The rain drummed in a steady, rhythmic hiss against the broad pine eaves of the Lantern Inn.
On the slick granite flagstones of the porch, the four bearers halted, easing the heavy oak door to rest across two low wooden benches. Cold water dripped from the brim of Jon Hale’s hair, streaming down his bare, soot-stained chest, washing pale channels through the dried blood and grease clinging to his collarbones. The night air was sharp with autumn damp, carrying the scent of wet slate and sodden thatch from the lower wards, but here beneath the porch, the air carried the rich, deep warmth of the hearth.
Standing in the open doorway, framed by the warm amber light of tallow lanterns, stood Sister Oda and Lady Signe Lorr.
The deaconess of the Seventh Assize was clad in her dark wool habit, her white linen wimple pinned tight behind her ears. She held a cedar basket filled with boiled compresses, elderberry wine, and rolled linen strips soaked in vinegar and salt. Beside the deaconess, Lady Signe Lorr stood with the heavy, calfskin-bound volume of the Town Ledger resting in the crook of her left arm. The pages were open to the Forty-Eighth Entry of the Common Charter, the black gall-ink glistening in the lantern light, recording the signatures and marks of every household that had pledged their labor to the town wall.
