0 Комментарии
0 Поделились
563 Просмотры
0 предпросмотр
Каталог
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Войдите, чтобы отмечать, делиться и комментировать!
-
The Iron Cage's ShadowThe fog came early that November, rolling down from the Thames like a living thing, thick and yellow and smelling of coal smoke and river mud. Eleanor Ashworth stood at the window of her bakery on Whitechapel Road and watched it consume the street lamp outside, one flickering eye at a time. She had opened the bakery eight months ago, with money her mother had left her and a recipe for fruit...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 4 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
-
The Steam Engineer's RequiemThe marble bathtub was cold against Edgar Winterworth's back, even through the water. Twelve minutes. He had held his breath for twelve full minutes in the Chelsea Gas Baths, and the thin record card he kept in his pocket had been updated with a single, trembling figure. He pushed himself up from the bottom, water cascading off his pale shoulders like rain off a cathedral roof, and gasped in...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 17 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
-
The Resonance of WhitmanThirteen minutes. Theodore Whitman pushed himself up from the pool water and gasped, his chest heaving like a man surfacing from a deeper ocean than chlorinated municipal water deserved. The record card in his locker pocket now bore the number 13, circled three times in his precise, professorial hand. Two men in grey suits stood at the edge of the Long Island public pool. One was...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 4 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
-
The Memory Hunter's NullAcid rain hissed against Jack Morrison's military-grade prosthetic eye, burning tiny pocks into the synthetic lens. He stood on the Third Elevated Track of New Shanghai Colony, watching the neon-drenched sprawl of the colonization satellite stretch to every horizon. Seventeen years of memory hunting. Seventeen years of tracking black-market dealers who bought and sold people's most intimate...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 5 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
-
The Star-Singer's LamentLord Silas van Amsberg emerged from the navigation pod with the taste of starlight on his tongue. It was a sensation he had learned to recognize: the metallic tang of hyperspace, the lingering resonance of cosmic consciousness that filled his senses after every deep-space navigation. At twenty-three, he was the youngest noble navigator in the Grand Stellar Principality, and his ability to...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 4 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
-
The Day Without BreadDonna Kowalski woke up at 5:30 AM the way she always woke up—without an alarm, without transition, just suddenly aware that she was awake and the room was dark and her back hurt. She lay there for three minutes, counting the cracks in the ceiling, then got up and went to the kitchen and made coffee and sat at the table and looked at the wall. The wall was beige. It had been beige when she moved...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 5 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
-
The House of Falling TreesThe House of Falling Trees The house had been dying for thirty years. It just hadn't had the decency to admit it. Silas Winslow stood on the front porch and looked at the rot eating its way up the columns like a slow disease. The magnolias had gone to seed. The ironwork was rusted into shapes that resembled bones more than ornament. Inside, the wallpaper peeled in long, curling strips like dead...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 5 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
-
The Latent Heat of Augustus MorganThe window of Augustus Morgan III's private office on the eighth floor of the Equitable Building looked down upon Broadway as if from a cliff. Below, the city churned in its perpetual brown-gold haze, a soup of coal smoke and horse dung and human ambition rendered visible. Carriages clattered between the new electric trolleys, and the elevated railway shrieked its iron song every twelve minutes...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 4 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
-
The Letter That Arrived on a TuesdayThe letter arrived on a Tuesday in late October, when the wind off Lake Michigan carried the smell of rendering plants and the first hard frost of the season had glazed the cobblestones of Taylor Street. It was addressed in a looping, feminine hand to a name that did not belong to anyone at 1412 West Polk, which was the front for Vincent Caruso's principal warehouse, and it was delivered by a...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 4 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
English
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek