“What’s that there?” he asked.
Authran glared at him over the top of the parchment.
Jerh’herakhan stopped reading. “Eh? Oh, it’s supposed to be someone taking the black, as you are. Now—”
“No, the hand. What’s that for?”
“Oh, Arna’s feathers!” said Authran, sighing mightily. “Told you all that last night!”
“Aye, but what’s it there for in this scroll? Do y’ know, Anthu?”
Jerh’herakhan was by now quite off track. Luckily, he was the kind of Master with whom his novices could take all kinds of trustful liberties and whom, as a result, they genuinely loved. “Oh, well, whatever Authran told you, that’ll be what it is. He’s terribly good at that sort of thing.”
“There weren’t nobody takin’ the black on the thing he had though.”
“I see. This scroll is a copy of a copy of a copy and so on
