Actueel
  • The Empire's Dirge
    The marble of the capital was turning the color of dried blood. It was the year of the Great Ebb, and the Empire of Aethelgard—which had spanned three continents and a thousand years—was finally folding in on itself. In the streets, the gold-leafed statues of forgotten emperors were being pulled down by mobs who had forgotten how to eat. In the palaces, the nobility continued to dance, their...
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  • THE QUIET DESPERATION
    Tom Callahan was under Mrs. Kowalski's sink at 6:15 a.m., fixing a leak that smelled like cabbage and copper. The water was cold. His back hurt the way it always hurt now — a dull, constant ache that had nothing to do with any particular injury and everything to do with eleven years of working with his hands after the steel mill closed. He tightened the nut with his wrench, wiped his hands on...
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  • The Patient from Below
    The asylum had been closed for twenty years before the Sleep came, but the children of Boston knew it by reputation the way children know about forbidden places: through whispers and warnings and the peculiar silence that falls over a room when someone mentions the Holloway Asylum in a voice that suggests they have been told not to speak of it at all. Theo Ashworth had never been inside. He was...
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  • The Last Bar on Main Street
    The bar had been called Sullivan's since Mark bought it in 2009, though "bought" was a generous word for what had actually happened. He had inherited it—his father's father's bar, a narrow strip of counter and stools and bottles on shelves that had not been cleaned since the Reagan administration, sitting on Main Street in a town whose population had dropped from four thousand to two thousand...
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  • The Latent Heat of Duty
    Benjamin Ross had spent his life in a steady state. Not the steady state of ambition or achievement or even contentment, but the steady state of maintenance—the quiet, invisible equilibrium of keeping things from falling apart. He was fifty-five years old and had been a taxi driver in Manhattan for twenty-three years, and in all that time he had never once been fired or promoted or noticed. He...
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  • The Iron Wings of Blackmoor
    The fog clung to the moors of Yorkshire like a shroud, thick and cold and smelling of coal smoke and old death. Arthur Blackwood stood at the edge of what had once been his family's estate and stared at the great machine that slept beneath the collapsed roof of the hangar. It was larger than any aircraft he had ever seen in his life—larger, perhaps, than any aircraft that had ever existed. Its...
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  • ACT I
    Dr. Julian Frost found his own biography in a Taiping archival document, written in 1854—twenty years before he was born. The discovery happened on a Tuesday, in the imperial archives of Tianjing, where Julian had spent the last three months cataloging rebel propaganda and religious texts for his forthcoming Oxford publication. He was thirty-two, a man of meticulous habits and rational...
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  • The Navigator's Horizon
    In 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...
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  • Echoes on Cold Street
    Echoes 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...
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  • The Ghost Physician
    Blackwater 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...
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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...
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  • THE CLOCKTOWER APARTMENTS
    The 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...
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