The Pale Echo
The feast hall of Aldersgate was a cavern of smoke and sweat, the air thick with the scent of roasted pork and spilled ale. We were crowded together on the floor, the commoners and the minor clerks, while the magistrates dined on raised platforms above us. I sat near the wall, my back against the cold stone, watching the flames dance in the iron braziers. My name is Thomas Bradshaw, a clerk of...
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