Nenn took the cords from his mouth, knotting them through the heavy oak boards that formed the covers of the town record book. He led Pella to the row of tall oak document presses lining the vault wall.
“Look at these volumes, Candidate Rook,” Nenn said, tapping the spines of the leather rolls. “The tax checks of the First Gate from eighty years ago. The flood records of Year Minus-Thirty. Every time this city suffered a disaster, the scholars wrote a book explaining why the judges were brilliant and the victims were unfortunate. In two hundred years of archives, there’s not a single volume that contains a master’s confession of an error. This ledger will be the first.”
Nenn turned back to the table. “Candidate Rook, the Town Board received several informal suggestions from guild members that your confession—Exhibit B-14—be placed in a separate, sealed annex. They pointed out that as the founder of the Courtesy Workshop and the daughter of Hal Rook, preserving a public record of your admitted fault may weaken your civic power when the charter is presented to the full assembly.”
Pella didn’t hesitate for a single heartbeat. She reached down, picked up the notched ash frame holding the dark river slate, and laid it directly upon the open face of the first folio.
