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The Gunpowder Duke
Manchester, 1842
The smoke hung over Manchester like a shroud, thick and yellow, tasting of...
The Republic of Playful Stars
The trumpet sounded three notes in the dark Harlem apartment, and Marcus Williams knew exactly...
The fog over London did not roll in so much as it rose from the earth itself, a yellow-gray exhalation from the Thames that swallowed streets whole. Edward Ashworth stood at his window in Whitechapel and watched it consume the world three stories below.
He was twenty-four, a junior barrister with a mind like a scalpel and a background that made him...
The Currency of Tears
The offices of Sterling & Cross were designed to make you feel small. The ceilings were too high,...
THE BRASS IN THE BAYOU
Water has a way of finding what was meant to stay hidden.
The flood came on a Tuesday in June,...