The Distant Clue
The rain had been falling for three days, a steady, gray sheet that turned the stone walls of the scriptorium into weeping things. I counted the hours by the dripping of water from the eaves, one drop for every minute of silence, until the count reached four hundred and eighty and the silence broke with the Abbot’s heavy footfall. I am Elias Thorne, archivist of the Abbey of St. Jude, and I...
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