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Antonio returns a hero after slaying the kraken

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The waves of the South Sea break against the docks of Newlondon on the morning after “The Night of the Rocket” . . .

Eyes Up the River

Part I

by Shanel Wilson and Frasier Armitage

The Tempest’s engine sputtered to a halt as the deathship reached its berth. Creaks and moans rippled through the ship, its ropes straining against the hull in the still churning water. Laid strewn across the deck, the massive creature’s corpse towered above the sail. The only piece missing was its grotesque, green eye that Antonio cradled in his hands. 

“Your valor will not be forgotten, men,” Antonio said to the few remaining members of the crew.  

Footsteps pounded down the dock toward them, shouts growing louder as they approached. 

“It’s true!”

“A kraken! I never thought I’d see the day!”

Antonio scanned the crowd for Bianca’s blue eyes. 

Prospero, the head of the Guild, pressed through the masses and reached the ship first. “Antonio? Is that you?” Prospero gawked. His gaze slipped from Antonio to the eye in his hands and then to the slain beast. 

Footsteps pounded down the dock toward them, shouts growing louder as they approached. Photo by Doruk Yemenici.

“We have returned with a slain Kraken, and here is the eye.” Antonio stepped off the ship next to Prospero. 

Prospero gingerly accepted the eye as if it were a bomb ready to detonate. “But how? Why are you here, on this deathship?” 

Antonio searched for words when his eyes landed on Solanio lurking toward the back of the throng. Antonio flushed with anger, forgetting Prospero altogether.

“I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation for all this, but now is not the time. There are more pressing issues,” Prospero said, grabbing Antonio’s attention. “We will secure the beast and you can report to the Guild House as soon as you’ve cleaned yourself up. Agreed? To think, all on the same night as the Rocket.”

“The rocket?” Antonio asked.

“Ah, yes. You’ll be filled in at the Guild House.” He turned to his men and motioned to the beast. “Get to work!”

Antonio twisted back to the crowd to find Solanio, but he was gone.

Dressed in his best shirt and pants, Antonio wound through the narrow streets of Newlondon to the Guild House. He wanted nothing more than to find Bianca, but he couldn’t keep the Guild waiting. The kraken would ensure a better future for them both. Besides, whatever the Guild decreed, Bianca was sure to find out soon enough. 

The jingling of keys caught Antonio’s attention. He turned down the alley toward the metallic rattle. “Why didn’t you stay at the docks and greet my return, brother?” he said to the figure who slipped a key in the door in front of them.

He turned down the alley toward the metallic rattle. Photo by Edoardo Frezet.

“Antonio!” Solanio stepped out of the building’s shadow. “Hero of the day! Quite the feat you’ve achieved, dear friend.”

“Yes, dear friend. An opportunity I would never have been given if it wasn’t for you, I think.” Antonio’s pulse raced as he approached the man he’d wrongfully trusted.

“A happy accident. You are alive with quite the prize in hand. No need to thank me for your good fortune. I wished only to help you in your time of need. Who knew I’d be more successful than either of us could’ve imagined?” Solanio’s tone dripped with affection to mask the biting jealousy barely hiding below the surface. The effect was not lost on Antonio. His rage burned brighter as he loomed large over Solanio, whose back was now pressed against the door he was trying to open.

“Solanio,” Antonio menaced, his finger digging into the other man’s chest. “Your great help was to lock me on a deathship knowing full well that none have returned before today. That is no ‘happy accident.’” Antonio reeled back to swing at Solanio’s smug, rat face. 

Solanio raised his hands in defense. “But it was an accident!”

Antonio dropped his fist, his shoulders still vibrating. “Enlighten me, then! How did this accident come about?” 

“You came back in the pitch-black, foggy night, desperate for my help!” Solanio roared in Antonio’s face, stepping forward. “Between the fog and darkness, I thought I was stowing you on one of my father’s ships. I returned to the docks this morning to fetch you when the deathship moored up. I was as shocked as anyone to discover you there.”

“Do you think I am that stupid? You can navigate the docks blindfolded!” 

“Stupid, no. Could a stupid person defeat a kraken? It’s clear you are exceedingly clever, dear Antonio. And as you can see, even I can make mistakes. I am just so thankful this mistake turned out so well. For you.” A mocking smile spread across his lips. “Aren’t you due at the Guild House by now?” 

Antonio glanced down the alley toward the street, then he turned back to Solanio. Before he could open his mouth to speak, Solanio had vanished. The door in front of him locked from the inside.

Antonio blew out an exasperated breath from his lips. “Will you stop disappearing like that!”

Solanio’s apparent betrayal churned in Antonio’s mind like a restless sea on his walk to the Guild House. Everyone makes mistakes, but Solanio wasn’t that careless. Was he? What would he gain if I hadn’t returned? 

People skittered in a frenzy along the dock, where seedy rooms-to-rent overlooked the bay. Trawlers queued for a berth to land. Everyone seemed to be searching for a skiv bound for Whitehall. All these people, and Bianca nowhere among them. Where can she be? 

Antonio passed through the milling crowds to the building jutting out at the pier’s end. He traipsed the stairs, his footsteps following him in echoes. A huge door with an emblem of a fish barred the way. He took the fish by its fin and knocked it thrice on the iron door. 

Creaking open, it swung on its hinges, and Antonio entered a lavish room. A dozen people sat in a crescent behind a ceremonial table. They sported the finest garb, all ruffles and trims. And their white moustaches were waxed with the utmost care. 

“Welcome, Antonio!” Prospero’s voice boomed from the center of the crescent. Golden chains hung around his neck. “On behalf of the Guild of Sailors, may I be the first to congratulate you on all you’ve done for Newlondon.” Applause shook the glass windows overlooking the sea. 

When was the last time any of these men were actually on the water? They might have owned the boats and gleaned the city’s wealth, but they’d lost their sailing legs a long time ago. 

“It takes a lot to impress the Guild, Antonio,” Prospero continued, rubbing his paunch. “But bringing back a Kraken? There’s enough pollium in the eye alone to restore prosperity to this city.” 

“I wish only enough to buy a ring for my bride,” Antonio answered. “As for the rest of it, you gentlemen would know far better than me what to do with it.” 

A murmur of smiles swept the room. “Your words do you credit, Antonio. And I think we’re all in agreement. Among the Guild, we recognise a good catch when we see it. And there’s no finer catch among men than you. Which is why we’re electing you to be a member of this Guild, for the services you’ve rendered to Newlondon. What do you say?” 

Antonio’s eyes popped. He’d have chosen wrestling with the tentacles of a kraken over facing the false smiles of the Guild any day. But how could he refuse? He knew better than to cross these men, or else any life with Bianca would sink to the bottom of the ocean. They might as well have placed an anchor around his neck. “I am honoured,” he said. “But what would be expected of me?” 

Prospero toyed with his golden chains. “Even when bestowed with this great honor, you are still thinking about how you may serve. Bravo, Antonio. There is one thing we were hoping you may do to cement your place at the table. I take it you saw the purple lights in the sky last night?” 

Antonio nodded. “They appeared after the battle with the kraken. I thought they were another beast coming for us.” 

Prospero raised an eyebrow. “You may be right about that. A Polity rocket landed near Whitehall. You know of the Polity, I take it?” 

Antonio frowned. “I know that Captain Elizabeth of the good ship Shakespeare warned of them when the first settlers landed all those generations ago.” 

Prospero folded his hands together, leaning forwards in his chair. “History is a funny thing. It has the habit of repeating itself. We heard from Leonardo at Whitehall that the Polity seek an audience with a representative from each of the five cities. We can think of no better sailor to send than you.” 

“You want me to go to Whitehall?” The blood drained from Antonio’s face. The drone. The pirate. That’s what landed me on the deathship in the first place! 

Prospero smiled. “It seems like all the world wishes to go to Whitehall. I take it you already have a skiv?” 

