The Golden Master
Chapter One The bog roads of Mayo braided into reeds under a sky the color of old pewter, where the postal riders of the old empire still carried messages for merchants who no longer trusted the roads. I stood in the counting room of the Fitzpatrick house, the air sharp with the scent of liniment and damp wool, waiting for the ink to dry on my pension ledger. At fifty-two, my right index finger...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews