A Light Without a Name
- Cheap passage
- Busier than the day
- Passage slackens
Out over the Ashfen marsh, where the reeds drown their own shadows, a light hung low and steady just as House Foundry’s link came down the wire. Crispin Dunhay, cutting reed at the water’s edge, swore on his mother’s grave that it was no marsh gas and no Glare lamp, and that it bore a name he could not read. He swore it again to the Wakeful, who wrote it down without a guess.