“Is there no one else more deserving of this,” Antonio paused, “privilege?”

Prospero shook his head. “None.” 

If the drone had reported back to Whitehall, I’d already be under arrest, from the moment I landed. Maybe it’ll be alright? Antonio chewed his lip. “Then I have no choice but to accept.” 

The only other chains he’d seen like the ones they’d bestowed upon him were the kind they kept in prisons. Photo by Vishnu Prasad.

“Excellent. Welcome to the Guild, Antonio.” Prospero stood and beckoned him forwards. He approached, and Prospero lowered the golden chains over Antonio’s head as the others applauded. The only other chains he’d seen like the ones they’d bestowed upon him were the kind they kept in prisons. 

“May I see my bride before I depart?” Antonio asked. 

“Of course. But don’t take too long. We don’t want to keep the other cities waiting. Or the Polity for that matter. Find out what they want and report back to us. We can then decide what should be done about the newcomers. And in the meantime, we’ll make arrangements to auction the kraken’s remains. Here.” Prospero took a signet ring from his pocket with an anchor engraved upon it. He placed it on Antonio’s finger before he lifted the chains from Antonio’s shoulders. “The ceremony is complete. If you get into any trouble, just show this ring. You’re a Guild member now, Antonio. Remember that.”

“Thank you.” Antonio stroked the ring as it pinched his skin. He bowed, and hurried out of the chambers, back along the pier. Bianca. I must find Bianca. 

Antonio sprinted to the one place he hadn’t looked for Bianca yet, their secret hideaway on the cliffs above the sea. He could barely fathom that it was at that very spot, two days ago, where Bianca agreed to be his forever. As he came over the crest of the hill, there she was. Her chestnut curls gently swayed in the breeze as she stared at the horizon.

“My sweet Bianca,” Antonio said quietly.

She spun toward him, her eyes wet as she wrapped him in a tight embrace. “Bless the Arrant Moon you are safe.” Bianca clasped Antonio’s face in her delicate hands, studying his face. 

A storm knitted in his brow and a fog clouded his eyes. 

Purple clouds over the cliffs of Moher. Photo by Simon Moore.

“I heard about the kraken,” she said. “I thought you had a trade run. And that same night, the Polity arrived? I believed they were little more than legend. Has the Globe changed so much in so little time?” 

Antonio looked away from her searching eyes. “The only thing that has not changed is my devotion to you, Bianca.” He took her hands in his and kissed her finger with the small cord wrapped around it.

“What are you hiding from me, Antonio?”

“I hide nothing. It’s just . . . there is so much to share but no time to do so.”

Then she saw it. The Guild ring on the finger where his matching cord had been. Bianca eyed the ring with surprise as she pulled her hands from his. A blush of suspicion spread across her cheeks to the tips of her ears. She knew his distaste for the questionable nature of the members. “There is no hiding that ring. Guild membership? How, when?”

“It is just one of the many things I wish to tell you about,” Antonio said. “The slain kraken secured my membership. You must understand, I could not refuse without risking both our lives. You know the rumors of what happens to those who oppose the Guild. And I am now to meet the Polity as their representative to Newlondon.”

“Luckily for you, that isn’t the strangest thing I’ve heard today. And how were you on the Tempest?”

“My trading run, well, let’s say it did not go as planned. I turned to Solanio for help and instead he locked me aboard. He claims it was an accident, but I have my doubts.” He paused and looked out over the sea. It had brought him a fortune. Perhaps it had really brought him a curse. 

“I cannot make sense of it. I have so many questions.” 

Antonio turned back to her. “Bianca, let’s stem the tide. Forget the Guild, the Polity, all of it. Let’s run, now. We can be free together.” The fog lifted from his eyes, revealing the man she had fallen in love with. Trusting, naïve, wistful. It made him beautiful, but also doleful. 

Bianca closed the gap she had made between them. “Why do I love you so much, my dear fool? You know we cannot flee, and that you must fulfill your duties. You have no choice in the matter.”

“Then come with me. To Whitehall. You are my compass rose. I have never needed your direction more.”

Bianca’s head fell. “I must stay here. Don’t forget, my dear, you managed to defeat the kraken. What awaits you in Whitehall cannot be worse, can it?”

Antonio swallowed hard, thinking of the chains and shackles awaiting him if the drone had indeed captured the ill-fated encounter on his skiv. And then he shook off his doubts. “No matter what awaits, know that I love you, with all the deeps of my soul.” Antonio looked deeply into her glistening blue eyes.

“And I love you.” 

“Keep your eyes up the river for me,” he said. 

“Always. Don’t sail close to the wind and return home to me.” Bianca cloyed at the twine of her ring as they parted, and she watched him leave. There wasn’t time to explain to him what had happened, why she must stay. And she couldn’t bring herself to burden him more. Not with the rocket waiting for him, and the Polity breathing down both their necks.

You are my compass rose. Photo by Aron Visuals.

She remained on the cliff for as long as she could, clutching her ring to her heart, knowing that beneath the Guild’s signet which weighed upon Antonio’s finger, the twine that bound them still remained. “Antonio, my love, you are right. If only we had more time.” 

Antonio forced himself away from their cliff top, wind scolding his cheeks with its frigid bite. He descended down the hidden path to the pier. Sea fret rolled in to cloud the air with a salty tang, masking the rush of crowds. 

He shimmied a route to the visitor’s slip and found the dock where he’d stored his skiv. There his ship hovered undisturbed. Waves sloshed beneath it. A roll of tarp made for a poor man’s casket, covering the body of the dead pirate. Antonio’s chest sagged. He glanced over his shoulder, but between the dense fret and the frenzy of the crowds, all eyes were up the river, and no one saw as he reached for the tarp’s corner to pull it back. 

He winced, and then his eyes widened. Where a body should have been, bundles of netting clumped together. A shiver swept through Antonio. He yanked the tarp back, scouring the empty nets, but found not even the trace of blood. Bodies don’t just disappear. Not without a reason. Who could’ve done this? 

A leather cylinder fell from the web of netting, and he scooped up the container, popping it open. From inside, he unfurled a parchment. In blotches of ink, a note was scrawled — 

The gold a monster slain bestows,
Conceals a secret hid below.
Beware of what you think you know.
Yohoho, row nonny, row. 

No signature hinted at the author of the elaborate handwriting. Antonio scrunched the parchment in his hands. His eyes flashed everywhere at once. I never told Solanio where I’d docked the skiv. And the weasel would never have left a note like this. Who else knows of what I’ve done? 

A storm tossed the waves of Antonio’s thoughts into chaos. He reached for the twine, and the comfort of Bianca’s promise to him, but he found the anchor of the Guild instead. The Guild. Could they have done this? He had no time to think. No time for doubt. He must get to Whitehall, and trust that with the body gone, he had nothing to dread from the city’s drones. 

I must get to Whitehall, no matter the cost. For Bianca. For both our sakes. 

He pocketed the crumpled parchment and swung the hover from its berth, charging upstream amidst the cavalcade of rocket-chasers. Spray kicked up from the hover’s pads. The Elizabeth River undulated beneath the pressure of so many barges all heading for the city, and the purple light of whatever monster waited for them.

On Friday, we release the conclusion of “Eyes Up the River“! The tentacles of Newlondon’s Guild of Sailors grasp Antonio’s future more closely than even the kraken’s deadly grip, and the unfaithful Solanio reveals his secrets.

If you enjoyed Shanel and Frasier‘s story, please make sure and share some kind comments below.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

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The winds of change tear asunder an old alliance

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A Matter of Principle

by Frasier Armitage

Octavius brushed his quivering hand across the pad to the Governor’s residence, and the doors swept open. He walked straight to his drinks cabinet and struggled to pour a goblet of wine from his decanter. His hands steadied as he downed the syrupy liquid. 

