The Distant Clue
The Head Archivist, Mr. Thorne, called your name from the shadowed alcove of the library, his voice thin and reedy in the damp air, and you froze with your trowel halfway through a mortar joint. He was seventy, perhaps older, a man who had spent more decades in this palace than you had lived, and his gaze did not linger on your face but dropped to your hands, stained with the grey slurry of the...
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