The Golden Cellar
The parchment lies flat on the oak table, its surface a pale, waiting skin. You read the header. *King’s Debt to the Guild of Keepers.* The date is tonight. The deadline is dawn. You are Elias Thorne, Royal Archivist, and you have spent the last four hours in the cold cellar, your fingers stained with iron gall ink, trying to make the numbers balance. The room smells of damp stone and old wax....
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