From behind, Flavius tapped him on the shoulder. “I don’t suppose you’ve got another glass lying around?” 

In all the commotion on his trip back to his penthouse, Octavius had forgotten Flavius was there. “Of course. Forgive me, Flavius. It’s just, with everything we’ve seen tonight, I needed something to clear my head.” 

The shrill clink of Westminster glass rang as Octavius tipped another goblet from his decanter and handed it to the Mayor.

The shrill clink of Westminster glass rang as Octavius tipped another goblet from his decanter. Photo by Charl Folscher.

Mayor Flavius swilled the liquid with a steady hand and sipped. “Don’t tell me. Bottled 410 AL. Am I right?” 

“What?” 

“The wine. It’s a nice vintage.” Flavius swallowed with a resounding ahhh and cast a jealous glance at the Governor. 

Octavius studied the decanter. He had absent-mindedly opened a 410 AL vintage as if it were a regular occurrence. This kind of liquor was a perk of being the most powerful man in Whitehall. The most powerful until tonight, that is. 

“How can you talk of wine at a time like this, Flavius?” Octavius passed the decanter to the Mayor and shuffled across the lavish apartment to the window. Below, lights twinkled across the city as celebrations drifted upwards. The whole city was alive. So why did it feel as if those lights were a stranglehold around Octavius’s neck? 

The Mayor sidled towards the window to join the Governor of Whitehall. “What ails you, Octavius? We’ve been gifted an amazing opportunity. And you seem to be treating it as a death sentence.”

Why did it feel as if those lights were a stranglehold around Octavius’s neck? Photo by Nathan Dumlao.

Octavius’s shoulders slumped. “Didn’t you see what the Polity did tonight? What they intend to do?” 

Flavius shrugged. “I saw some lasers blast a few drones out of the sky. The closest thing to fireworks we’ve had since the half-millennium.” 

“Exactly. You were there. You saw the look on the face of that insufferable shrew. Captain Ward, or whatever her name was. With a flick of her fingers, she can rain down fire from the sky. That ship up there. It’s a weapon they can use to strike at any time, and we’re the ones with a target on our foreheads.” 

“Target? What are you talking about, my friend?” 

Octavius paced back to his cabinet and snatched another decanter. Something stronger than wine. “Why summon us to that summit tonight?” 

Flavius stroked his chin, but he didn’t answer. 

There were times when Octavius valued the Mayor’s stoic deliberations, but he could be far too calculating for his own good sometimes. Where Octavius used his gift for rhetoric, the Mayor used silence. In the past, it had made them an effective team. Octavius, as the superior in both position and oratorical ability, handled the public appearances. Flavius knew his place was to stand silently by the Governor’s side. Never before had Octavius doubted that that silence meant agreement and loyalty.

“Because,” Octavius continued, “they wanted to discover who to dispose of in order to take control of the Globe. Know your enemy. That’s what they’ve made us. The enemy. It’s just like what was written in the ancient texts. The writings of Elizabeth Hathaway. She knew it. And she was right.”

It’s just like what was written in the ancient texts. Photo by Kiwihug.

Flavius waved his hand in a calming, friendly gesture. “We all know the writings. Every child does. I’ve been reciting Hathaway’s warnings since my school days. But we’re not children, Octavius. And the Polity knows it.” 

“Hathaway’s words are more than just a children’s story, Flavius. This is why we can never return to the Polity, she wrote. Why we must remain vigilant to resist their false promises, why we must not look back, but fix our eyes on what lies ahead. The peace of our people depends upon it.”

“Yes, yes. But that was generations ago.” Flavius shook his head. “It’s been over five hundred cycles since the Shakespeare brought our people to the Globe. Do you really think the Polity hasn’t changed in all that time?” 

Octavius paced on the spot. “You remember why Hathaway captained that ship? Why our people became refugees across the stars? It was because the Polity landed on our ancestors’ home planet and forced us into their squabbles and wars. Our ancestors fled their world. That’s why they people built the Shakespeare and travelled for five generations until they found the Globe. And now the Polity have followed us here. Do you see any difference in that little display of theirs tonight? What do you think will happen to our peace, Flavius? To us?”

Octavius cast a look that communicated his fears better than any rhetoric.

Flavius just sipped his wine.  

“Look at the two of us,” Octavius continued. “How many other Globers are as—peaceable—as us? We are at the top of Central Tower. Enjoying wine bottled in 410 AL. With the whole Globe beneath us and none above us. And we are at peace.” 

It can erase us from existence at a whisper.

“But surely you don’t mean that the Polity would be a threat to our powe. . . I mean, our peace. Do you?” 

“Can you not see it? The only thing above us on all the Globe is that ship with its lasers. It can erase us from existence at a whisper, and hovers unseen, out of reach. Do you really think they’ll let us keep our . . . how should I put it—keep hold of what we have—when they hold us at gunpoint?” 

Flavius stroked his chin. “But Octavius, don’t you also see that the Polity could help us to maintain peace, as you put it, across the entire Globe? Not just in Whitehall.” 

Octavius stopped pacing and regarded Flavius as though he’d grown a second head. “How much wine have you drunk?” 

“Listen to me, my friend. You are Governor. And I am Mayor. And together, we are stronger than we would be alone. How much stronger could we be with the Polity at our side?” 

The Governor’s eyes bulged. His cape billowed as he stormed through the room. “You’re a fool, Flavius! Trust the Polity? That’s a death sentence.” 

“Is it foolish to dream of a peace that extends beyond our people?” Flavius cocked an eyebrow and puffed out his chest. “Or do you think so small, you cannot see beyond this Globe?” 

“Small? Small! Your chosen field is microbots, and you have the nerve to call me small-minded! Tell me, as a scientist, of all the microbots you’ve invented, how many of them do you consider as equals? You are their master, Flavius. They are your servants. And you would make us microbots to the Polity! We should have been spending our time reengineering the engines that carried our people to the sky. In building satellites to protect the Globe. Not funding research for your useless trinkets!” 

And you would make us microbots to the Polity. Photo by Yuyeung Lau.

Flavius turned as red as his wine. “You’re mad. The blueprints for the Shakespeare’s engines are lost to history. Lost when the first Central Computer was flooded in the First Alignment. We might be able to hover a ship twenty metes above the surface–maybe 30. But sending a ship into space? Impossible. That kind of technology died with Elizabeth Hathaway.” 

“Impossible? You of all people know that the engine of the Shakespeare still circles the Globe, too big to land. The technology it holds could put an end to the Polity so that they never cast their shadow upon us ever again.” 

“And how do you expect to use it?” The Mayor threw his arms about. The wild motion startled Octavius, who was famous for his flamboyance as well as his clever rhetoric. Something about the quiet, mild Mayor encroaching on Octavius’s signature style rubbed Octavius the wrong way. “The Shakespeare is just as unreachable as the stars. Is it not better to bend a power like the Polity to suit your will, than to antagonize them against us?”

Octavius trudged to the other end of the long window, putting distance between them.

The normally attentive Flavius missed the cue and continued. “Leonardo will be accompanying the Captain on her tour of the cities. He’s no fool. I am certain he can persuade her of our value. Of the superiority of our principles. If they have made us their enemies, then should we not make them our friends?” 

“You think they can be programmed like machines? Talk sensibly, or not at all.” 

The Mayor scolded Octavius with a look. “I speak for the people. You saw how they cheered. Cheered when those drones exploded in a shower of fireworks tonight.” 

Octavius shook the words away, but he’d heard the cries as loud as any. “The people do not see yet. But their eyes can be opened.”

They cheered when those drones exploded in a shower of fireworks tonight. Photo by Designecologist.

Flavius laughed. “You believe you can sway the Globers. I believe I can sway the Polity. We make a fine pair.” Flavius reached to place his hand on Octavius’s shoulder, but the Governor shrugged him off. 

