The room at the end of the coal cellar was smaller than a monk’s tomb.
It was four paces wide, lined with sweating dark rock blocks that leaked black stone water down into a shallow drainage trough. A single animal fat lamp sat on an iron stool in the corner, its wick trimmed to a pale blue bead that cast long, shivering shadows across the floor.
Lin Ke sat cross-legged on the bare flat stone slabs.
His back was straight, his breathing slow and rhythmic. The blistered skin of his right forearm was bound in fresh linen steeped in cold willow-bark tea, the faint healing scent mingling with the ever-present reek of sulfur coal.
Across his lap lay the Precursor star-iron scroll, unrolled to its full length.
Eight hours until dawn. Eight hours until Ring One opened.
He drew his squared iron metal pen and drove the blunt point into his left thumb pad until the sharp pain cleared the fatigue from his forebrain.
Tsk.
