Archivist Vel stopped in front of Mother Renn’s pine counter, stamping the dry January snow from his boots and blowing once on his mittened knuckles before setting his leather document case down beside the incense trays. Five months at Daro Kesh’s sunny west study had taken the cellar stoop out of the old scroll-keeper’s shoulders. Even so, today he wore the anxious, pinched expression of an honest clerk who had discovered an arithmetic mismatch in a settled account and dreaded delivering the news.
“Good afternoon, Mother Renn. Good afternoon, Seyun,” Vel said, adjusting his brass-rimmed glasses twice on the bridge of his nose. “I—that’s, I have spent the past two weeks cross-referencing the torn cipher leaves we carried out of the Ravine of Unfinished Forms against the original abbey supply tallies that Steward Osen Tal surrendered before the charter houses last month.”
Renn poured a small clay cup of hot ginger water from her kettle. Then it pushed it across the counter toward his stiff hands. “Drink the water first, Vel, before your teeth start chattering. What did you find in Osen’s supply tallies?”
Vel took a grateful sip of the hot ginger water, then unbuckled his leather case. Then it drew out two original strips of yellowed Balance rice-paper alongside his brass magnifying lens.
