A recap, then. I pull a fresh slip toward me as if taking minutes, which amuses me more than it should.

"Location: the Black Archive, reading room. Rain outside, fire lit. Present: you and me. Rowan is away; no one else is in the building that I know of. No remote contacts established — I haven't sent word to anyone about the parcel."

I tick points off against the counter's edge. "Parcel A17: on the counter, seal intact and uncracked, custody still mine. No receipt has been issued; nothing has been delivered. The address card names both North Street and Marsh Lane in one clerk's hand, with a faint metallic glitter in the Marsh Lane line that I haven't explained."

"Open choice: the ledger mending, the catalog slips, or tea and talk. The parcel investigation waits whenever you want it — the public register comparison, or Rowan when he returns."

_That's everything true and nothing more. Good._

"Where were we?"