The Bookman - Lavie Tidhar [126]
Her Royal Highness has agreed to divest herself of many of her erstwhile powers: though she will remain the de jure ruler, most of her powers will transfer to a newly formed parliament to be composed of representatives of human, lizardine and automatons groups, with elections to take place in the following months. In a surprise move, Lord Byron has announced he will run for the post of Prime Minister against James Moriarty. Meanwhile, MPs have launched an investigation into the claims of human prisoners on Caliban's Island: a fact-finding mission headed by Lord Livingstone will leave for the island next week.
When they were done eating, Orphan and Lucy sat for a long time in their little corner of the coffee house, and held hands across the table, and looked out at the passers-by. Orphan felt warm, and fed, and happy.
"What shall we do now?" he said. Lucy leaned towards him, her face close to him. She put her hand on the back of his neck and drew him towards her, and they kissed. It lasted a long while.
When they disentangled, a little out of breath, they both burst into a fit of giggles. Lucy looked at Orphan across the table.
"Let's go home," she said.
About the Author
Israeli-born writer Lavie Tidhar has been called an "emerging master" by Locus magazine, and has quickly established a name for himself as a short fiction writer of some note. He has travelled widely, living variously in South Africa, the UK, Asia and the remote islandnation of Vanuatu in the South Pacific, and his work exhibits a strong sense of place and an engagement with the literary Other in all its forms. He is currently living in Israel, and is hard at work on this book's sequel, Camera Obscura.
www.lavietidhar.com
Extras…
AN EXCLUSIVE EXTRACT FROM
Camera Obscura
PROLOGUE
THE EMERALD BUDDHA MASSACRE
The young boy huddled in one corner of the house, halfreading a wuxia novel and half keeping watch on the night. The night was very still. Outside only the barest hint of wind rustled in the coconut trees and the air was thick with humidity and the promise of rain. There were few lights.
Mr. Wu's Celestial Dry Cleaning Emporium stood on the very edge of Chiang Rai, stooping like an aged uncle on the border between city and jungle. Mr. Wu was standing behind the counter, rolling a cigarette. His hands were liver-spotted and shook a little, dropping bits of loose tobacco on the counter. It took him three tries before he managed to light the match. The cigarette glowed like a firefly in the dark.
On his stool, the boy was reading about heroes and villains. There was a girl, a beautiful assassin, and a man she had to kill, travelling a great distance to find him. There were others like her, all seeking the man they had to kill. The boy's name was Kai. He was reading by the light of a fat, half-melted candle. He put down the book and listened. Somewhere in the distance thunder sounded. The light from Mr. Wu's cigarette traced unpredictable orbits in the darkness. "You stay here," he said to the boy. Then he went to the open door and stepped outside, into the night.
Kai listened but could hear nothing. He put down the book, assassins and chases abandoned for the moment, and stood up. Quietly, he too went to the door. He peered outside.
A thin yellow moon cast strips of light and shade on the street, bands of yellow light cut in stark relief with hard lines of darkness. Kai could see Mr. Wu standing just outside, looking up and down the street, waiting– Mr. Wu dropped his cigarette and ground it with the heel of his shoe, the dying smoke expiring in a shower of embers. Kai's head snapped up. A line of shadowed figures was coming slowly down the abandoned street. They made no sound. He could not see their faces, could discern nothing about them but their being there, as suddenly as if they had materialised out of nowhere. Kai's heart beat hard and fast inside his chest, and his palms felt sweaty. Mr.