The Distant Clue
The scratching began on a Tuesday, a sound like a rat gnawing the wood behind the scriptorium’s wainscoting, but it was Elias Thorne who held the quill, and it was his hand that moved with a tremor he could not command. In the year of our Lord 1348, the King’s pension was a matter of arithmetic as much as loyalty; Elias had served twenty years, and his fingers, stiffened by the cold damp of the...
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