Adventure of Frieda 1

The magistrate’s study opens onto a dim hall, and beyond it the city sounds thin and wary. The messenger keeps the sealed packet tight under his cloak. From the stair below, boots and a muttered order drift upward.

A clerk at the doorway snaps the shutters half closed, then points down a side passage lit by one guttering lamp. It leads toward the archive stairs, and from there to the court yard. It is a thinner route, but less watched.

Frieda moves first, guiding the messenger into the side passage as voices gather behind them. At the far end, two men in city colors cross the yard in the rain-slick dark, not yet looking their way. The court lies ahead, but so do the Bishop’s eyes.

Frieda and the messenger slip toward the archive stairs, with the sealed warrant still concealed and the court’s protection only one corridor away.

Frieda lifts her voice in the narrow passage, the hymn steady despite the boots below. The note carries through the hall and up into the stairwell, bright against the damp stone.

Down in the yard, one guard halts mid-step and turns his head. His companion follows, both men peering up toward the sound instead of the archway.

The clerk pauses with his record sheet half raised, listening hard as the hymn threads through the doorway. The archive lamp shivers in the draft.

Frieda reaches the stairs with the messenger at her shoulder. The two guards below now face the passage, their attention fixed on the sound.

The call drops cleanly into the hall below. Both guards look up at once, then begin up the stair, boots striking wet stone in a measured hurry.

The clerk lowers his sheet and lets out a thin breath of relief, keeping his eyes on the landing instead of the yard.

Magistrate Hauer steps to the threshold, calm as ever, and gives the guards a small, deliberate nod as if their duty were already decided.

The nearer guard reaches the landing and extends a hand toward the messenger, while the second scans the passage beyond Frieda, wary but no longer blocking the way.

Frieda steps off the landing and into the courtyard with the warrant kept close, her pace steady and unhurried. The guards fall in behind her, not as hunters, but as witnesses.

Boots scrape on wet stone. The yard opens ahead, slick with rain and dim under the flicker of the archive lamp, while men on the walls turn their heads toward the moving group.

Magistrate Hauer remains at the doorway, one hand still on the frame, calm as if the law itself walks with Frieda across the courtyard.

The nearer guard comes to Frieda's side instead of before her, making a clear lane through the middle of the yard. His gaze stays fixed ahead, alert for any sign of interference.

At the far edge of the courtyard, movement gathers in the dark passage under the outer arch, and Frieda's escort keeps walking straight toward it.