the smuggler’s bible


They find the entrance in a cellar, hidden behind a seemingly haphazard pile of planks and tarpaulin that collapses into a single tidy bundle.

There’s a cleft in the wall just wide enough for Grazny to squeeze through sideways. After ten or twelve feet the rough tunnel opens into a sloping passage lined with bricks and floored with thick, square flagstones.

Grazy stops and waves her light around. “Who had access to the storeroom?”

“This is unclear. The head steward died early in the siege.”

“And the maps?” Grazny asks, already sure of the answer.

“Local provenance. Rated extremely dubious.”