The rain over Edinburgh had transformed into a howling sleet storm that slicked the cobblestones of the Royal Mile in sheets of treacherous, black ice. A black four-horse brougham carriage careened wildly down the narrow descent toward the Palace of Holyroodhouse, its steel-rimmed wheels throwing showers of orange sparks against the curb stones as the driver lashed the horses with frantic, merciless fury. Inside the carriage sat Archibald Sterling, clutching…
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