The Golden Maze
The summons lay on the workbench, a rectangle of cream paper that felt heavier than the brass gears scattered around it. I read the date, November the fourteenth, and the name, Magistrate Aldous Vane, and I felt the cold seep into the bone of my wrist. Outside, the smoke from the textile mills hung low over Leeds, a grey wool that choked the sky and settled in my lungs with every shallow pull...
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