Deacon Vane pushed aside the heavy canvas tent flap, carrying a polished brass oil lamp and a pair of gold-rimmed reading spectacles.
The warm glow of the wick spilled across the rough pine table, illuminating the yellowed pages of the serpent-scale volume.
“What did you discover in the Censorate archives?” Vane asked, setting his portable abacus on the corner of the table. “Did the Imperial Vault Keeper record the locations of gold bullion or High-Grade Spirit Stone reserves?”
“Far more dangerous than gold bullion, Deacon,” Linnea answered, pointing her slender finger at three lines of faded cinnabar brushstrokes.
Vane adjusted his spectacles, leaning over the table until his nose nearly touched the aged parchment.
His lips moved silently as he translated the cramped, archaic court shorthand used by the Imperial Archivists.
The entry was dated ten years ago, written during the height of the Great Northern Frost.
According to the diary, Imperial Inquisitor Thorne-Crow had arrived in the Vermilion Capital aboard a black star-iron skiff in the dead of winter.
