The Golden Quest

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2026-08-22 00:39:48 -

The Golden Quest

The autumn rain in 1142 did not wash the city clean; it merely made the mud of the royal precincts slicker, turning the cobblestones into treacherous mirrors that reflected the grey sky and the higher, watchful spires of the palace. Thomas Bradshaw, a scribe of thirty years whose hands were stained permanently with iron gall ink, walked with a deliberate, heavy step, his cloak pulled tight...

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