The ink was cheap and the room was cold, and Alistair wrote three slips of paper before the candle had burned a finger down.
He wrote the same word on each one, and the word was Begin.
Nothing else went onto the paper, no instruction, no caution, no name.
If a slip was found, it would mean nothing to whoever read it, and everything to the courier who carried it.
The couriers had been chosen months ago for a single reason, since not one of them knew what the word connected to.
A courier who understood the message could be made to give it up, while one who understood nothing had nothing to give.
Tobian Marrow, scholar of no consequence, folded each slip small enough to vanish inside a book.
'Due gets the first one. Elara the second. Silas already knows, so Silas needs no paper.'
Alistair sat back and looked at the three folded slips on the desk.
