Chapter 13: The Drain the Ledger Does Not Measure

Archivist Neme would not use the rope. It ran down the nursery corridor on iron staples, a knotted handrail the runners had strung beside the scorched duckboards, and the old man walked a hand's width off it with both arms folded behind him. His Ledger-cut coat had gone green at the seams. Where the wall bellied out at the haunch he turned his shoulder to the stone and sidled past, like a man passing a dog he had not been introduced to. "Holding," Sera said. She stood on the boards ahead and pressed her boot on each plank before he stepped. The corridor smelled of char and warm minerals, with a thread of river damp coming down from the yard. Ilan brought up the rear on his left leg. The ankle had swollen again overnight and the boot laces cut into it. His right hand lay in fresh linen over…