The Fen Hollow Archive and Geodesic School stood on high cedar stilts above the eastern carp pond, connected to the Memorial Ward by a covered wooden bridge roofed with sweet-smelling cedar shingles. It was a broad, single-story building of planed ash timber, with wide leaded windows that swung outward to admit the fresh marsh air and the scent of wild mint.
Inside, the great room was filled with the quiet, absorbed industry of an honest workshop.
Four long oak tables, scrubbed pale with river sand and lye, ran the length of the hall. Seated at the tables were twenty-four young apprentices—boys and girls from the Seven Communities, ranging in age from twelve to eighteen, dressed in clean brown linen smocks with ink-stained sleeves.
At the first table, six students were practicing the art of testing dark oak-ink. They used small glass vials of vinegar and strips of sheepskin thick parchment to observe how the acid interacted with the parchment fibers. At the second table, Nessa Vale’s junior land-mapper assistants were calibrating brass measuring tongs against a master yard-standard of polished bronze. At the third table, four older students were cross-referencing village birth registries against property transfer deeds, checking the seventy-two-hour lawful rule with small sand-glasses.
