A few mornings later, seven black-cloaked riders came through the rain. Jon saw them from the Black Yard's lower field as Tomas raised his ash sword for another pass. Arthur watched from the eaves; Ralf held their horses beside the fence.
Tomas showed Jon an opening he had used once already. Jon began the expected cut, checked it when the captain moved and stepped inside his guard. His shield rim caught Tomas's sword hand before the padded edge could reach him.
Arthur nodded. "Again."
Jon lowered his sword. A page from the east gate had reached the fence, wet hair plastered to his forehead and his cap crushed in one fist.
"Lord Jon. The First Ranger has come. Six brothers with him."
"Ralf, bring the grey," Jon said. "Carry on, Tomas." He passed his sword to Arthur and went to fetch his cloak.
Jon rode uphill with Arthur and Ralf and slowed before the east arch, where the last ranger was dismounting. The brothers' cloaks steamed against the stable wall. Rawhide bound one stirrup; a torn-eared bay hung its head while Hullen examined Benjen's black gelding. Jon could see swelling above the forehoof.
Benjen turned at the sound of their horses. The ride had hollowed his sharp face, and rain clung to his beard. A dirty thong held his glove shut. Yet the smile in his blue-grey eyes was familiar. Jon dismounted, and his uncle caught him by the forearms, drew him close and then held him out to look.
"You have grown." Benjen put a hand against the top of Jon's head. "Last time you barely reached here."
"Wylla has had to let my sleeves out again."
"She might mend this while she has her needle." Benjen held up his torn glove.
"You could have sewn it."
"Have you seen my sewing?"
Robb and Theon ran under the arch with Arya between them. She struck Benjen about the waist, and he caught her before she slipped in the mud. Sansa came more carefully, lifting the hem of her pale-blue gown. A matching ribbon held her thick auburn braid. She curtsied.
"My lady," Benjen said, bowing as though Sansa had ridden out with a queen's own honour guard.
"Uncle." She lasted one heartbeat before throwing both arms around him. "Your cloak is dripping on me."
"Then I had better get you indoors." Benjen drew his cloak back. Bran arrived holding Eddard's hand, and Benjen knelt to greet him before lifting him high. Bran crowed. Catelyn watched from the covered walk.
"Mind his head, Benjen."
Benjen lowered him to his shoulder. The east clock began to strike. One ranger counted the notes on his fingers while the sound rolled across the wet roofs.
"Manderly has one, Robert has one, and a Darry trader tells me Leyton has ordered one with four faces," Benjen said. "At Castle Black we still argue over the hour."
"I will give you one," Jon said.
The jest went out of Benjen's eyes. "We have no gold for a House Black clock."
"It will be a gift. A plain oak case with the weights covered and room for a man to oil it in gloves."
"Make the bell loud. Bowen Marsh sleeps under enough wool to stop an arrow."
Jon laughed. Benjen looked up as the final stroke sounded.
"Maester Aemon will be pleased. He misses little enough now, even without his sight."
Aemon Targaryen. Jon remembered the blind maester from the books: Egg's brother, who had refused a crown and gone to the Wall. He was still alive here, still serving while nearly everyone he had known was gone. Jon wanted to hear him speak for himself.
"How is he?"
"Old," Benjen said. "But he still tends our sick and tells Mormont when he is being a fool."
"I should like to meet him."
"Come while you can. He is past ninety." Benjen gripped Jon's shoulder, and for a moment neither spoke.
Eddard took them inside before the rain thickened. The six black brothers ate below with Jory, Hullen, and the stable hands who had received their horses. Benjen took his place at the family table in the little hall. Hot wine steamed with cloves. The cook had sent up boiled beef with leeks, onions browned in dripping, hard white cheese, and three fresh loaves beneath a linen cloth. Benjen cut the first slice with a guest's restraint. Before Arya had finished asking whether spearwives truly wore mail, he was dragging bread through the beef juices.
"Some wear mail," he told her. "Some boiled leather. Most wear whatever the last man failed to keep."
"Do the spearwives use swords like Uncle Benjen," Arya asked, "or only the axes in Old Nan's tales?"
"Axes, bows, spears, knives." Arya looked triumphantly at Septa Mordane.
"They also steal children, sleep in mud, and have no proper halls," the septa said. "Wildling women are not fit examples for a lady."
