The Pale Dance
Act I The thaw had floated the docks, turning the harbor into a slurry of mud and rotting kelp, and the smell of it hung over the old quarters like a damp wool blanket. Every flood officer in the river kingdom was busy clearing the sluices, their boots sinking into the mire as they dragged chains and timber, while the church chairs were dragged to the hall with a rhythmic, scraping groan that...
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