Octavius would not look at the Mayor. He tossed a gobletful of hard liquor down his throat, and it burned him. But not as much as Flavius’s foolishness.

“The arrogance of scientists is believing they’re in control,” Octavius boomed. “But this is no experiment. This is life. Our lives. And the Polity would rob us of them. Well, not if I take theirs first.”

“Take their lives!” The Mayor’s eyes bulged. “What madness are you proposing?” 

Octavius peered through the window, beyond the lights of the city and out to the black splodge where the Polity’s lander marred the landscape—a giant bacillus ready to spread its shadow across the entire surface of the world. 

“I swear upon the Central Tower in which we stand,” Octavius whispered, “I shall kill Captain Ward and her Marines, wrench the Pacifica from the sky and throw it into the Southern Sea.” Octavius could see a dim reflection of himself in the window. Death filled his eyes.

A plot swirled around his head, providing him the clarity he sought better than any drink. He looked at his hands as though he could snatch the Pacifica from orbit himself. The Governor straightened up, becoming as tall as Central Tower. As if he dwarfed the whole Globe.

“This is a war for the people,” he said. “And I will not lose.” 

Flavius chuckled. He dared chuckle at Whitehall’s Governor. “You need rest, my friend,” Flavius said. “You think the Polity seek to control us, but the opposite is true. A little rest will help you see the solution to this mess. With the right programming, the Polity will be as malleable to us as microbots.” 

“Get out, Flavius.” 

“What?” 

Octavius regarded him with venom. “Leave. Now.” 

“But Octavi—”

“If you align yourself with the Polity, you set yourself against me. Here, I draw the line. Whitehall will not stand for it.” 

“Be reasonable.” 

“I assure you, I have spent long enough reasoning this out. If we sacrifice our principles, we sacrifice ourselves. Peace at all costs. If that means I have to eviscerate the Polity from the heavens, then so be it.” 

“I—” 

“Did you not hear me, Flavius? You would betray Whitehall. And I shall not tolerate a traitor in my midst. Get out! Now!” 

Octavius rampaged across the room towards the Mayor and rammed him with both hands, pushing him back so he staggered at first. 

Flavius capitulated, as he did in all things, and fled down the hall, to the elevator and to the tower’s lower floors. Photo by Quentin Grignet.

Flavius capitulated, as he did in all things, and fled down the hall, to the elevator and to the tower’s lower floors.

Octavius watched the Mayor shrink and disappear as he formulated a plan. He would force that shrew, who would make herself queen of the Globe, to see the might of the people. Revolt in Whitehall would be enough to distract her from his true strike, his blow across the heavens. Yes, he could see it now. As if his eyes were opened for the first time. 

Peace at all costs. 

He sent a message to an aide to give no one access to his quarters at any time and left. If he was going to start a mutiny, then he couldn’t do it alone. And he knew just where to start.

If you enjoyed Frasier’s story, please make sure and share some kind comments below. We will be seeing more of Governor Octavius and Mayor Flavius in future installments of “Nights of Revelation.” These once staunch allies will wage a war of stunning proportions that will not end until one is dead and a city lies in flames. But next Friday week we’ll have another two-part story by Frasier Armitage and Shanel Wilson, “Eyes Up the River,” set in the river-delta city of Newlondon. In this fast-paced tale, the brave Solanio confronts his betrayer, appears before the corrupt Guild of Newlondon, and receives a cryptic message from a mysterious benefactor.

If you would like to prepare for “Eyes Up the River,” you can read “The Beast Below” by Frasier and Shanel and meet the brave Solanio, the faithful Bianca, and the nefarious Solanio in seaside Newlondon.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

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New leaders ride the shifting sands of power

  By ,

The Sands of Change

Part II

by Shanel Wilson

Ward jumped off her flier in front of Westminster’s main gate. There was little difference from this place to the hundreds of other desert cities she had seen on Polity missions. She rolled her eyes at the sandstone walls that wrapped around the city. One blast from her pulsar gun would shake the primitive thing apart. Ward tossed her visor into the flier, nearly pegging Leonardo in the head. Shame it didn’t hit him. She would have much preferred to take these tours without Whitehall’s self-appointed guide simpering at her elbow.

“Let’s get this over with.” She stamped through the sand and through the gate.

Leonardo sped through the group of Ward’s crew she brought with her.

“Welcome to Westminster, Whitehall’s industrial sister. You saw the oil pipeline on your journey here, and they created all the glass for our photo-voltaic cells that power Whitehall.”

Hover trolleys were gathering workers for their morning shifts at the Smith and Wildcat Fields. A few of the citizens cast tentative glances at the group of heavily armed and armored newcomers, but none gave any greetings or welcomes.

A hover came blasting around the corner and stopped suddenly directly in front of Ward. A small cloud of dust caught up with the hover and swirled around the group. Leonardo coughed and waved his hands to clear the air. Ward crossed her arms as two men jumped out of the hover. Both were quite young and had piercing violet eyes.

“Greetings, Captain. Welcome to our fair city!” the shorter one exclaimed.

“Gonzalo? Sebastian? We are not scheduled to see Eglamour and the Smith until this afternoon.” Leonardo consulted his notes in the small folio he kept attached to his hip.

“Captain, I am Sebastian, son of Eglamour.” Sebastian gave her a small bow, ignoring Leonardo. “And this is my younger brother Gonzalo. We have eagerly awaited your visit.”

Photo by Hasan Almasi.

“And which one are you, glass or oil?” Ward looked the brothers over.

“We proudly represent the Smith, the Globe’s great glass factory. We would be glad to take you on our hover to the factory floor for your tour.”

“We are due in the Fields, as I said, Sebastian.” Leonardo pointed to his notes.

“Ah, yes, you see a tragedy has befallen Westminster since your comm. The great Benedick, the head of Wildcat Fields, passed away from a long illness, yesterday. We did not want to delay your important visit, so we are here to take you to the Smith.” Gonzalo stepped forward, his chest puffed up to appear as important as possible.

“Fine. I don’t care which I see first, but I need to see the oil fields before I leave. Who can give me that tour?” Ward asked.

“Benedick’s niece, Imogen. She has been overseeing the operations since her uncle fell ill, but I am sure she is mourning as she is his only remaining family. I assure you, we will be able to handle anything you need while you are here in Westminster.” Sebastian smiled and gestured for Ward to board their hover.

Ward sighed. She was already tired of the grandiose welcomes, but it came with the territory on a mission like this. That’s why she much preferred close combat. No facades in the way. Just you, the enemy and your weapon of choice. Her hand unconsciously slid over her sidearm as she stepped into the relatively small hover. 

“We do apologize, we only have room to accommodate Captain Ward on our hover. The rest of you are welcome to enjoy a pleasant stroll through our fair city and meet us at the Smith. Leonardo, I believe you know the way?” Sebastian climbed into the hover, followed by Gonzalo.

Leonardo fumed but before he could respond, Ward waved her hand.

“Johnson, you and the team will go on foot with Leonardo.” She touched the commlink in her ear.

“Yes, sir.” Johnson saluted and mirrored her and touched the commlink in his ear.

She was glad their commlinks had not failed so far. The communications around this place seemed primitive to what she was used to, and she didn’t want to rely on any of them to communicate with her team. These simpletons’ solution to the atmospheric disturbances which scrambled radio waves had been to program drones to carry messages for them. Pathetic, really. Any Polity child could have rewired a commlink to broadcast a message across the surface, even a surface as messed up as this one. Still, at least it meant they weren’t going to hack into the commlink and eavesdrop. Johnson would report anything else pertinent they may find along the way. And, as a bonus, she would be free from Leonardo for the first time since landing on this rock, or at least nearly.

“Gentlemen, shall we?” Ward reclined in her seat.

