"...<at the rear is> a diamond-shaped courtyard. In the centre stood a large marble statue of Mankho Arner, the most colourful hero of the Garreday Uprisings. Tall colonnades stood around the nearest sides, hiding doors to coachrooms and small offices. The far sides of the courtyard were formed by two stone wings of the Town Hall sloping away at right angles to one another. They met in a decorative stone entrance porch, which carried a large gold shield bearing the owl of Jalkin on its crest. The porch contained the Town Hall's rear doors, the entrance most commonly used. They were as busy as ever. Jalkin has one of the largest bureaucracies in the land, stemming from both the size of the city and the endless prodding and poking by politicians in the name of social justice. Some local authorities can become distanced from their electorate but Jalkin Council is quite the reverse. It has a suction force which is hard to resist.
"As they climbed out of the carriage Kenner ran a practised eye over the crowds. A long but quickly moving queue had formed by a door which led to the civic welfare offices. Local residents were waiting to hear the reasons why their poverty vouchers this month had arrived with someone else's name on them, or were for a quarter of the usual amount, or hadn't appeared at all, or other such trivialities. ("An imperfect system for an imperfect world" they'd declared with a touch too much complacency when the voucher system was first established). A union delegation, dutifully decked in sober brown working clothes and strapped-down hats, were being met at their carriage by someone with a Trade Councillor's deputy badge, the whole mood looking too convivial by half. A well dressed lady, flanked by two advisors, was just emerging grim-faced from the Town Hall, presumably after being told that less of her money should go into jewellery and more into the tax coffers. A far more bedraggled woman led a long train of equally bedraggled children through the courtyard, her intentions unknown but her demeanour desperate. A busy, companionable chatter filled the spring air of the courtyard. From outside the gates came the monotonous calls of a small band protesting about This Month's Outrage. (There was no especial outrage in Jalkin this month, so the protesters were using the old fallback of council corruption). Guardsmen kept them outside the gates and a Guardsman stood by the double doors. But they were bored and relaxed and wore the dirty armour of the Eleventh Regiment, a striking contrast to the self-important splendour of the Huwdone Guards. It was a scene typical of local politics; cosmopolitan, untidy and informal. Huwdone House and the federal government were slightly awe-inspiring to the average citizen but no-one was going to be intimidated by the messy sprawl of the Town Hall. It was just part of the city and part of everyday life. And the feeling persisted, in Jalkin especially, that the Councillors inside were no better than those they ruled; the people had made them from nothing and would break them when they had to. It might have been an illusion but it was a comforting one, except for the Councillors."
"Jalkin Town Hall is no place for the absent minded. It is a fine example of municipal jerry-building; once a small, dignified structure which spawned endless new floors, wings and annexes as the city grew larger and the paperwork more complex. Confusing as the Baelan's interior might be, it is a two-up, two-down compared to the Town Hall. No reliable floor plans exist, and they say it houses the ghosts of petitioners who marched in during the 1200's and never found their way out."