The Distant Clue
The ink had not yet dried on the ledger when Master Aldous set the parchment down, the scratch of his quill ceasing to fill the silence of the scriptorium. He did not look at me, but his eyes, pale and watery as the winter sky outside the leaded windows, fixed on the small leather pouch tucked into the hem of my tunic. It was a simple act of recognition, a man acknowledging a debt that could...
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