The cooling bricks of the west kiln radiated a slow, steady heat that smelled of baked river silt, dry pine ash, and old salt glaze.
Beside the massive curved stone support prop, the four-step limestone overlook stair—the four-pace parcel Kezra had surveyed and exchanged yesterday morning as PARCEL 17—gleamed pale and sharp in the autumn starlight. The stone steps sat perfectly level against the red clay bank, their mortared joints already curing hard in the dry evening air. It was a modest, practical piece of village building. Two paces of level tread, three risers cut from quarry limestone, providing an easy footing for potters carrying heavy loading-boards up to the kiln’s upper charging door.
Earlier, inside the cottage kitchen, Kezra had stood beside her mother. Meanwhile, Maud dipped a charcoal stick into the hearth embers. Then she drew a neat grid across the whitewashed plaster wall beside the pantry door.
Six squares for the six days of recovery: Days 60 through 65. Beneath the sixth square, Maud had written the date the northern trade courier was due to return with the headman’s settling from the Crag-end families. Beneath that, in her firm, upright script, she had noted the departure mark: Day 66, Dawn. Northern Route via High Wharf.
