““Who’s there?” “Jiemen, Adjunct Point. You’re wanted, sir.” Rathe suppressed a groan and got the candle lit, carried it to the table and went to open the door. The winter-sun was sinking, hidden behind the city’s roofs, and the sky outside the open window was just beginning to show light in the east. “What time is it?” “Half past five,” Jiemen answered. She came into the narrow room, lantern in hand, set it on the table beside the candle, opening the slide to cast a better light. She’d been on ...the overnight shift, was dressed and ready, leather jerkin over a wool bodice and skirt, stout shoes showing at her hem. Truncheon and knife both hung ready at her belt. Rathe reached for his breeches—there was no need to stand on ceremony with a fellow pointsman—and began to dress. The air from the window was chill, but it would warm up later on, two days past the Fall Balance, and he grabbed linen stockings instead of wool. “What’s amiss?” “It’s Grandad Steen,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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