Receiving the Envoy.

[Cinnabar]

To Graf Josef Reinstadler, Crown Courier
[INDENT]Graf Reinstadler

I understand that you have a message to deliver to my hand directly; I shall be available at my office tomorrow at whatever hour before noon is convenient to you.

Sincerely

Cinnabar Calomel[/INDENT]


To Aldwin Meriwether Gilby, 3rd Baron Hawkesbury, 1st Baron Amesbury, Minister of Myrken Wood
[INDENT]Lord Hawkesbury

My secretary advises me that Graf Josef Reinstadler, a gentleman hailing from the Capital, has a missive from the Crown for my attention; are you familiar with this gentleman or the nature of his errand? Curiously, he has attempted to deliver this directly to my office, which is an unusual variation on accepted practise.

If this is simply some previously-unencountered quirk of royal protocol, I beg pardon for taking up your time with this unnecessary letter. If not, however, I can only assume that an error on his part - perhaps a combination of admirable zeal and regrettable ignorance - has caused him to neglect the necessary step of delivering this royal edict into your hands, thence to be conveyed to the Council. If this latter explanation is true, I shall instruct him to direct all such future communiques to our most esteemed Minister, and advise that he tender his apologies to you with all haste.

Sincerely

Cinnabar Calomel[/INDENT]

[Hawkesbury]

To the Venerable Cinnabar Calomel, Governor of Myrken Wood; from Aldwin Meriwether Gilby, 3rd Baron Hawkesbury, 1st Baron Amesbury, Minister of Myrken Wood - Greetings.

I trust you are in fine health and that all is as well as could be expected in the Wood. I must say that the quarry of Myrken has become a recent fascination of mine. Thrice this very week our party felled harts of sixteen. We were quite pleased, as you might imagine. You absolutely must join us for a hunt par force at your earliest convenience. I assure success.

In regards to your missive, I am unfamiliar with a Graf Reinstadler. If he is in the employ of The Crown, I know not of him. I knew of a Rosalynd Reinstadler in Razasan -- a rather impish woman, timid and flushed, especially when spoken to. The men of the Admiralty often joked of how the woman would break out in hives the moment a man looked upon her. It was all quite amusing. And now that I think of her, I am reminded that she may have had a brother, though I do not know him nor if his name is Graf. I only say this as I vaguely recollect a man in court by the name of Reinstadler, whom Lord Vistrapol suggested may be of relation to Lady Rosalynd, though he was uncertain, as I recall.

This Reinstadler fellow was not a regular attendee of the court by any means, at least not as I recall; rather he was there but only once or twice. His business I do not remember either, I am afraid to say. All that I am able to draw from my mind is that he had a penchant for dark robes, which I have always taken as the sign of a rather unsavory fellow. After all, only skulkers, schemers, and those who do not follow the latest fashions wear such things with any great fidelity. I am unlikely to ever understand why ne'ers-do-well have such a consistent affinity for black clothing. But I suppose that is an observation for another time. Either way, these are but spotty moments in my mind and may not apply to the man in question.

In regards to protocols, however, it is quite odd that His Majesty would send word to any other in Myrken Wood than myself, but, of course, His Majesty is welcome to do as He pleases, for He need not answer to any other, as you well know. That stated; there are many who would wish to beguile by stating that they are sending word in the name of the King. As a result, I would urge caution. To that point, upon the completion of this letter, I shall write to the Courts and inquire upon this fellow and his station. Naturally, I will report any replies thereupon.

In closing, I bid good tidings and insist that you send notice of when you shall come to Amesbury for a chase. You need bring nothing but yourself and your aim; all else shall be sorted.

Done by my hand this Twenty-Eighth of April, Anno Regalis Two Hundred and Eight.

[Reinstadler]

The appointment came and went with no response. The reply came the following day though not without the slightest hint of apology.

To Cinnabar Calomel, Governor of Myrken Wood

Governor Calomel,

I regret having been away upon a tour of the region when your letter arrived. Given your unfortunate hesitation in making yourself available to me before now, I thought it best to see all that I could of the area, for inclusion in my frequent reports back to the Court. The town of Foggy Bottom was of particular interest as were the most peculiar stories about the priory of Snowstill.

As you were to have set off for Razasan three weeks ago, I fear that all of these delays have caused significant damage to your reputation. Nonetheless, let us meet, tomorrow if you are available, and see what we can do about resolving this matter and forestalling further personal embarassment for you and your position.

