The Golden Maze
The parchment lay on the rough-hewn table, the ink still wet and glistening like a fresh wound in the grey light of the workshop. It was a tally of debts, a list of stones cut and stones owed, and at the bottom, in the cramped hand of the Lord’s steward, a demand for the final payment by the Feast of St. John. Ewan MacTavish read the figures twice, his thumb rubbing the rough edge of the paper...
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