The taverns of Orienne are perfectly legal. The moondens beneath them are not. Archie Plume on moonbright, the only liquor in the Sable Charter that is a crime to pour, and the staircase six strangers have seen after the third glass.

The official dates of the Sable Charter, as every schoolchild learns them, with the archivist's corrections in the margins. Where the two disagree, trust the margins.

No council ever named her a saint. The Ward did. Archie Plume on the ferrywoman of the Bend, her lantern, and the chapel on Cistern Street that is never locked.

Nine families, two guilds, and one signature scraped from every copy. Archie Plume on how the Sable Charter was founded, where it was really signed, and the name nobody will read aloud.

A river with a country attached to it. Archie Plume on the four regions of the Sable, the Charter with one signature scraped away, and the ancient stones that point somewhere other than the water.

One autumn night the ink vanished from three centuries of Orienne's records. In the spring it began to come back, in a hand no one recognizes. Case unexplained.