The Distant Whispers
The quill was made of raven bone, a strip of ivory, a twist of silver wire, and a drop of oil from a lamp that had burned for a century. "Silas," the voice said, not from a mouth but from the dust motes swirling in the amber light of the chandelier, "the ledger is hungry." Silas Vane did not look up. His hands, once steady enough to sign treaties and once smooth enough to be mistaken for silk,...
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