Graf Josef Reinstadler

[Cinnabar]

To Graf Josef Reinstadler, Crown Courier
[INDENT]Graf Reinstadler

Your concern for my reputation at court is most considerate; indeed, I am both surprised and honoured to know that events in Myrken Wood are discussed by such luminaries as might be found moving in such lofty circles. I cannot see that the Crown will look too poorly upon me if I first ensure that matters in Myrken Wood are running smoothly and that the people's needs are being met, and His Majesty will hopefully understand the corresponding delay in my attending the requested meeting; while this takes place, I trust that he might content himself with the copious obeisances and supplications of the courtiers who no doubt surround him in droves.

My thanks for your own gracious patience and forbearance in the meantime, and sympathies for the bad luck that brought you to Myrken Wood during my first period of absence since taking office. Truly a most regrettable accident of timing!

Otherwise I am heartened to hear that you have been acquainting yourself with our humble region and taking such an interest in local sites of note. Should you find yourself at further liberty during your stay in Myrken Wood, I might also recommend visiting such scenic locales as the Great Pit at Golben, the former Chapterhouse of the Shepherd Knights, and Kanpar Village - a tranquil spot with a most intriguing history. I am sure that you would find a tour of these places thoroughly edifying.

I look forward to seeing you on the morrow.

Sincerely

Cinnabar Calomel[/INDENT]

[Reinstadler]

So it was that Graf Josef Reinstadler found himself outside the offices of Cinnabar Calomel at the specified time, having been dropped off there by his carriage. The response received from Calomel was laughable. He made himself seem like a buffoon. Surely, though, the governor thought himself clever, if not exactly subtle. It was exactly what he had been expecting, a pompous twit who bludgeoned his way through life.

Reinstadler was dressed in his usual fineries. He did not need to dress up for this meeting, though he did hope that Calomel had enough self-respect to at least be presentable. Nothing so far had indicated such a thing, but still, one could hope... even here in this pit of barbarism.

His driver would knock upon the door. There was no reason to sully one's self with such menial drudgery, not here, at least. Who knows what sort of grubby hands had touched that door in order that one petty, inane dispute could be resolved or perhaps begging for a few coin to return to the usual state of inebriation that most of the locals seemed to spend the majority of their days in?

Would the door open? If not, the driver would attempt to open it. This meeting had been delayed long enough.

Either way, the result would be the same. Reinstadler would step forward and speak firmly, expected to be seen to without delay. "My name is Graf Josef Reinstadler. I am expected. Announce me."

[Cinnabar]

It's not exactly a the most prepossessing of buildings; more functional than fine, and by no means as opulent or refined as Councillor Guillaume's office on Station Row. Still, it's clean enough, and in the reception area downstairs is a bustle of efficient industry. Little by way of staff is spared for the Graf's visit, however - a young lad in a grey tunic a size or two too large leads the way to the Governor's office, leaving them to it once the appropriate door has been indicated.

There's certainly a voice from behind that closed door in reply to the driver's knocking; it opens readily enough under his hand, allowing Reinstadler entry to speak to a young man with silver-white hair and grey eyes, who sets down his pen and rises from his seat behind a broad and paper-strewn desk, small iron weights used to hold down the documents against the light breeze from the windows that face out over the yard along one side of the room. Presentable, most assuredly, and it is something from which he takes quiet satisfaction; neatly-tailored garments in slate grey, with little adornment or ornamentation beyond the absolutely necessary.

Indeed, one will not see much by way of rich textures or expensive accoutrements in this office at all, but rather well-crafted furniture in light wood - beech, perhaps, or a pale walnut. Cabinets, a side-table bearing a copper kettle atop spirit burner, a few chairs on the other side of the desk from this gentleman. What decoration *is* present in the office is understated, limited; sparse but elegant carvings on certain of the woodwork; a tooled leather swordbelt carring a light fencing blade and matched dagger bundled up and propped beside a cabinet near his desk; a child's drawing, framed and resting on a shelf within view of the desk. The overall impression is not so much one of grandeur or ostentation, as of a space in which a man spends a certain proportion of his day, and has thus arranged it to be comfortable, orderly and pleasant.

