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08/09/2005
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The Navigator's HorizonIn the vast, shimmering expanse of the Pacific, where the islands are like emeralds scattered on a sapphire cloth, there existed a culture of the Great Wayfinders. These were the navigators who could read the stars, the currents, and the flight of birds to cross thousands of miles of open ocean without a single map. Tane was a youth of the Outer Isles, born with a restlessness that the small...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 7 Vue 0 AperçuConnectez-vous pour aimer, partager et commenter!
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Echoes on Cold StreetEchoes on Cold StreetAct I: The DropI was folding other people's clothes at the laundromat on Sunset Boulevard when the phone call came. My mother's washing machine had been dead for three weeks, and rent was due in five days, so when the voice on the other end said there was a position open as a personal household assistant, I said yes before they finished the sentence.Ribs. That's what they...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 5 Vue 0 Aperçu
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The Ghost PhysicianBlackwater sat on the Mississippi like a bruise on skin. Dr. Silas Beauregard noticed this on his first day. The town was beautiful in the way that only decaying things can be beautiful—magnolia trees leaning over porches that had sagged beneath the weight of a century, a river that moved with the slow indifference of something that has seen empires rise and fall and does not care about...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 6 Vue 0 Aperçu
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The Last Dispatch from the Raj## Act I: The Outset The heat of the Punjab in 1857 was a physical entity, a shimmering wall of gold and dust that blurred the line between the earth and the sky. Arthur, a second son of a minor English earl, stood on the veranda of the district bungalow, his white linen suit already stained with the sweat of a dying empire. He was twenty-one, a graduate of Oxford with a head full of Shelley...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 8 Vue 0 Aperçu
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THE CLOCKTOWER APARTMENTSThe call came at 7 AM on a Tuesday, the kind of morning when Manhattan moves like a machine that forgot to ask if its operators were okay. Detective Marcus Webb rolled out of bed, grabbed his coat, and listened to the telephone on his apartment wall ring three times before he answered. "Webb." "Marcus, it's Homicide. Clocktower Apartments, Upper East Side. Twenty-three residents found dead this...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 5 Vue 0 Aperçu
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The Long Island SanatoriumThe jazz played from a gramophone in the corner of the newsroom, a thin reedy sound that barely competed with the clatter of typewriters and the murmur of a hundred men deciding what the world should think. I sat at my desk with a cigarette burning down between my fingers and stared at the telegram on the paper in front of me. Eileen Foster, it said. Last seen: Oakcliff Sanatorium, Long Island....0 Commentaires 0 Parts 16 Vue 0 Aperçu
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Blood and MagnoliasThe Spanish moss hanging from the live oaks along Cypress Lane did not sway so much as it hung, like laundry left to dry on a line that had not been pulled in thirty years. Bell Thorne stood on the porch of the house that had been her family's for four generations and watched the rain fall in sheets that turned the dirt road into a river, and she thought about how water, left long enough, could...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 8 Vue 0 Aperçu
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The Mill Girl and the DoctorThe cotton mills of Manchester rose from the earth like the bones of some enormous beast, their chimneys breathing black smoke into a sky that had long since forgotten the color of blue. Clara Whitfield walked past them every morning at half past five, her shawl pulled tight against the damp, her clogs striking the cobblestones in a rhythm that matched the thudding of the looms inside. She was...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 8 Vue 0 Aperçu
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The FloodI. The river was rising. This was not news. The river was always rising in May. But this year it was rising faster than usual, and the men at the weather station were using words like "fifty-year event" and "possibly higher," which is the kind of news that makes you check your insurance and then pretend you did not. My name is Dale Rutherford. I am forty-two years old. I drive a truck. I lived...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 8 Vue 0 Aperçu
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The Black SignalThe phone rang at 11:47 PM, which was late even for this city, but not late enough to be surprising. Jack Moranne let it ring twice, then reached across the desk and picked up the receiver with his good hand. The bad one—the one that ended at the wrist where the war had taken everything below—was tucked under his arm, holding a half-empty bottle of bourbon and a notebook that contained more...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 4 Vue 0 Aperçu
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The Maintenance ProtocolThe Maintenance Protocol The duct was three meters in diameter, lined with fiber-optic cables thick as tree trunks, and it smelled of ozone and hot silicon. Marcus Chen crouched in the damp, his thermal suit sticking to the warm corrugated steel, holding a handheld thermometer against the pipe wall. Reading: 22.3 degrees Celsius. Standard was 22.0. He had seen deviations of two degrees...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 4 Vue 0 Aperçu
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THE BURNING BELOWTHE BURNING BELOW I The first crack appeared in Route 119 on a Thursday in April, and the county highway crew blamed it on the truck traffic. They were wrong. Silas Whitfield noticed it because he had spent twenty years as a Corps of Engineers geologist and he knew what cracks looked like. This was different from earthquake fractures or frost heave. The edges of the crack were warm—warm enough...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 6 Vue 0 Aperçu
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