Sansa touched the rough edge of Benjen's sleeve. "Do they sew their own cloaks?"
"Better than the Watch," Benjen said, offering Sansa the glove whose wrist had been closed with a thong.
"That cannot be hard." She caught his tied glove and frowned. "This is not sewn at all."
"No," Benjen admitted. "I tied it in a hurry."
Sansa fetched her basket. He took the glove off and gave it to her. She cut the thong and began a careful line of blue stitches while Arya asked whether a spearwife could beat a knight. Septa Mordane told her that her meat was getting cold.
Bran built a wall from bread crusts and pushed a piece of cheese against it. Benjen made a great lumbering noise and lifted the cheese over the wall. Bran laughed and knocked the crusts flat.
"Was that a giant?" Robb asked.
"A hungry one." Benjen ate the cheese.
Theon asked about a bear that had stolen a cask at Eastwatch.
"A whole cask?" Benjen said. "That is what they are saying now?"
"Jory heard it from a man who came south with wool."
"The cook said a bear had taken it, and showed Cotter Pyke the tracks himself." Benjen reached for the bread. "Cotter found the empty cask in the cook's room."
Theon began laughing before he had finished. Eddard's smile deepened, and Catelyn hid hers behind her cup.
"What became of the cook?" Robb asked.
"He cleaned the casks for a moon. Empty ones."
Arya wanted to know whether there had been a bear at all. Benjen said there were bears enough without sending one to steal a man's ale. That began another round of questions, and he finally held up his knife and asked whether he might finish his beef before they reached giants again.
Jon watched him eat. Beneath the good humour his uncle was tired, and he glanced towards every sound from the yard as though someone might call him away. These were men Jon had once read about. Now Benjen sat close enough for him to see the split nail beside Sansa's new stitches, and six brothers waited downstairs with stories of their own.
After the meal Catelyn sent the smaller children away. Arya returned for a knife she claimed Bran had taken; Septa Mordane found it in Arya's sleeve and led her out again. Theon went below to hear the rangers. Robb stayed for the council in Eddard's solar, where Martyn shut the door and Luwin opened Mormont's letter beside Poole's store roll.
The Lord Commander asked for grain, salt beef, wool, lamp oil, horses and men. The three sound ships at Eastwatch sailed only by taking brothers from the Wall. Shadow Tower's mounts were worn thin, and Castle Black buried old men faster than recruits arrived.
"We need men who can serve," Benjen said. "A willing second son, a veteran with no place, a thief who has chosen the Wall. Some lords send us anyone they are tired of feeding. We have frightened boys enough."
Eddard read the count twice before laying one broad finger beside the barley line. "Poole, what may leave without shortening Winterfell's own winter?"
"The second barley cutting came in dry, and the White Knife oats were good," Poole said. "I can give you a count in two days."
"Do so. Hullen will choose remounts. Luwin, ask the northern houses for what they can spare and send Mormont the names with the gifts." Benjen stared into the fire.
Jon said, "That could have gone by raven." His uncle looked over one shoulder.
"You did not ride a lame horse the length of the North to ask whether Poole owns barley." Robb's eyes narrowed. Eddard waited. Benjen drew a packet of waxed cloth from beneath his cloak. Inside lay a rough map drawn upon scraped parchment. He spread it across Mormont's count.
"Three villages stood empty when our rangers found them. One near the Milkwater. Two east. No burned roofs. No slain men. The grain pits were scraped clean, hides and iron carried away."
"How many?" Eddard asked.
"We could not tell. More than one clan. Bare footprints crossed tracks from sewn boots, and there were three kinds of spearhead at one abandoned fire. Men who usually kill one another are travelling together."
"Mance Rayder may have called them," Robb said, leaning over the map.
"Perhaps. Mormont thinks he is calling them." Benjen set a black nail upon the map. "Most trails lead north, away from us. Yet those who come south range farther and remain longer. Two crofts in the Gift lost grain and horses. The folk were beaten, not killed."
Martyn bent over the Gift. "They wanted supplies."
Benjen tapped the crofts on the map. "Aye. They were in a hurry."
"Have any of your rangers gone missing?" Luwin asked.
"Four from the Shadow Tower. Two went after them. We found one horse alive with the saddle cut away. No men. No bodies." Jon kept both palms upon his knees. He remembered blue eyes and dead hands rising from snow, but not a year he could trust. Arthur was alive here; events were already changing. He looked down at the map before anyone could read his face.
