Time For New Project

The post-festival hangover hit Oriel Estate like a heavy blanket.

The banners had been packed away into cedar chests, the grand speeches were already fading into local gossip, and for the first time in nearly five years, the constant, headache-inducing rattle of steam-hammers and stone-cutters had stopped. Helmarte was quiet.

Well, quiet for a capital city that had just survived a total urban overhaul. Outside, birds actually sang in the estate gardens, occasionally drowned out by the clack-clack of a carriage rolling down the main avenue.

Inside the manor, the staff moved on tiptoes. Nobody wanted to be the idiot who disturbed the boss. They all knew where Ernest was.

His study.