The compound of the Golden Kettle Company of Altdorf was impressive. It was fronted by a handsome gatehouse built on a stone arch and topped with half timber and plaster construction. It was surrounded by a wrought iron fence, black and shiny with new paint and taller than a man. Piers and jetties reached out into the Reik like fingers, summounted by cranes and masts hung with limp cordage. Two beamy barges swung idly, bumping against their painters in the sluggish current. Three long warehouses fronted the water, behing which were silos, a stable and a large counting house that served as the main offices. There were no guards visible, but a number of suspiciously fit 'clerks' were lounging about with sack wrapped bundles. Whoever was in charge was clearly no idiot, having realised that any fighting men were liable to be pressed to the walls. As Neil had suspected, the guards were clustered around the counting house and one of the warehouses.

"Well this looting is kind of new to me," Emmaline said, "do you have a plan?" Neil shrugged eloquently.

"First step, reconioter," Neil suggested.

"So no plan, got it," Emmaline concluded. She hiked up her skirts and marched down the street with Neil following in her wake. She stomped into the archway and into the compound with her nose held high. One of the 'clerks' started at her arrival and moved to intercept, but she marched straight past him and into the office.

"What is the meaning of this!" Emmaline demanded in an outraged Altdorf accent. The ink spotted clerk, a real one by his stained fingers, started wake from where he had been dozing. He spluttered for a minute eyes wide with panic.

"Ma'am?" he asked blearily. One of the guards stepped in, saw that someone one in authority was dealing with the issue and leaned against the door jam. Neil had already vanished, though Emmaline had no doubt he was usefully occupied somewhere.