"Any sign of sickness?" Jon asked. "Bodies left in the houses?"
"None."
"Were the graves disturbed?"
Benjen frowned. "We did not search them. Why?"
Jon looked at the map. "I would like your men to look next time."
Catelyn came in and paused beside the map. Eddard drew a chair beside him and told her of the empty villages.
"Mance may be calling them north," she said. "Whatever they fear may be helping him."
"Luwin, write to Last Hearth, the mountain clans, Deepwood, and Bear Island," Eddard said. "No levy. Ask about strange tracks, missing crofters and stolen horses, and whether the same tales reach more than one holdfast. Men on the northern roads are to travel together; send escorts where they are needed." He turned back to Mormont's count. "Tell him what grain and horses we can spare once Poole has the figures. Ask what his men find at the graves. Copies of Benjen's map go only to those houses."
Benjen kept a hand on the map. "The Old Bear has given me leave to count stores and hear which lords will send men."
"Then you shall have hot meat while you do it," Catelyn said.
Benjen smiled faintly. Robb went out with Martyn; Catelyn took Poole and the store roll. Luwin crossed to his locked book while Eddard stayed beside the map. Benjen caught Jon by the sleeve before he could follow the others.
"What did you mean about the graves?"
Jon looked into his uncle's tired face. Six men had vanished already.
"I fear something worse than Mance," he said quietly. "I cannot tell you when it will come. Search those villages in strength. If you find any dead thing moving, burn it. Send word to Father, Luwin and me if the graves are open."
Benjen's brows drew together. "Dead things do not move beyond a frightened child's tale."
"I would rather you laughed at me from Castle Black," Jon said.
Benjen held his gaze. There was no laughter left in the blue-grey eyes. "I shall tell Mormont."
He caught Jon by the shoulder before Eddard called him back. For once there was no jest about oats or height. Jon watched him cross to the map.
Arthur came to stand beside Jon. "He heard you."
"I know."
* * *
On the following day Benjen slept through the noon bell. By midafternoon he rode downhill with Jon, Eddard, Robb, Theon and Martyn. Two black brothers followed on fresh horses, with Jory and the Stark escort at the rear. Hullen had kept Benjen's lame gelding with its foreleg wrapped; Ralf lent him a placid brown horse called Tallow.
Before they heard the hammers, smoke thickened over the new roofs.
"You have built half a town," Benjen said.
"The orders keep coming. We needed room to work."
At the gate Tomas was leading the household through mounted turns while Gawen watched. Their black coats moved against the wet green field. One horse shied at a puddle; the next pair opened around it and closed again without losing the pace.
Benjen rested one hand upon his saddle bow. "The Wall could use a hundred like those. How long have they been under Heward?"
"Two years," Jon said. "I was six when the twenty-five took service. Ralf and Gawen came later for the horses."
Benjen watched Tomas steady the next turn. "The two years show."
"You may not have mine," Jon said.
"I thought not." Benjen smiled and leaned forward to watch the next turn. Dywen clicked his wooden teeth behind him. Tomas halted the files when Gawen signalled; the knight finished speaking to one rider, sent the files out again and came to greet the visitors.
The other black brother rubbed rain from his nose. Dywen had folded the cuff of his cloak back to keep it clear of the rail; the hand beneath was brown and knotted, the nails blunt from years of work. He studied the horses more closely than the coats.
"Sound beasts," he said when Benjen asked him.
"Ralf chose them," Jon replied. "Some from the same markets that supply the Watch."
"Aye, my lord. Before we reach them, by the look of it." He rubbed his chin as he smiled. Ralf, who had come to the rail with a spare bridle over his arm, asked what a serviceable gelding cost at the last northern fair. Dywen named a price that made him shake his head, and the two fell into a quiet comparison of the road and the horses it had worn out.
"Is that your garrison," Benjen asked, "or the men you mean to keep beside your saddle?"
"My household." Jon watched Tomas bring the rear pair round. "They ride and fight with me."
Heward joined them at the practice rail. Beyond it, Garrick's men were unloading a long timber wagon. Its escort had dismounted in the turning yard. Their captain, thick through the shoulders in a faded red cloak, set two rollers beneath the first baulk and made the carters lower it onto both before pulling.
