The Distant Clue
Thomas. The name is spoken by the Guild Master, a sound like a stone dropping into a well, and you are standing in the center of the market square, the cobblestones cold and wet under your boots. It is the year 1342, and the air smells of rotting cabbage and wet wool, a thick, cloying scent that sits in the throat. You are forty years old, a watchman with a bad knee and a debt to the tanner for...
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