"You have already done so quite admirably, sir. Please, come in." A glance for the man's companion - Bodyguard? Servant? Secretary? - but no visible objection to his presence. Instead a polite smile, stepping around his desk to offer a hand in greeting.

"Cinnabar Calomel, at your service."

[Reinstadler]

The man seemed only there to make sure doors were opened and courtesy extended. Once that was the case, a mere glance from Reinstadler sent him back towards the carriage. Cinnabar Calomel would not physically threaten the envoy, no matter what was said. If he did, then perhaps the governor might learn just how Reinstadler earned those scars upon his face. He would take that hand, would nod slowly at the man before him before releasing the shake. His grip had been firm but not challenging. One of them, at least, saw no point in childish games.

Cool eyes took in his surroundings. Quaint. Hardly surprising, of course. He was hardly impressed and his tone of voice did not hide it in the least. "You trust Guillaime, do you?" It was a strange opening comment, but of course, the Graf only had Calomel's best interests in mind. "Send him the most recent correspondence you wrote to me. Let him critique it. It could hardly make things worse," if that was even possible, truly. "Base flippancy ill suits a man with your responsibility. If you cannot handle it with the required grace, do the proper thing and find someone who can."

The Graf looked down at the humble chair on the other side of the desk with slight disdain. He could only imagine what sort of cretins had ... bah, no matter. He couldn't stop at every point. No, given why he was here, he had to sully his hands. There was no way around it. He was willing to do what was necessary and yes, willing to sit down in that unassuming chair. Free advice out of the way. "Shall we get to the heart of the matter, then? I would hardly call holding private parties attending to the needs of the populace, as you so put it." The document in question was unrolled upon the table for Calomel to peruse, and yes, it did contain the seal of the royal court.

[Cinnabar]

A firm grip returned, but not excessively so. Content to keep matters civil for now, at least, though the smile fades somewhat as the envoy speaks. Ah. So that's how it's to be.

"A private party, sir." A small correction, but one worth making. "To imply that I have engaged in little else since my return does me a disservice." The document in question is glanced over, skimmed at best, the seal given but the most fleeting inspection before he looks back to the Graf.

"Do you take tea?" He knows from Guillaume that this young noble does, albeit disdainfully; still, only polite to ask if he takes it today. He's already moving for that spirit-burner and kettle, meanwhile, fussing with sulphur-matches and setting the vessel to boil. Even if the esteemed court courier does not take tea, the Governor most assuredly shall.

"So. Do tell me more of my reputation at Court. I confess myself intrigued."

[Reinstadler]

To the Graf's apparent credit, he does not go into more detail about the party and what was announced there and revealed soon after. A man with such dignity does not lightly discuss such ... improper things, at least not during so serious a meeting. Some things were just not done. "I am respectfully curious to hear of all the things you have done since your return, besides the party, which merited more attention than our meeting today." There was that token movement of his hand, dismissing the matter. "Unfortunately, such an account would only further delay matters of real importance, matters already put aside for far, far too long. Perhaps we can return to it at a later time."

"Tea would be fine. As is." Some habits should be kept at all times. There's the slightest bit of amusement in Reinstadler's eyes, if not his face, for Calomel's fumbling, though moreso for the fact that he does this himself. This was Myrken, a land where the proper social order seemed to be completely ignored. Barbarism, while seeming quaint at first, quickly began to grate.

Ah, something resembling an interesting question, though hardly an imaginative one. "Myrken Wood, as I have seen for myself over these last many days, does NOT merit a very high profile at Court, and for good reason. We receive stories of bogeymen and ghouls, of cults and drow... one overblown tale after the next brought to us by easily excitable traders." Yes, Cinnabar Calomel. Your suffering and that of your people are seen as low comedy and minor entertainment, far-fetched fantasy at best, by a certain circle at Razasan.

In fact, by this point Reinstadler barely seemed interesting in this turn of the conversation. He was looking back around the room idly. "You, on the other hand, have received some real attention. Do not be overly flattered by such a notion. It is solely due to the Burel fiasco, not any particular accomplishment of your own." He made another dismissive wave. There was no reason to dredge that affair up... not yet. "Still, you have shown yourself to be a man who will go to great lengths in the name of his vision. If Burel's foolishness has turned certain eyes outwards, then some of them have admittedly fallen upon you."

