The Distant Joke

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2026-08-18 16:30:39 -

The Distant Joke

The hall smelled of roasted boar and wet wool. It was the Feast of St. Crispin, and the castle of Ashworth was a beast of stone and fire. Candles guttered in the iron sconces, throwing long, trembling shadows against the vaulted ceiling. Thomas sat at the foot of the long table. He was a clerk. He was a man of ink and ledgers, of quiet rooms and silent prayers. He did not belong here. He...

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