The Pale Bridge
Three sacks of rye, two of wheat, and a single, heavy jar of pale loam. The scale in Lord Vane’s cellar trembled as Elias placed the jar on the iron plate. The needle dipped, held, and rose. The air in the cellar was thick with the scent of damp stone and old meat, a cold that seeped into the marrow of Elias’s bones. He was twelve years old, small for his age, with hands that had been cracked...
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