The Golden Master
The fire had taken the escapement first, then the mainspring, and finally the ledger of commissions that Elias Vane had kept for twenty years. He stood on the cobblestones of Threadneedle Street, watching the smoke turn the afternoon light a bruised purple, counting the seconds between the crackle of collapsing timber and the wail of the steam engine that had come too late to save the rest. He...
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