[Cinnabar]

The matter of what he's been doing these last few weeks is raised and dismissed, and he offers a light shrug in acceptance of the envoy's decision not to press the matter for now. Cups and saucers carefully arranged on a tray, and a couple of spoonfuls of dried leaves are dumped into the pot. It has the air of a familiar ritual, and one which he has performed on many occasions. He has already decided, however, that he will not be offering the Graf a biscuit.

"While I cannot gauge how much such tales may have grown in the telling between here and the capital, sir, I can confirm that they are at least rooted in truth." Moving to resume his seat while the kettle boils, and another passing glance for that document as he does so; he finds it somewhat less interesting than the man who has brought it to his desk, however, and so it is that Reinstadler receives the greater proportion of his attention. Listening quietly, brows raised in polite interest.

"I see." As the Graf finishes a quick series of half-hearted compliments and backhanded putdowns. "Well, it is good to know that the Crown is aware of events in Thessilane and Derry. No doubt the more accomplished and adroit of His Majesty's diplomats are already coordinating a response to Burel's rebellion? It is comforting to know that you, at least, could be spared from assisting them in such pressing matters in order to make this visit." The Governor inclines his head in appreciation, as if honoured to be granted this audience. A glance aside to one of the papers on his desk, then, which Reinstadler will likely recognise as one of his own missives to Calomel's office. Ah, yes. That reminds him, and he looks back to the Graf, lacing his fingers before him.

"Your letter made mention of damage to my reputation - such as it is - and perhaps some means by which that might be ameliorated or resolved. I will admit myself unfamiliar with the intricacies of Court, sir, and the mechanisms which govern the rise and fall of one's standing within it. What would you advise?"

[Reinstadler]

Reinstadler would believe the Governor when he spoke of these tales, or at least he would believe the general idea of them. In the last week, he had seen ruins, both architectural and otherwise, destroyed families and scoured land. So yes, the Graf would believe. He simply would not care. Calomel would have been a fool to think otherwise. Perhaps he would not laugh as loudly next time at Court, but neither would he be moved to tears. Little moved him in such a manner. Little moved the Court in such a manner. Any who had ever shown care for Myrken Wood would have long ago been desensitized by the sheer amount of calamity. No one without a personal stake in the region could be anything else..

Ah, so this is the inroad Calomel takes, the attack. Belittling him relative to others. Quaint. Quaint and tactless. Reinstadler would show slight distaste at the blowhard before offering something of a smile. There WAS something to what the man said after all. He could not just overturn the entire cart, not like Calomel did here. The elder courtesans, the ones with years of connections and politics would get the key jobs. He was here instead, but this was a taste of free movement, a chance to bypass the system... much as the man across the desk had, to the extent that he was allowed.

"What would I advise?" There was a moment's hesitation here, even some frustration. How was this not clear? "Do you not understand the issue, Calomel? You were to come and pledge fealty upon taking your position, ESPECIALLY considering the unorthodox means you rose to power. Yes, this is a decree that has just been uncovered, but that makes it no less legal. You have the crown's forgiveness because of your ignorance up until my arrival, but you are NO longer ignorant. You must leave immediately for Razasan. That is the only choice you have if you wish to save face."

[Cinnabar]

Careful scrutiny for this young messenger, though little visible reaction to his self-important bluster. Listening, watching, quietly evaluating for now. There is, however, a brief flicker of a grin at that mention of his unorthodox rise to power. Still, he waits until the man has said his piece.

"With respect, sir, I fear - excuse me." Interrupted by the kettle's rising whistle as it comes to a boil, and rising to attend to the tea-making; hot water for the pot, the burner extinguished, the kettle set atop a plain pottery tile once it's finished with. A moment is taken to clear some space on his desk, the royal decree shifted to one side with assorted other pieces of paperwork before the tray is brought over; cups, saucers and pot laid out neatly, and the tray returned to its place on the side-table for now. This done, he resumes his seat and begins again, faintly apologetic in tone.

"I fear that this has been an unfortunate waste of your time. I have already made known my allegiance to the Crown, which was communicated to Lord Hawkesbury - the King's Minister in Myrken Wood, have you met him? - shortly after I was ratified as Governor by the Judiciary Council. To make a journey to Razasan would mean weeks of travel, during which period I would be unable to attend to the duties of my post, simply to reiterate that which His Majesty already knows perfectly well." Time granted for the tea to brew, and so the ritual of filling each cup in turn begins, a small mesh strainer catching the leaves before being set aside. His tea is lifted between slender fingers, sipped carefully as he regards the Graf over the rim of his cup.

