In which our heroine receives an uninvited advance… The Hartsbinder Estate seemed even bleaker today. Daily custom had once been enough to varnish Millie’s longing with a surface of boredom and modest expectation. But there were also a few quiet sighs, breathed as one went about one’s day, which had, like a magic counter-cure, sufficed
Author: DennisCarter
You will recall, dear reader, one young Eureka, whom we left after Imago the raven had plucked out her eye. This is her story, or rather, how it begins…. Miss Eureka Deveraux went through life without a name until she was at least eight years old, or so run the rumours among the young men
Without the daily rotation of day and night I am unaware of how long, exactly, I have been in the belly of the whale. With only the glaucous glow of phosphorescent seaweed to provide light, circadian cycles break down more quickly than you’d expect. Early on, I found an old crate and, for the period
The old Seashank Hotel always reeked of mold and seawater, creaking continuously as the wind changed, keeping everyone on edge. A burnished bell and musty leather sign-in book kept her company at the front desk. The paintings on the opposite wall shed a dour cast, her grandparents frowning and judging her with their dumb, unmoving
by Teodor Reljic Unidentified journal fragment, found off the coast of North Carolina, 22 November, 1718. Rattling cages; the place is about to explode from the noise and I feel my body: naked and grimy from this animal hole. Captain Blackbeard is dead. I can feel it in the Navy’s sneers and jeers: they descend
by Noel Tanti I am terrified of the open sea. I can think of few situations that make me feel so exposed and vulnerable; that gargantuan mass of water pregnant with an unseen universe, simply unnerves me. Surely, the reason behind this (sometimes) irrational fear stems from a nasty childhood episode that is cosily repressed
What does one think when asked what they think lurks within the depths of the world’s oceans? From a typical Schlock reader, one would assume mentions of the likes of sea serpents, gigantic man eating sharks, merfolk. Octopi of immense scale, lovingly dragging divers to their lairs. Squid of similarly colossal sizes, locked in combat
Jim Smythe was busy playing skipper on the catamaran he had mysteriously acquired for his companions, while Hercules Gray and Diotallevi were busy poring over maps of the surrounding seabed. Their destination was around eight kilometres off the St. Julian’s coast, at a site where in 1999 supposedly man made structures were found on the
In which our feathered companion is dubbed by any other name as sweet… Mr. Grenwald – descended from a long line of loyal stablefolk belonging to the Hartsbinder Estate – would have bet his idiot son and his young wife that even Great Great Grandfather Grenwald hadn’t suffered such obstinate airs and graces. It was
The raven felt a dull pain – not unlike a chill – which found its way into the insulated spaces between his feathers, though perhaps the source lay further beneath the pimpled pinky-grey skin. His guess was vague and hazy, like moving water; he was loved, though he had never been taught how to use