Oswald gave a grateful nod. "You're a good man, Ambassador."
With that, he was off, spurring his steed. A strife was raging at the foot of the hill, just as Sandro had predicted. He made to slip past them, but the guards had formed a human barrier all around. When asked, they duly informed him that the castle was to be under a lockdown and that none could be permitted in or out. If they left a gap in their formation, however small, the mad mob would break through it. They did suggest that he try one of the lesser frequented side passages, but they could not vouch for the prudence of cutting through the forest at such a time of discontent.
Oswald was more than upset. Bitterly swearing to himself that he would have the heads of them all if his lady had been trampled by the crowd because they would not let her in, he rode like a gale, unaware that he was being tailed by a guardian angel. He was fortunate enough not to have run into the likes of the Blackwater Alliance, sellswords or worse, but his search proved fruitless. The city was eerily deserted, most able bodied men having been drawn to the conflict at the hill either by zeal or spectacle. He looked in all the usual places and even the flea bottom, coming out empty handed for his trouble. As two turns of the hour neared, Celia was still nowhere in sight and his coin pouch greatly depleted from distributing alms.