Master Cassel Dorn arrived under grey skies in a carriage too fine for Greyfen's roads.
That, Adrian thought as he watched it roll through the outer gate, was deliberate. Men like Dorn understood display as part of arithmetic. Good wheels, lacquered panels, matched horses, disciplined servants, and polished boots were not vanity. They were a language whose meaning was simple: we can afford what you cannot.
Dorn himself proved younger than expected, perhaps not yet forty, with a narrow face, careful hands, and the kind of courtesy that had likely survived several bankruptcies because it never allowed feeling to interrupt collection.
He bowed exactly enough.
"My lord Count. A pleasure to see you recovered."
"Master Dorn. Welcome to Greyfen."
They met in the audience chamber, not the map room. Adrian wanted the formality visible. Sir Roderic stood by the wall. Oswin, pointedly excluded, had been told afterward to provide any missing document Dorn requested only through sealed channel.
Tea was served. Dorn did not drink.
"I will be plain," he said. "The Bastion Exchange prefers functioning territories to dead ones. Your predecessor, in his wisdom or desperation, entered into obligations whose current schedule Greyfen appears poorly positioned to meet. I came in hope of avoiding unpleasant mechanical outcomes."
A professional vulture, Adrian thought. One who used the word unpleasant the way engineers used tolerance.
"Mechanical outcomes?" he asked.
Dorn allowed himself a brief smile. "Foreclosure is only dramatic to those encountering it from the wrong side. To us it is procedure."
"And your preferred alternative?"
"Restructuring. The Exchange would accept delayed coin payment in return for immediate transfer of western bridge toll administration for five years, exclusive survey authority over the eastern salvage belt, and first lien on any future timber extraction beyond the old fort line."
There it was.
Not merely collection. Positioning.
"You value the east highly for men who describe it elsewhere as worthless collateral," Adrian said.
Dorn's eyes sharpened by the smallest degree. "Worthless land often becomes useful under proper management. Your county has lacked that for some time."
"Management or ownership?"
"Sometimes they become difficult to distinguish."
Adrian let the silence draw out.
"The survey clause," he said at last. "Show me where in the original principal agreement it was included."
Dorn produced the contract copy smoothly.
Adrian did not take it at once. He used Lattice Touch first, letting his fingers brush the edge of the vellum. Pressure. Fold memory. Wax residue from a seal no longer attached. A later insertion here. A copied hand there. Interesting.
He read the clause.
Then read it again.
"This extension instrument was not sealed under my hand," he said.
Dorn's expression did not change. "It was certified under county authority."
"By men I am currently auditing for fraud."
"That is an internal problem."
"Not if it touches the validity of your extension."
For the first time, real interest entered the creditor's face.
Good.
Adrian laid the document down. "You came expecting a drunk border count who could be frightened into surrendering future rights in exchange for postponing today's embarrassment. Instead you found me reading my own contracts. Let us spare one another the next performance."
Dorn leaned back slightly. "Then what do you offer?"
"Ten days. Full review of the extension instruments. Payment against current due in mixed silver and secured grain note, not transfer of toll rights. In return, the Exchange suspends all collateral action until the review is complete."
"Insufficient."
"Legally safer than building your claims atop forged seal use."
Dorn studied him in silence.
At last he said, "You understand that I do not need to ruin Greyfen personally. I only need to let your present weakness continue. The county will do the work for me."
"Of course," Adrian said. "And you understand that if the Exchange is seen profiting from forged county authority while the Crown already worries over frontier administration, your rivals will ask noisy questions in the capital."
A very still moment passed between them.
Mutual comprehension, if not respect.
Dorn rose. "Ten days," he said. "No more. At the end of that, I expect payment substantial enough to justify delay. Otherwise procedure resumes."
Adrian rose as well. "Then let us both pray for Greyfen's unexpected competence."
"I never pray about debt," Dorn said.
"No," Adrian replied. "Men like you usually invoice it."
When the creditor had gone, Sir Roderic exhaled softly.
"You enjoyed that more than was wise."
"Probably."
"Can we pay him?"
Adrian looked toward the eastern windows where the mountains stood behind cloud like a thought refusing to die.
"Not yet," he said. "So we will need to become more dangerous than our current balance sheet suggests."