Sebastian took the controls and they sped off through the city. Ward especially enjoyed Leonardo’s face as they left. Maybe there were a few joys to be found, even if she couldn’t shoot her way through this mission.

A short while later, they arrived at the Smith. The two brothers gave her the grand tour, complete with a visit to each glassmith to see what they were working on. Ward hoped she would be spared gladhanding the locals, but she did her best to feign interest for a while. Colorful glass trifles were never interesting to Ward. Unless it served a purpose, she had no use for it. By the end of the second row of furnaces, she had seen enough.

The two brothers gave her the grand tour, complete with a visit to each glassmith to see what they were working on. Photo by Taton Moïse.

“Thank you for your time. I will meet my Marines now.” Ward nodded a farewell and turned on her heel to leave.

“There is no need to rush! Please, can we offer you a meal at our dining hall? We have some of the best chefs in the Globe creating delicious meals for our glassmiths that rival what the famed culinary men of Finsbury produce.” Gonzalo jumped in Ward’s way.

“We have provisions. Thank you for your offer. I have many important things to attend to.” Ward couldn’t justify any more time spent dealing with these windbags. She knew glass was worthless to the Polity, so she allotted just enough time to seem diplomatic.

“We would be glad to escort you to Wildcat Fields now, if that is your wish,” Gonzalo piped up.

“That won’t be necessary,” Ward responded.

“We humbly thank you for the time you have spent with us, Captain Ward. We will be glad to furnish as much glass as the Polity will need. We hope you see the value we . . . I mean, the Smith, will provide.” Sebastian placed his hand on Ward’s arm.

Ward wrenched her arm away. It took everything in her power to keep herself from pulling her sidearm on him. She took a deep breath and regained her poise.

“I will report to the Polity and let them know your keen interest.” She marched off without waiting for an answer.

Sebastian and Gonzalo watched her strong silhouette exit through the doorway at the end of the factory.

“That’s it?! She’ll let them know our ‘keen interest’? She thinks we’re fools! We cannot tolerate her disrespect!” Gonzalo ran his fingers through his hair while pacing around Sebastian.

“She’ll see the error of failing to strike a deal with us today, but we need to stick to the plan. If we do, our patience will be rewarded. The Polity will be crawling back to us before you know it.” Sebastian crossed his arms across his chest confidently.

Ward, her Marines and Leonardo arrived at Benedick’s house after a short walk from the Smith. Though the city was rustic to her eyes, Ward appreciated the functional nature of the buildings and the clean layout of the streets. She almost let herself enjoy the walk outside, except Leonardo spent the entire time trying to convince Ward to postpone her visit to Wildcat Fields.

“Please. We should leave the poor girl to her mourning. Perhaps we can come back after we have visited Newlondon?” Leonardo pleaded.

Her once-neat braid was frayed, and the rims of her eyes were red. Photo by Saif el Ouarti.

“The Polity cannot wait, regardless of when death takes its toll.” Ward pressed the button next to the doorway.

After a short wait, Imogen opened the front door. Her once-neat braid was frayed, and the rims of her eyes were red. The imposing figures of Ward and her Marines seemed to catch her off guard. Leonardo stepped around Ward to greet her.

“Please, pardon our intrusion. You must be Imogen. I am Leonardo of Whitehall. We know this is a difficult time for you, but may I present Captain Ward of the Polity?” Leonardo motioned to Ward and her Marines.

“Yes, of course. The tour of the Fields. It will be no problem.” Imogen brushed the hair from her face. “Forgive me for not inviting you in under the circumstances. We can head straight to the Fields.” Imogen stepped out into the street and closed the door behind her.

“After you.” Ward gestured to Imogen. She was pleased to meet someone willing to get down to business without the flowery shows of flattery.

“We can start at the refinery. There you will be able to see the beginning of the pipeline. This way please.” Imogen led the group to the northwest corner of the city.

Imogen maintained a quick but steady pace. Ward allowed her to stay a step ahead of the rest. Her questions could wait. Ward was more interested in observing her. She noted the proud way Imogen carried herself. It was the same fortitude Ward expected of her Marines.

They arrived at the refinery where Imogen gave a brief yet instructional tour. Ward appreciated her efficiency. Imogen answered all the questions Ward put to her with ease and intelligence. Imogen’s professional demeanor only broke once, as they passed Benedick’s office.

“And this is head office.” Imogen’s voice cracked as she saw her uncle’s name on the nameplate.

Leonardo placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder. Imogen gave him a sad smile and smoothed her hair again.

“Seems like it would be your office now. Under the circumstances, that is,” Ward remarked offhandedly.  

Leonardo scowled at Ward as Imogen’s face paled. Imogen traced the nameplate absentmindedly. Ward rolled her eyes at Leonardo and cleared her throat. She didn’t have time for emotional detours. Imogen blinked and turned back to the group.

The golden dunes were dotted with slow-moving oil rig pumps bobbing up and down.

“Yes, Captain. I guess you are right.” Imogen paused, then strode down the corridor. “This way please.” Ward noted the slightly faster pace that Imogen took the rest of the tour. Imogen proved she was capable under pressure, but Ward wondered how she would fare once they began negotiations. Imogen led them to a small but comfortable lounge usually reserved for crews returning from their shifts in the Fields.

“Captain, if you wish to see Wildcat Fields itself, we can take a crew hover from here. The Fields are managed by two-person crews because of the creatures that inhabit the dunes. Your Marines are welcome to wait here.”  

“Thank you. Marines, at ease, I will return shortly.” Ward nodded to her Marines and Leonardo.

Imogen brought Ward into a small garage of hovers and got into the nearest one. Ward climbed into the passenger seat, and they set out into the dunes. Ward shaded her eyes to get a better view. The golden dunes were dotted with slow-moving oil rig pumps bobbing up and down. As they sped past, Ward saw a few workers in goggles tending to the mechanisms.

Imogen brought Ward into a small garage of hovers and got into the nearest one. Photo by Sara Bakhshi.

“I could use a pair of those goggles about now,” Ward quipped.

“There should be a pair under your seat, but they won’t help with the sun much.”

Ward reached below her seat. The goggles she found were lightweight, made with straps of canvas and fitted with deep violet lenses. Ward slipped them on but saw nothing unusual except her vision was now tinged purple.

“The goggles help filter the light so they can see the ultraviolet rays more easily.” Imogen pointed to the lenses. “They won’t help you much, except for maybe keeping the sand out. You may have noticed some Westies have violet eyes. Those with violet eyes can see ultraviolet light, but women have the strongest sight. Ultraviolet vision is a valuable asset on the Globe, especially in a place like Wildcat Fields. Not only are repairs made easier, but many creatures bear ultraviolet markings. They would be completely camouflaged otherwise.”

“That is a useful trait. If violet-eyed women have the best sight, why aren’t the crews exclusively women?” Ward slipped off the goggles and stashed them back under the seat.

“Long ago, the leaders in Whitehall learned of this unique trait and asked if their scientists could study a woman with violet eyes. They were able to develop a surgery that would enhance the ultraviolet vision even more. It was agreed that once violet-eyed women reached a certain age, they would be sent to Whitehall for surgery, and they would be hired out to the highest bidder for work in repairs or for creature defense and research. The women soon became known as Westminster Brides.” 

Ward raised her eyebrows at the word “brides.” Imogen rolled her eyes and continued, “Not what I would have called them, but no one asked me. Whitehall, as it does today, controls the greatest number of resources and power in the Globe. Westminster was not in the position to refuse this arrangement, so the practice continues through today. Westminster rarely tries to compete with the prices Brides fetch, since much of the work for the Fields can be done with our own men.”

“You have one of the largest resources on the Globe, your oil. Why not leverage it if you do not wish to keep sending your women out in this forced labor?”

