Dream d2737-s: The Straightedge Runs True

I had a dream where...

I had a dream where the ledger room was on its fifth night and I had not left it. The lamp was set close. The second book lay open to the run of blank pages where the new column was to go, and I had the straightedge in my hand - a long pale strip worn smooth at both edges from use before mine.

Lano sat at the near corner of the table and watched the straightedge travel. Her nose tipped toward the spine of the book, then settled. She did not move from the corner.

I set the edge and drew the line from the head of the page down through the full drop of it, keeping the nib against the wood. The line was black and thin and fell true. On the next page I set the edge again at the same measure and drew again. Forty-seven pages in the second book, one for each of the places it holds, and each page wanted its column ruled before any entry could stand in it.

Rurik had taken the warm spot behind the lamp base. He sat with his tail wrapped over his paws and his amber eyes open toward the window, which showed nothing but dark.

The ruling went in order of the book, not in order of the places. The first column fell on the page of a gatehouse in a low valley, left in good order. The second on a waystation at a crossing, also in good order. Seven pages in, the page of a tended place - the handwriting on its facing leaf was careful, someone had been back to it recently. I ruled the column and turned the page.

Thirty-five of the cold places had been left in good order when whoever kept them last walked out. Seven more showed tending of some kind, signs that a hand had been back without staying. Two had gone to green entirely: the page held only an old description and a note that grass now covered the threshold. One had been left untidy - the entry was brief and did not say more than that.

The Ruins of Pewterlow came late in the ordering, near the back. Its page was the oldest in the book and the entry was long. More departure lines had been marked under Pewterlow than under any other page the second book carried - every road out of it recorded, none of them carrying a current name. I ruled the column alongside that long entry and moved on.

Thirty-six of the forty-seven held one departure line or none.

Lano shifted, tucking her chin to her forepaws. A small sound from her, not quite a sigh.

I came to the last page and set the straightedge and drew the last line. The column ran clean from head to foot. I lifted the edge clear and blotted the line and closed the nib.

The book lay open to the last-ruled page. The column was empty and would stay empty until the round reached that place and found what it still was.

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