The Pale Banner
The fire started in the ink. It was a small thing at first. A spark in the gutters of the printing press. Then a roar. The smoke tasted of copper and old paper. We were in the basement of the Ministry of Truth, or what passed for truth in the grey years of the Industrial Ascendancy. The air was thick with the scent of wet wool and ozone. My hands shook. I held the book. It was the only copy....
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