Qiao Ming sat upon the high banded limestone terrace of Entry hall 312, his back braced against the fluted base of a First Epoch column. He wiped the golden marrow residue from his bronze sounding bob with a dry scrap of linen.
The small brass fire bowl beside him burned with dried pine charcoal, casting a warm red circle of light against the damp flat stone slabs. He had laid out four separate field notebooks across his oilskin ground-cloth. Four volumes bound in cured seal-hide, their margins darkened with oil stains, salt water rings, and pencil notations.
These were his survey logs from the preceding eight moons.
Until this watch, Qiao Ming had viewed those logs as an office record. A mundane catalog of rising water levels, silt buildup rates, and the polite inquiries of royal dignitaries who had received permission from the Grand Clerk hall to inspect the outer edge of the drowned vaults.
Now, with Chen Yue’s bronze blueprints open before him, every entry took on a different, evil clarity.
He picked up the first notebook and turned to the entries of the third moon, running his soot-stained index finger down the columns of brushstrokes.
High judge Ji Mingchuan had arrived at the upper air-locks in the middle of the third moon, with six retainers dressed in the spotless white silk of the Imperial Academy. The High judge had presented credentials bearing the Vermilion Seal of the Department of State Affairs, granting him full power to conduct historical…
