The Golden Oath
"You’ll pay for the brass, or you’ll pay for the silence, Rory. Choose." I set the quill down, the ink still wet, and looked at the man across the kitchen table. It was October, 1893, though the smoke from the peat fires outside made the air taste of ancient, dry rot. My hands were steady, but the clock on the mantelpiece, the one I had repaired myself, ticked with a frantic, irregular pulse...
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