The Distant Threshold
The bell tower of Saint Jude’s rang not with bronze and rope, but with the grinding of millstones in the deep earth, a sound that tasted of copper and old blood on the back of Aldous Vane’s tongue as he stood before the threshold of the King’s cellar, where the air was thick with the scent of rotting apples and the sweet, cloying perfume of distilled spirits, for it was here, in this labyrinth...
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