Heward looked across. "Hewyn."
The road captain turned at the sound of his name. "You have misplaced half an ear."
"Pyke."
"I remember. You still had both when we went ashore." Hewyn handed his gloves to a road man and came over. The two veterans clasped forearms without smiling. Then Hewyn faced Eddard and Jon and bowed.
Beside Jon, Theon folded his arms. "There is always a man here who remembers Pyke." He spoke quietly enough that the veterans did not turn.
"They are speaking of an ear."
"Aye. We lost a tower."
Jon looked at him. "They are allowed to remember."
"So am I." Theon held his gaze a moment, then turned towards the riders. His brother had died beneath that tower. Jon let him turn.
Robb beckoned from the rail. "You are missing it."
"I have seen horses walk in a circle before."
"Then come and tell me who is doing it badly." Robb grinned and made room. Theon went over, leaning upon the rail beside him.
On the field, Gage's riders closed about Jon's empty place while Tomas drove two attackers clear of the flank. Martyn leaned on the rail. Hewyn watched the turn, then the smaller boys behind it.
Jon called him nearer. "You have led foot on the road. What do you make of them?"
"They could bring you out of trouble, my lord. Too few to hold much ground after."
"That is why I mean to raise foot."
"Dragonstone already has five hundred defenders," Jon told Hewyn. "Marros's three hundred from Queen Rhaella's garrison and the two hundred Northmen Father gave Ethan. They stay on the island. The men we raise here will march with me."
Eddard turned from the riders. "You spoke of more when you asked for the first twenty-five. How many now?"
"Fifty in my household by the time I sail. Apart from them, two hundred spears and one hundred sword-and-shield foot to begin with."
Robb looked across the pegged field. "Three hundred foot?"
"The spears for open ground, the swords for close fighting. The household rides with me."
"He said to begin with." Theon snorted at Robb's expression. "He will have twice as many before you stop staring."
"Only if I can pay them," Jon said.
"The Watch needs recruits too," Benjen said.
"And Father is calling for them. I will pay mine and take them to Dragonstone. A man willing to serve for wages may not be willing to swear his whole life to the Wall."
Benjen looked towards the field. "No. He may not."
Hewyn rubbed the mud from one knee. "Three hundred foot will need more leaders than I have with me, my lord."
"Bring men you have served beside," Jon said. "I will pay them to lead and teach. For the new lads, sixteen or seventeen. I mean to sail in four years; we shall have time to train them."
"Will you choose the serjeants?"
"You test them and recommend. I appoint."
Hewyn considered the men on the field. "And when the foot serves with your household?"
"Tomas commands my household. You will command the foot. Both answer to me."
"I understand, my lord." Hewyn inclined his head. "I should like to see the ground where you mean to train them."
Eddard looked across the crowded yard. "Three hundred foot and twenty-five household guards make a private host beneath Winterfell's wall. Your yard cannot house them without choking the work that pays them."
"Lease me the ruined watchfort above Miller's Run," Jon said. "It is less than half a league from here. We can house the foot there and move the arms work beside them."
"Miller's Watch," Eddard said. "It has been empty since my father was young."
"Then the Old Watch will suit it. The clockmakers stay here. I can ride between them."
Hewyn glanced east as though he could see the ruined tower through rain and roofs. "Will the men help with the works, my lord?"
"They will dig the drains and raise the banks," Jon said. "When we march, they will know how to make camp."
"Bring Perkin's estimates at dusk," Eddard said. "Poole can go through them with us."
"They are ready," Jon answered.
* * *
At dusk Poole and Perkin spread their books across Eddard's table. Benjen helped himself to the salt beef and onions; Catelyn sewed beside the hearth while Hewyn studied the estimates and Martyn waited with the armoury roll. Rain ticked against the shutters.
Two dozen smaller clocks had left the yard since the first paid order, besides the mermaid and falcon. Perkin had deducted their making and carriage, the debt to Winterfell and the household and yard expenses. Money promised to unfinished work stood in a separate account.
"Three thousand four hundred and eighty dragons remain yours to spend, my lord," he told Jon, showing Poole the balance.
Benjen lowered his beef. "After buying the horses?"
"And building the yard," Poole answered. He turned to the soldiers' estimate. "You have allowed dearer grain here."
"I will buy while the price is good. But the men must eat if it rises." Jon set aside twenty-seven hundred for the first year's keep, pay, arms, clothing and pack beasts. Hewyn could begin with repaired mail and sound shields. The balance and the next finished clocks would support the household and first tower repairs; Dragonstone's dues would continue to keep its five hundred defenders.
"As the clocks earn more, I mean to fill six centuries, a hundred foot in each," Jon told Eddard. "The first men will help train those who follow."
"Six hundred by the time you sail."
"If the trade continues as it has. I have left room for their quarters along the upper field."
Poole drew the old plan of Miller's Watch towards him. Its three hundred acres ran through meadow, old crofts and grazing above the wood, taking in both banks of the run to the lower ford. Edran Venn of Alderbank held beyond the eastern ditch, Osmer Rusk of Greybeck below the ford. Both used the cattle way.
"Write that right into the lease," Jon said, moving his storehouse mark uphill to leave the way clear.
"They hold of Winterfell, as you will," Eddard told him. "Neither owes service to your fort. If you need their ground, ask its master."
"I will. Have the woodward show me the way when we ride out." Jon put his hand beside the boundary. "The full three hundred acres, Father. Four years at twenty dragons a year. House Black pays for repairs and leaves the buildings, drains and road when we sail. Tools, arms, horses and stores go with us."
Eddard looked from the broken tower to his eight-year-old son. "Four years, then. You will be twelve when you go." His finger rested upon the barrack ground. "But this is not to take you from my court. You will still sit with me when I hear petitions."
"Aye. Hewyn can keep them at work while I am with you."
"And no claim against Winterfell for improvements?"
"None."
"The rent stays fixed. You may surrender the holding when you sail."
"Agreed."
"Some grandchild of mine may be sent there one day," Eddard said, "or a loyal man who has earned stone of his own."
Jon looked at the broken tower on his drawing. "I hope we leave him something worth having."
Martyn laid the armoury roll upon the table.
"My lord," he said to Eddard, "let me take the sword-and-shield men."
Eddard looked up. "You would leave the yard?"
"Rodrik has men enough to help him there. A hundred brought in from as many places will need someone with them every day. Some will have fought before. That may make the first lessons harder." He turned to Jon. "If you will have me, I will teach them."
"I will," Jon said. "You know how I want them to fight together."
"Close. Shield beside shield. A man who swings as though he were alone will find me beside him often."
Benjen smiled at Martyn. Eddard looked at the plan again, then nodded.
"Speak to Rodrik in the morning. Jory can take your place when you are at the Old Watch."
"Thank you, my lord."
Jon turned to Hewyn. "You command the foot. Work with Martyn on the training; I will join you for the exercises and marches."
"I can begin with my road men," Hewyn said.
Jon offered his hand. Hewyn took it, and Martyn did the same when the captain had stepped aside.
"Lend me Hallis and twelve guards for the muster and first training, Father. My household must keep its drill and work. We may have twice as many applicants as places, none yet answerable to Hewyn. I need grown men at the gates and stores, with those off duty helping the trials and teaching."
"Men who can teach," Martyn said. "Rodrik will know whom to send."
"Hallis and twelve," Eddard agreed. "Until your officers can manage. They remain my men: Hallis keeps my peace, Hewyn oversees your trials. An applicant who draws steel in a quarrel is brought here."
"I will feed and house them and pay for the extra service."
Poole added it to the muster costs. Hewyn asked to speak with Hallis before the call was read; Martyn studied where the first hundred men would stand.
Eddard drew a fresh sheet of parchment towards him. "Any unbound man may present himself. A man already sworn brings his lord's release. An apprentice or bonded servant brings his master's release. A thief or killer comes before my justice, not beneath your banner. No reeve empties a village to be rid of troublesome mouths."
Catelyn pulled one stitch through grey wool. "Put Dragonstone in the call. Let them talk it over at home. A wife may want to keep her husband; once he has sworn, she must ask you for him."
Jon inclined his head. He had no quarrel with the advice. It was the purpose of the men, not the manner of taking them, that he kept to himself: a trained force took years, and the dangers he remembered would not wait for Winterfell to grow comfortable with him.
"House Black, wages, Dragonstone and the sea," Jon said. "They will hear it all."
Eddard nodded. "And you will keep and pay them."
"Aye. And care for them when they are hurt."
Eddard sealed the call beside Jon's black seal. Perkin gathered the estimates, leaving the lease ready for Poole to copy.
* * *
Before leaving Winterfell, Jon went up to Luwin for Chronicles of the Doom. He had asked whether it named any harbours that had survived; Luwin had promised to look. The maester stood upon a short stool, looking along the upper shelf. Jon held the lamp while he eased out two books and passed down the smaller one.
"That is the wrong volume," Luwin said as Jon opened it. "Cyvasse. A Pentoshi merchant gave it to my teacher."
The drawing showed a dragon, an elephant and little ranks of armed men. Jon had wanted to play cyvasse since reading of it in his first life, though those books had never given him the full rules. He ran a finger beneath the elephant, smiling.
"Do you play?"
"I did at the Citadel. There was usually someone willing to take my coin." Luwin came down with the history, a slip of parchment marking the High Valyrian account they had been translating. "Though I won a little back."
"Then teach me."
"When you have a set. This book has more opinions than instructions."
Jon opened the history at the marker. He read the Valyrian account without Luwin's help, then checked the date at its head.
"This man wrote before the Doom."
"Aye," Luwin said. "I have found no later account of that anchorage."
Jon left the marker in place and laid the game book over the history. "You earned a link for the higher mysteries, did you not?"
Luwin drew the dark link forward with his thumb. "Valyrian steel. Yes."
"What did they teach you? I have never heard you claim to work a spell."
"I never learned to work one." The maester let the chain fall against his robe. "That was a considerable disappointment to me. I went to Oldtown hoping to find men who could."
Jon put the books down again. It was difficult to imagine Luwin arriving anywhere young and eager, with no chain about his neck. "And the men who taught you?"
"Had accounts of wonders. Some were very old, and a few were written by men who had seen what they described. I spent years reading them. For a time I thought I had only to find the right book." Luwin looked up at the crowded shelves. "I should have liked to see a little of what those men saw."
"Yet you kept studying."
"There was still much to learn, Jon. Even after I ceased expecting spells to answer me." He picked up the history and set it back beneath the game book. "You must forgive me if I ask rather more of a tale than Old Nan does."
Jon could have given Luwin something worth examining: his dreams, or what happened when he looked through a crow's eyes. But either would bring questions about the man who visited him in his sleep, and he was not ready to answer those.
Jon borrowed both books. Back in his room at the Black Yard, he wrote to their correspondent at White Harbor, asking for a complete cyvasse set from the foreign traders. Plain wood would do. He wanted pieces that could be played with, and someone to make certain none was missing.
Before he opened the black book, Jon drew his chair to the window. Munin waited upon the sill. Arthur shut the door and stood beside him while he settled his hands upon his knees.
The sill narrowed beneath his claws. He let Munin take the wind, crossing the yard until she found the counting-room ridge. A grey cat passed below. Her head turned to follow it, and Jon waited through the small movements of her feet upon the tiles. He no longer tried to make her look by turning a neck that was not his.
He left her there. His own hands lay where he had put them, and Arthur had not yet called his name. Jon stood, waited a moment, then went back to the desk.
"Did the man in your dreams teach you to come back so easily?" Arthur asked.
"No. That has taken practice."
The knight looked towards Munin, who had begun picking at something beneath a tile. "I should like that man within reach just once."
"I would settle for choosing when he comes." Jon drew the lamp nearer. Arthur remained beside the window until Munin flew towards the stables.
Jon fetched the black book and turned to the forge he had drawn years before. Its wheel had no stream to drive it then. Now he set a clean leaf beside the sketch and marked Miller's Run above the proposed workshops. He left the height of the fall blank. Tomorrow he would walk both banks; he wanted the wheel below the barracks, with room to bring ore in without hauling it through the men's yard.
William was learning to carry more of the clockmaking. Jon would need others like him before he could build what he planned for Dragonstone. He wrote Woods's name beside the wheelhouse and left space for the men who would learn from him.
He turned to the pages concerning the Wall and recorded Benjen's report beneath the events he remembered from the books. Beside the empty villages he added the warning he had given his uncle.
He had come to Winterfell expecting years in which to prepare. The preparations had grown less abstract with every man who took his pay. He read the terms he had agreed with Eddard once more, then copied the workshop drawing onto a separate sheet. The measurements Woods needed went into the Common Tongue. The other pages stayed shut while he worked.