"As for the matter of orthodoxy, sir, I shall be straightforward: Myrken Wood is quite distant from Razasan, as I am sure you are well aware. It is also quite different from Razasan, in more ways than you seem to appreciate. Perhaps you are more used to living within the orbit of the King and his Court, and have certain expectations, certain assumptions with regard to the way things are, or should be. I would earnestly recommend that you disabuse yourself of them with all haste; this far from the shining light of courtly society, they no longer apply." The cup is lowered to its saucer once more, and that decree is regarded for a few moments before he continues.

"That I have a reputation at Court - for good or ill - is of little concern to me. While travellers returning from the provinces are regaling you and your fellow courtiers with outlandish tales of monsters, cults and suchlike horrors, we are living them. Daily. And that has a certain effect upon one's priorities." Fingertips tap lightly upon his desk, though pale eyes remain upon the Graf. "My priorities, sir, lie here. With Myrken Wood and its people. If remaining here to tend to both land and citizenry means that I am viewed as gauche by those who frequent a far-distant Court, then I am willing to accept that."

[Reinstadler]

This... excuse for tea. How very lovely. Likely turning his insides black as well. The price of being polite. No matter. "Ah, Hawkesbury. It's rather surprising how many things I have discovered here in a mere week or two that we did not know from his reports. I can imagine one gets complacent in Myrken Wood. Why do your work? It must feel a success just to make it through the day without catching some pox or having your throat slit by an unsavory peasant."

"One thing that we have been made aware of, however," Reinstadler spoke as he sipped at his tea with some real reluctance. "... is that Burel has been seen to walk through your streets, often." Whether they learned that from Hawkesbury or not was up in the air though. He SEEMED to be indicating it, but that was hardly the same as a direct statement. "A strange lapse to be allowed by one so loyal to the throne, especially a man who seems so concerned about both law and order and his own borders."

Another wave of his hand moved them right along. "And do not get me wrong, Calomel. This is not a pleasant request. This is a law, an edict. It is how things are to be done from here on in. This is the way it is." Oh, but the man had concerns, did he not. Bah, nonsense. "If I recall correctly, you went on not one but two vacations not long ago. Guillaime proved capable enough.

"As for the distance between Myrken and the Court, we do not ignore you. We never have, but then again, why should we offer you any aid when you so quickly balk at royal law? It is not just your reputation at stake here Calomel. If you are truly loyal, prove it. If you are truly a man who cares about his land and his people, prove it. Go to court as has been requested, pledge fealty personally, as you should, and ensure that Myrken's problems are not just a far off fantasy to us. You can take a vacation but you cannot follow through with your vows and follow royal edict? You can take a vacation but you cannot go and put a face to Myrken and its ills? My only expectation was that you would not act like a petulant child and a small-minded fool. In this, I fear that I am mistaken. Prove me wrong."

Cool eyes looked to Cinnabar Calomel as the Graf rose to his feet. This reception had angered him. No, the gall of the Governor had outright offended him. The veil of politeness faded for a time. "And if you are seen not as gauche by the court, but as a traitor, Calomel? What then?" He seemed momentarily fixed upon his hands, perhaps some blemish near a nail, as if the Governor did not deserve his full attention. "Ah yes. I am sure Burel will be glad to come in and offer you his ever-so-capable protection. He's wanted an excuse for a good long time now, has he not? So very fond of Myrken Wood is he. Why, I imagine he would see it as his responsibility to do bring you under his wing. You, no... Myrken has much to gain and much to lose, Calomel. Live up to your vows." Reinstadler seemed about ready to be done with this talk. He had enough of this little tyrant for one day.

[Reinstadler]

This... excuse for tea again. How very lovely. Likely turning his insides black as well. The price of being polite. No matter. "Ah, Hawkesbury. It's rather surprising how many things I have discovered here in a mere week or two that we did not know from his reports. I can imagine one gets complacent in Myrken Wood. Why do your work? It must feel a success just to make it through the day without catching some pox or having your throat slit by an unsavory peasant."

"One thing that we have been made aware of, however," Reinstadler spoke as he sipped at his tea with some real reluctance. "... is that Burel has been seen quite often walking through your streets." Whether they learned that from Hawkesbury or not was up in the air. He SEEMED to be indicating it, but that was hardly the same as a direct statement. "A strange thing to be allowed by one so loyal to the throne, especially a man who seems so concerned about both law and order and his own borders."

