The Golden Ritual
The ledger sat on the workbench, its leather cover worn smooth by the friction of my thumb, and I counted the coins for the third time, the copper pieces clinking against each other with a sound that felt too loud in the silence of the workshop. I needed four hundred and twelve shillings by the first of the month, or the bailiff would take the anvil, and without the anvil, I was nothing but a...
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