The Golden Farce
Chapter One Carl Barlow, forty-two, stood before the High Court demanding the return of his village’s stolen grain stores. The air in the throne room was cold, a damp chill that settled in the joints, much like the rain on the tin roofs outside. He wore the coat from forty-seven of the Rope Walk, the wool worn thin at the elbows, a patch of grey over a patch of brown. The Chancellor, a man...
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