The Seventh Reed

The River Neve has been climbing all night, and Brindle Printworks floods from the bottom up — the block vault first. You are the works' apprentice, alone with the presses: Master Brindle is away at the magistrate's, pleading against the seizure writ. At the yard gate sits Mr. Cobbet, the creditors' bailiff, whose inventory lists everything of value — the founder's Heron Master Block at line one — and whose one job is to see that nothing on that list leaves before auction. The water gives you an hour, maybe less. The list does not care.