The Pale Circus
Chapter One Why does a man keep a compass rose drawn wrong? Ursula Krause asked the question aloud in the empty room, her voice cracking against the stone walls of the Magistrate’s estate. She stood before the desk, the wood scarred by decades of ink and knife work. The air smelled of damp wool and old varnish, a scent that clung to the back of her throat. On the desk lay the seal, a disc of...
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