“When the Globe was established, we agreed to share these resources. That principle remains today, yet with a few more caveats. Finsbury once tried to assert its independence from Whitehall, to be free from their constant demands. Let’s just say that Whitehall ensured that it would never happen again. That sent a clear message to the rest of us of what could happen if we tried to operate independently from them.” Imogen’s fists tighten their grip on the hover controls.

Ward herself had “sent a clear message” to all the Globe leaders when she arrived, showing that the UPS Pacifica in orbit could destroy anything anywhere on the Globe with its lasers. She knew that would rankle some leaders, but had it also reopened old wounds in the other cities under Whitehall’s thumb?

Imogen brought the hover to a stop at a rig on a far ridge. Ward’s eyes scanned the ridge around her. She made a mental note to prod Leonardo about the failed Finsbury coup. Understanding the backward power dynamics of this rock was critical if she was to complete this mission successfully. Blazing oranges, pinks and purples painted the sky. Ward rarely got the chance to see colors like this while on the Pacifica or any of the other Polity ships she had been stationed on. Her mind drifted from politics and resources as she let the colors wash over her. 

Her mind drifted from politics and resources as she let the colors wash over her. Photo by Nader Abushhab.

“Benedick would bring me to this ridge to watch the two moons rise,” Imogen continued. “He also brought me here when he had something difficult to discuss. I thought this would be appropriate for today. How much oil will the Polity demand exactly?”

Ward sat up from her reclined position in the passenger seat. Imogen maintained steady eye contact while the breeze blew the loose strands of her hair across her face.

“I like a girl who can cut to the chase. The Polity will need forty percent of your production.” Ward cocked her head, returning Imogen’s eye contact. The Polity didn’t really need that much oil, but Ward knew better than to ask for what she truly needed. That much would be a nightmare to try and haul off this rock, anyway.

“That is impossible. The whole of the Globe will come to a screeching halt within a week at that rate. We can give no more than ten percent.” Imogen remained calm and resolved.

“Navy leadership won’t be happy, but I am sure I can talk them down to twenty-five percent.”

“I promised my uncle to protect our people. While the Polity may promise protection, we have done well for ourselves for five hundred years. We will give no more than fifteen percent,” Imogen’s gaze returned to the ridge while she waited for Ward to respond.

“Then I have no choice but to accept.” Ward raised her hands in a gesture of defeat.

“That gun on your hip says otherwise.” Imogen smirked. “But I thank you for accepting. Shall we return? I am sure you want to get back before it is too late.”

“Quite right. Though today has been more informative than I had imagined.” Ward leaned back as Imogen started up the hover. Imogen was the first person with any brains around this place, so far. Ward appreciated being spoken to without artifice. Ward would have liked to entice Imogen to join her crew on the Globe, yet she knew Imogen would never leave the Fields. Especially since they were her responsibility now, something that made Imogen even more attractive as a crew member. Too bad.

Gonzalo watched Ward’s flier blast off into the darkening sky.

From the window of the apartment he shared with Sebastian, Gonzalo could see the flier’s red engines flair as Ward headed towards Whitehall. Jet engines were Polity tech, unlike anything he had ever seen. Sebastian sat on the small couch tossing an ornate glass ball in the air.

“There that wretched woman goes.”

“Come sit, brother.” Sebastian motioned to the cushion next to him.

A muffled ping escaped Sebastian’s pocket.

“What’s that?” Gonzalo searched for the source of the sound.

“It’s Father’s comm.” Sebastian pulled it out to see the message.

“When did you take it? Father will . . . “

“Father will what?” Sebastian interrupted. “He’s so confused, he doesn’t even know what year it is. Someone needed to be responsible for it. Let’s see what the message says.”

The blue screen read:

Eglamour, you are cordially invited to the auction of the Eye of the freshly slain Kraken in Newlondon Harbor. All invited are welcome to bid for the Eye. The most valuable bid will win! Good luck and looking forward to seeing you in our esteemed city soon. Sincerely, Solanio of Newlondon

“What did I tell you, Gonzalo? Luck is on our side. Ward will no doubt attend, so we will be sure to have a bid so extraordinary, Ward and those greedy Newlonders will be eating out of the palms of our hands. Tomorrow is a new day.” A sly smile crept over Sebastian’s lips as he clasped his brother on the back.

“And it will be ours!” Gonzalo cheered. Sebastian clicked a button on a remote resting on the coffee table. Brassy, upbeat tones filled the room with the newest Whitehall disco hit. The brothers danced around the room while the two moons rose through their window.

If you enjoyed Shanel’s story, please make sure and share some kind comments below. If you would like to see how this story began, read Shanel’s “Shadow of the Dunes,” which kicked off the Westminster stories in the Globe Folio series.

And make sure to check back next Friday week for the next story in “Nights of Revelation.” Frasier Armitage takes us back to Whitehall as the governor and mayor grapple with the shifting power on the Globe in “A Matter of Principle.”

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

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The photos of “The Voice of Beasts–Part 1”

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The photographers of Unsplash.com provided me with a great collection of photos for the very first story in Nights of Revelation, “The Voice of Beasts” by Frasier Armitage.

(If you’ve not read the story, you’ll want to read it first, as this post contains some spoilers.)

Superimposed image of figure wearing a hood standing on a mountaintop.

Coming Down the Mountain

Tom Robertson shot this moody, dreamy mountain-top shot in Skye in the United Kingdom. I assume it’s a multiple exposure because you can see through the person in this photo. It makes a beautiful image.

Tom also shoots some beautiful black and white images and artistic, moody and sometimes spooky photos. Make sure to check out his collection on Unsplash.com.

Tree’s Shade

Nathan Dumlao shot this desert view, which proved to be perfect for the Mirrim scene in “The Voice of Beasts.” Nathan takes mountain, urban, and travel photos. Find more of his work at Unsplash.com/@Nate_Dumlao.

Goggles

In the original photo, you can see the steampunk goggles are wrapped around a black bowler sitting atop an internally lit hat block. A very fun image! I love the subject of this photo and I love steampunk motifs. I can still recall the feeling of awe I had when I first saw steampunk costumes all those years ago at DragonCon in Atlanta.

Johnny Briggs, who hails from Scotland, shot this image. He loves taking photographs of “beautiful vintage and retro items, places, nature, and architecture.” Find more of his photography at Unsplash.com/@johnnyboylee.

Barge on the River

Erik Mclean shot this great photo of a rusting hulk sunk in the water. I don’t have any details on the photo, but it makes a mood shot for our trip down the Elizabeth River in our story. Erik likes urban, automotive and sky photography. He also has some very nice landscape and outdoors photos at Unsplash.com/@introspectivedsgn.

Savagelands

Zach Woolwine shot this sinuous dunes photo during a trip to Merzouga, Morocco. It provided a great image for the savagelands between Belmont and Whitehall on the Globe. Zack likes to take photos of cats, streets, food and San Francisco. Find more of his photos at Unsplash.com/@onebackpackphotography.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

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Don’t miss Part 2 of “The Voice of Beasts”

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In Part I, Lorenzo escapes Belmont, the city beneath the mountain, only to find a harsh, blinding landscape and dangerous beasts. Ros saves him from a Mirrim attack, and the two head for Whitehall, following the purple streaks across the sky . . .

The Voice of Beasts

Part II

by Frasier Armitage

Wind shrieked as it battered Lorenzo. He craned his neck over the hovercraft’s edge and squinted through his goggles. 

“This is the place,” he said. “This is where the lights end.” 

Ros brought the skiv to rest below the ridge of a swollen dune. Lorenzo scaled the sand and peered over its peak, with her at his side. 

Whitehall’s towers glittered in the distance. Between the dunes and Whitehall stood a hulking monster of metal. Painted green and brown, it loomed from the ground like a mountain in itself, its landing gear propping it on insect legs. 

It loomed from the ground like a mountain in itself, its landing gear propping it on insect legs. Photo by Lynn Kintziger.

It loomed from the ground like a mountain in itself, its landing gear propping it on insect legs.

