Early spring sunlight slanted gold across the wet black slate tiles of the school roof. Seyun walked up the north ridge road from the wheelwright’s yard, drew the blackened iron key from his belt cord. Then he turned the lock of the narrow larch side gate.
The garden court smelled of thawed black earth, crushed thyme. The clean woodsmoke drifting from the kitchen chimney where Kes had already set the big iron cooking pot on the fire for midday noodles. Along the raised chestnut-log beds beside the south wall, the winter kale had sent up tender green spring shoots, and yellow crocus buds were opening in the warm gravel along the base of the stones.
Before stepping out onto the sparring tiles, Seyun walked up the west porch steps to the open window of the study room. Inside, Archivist Vel was already seated at his oak table trimming a fresh goose-quill pen. Seyun reached into his canvas bag, drew out the hemp-tied calfskin volume of his completed Ash Reed Account Book. Then he placed it on the table beside Mother Renn’s duplicate name register and Vaska Ren’s summit logs.
“Finished?” Vel asked quietly, his fingers resting on the square archive knot.
