The Pale Altar
The iron bridge at Kestrel’s Crossing had cost the county four thousand pounds, twelve lives, and the patience of the men who laid the stone. Silas Vane counted the rivets as he walked the deck, his boots striking a rhythm against the metal that matched the ticking of the pocket watch in his left hand. He was forty-two, and his knees ached in the damp, a constant, low-grade complaint that had...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews