
“I worked late last night to ensure I would have time for this meeting.” Belsam followed, before immediately regretting his choice of words that made him sound impudent and expectant of his seniors to be attending at his convenience. “I mean, I understand that they are busy. I am also.” At the arch of an unkempt eyebrow, Belsam shut his mouth. As Master Torsund opened the doors, Belsam sank back into the corridor. He wrestled some papers from the file he was carrying and set about reading them while he waited for the arrival of the others.

He was contemplating the merits of a third case by the time he heard a gradual crescendo of voices approaching from the main tower. He looked down and saw the clamour of fastened cloaks. Leading them was a tall man. He made eye contact with Belsam as he came a few metres away.
“Ah, you must be Belsam!” he exclaimed in a thick accent that was somehow simultaneously perfectly understood as well as making you think you had misheard every word he had said. He glanced at the scroll-burdened secretariat by his side, “the new head of the Provincial Affairs Bureau,” before returning his gaze to Belsam. “I was saddened to hear of Tandon’s departure.”
Belsam bowed. “We will continue to search for any indication of his whereabouts, Judge Superior.”
He wrinkled his nose, as if offended by a pungent odour. “Please, Roiallis is fine.” He gestured to the others around him, each an esteemed figure in their own right. Belsam stared for a moment, a moment of dissonance by seeing the regal faces caught in portraits he walked beneath in the Grand Hall now animated and sweatened with exertion. He wondered briefly if he would also receive a portrait now, and took mental note to ask Elinn when he returned to the office. “We must apologise for our tardiness. We hope we didn’t keep you waiting.”
Somewhat taken aback, Belsam shook his head. “Not at all, it was no inconvenience.” He fluttered some papers in his hand to make the point.
“Grand, then let us begin.”

The room itself was less spectacular than he had imagined. It was circular with a ring of varnished wood that ran along the outer wall. The table was set with an extended tapestry detailing a tale of a bloody war that Belsam did not recognise. He was seated in a hard ashwood chair by the door, craning his neck to examine the open pit that was dug out of the centre of the room. The shadows within made it difficult to gauge the depth of it but it descended beyond his sight. Roiallis took his seat at the far end of the room. He cleared his throat to bring the attendance of twenty-three Justicians, each the head of their respective bureaus, to silence.

“Welcome all. We’ve got a short one this span due to Marchive coming up – for which, I wish you all the grandest of holidays.” There was a murmur of agreement around the room. “As always, I urge diligence in your reporting of potential dissident behaviour. We are expecting spikes of activity as usual. I’ve got a meeting in the spyre this afternoon but will return by sundown. Ellodia.” He said, with a brief gesture to the woman seated by his side. The head of the Arcane Incident Response Bureau stood and launched into an impassioned tirade on the increase of nefarious use of magic with suspicions of a grander crime ring in operation. Her voice, tinged with the slight nasal intonation of a capitalite, carried through the room, echoing ever so slightly from the pit. She nodded her head and sat, allowing the ancient woman by her side to stand. The meeting continued in this manner for the better part of the hour, with each bureau painting the image of not much changing. A brief spark triggered with a debate over the jurisdiction to deal with broken flagstones in the market square between the heads of the Public Utilities Bureau and the Capital Affairs Bureau. Only with the interjection of Roiallis, who took a moment to give a stern look over his papers, did Justician Whyte and Justician Bispaen finally return to their seats. Finally, it neared Belsam’s turn.

As Justician Colise returned to his seat, Belsam cleared his throat as he stood. He began, “Thank you for your kind attention and warm reception of my first attendance.” There were some nods around the room. “In the place of my predecessor, I report that there has been little movement on the Provincial Affairs Bureau’s priority areas. The Savon Furnace remains dormant without its smiths, who demand further compensation for their work. Negotiations are ongoing with the Bursary,” for which I nodded to Justician Genvar, “but we expect runereel production disruptions to continue for the time being.” There was a mild groan from some of the attendees. “Furthermore, our investigations into rumours of dissident factions within the airship industry have found little success due to piratic influences.” Saying it out loud, Belsam felt the unfortunate weight of his inheritance.

“There is a further point of attention that I would like to bring forward for the consideration of the chamber.” There were a few bemused glances towards him as he held a sheet of paper from his file in front of him. “Reports continue to emerge from the Mesans of numerous arcane anomalies. These include such sordid incidents as disappearing families, bouts of madness, unexplained illnesses, and corrupted farmlands. According to my predecessor’s notes, there have been requests for assistance made both to the local Judge and through the direct chain of command to the Arcane Incident Response Bureau, Justician Ellodia.” He bowed his head in slight deference. “However, there does not appear to be any reference within these papers to any positive action taken on those requests from either party.” He placed the sheet down upon the table. “May I humbly ask for a reason as to why?” Belsam noted the hushed whispers around the table.

Ellodia sat at her chair, her sharp chin rested upon her knuckles as she leaned forward. “I trust that the Justician for Provincial Affairs would appreciate the limits to the extent of our resources, and the necessity of priorities above reports of eloping farmhands and crop plagues.” Her voice rang clearly in the echo. “And the madness?” She laughed. “Mesan madness is a well-documented phenomenon. I trust that the Justician will become acquainted with it in his new role.” Belsam readied himself to respond when Roiallis clapped his hands together and stood. He eyed Belsam until he sat down reluctantly. “Many thanks all, till next week, to hard work and good holidays.” There was a scraping of wood against stone floors as the arcanists stood from their chairs and filed out of the room. Roiallis and Belsam remained in the room, and they waited until the door had closed behind the retreating senior members of the Justicians.

“Belsam,” Roiallis began. “Neither I, nor any other who was in this room, envy the task that has fallen to you. You have a lot of work to get to. Perhaps it is best you do not make enemies along the way.”

“Yes, Judge Superior.” Roiallis left the room. Belsam fell back into his chair with a sigh. Only after Master Torsund returned to the room with his creaking groan did Belsam drag himself from the chair and back to his offices.