“Could it be a Mirrim?” Lorenzo asked. 

Ros peered through an eyeglass she carried on a necklace. “I’ve never seen one so big.” 

“Where did it come from?” 

Ros pointed to the heavens. “Only one place something like that could’ve been made. From the stars. It looks like the ships they used to tell us about in old fishermen’s stories.” 

“What stories?” 

“On long sailing voyages, we told tales to pass the time. Warships came from the Polity and landed on a world, forcing our ancestors to flee across the sky to this one. I thought they were just fairy tales.” 

“People came in ships like that to seek a home?” 

Ros nodded. “Apparently.” 

Lorenzo smiled. “Then we are the same. That ship and I. For am I not in search of the same thing?” 

Ros frowned. “I don’t think Belmont and space are in quite the same league.” 

“What do you know of Belmont? What do you know of these newcomers?” 

“I know they dress a lot better than you. Here. Take a look.” 

Lorenzo clunked the eyeglass onto his goggles and peered through. Around the giant frame, people stood in uniform, holding guns. They carried the authority of the Council of Belmont. Had they worn robes and hoods instead of guns, he would have feared them. As he peered closer, his stomach tortured him in waves of doubt. 

These people seek a home. We are not so different. That is why the smoke of their trail has guided me to them. It has to be. 

“What’s that?” Ros yanked the eyeglass from him. 

A convoy of transports swept across the sand from the direction of Whitehall. 

“A Mirrim?” Lorenzo asked. 

“Nah. More likely a welcoming committee. Looks like we missed our shot.” 

Lorenzo’s eyes widened behind his goggles. “You were going to shoot them?” 

“No. Our shot at being the first to offer a trade. Those Whitehall goons will beat us to the punch. Come on. The best place for us now is the city. News travels fast. Let’s make sure we get it first.” 

Ros slid back down the dune. 

Lorenzo halted at the top. “Should we not warn them of the Mirrim?” 

“By the looks of it, they can take care of themselves.” She pointed her fingers in the shape of a gun and mouthed ‘pew pew pew’ as she gestured her index finger firing rounds. 

Lorenzo shook his head and scampered down the dune. 

Not everyone is looking to kill something. There are some beasts who seek only some shelter and a little shade. 

Lorenzo scampered down the dune. Photo by Fernando Paredes Murillo.

They approached the hover. Lorenzo halted, pulling at Ros’s elbow.

“How do we know that’s really your baby?” he asked. 

She tutted and unfurled her gun. From the top of its barrel, she removed a shaft that formed a piccolo, and blew a melody through it. The ode drifted through the breeze until its sound touched the hover. At the end of her tune, its horn blared the final notes. 

“That was beautiful,” Lorenzo said. 

Ros reconnected the instrument to her weapon and holstered it, hauling herself on deck. Lorenzo followed. 

She struck out across the sand for Whitehall. Lorenzo didn’t totter as the hover leapt over the dunes. 

“You learn fast,” she said. 

“We have a saying in Belmont. ‘When burned, only the fool keeps reaching for the fire.’ I will not be burned a second time, Ros.” 

She flicked the hover onto automatic and scooped some fruit from a cubby in the helm-panel. Her eyes never left Lorenzo as she reached into her boot, grabbed a knife, and sliced a chunk of fruit, placing it to her lips. “What’s it like in Belmont?” she asked. 

Lorenzo perched on the edge of the hull, his eyes returning to the distant mountain hidden by mist. “Have you ever seen a furnace blaze?” 

“Of course.” 

“How far does the smoke rise?” 

She licked her lips. “Depends. Sometimes on a still night, it feels like it scrapes the most distant stars.” 

Lorenzo nodded. “Imagine if that smoke filled all the air. Made it impossible to see these stars you speak of.” 

“You’d choke.” 

Belmont is a furnace, Ros. Photo by DDP.

“Belmont is a furnace, Ros. The air is smoke. They’ve built pillars dedicated to fire, believing it protects them. But the flames imprison them. They cannot see or breathe or taste anything but its bitterness. Belmont is blind, Ros. As blind as I am without these.” He pointed to his goggles. 

She sliced another lump of fruit and it slipped down her throat. “Sounds intense. I thought Newlondoners had it bad.” 

“Newlondoners?” 

“It’s where I’m from. Newlondon. The last city. We spend our lives on the water. The sea, the river, you name it.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “But you get to sail where you wish?” 

“Where others ask us to sail. Most of us are doomed to debt. We’re not a rich city. Not since pollium stopped washing up on shore. We don’t have the spires of Whitehall or the glass of Westminster to fall back on. So we sail where people tell us and hope that’ll be enough. You got family in Belmont?” 

“I do. And it would’ve grown had I stayed. They’d already matched me.” 

“Matched you?” 

“Chosen me a bride. And from a good family, too.” 

“You were gonna be married? Why didn’t you?” 

Lorenzo’s brows knitted into a web. “When it comes to my life, should I not have a voice?” 

“So you ran away?” 

Lorenzo stood. “I would rather die screaming than be forced to live without a voice. If I’d stayed, I’d have been no better than that Mirrim lying at the foot of the mountain.” 

Ros nodded. “What was her name? Your bride?” 

“Narissa.” 

“Pretty.” 

“There are prisons with pretty names, too.” 

She tossed him the other half of the fruit. He caught it, and she offered him the knife. 

“Eat up,” Ros said. “You don’t want to enter Whitehall on an empty stomach.” 

A line of yachts and barges snaked up and down the river, all the way to the city’s gates. The whole Globe had come to Whitehall, following the lights in the sky. 

Three Moons had circled the heavens and twilight had settled by the time Ros passed safely through the checkpoint along the road to Whitehall. 

“Come on,” she said, as they passed the city’s gate. “It’ll be quicker on foot.” 

She grabbed Lorenzo’s hand and dragged him through a maze of gleaming glass towers. Dusk played its swooning song in the fading auburn light. 

As night settled, a cavalry of bulbs lit up the city, twinkling brighter than the stars above. Crowds gathered in the restaurants and bars to sample Finsbury’s finest food. Whitehall was alive with expectation, a city brought to life by whispers of what might lie beyond its walls. 

“Let’s get a table,” Ros said. “It’ll be the best way of finding out what’s happening.” 

“How? By eating?” 

“By listening.” She winked, yanking him into a colonnade of restaurants where the diners collected outside, and a thousand voices mingled in a symphony. “Table for two,” she said to an automated waiter, who flashed her a holo of the empty seats, and she selected the ones closest to the biggest table. 

Whitehall was alive with expectation, a city brought to life by whispers of what might lie beyond its walls. Photo by Alexander Popov.

A white light glowed from the chairs, vanishing as they took their seats. 

“I’ll have a grilled skycrawler, medium rare, with a side of greens,” Ros said. “What about you?” 

“Same,” Lorenzo answered. 

“And two ales.” 

“Ales?” Lorenzo cocked his head. 

Ros licked her scarlet lips. “Trust me.” 

He shrugged. “Very well. Two ales for me as well.” 

She giggled. “No. Those two ales were for both of us. You know what? It doesn’t matter.” She dug into the pockets of her waistcoat and fed the credits into the mechanised server. The automaton slunk away, its gears humming. 

“We have nothing like this in Belmont,” Lorenzo said. “We eat with family.” 

“Family is important to you, huh?” 

“There is fire and family, and that is all. At least, that’s what my father told me. He would never have dreamed of a world where people ate together. He would’ve called them beasts and carnivores. He could be like that. Always so devoted.” 

“Not a bad quality to have in a father. Devotion.” 

“I tried to make him see. To open his eyes. But he wouldn’t listen.” 

“Listening is how we learn. Speaking of.” Ros raised a finger to her lips, and tipped back in her chair. She swept her sun-goldened curls behind her ear and tilted her head towards the cacophony of voices ringing from the table behind her. 

