Sir Humphrey wheels his horse, apparently concluding that the tournament is proceeding in an orderly fashion that simply requires relocation. The goat, having discharged its judging duties and stood through one charge, the dismantling of professional infrastructure, and a man on a horse passing at speed, has decided the field is done with it. It turns, hat listing slightly further to port, and ambles with great official purpose toward the gate. Sir Humphrey follows. This seems entirely natural to him. One follows the judge. It is protocol. Reginald makes a small strangled noise and follows too, for reasons he cannot articulate and will not need to, since no one is going to ask him. The goat leads them past a pieman packing up, through the gate, and into Midden-on-Sogge's civic lane. It stops outside a door bearing a shingle: Petitions & Disputes (Tues, Thurs, Emergency Situations). It is Thursday.