The Distant Blade

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2026-08-23 21:27:23 -

The Distant Blade

The brass was cold. Not the cool of metal left in a drafty room, but the biting, living cold of deep water. I held the pendulum bob in my left hand, my right adjusting the escapement, and the temperature seeped through my glove, into the bone. It was November, 1912, and the Grand Hall of the Guild stood silent around me. I was forty-two. I had twenty years of service to show for, and a pension...

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