There's a fresh homeyness to Westfenster's militaristic bulk as your caravan trundles back into the palace. "Like a family tomb," you sigh, running your fingertips over the thick walls as your cart passes through the tunnel.
You've no sooner disembarked than Kitty Harlowe is before you, eyes wide and expectant.
"Steward Fig requests your presence, post-haste."
You hesitate. She clearly means you to click your heels and follow on the instant…but you've seen the way the labor crews have treated the luggage train as the tour has ground on, and you're hardly convinced that if you leave your belongings in their trust that they'll be delivered to your chamber in all their pieces.
What's more, Brute has been writhing with impatience for hours with the tedium of the drive. If you ask the beast to sit still and quiet for an immediate meeting with the Steward, it's fit to explode.