Another wave of his hand moved them right along. "Do not misunderstand, Calomel. This is not a pleasant request. This is royal law, recovered and restored." Oh, but the man had concerns, did he not? Bah, nonsense. "If I recall correctly, you went on not one but two vacations recently. Guillaime proved capable enough.

"As for the rest, we do not ignore you. We never have, but then again, why should we offer you any aid when you refuse to follow our laws? It is not just your reputation at stake here Calomel. A proper appearance at court, proper cooperation on this matter, could do much for Myrken, much for your people."

Cool eyes looked to Cinnabar Calomel as the Graf rose to his feet. This reception had angered him. No, the gall of the Governor had outright offended him. The veil of politeness faded for a time. No more playing nice, as it was. "And if you are seen not as gauche by the court, but as a traitor, Calomel? What then?" He seemed momentarily fixed upon his hands, perhaps some blemish near a nail, as if the Governor did not deserve his full attention. "Ah yes. I am sure Burel will be glad to come in and offer you his ever-so-capable protection." There was no reason to spell out the rest. The hawk had every desire to have Myrken safely under his wings. All he needed was a proper excuse. "You, no... Myrken has much to gain and it has much to lose, Calomel. Do live up to your vows, for the sake of your people, if nothing else. That would be my only expectation" Reinstadler seemed about ready to be done with this talk. He had enough of this little tyrant for one day.

[Cinnabar]

Sipping his tea with every evidence of enjoyment of the subtle aromas and fruit tones. First, though, polite correction: "Two journeys, sir, each long planned and repeatedly postponed due to my duties here. Both taken within a period not exceeding two weeks in total." An altogether brief vacation, in fact, considering the stresses and troubles of the preceding months.

"How long does it take to travel to Razasan, sir? And how long might I be expected to wait upon His Majesty before an audience is granted, given Myrken Wood's low position in the grand scheme of things? To drop everything and vanish for distant lands for an indeterminate length of time is a mistake my predecessor made, and one which I have no intention of repeating." Perhaps this is some move towards compromise, towards finding some way in which this inconvenience might be worked around. This talk of Burel, however, changes the tone somewhat; the genial demeanour worn throughout this meeting fades, replaced by something altogether colder.

"Duke Burel has eyes for Myrken Wood, this is true. He also has more soldiers than Myrken has men, women and children, and war-sorcerors by the dozen. He walks Myrken's streets by virtue of these armies and these pet mages, because we do not have any means by which they might be opposed. We could strike against Burel while he walks through the town, certainly, and then his soldiers and sorcerors would turn all of Myrken to smoking ruin. I cannot allow that."

So far, so civil; but then traitor says the envoy, and there is a brief flash of anger in the Governor's gaze, and a brief impulse to dash scalding tea in the man's sneering face.

"Perhaps, sir, if the Crown turned its attentions east of Myrken Wood, it might find rebellion and treachery in such quantity that there would be no need to imagine it among those who have been nothing but loyal. Perhaps if those attentions also included a certain number of suitably-equipped troops, Duke Burel would find that he had more pressing matters to attend and would no longer pollute Myrken's air with the stink of his arrogance as you pollute my office with yours." Rising to his feet in turn, then, it is clear enough that this interview is drawing to a close. His voice remains low, soft-spoken and controlled, but there is fury in his tone, in the inflection of each word.

"That you choose to lecture me on Burel's presence here - greatly resented, as you are well aware - while you fraternise with your own murderous Thessil traitor is rank hypocrisy, sir." Easy enough to guess that Calomel would have had eyes and ears seeking news of Karolinger after his escape; easy enough to guess that a likely place to watch would be the dwelling of the man who'd brought his unexpected pardon, who'd subsequently received a one-handed man in ostentatiously Thessilanean dress. When next he speaks, it is with careful calm, clipped and precise.

"Your message has been delivered, sir. Your duties thus discharged, your presence in Myrken Wood is no longer required as I shall be making my reply through Lord Hawkesbury's hands. The door is to your back, and I wish you safe travels on your return to the capital."

The courier, it would appear, is dismissed, and the Governor returns to his seat. The decree is loosely rolled and set to one side, while he returns his attention to other, presumably more pressing paperwork.