Treaver led himself to the desk where the Big Books were kept, and heaved the awkwardly sized thing onto what would have been a pile of them, if not for the fact that the other Mertuls were still out busy Receiving. Today, many people were arriving at the local port town of Peltrao, most of which were from other parts of Golacin. Treaver was lucky, in a sense, being a part of Garalin Darlis's group; part because he got to see some of the more interesting people; and part because Darlis was one of the quicker, more efficient Receivers of the local Carpitalun.
"So old Darlis came through again, huh?" Gamiret quipped to his young protege. "It must have been an interesting day, for you. Getting to see first-hand what the Falinam are like. Not many people seem to have that kind of luck, hm?" he said, standing straight and tall, with his arms on his hips, and elbows pointing out to the sides.
"They were shiny," said Treaver, almost giggling--but catching himself.
Gamiret laughed, and dropped his arms, turning to pick up a few sheets of paper from the desk, and bringing them over to a separate, higher table where he liked to work on these things. "So, anything of interest? No stories to tell?" he asked, thumbing through the papers he'd have to check and recheck for fullness and accuracy before logging them into another book.
"They have daughters, and a son," replied Treaver, shuffling in his robe. "At least, I think they were daughters--they were all wearing shiny clothes." He propped himself up on a clear area of the long desk where the Books were kept, and began gazing around the room and swinging his feet a little.
"Treaver. Desk, feet," Gamiret stated simply, always keeping at least a corner of his sights on the lad.
The Mertul frowned and swung himself off the desk again, dropping to the floor with a hop. Internally, he was slapping his forehead and thinking, Got to remember not to get too comfortable around here. Glancing to Gamiret again, he turned his head to face one side away from the Welcomer, and carefully reached under the hood of his robe to scratch the tip of an ear.
"Well, this all seems to check out fine," said Gamiret, looking over the last of the paperwork. "I'll be finished in a minute, so we can deliver these off to the Lanaril." He paused for a minute, scribbling some notes in a book. "Would you prefer to deliver them, or shall I?" he asked, finishing a few words and lifting the pen with a swoosh, before dropping it in an inkwell.
"I'll go!" blurted Treaver, hopping to attention and excitedly running to the table where his employer sat, ready to retrieve the papers. He stood there on his toes with a smile, balancing and bouncing a little, waiting for the man to close the log book.
"That's a lad," Gamiret said, then looked up and laughed at the sight of Treaver's bouncing figure waiting by the desk--and then followed that with a chuckle, seeing how the young pupil was on his toes and still just a head and neck above the tabletop. "You know where to take these--He's in his Fares room now, or has been most of the day. Remember: Take them, get the stamp, file them away and be sure to get a notice before you return. After that, we should be done with you until later this evening."
Treaver nodded and smiled, gathering up the papers, and carefully slipped them into a large pocket built into the robes. He rushed over to the desk, grabbed a small card, and was off to the hind door, leading into a stairwell up to the main building. After closing the door behind him, and taking a few steps to the other side of the stairs, he leaned up against the wall for a moment, reaching into his hood.