SHE LOOKED AROUND INTO a small dark room lit only by candlelight and saw a man who looked to be about twenty years old. He was writing furiously at a small desk, dipping a feathered quill into a pot of ink every few seconds. Cat was impressed by his dexterity, noticing that not even one stray drop hit the parchment he was working on. The door flew open and golden light flooded into the room from outside, where Cat could see people standing with lanterns and torches. She heard murmuring and the sounds of people arguing loudly.
"Are you ready, lad? We will need a record of this account, so mind you stay far enough behind to be out of the way, but close enough to write the truth."
A tall bearded man in a kilt and rough wool cloak spoke forcefully and the young man she'd seen writing quickly