She tilted her head towards the cacophony of voices ringing from the table behind her. Photo by Nils Stahl.

Lorenzo did the same. 

“I heard,” a man’s voice said above the others, “that someone from each city has gone to meet with the Polity.” 

“It’s definitely a Polity ship then?” a woman chimed. 

“Didn’t you recognise it from the ancient texts? I always said those technical documents would come in handy,” another man blustered.

“Tosh and nonsense. You’ve been petitioning the libraries to burn those documents for years,” the woman said. 

The automaton interrupted Lorenzo’s eavesdropping with two plates of steaming food. 

Ros sat forwards and leaned into the aroma rising from the plate. “Smells good, right?” 

Lorenzo nodded. I’m not eating with these strangers. I’m eating with her. There’s a difference. 

He scooped up his utensils and copied Ros as she carved her skycrawler into bite-size morsels.  He picked at the charred breast of the skycrawler and inclined his ear to the conversation on the table behind. 

“Well, if it’s the Polity,” the woman said, “we shouldn’t be just sitting here waiting for them. We should take the initiative and attack.” 

“Attack?” the man questioned. 

“Absolutely. You know the Book of Shakespeare. The Polity are the reason we ended up on this world in the first place.” 

“You think they mean to subjugate us?” 

“Isn’t that what they did before?” she asked between mouthfuls of food. 

“How many of their ships could they have sent?” the man said. “But instead, they chose a single vessel.” 

“A rather large, single vessel, if you ask me. Don’t you think they were making a statement?” 

“What statement?” 

“I don’t know. How about ‘don’t mess with us if you want to live’? I tell you, if we don’t act now, they’ll disrupt the peace here.” 

Lorenzo shook his head, slamming his cutlery down and gulping his ale. 

“What is it?” Ros asked. 

“Those people behind us,” he said. “They’ve already sentenced the newcomers to death.” 

“They’re Whitehallers. If they had their way, everyone would be sentenced to death. You might want to take it steady with that ale.” 

He swigged the dregs of his first glass. The drink stung the back of his throat, but his head never felt so clear. “These people just want a home,” he shouted. “Anyone who can’t see that is as empty as a Mirrim.” 

He glugged on his second glass of ale. A hand tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to face the man from the table behind, his brown eyes swirling as Lorenzo tried to focus on them. 

“You might want to keep your voice down,” the man said. “Not everyone takes as kindly to the thought of the Polity as you do, friend.” 

Lorenzo wheeled on the man, swiping his hand away, losing his balance as he stood. “Listen, friend, I come from the mountain. They come from the sky. What’s the difference? If you want to kill them, you might as well be killing me.” 

“Lorenzo, sit down!” Ros glanced around as a hush settled among the diners. 

Lorenzo pressed his finger on the man’s chest. “You’re scared because they have a big ship and carry guns,” Lorenzo said. “Well, don’t you carry guns? I never saw a gun until today. But look!” Lorenzo pointed at the man’s hip, where he holstered an antique pistol. “You’re all killers.” 

“Is it a crime to protect ourselves?” the woman said. “We have to keep the peace somehow.” 

People who started shouting their mouth off might find themselves catching a blast. Photo by Daniel Stuben.

“Peace? You say you want peace, but you don’t want peace. You want control. There’s a difference.” 

“Sit down, Lorenzo!” Ros stood and reached out for him, but he shrugged her off. 

“You should listen to your lady, friend,” the man warned, and he tapped the pistol. “People who start shooting their mouth off might find themselves catching a blast.” 

Bloodflame flashed across Lorenzo’s eyes. He snatched at the man’s weapon and yanked it from its holster. A raging fire coursed through his veins. He wrapped his hands around the pistol and bent the barrel until it almost snapped in two. 

The man stepped back. “What are you?” he asked. 

“This is the only way to peace, friend,” Lorenzo said. “I’ve lived my whole life trapped inside a cage that others made for me. But no more.” 

As Lorenzo stepped forwards, people around him reached for their hips. 

Blue lightning flashed over the crowd.

“Should we not accept these newcomers with open arms?” Lorenzo called out. “They are the same as you. The same as me. Do not be poisoned by how tall your glass towers reach. No matter how high they seem, they are still just glass. Who will join me in welcoming the Polity? Where is your—” 

A shot rang out across the colonnade. Blue lightning flashed over the crowd. Ros snatched at the knife in her boot and hurled it at Lorenzo. Just before it struck his face, the path of the blast met with its metal, disintegrating it in a fizz of light. 

Lorenzo fell to the floor, gripping his goggles. The flash overwhelmed him. The sound of a tussle bombarded his ears. Pounding fists silenced grunts. Boots slammed into flesh. Glass crashed all around him, as the frenzied air whooshed past his face. 

His vision returned and he glimpsed a shadow darting in front of him. Then an explosion lit up the sky. Sparks rained down on the plaza of diners, before another boom signalled a hail of light. 

Ros knelt beside him, grabbed her piccolo and blew a tune into it. 

Then she stood and a flurry of air knocked Lorenzo back as a thunder of fists rocked the plaza even more than the explosions in the sky. 

Above him, a hover descended, its horn blaring. 

A hand grabbed Lorenzo and dragged him to his feet, forcing him up the rungs of the hover as eruptions overhead ignited the heavens. 

Lorenzo stumbled over his feet, and the hand pushed him behind the helm-panel, before flinging the hover through winding city streets. 

Drones pursued them, but Ros turned her pistol to them, and blue blasts swatted them out of the sky. 

“What was all that about?” Ros said. 

He raised his head. There wasn’t a scratch on her. “Ros, are you okay?” 

“I’m fine. Which is more than can be said for those Whitehallers.” 

“You saved me. Again.” 

“What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment. Now are you gonna tell me what got you so riled up?” 

Another boom thundered overhead as sparks speckled the sky. 

“What is that?” He pointed up. 

“Just a little light show to celebrate the arrival of the Polity. Something I overheard at dinner.” 

“So much talk. So much hate. Why can’t people just accept one another?” Lorenzo shook his head. “My whole life, talk has kept me caged. I’m sick of it. I’d rather be in the company of Mirrims than listen to their babble.” 

Ros swept through the city gate and plunged into the darkness beyond. She eased off the throttle and switched it to automatic, turning to Lorenzo and running a hand across his cheek. “You don’t know what you’re saying. Come on, let’s get you sobered up,” she said. 

“No. Ros. I know exactly what I’m saying.” He took her hand in his. “Those people, they’re dangerous, Ros.” 

“Nothing I can’t handle.” 

“No. You don’t understand.” He gripped her hand. “I wish I could explain it. Thank you for saving me. For listening to me.” 

She smiled. “You really think the Polity are harmless, don’t you?” 

“I believe the only harm they bring is the hatred their presence stirs in the hearts of others.” 

She rose and pulled her pistol from her hilt. “Okay, Lorenzo. I believe you. But until we reach the river, I have to keep watch. There could be any number of beasts stalking us right now, and we wouldn’t hear them coming.” 

Lorenzo shook his head. “We’re safer here than back in that city.” 

“What do you mean?” 

He stared at the flashes of light raining down on Whitehall. “It’s not the beasts without a voice we should be worried about. It’s the creatures who speak which are most to be afeared.” 

If you enjoyed Frasier’s story, please make sure and share some kind comments below. If you would like to see how this story began, read Frasier’s “Pillars of Smoke,” which kicked off the entire Globe series and then Part 1 of “The Voice of Beasts.”

In two weeks, the next installment of Nights of Revelation will take us to the desert dunes of Westminster in Shanel Wilson’s “The Sands of Change.” As the leaders of the oil fields and the glassworks feel their grip on power slipping, the next generation begins its rise to power. And the Polity’s arrival on the Globe only quickens the flow in the hour glass.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross