The Golden Master
The train did not stop at the edge of the world, but it did stop at the station where the tracks ended in a tangle of rusted iron and wild grass, a place that existed only on maps that had not been updated in a century, and it was here, in the suffocating stillness of the late afternoon, that Arthur Penhaligon stepped down from the carriage with the heavy, deliberate tread of a man carrying a...
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