Another bit of short fiction before we dive into the serialised novel The Black Keep in a couple of weeks. This one, an almost-ghost story by Danielle Linder, is titled Names are Power.
It was an ordinary day. It didn't end up that way, but it started out perfectly ordinary. The nice side of ordinary, even. I was in London for the week, doing a bit of shopping, taking some photographs, and it was one of those rare sunny days that sometimes get lost en route to Spain and end up over our foggy islands.
So I went for a ride.
This was a while ago, now. Long enough ago that public safety meant not throwing bloody chemicals and trash into the river, and putting used needles into the biohazard–sharps boxes in the public loos. Long enough that petrol motorcycles were common. