Archivist Orelia Vane is a narrow, long limbed woman whose movements are brisk and economical, as if every gesture has been edited for unnecessary words. Her skin has the muted bronze tone of someone who spends too much time beneath covered docks, and fine droplets of water often cling to the pale down along her forearms even when she has recently dried herself. Her eyes are amber brown, but what people notice first is where they go: never toward faces for long, always to door hinges, damp corners, writing hands, boot soles, and anything that might conceal a document. She keeps her dark hair wound into a severe coil pinned with sharpened reed quills. Her fingertips are permanently darkened by ink, while her nails are buffed with almost vain precision. Unexpectedly, beneath her stern, dust colored field coat she wears a bright saffron waistcoat embroidered with tiny silver fish, a gift from a child whose family she once helped clear of a false debt.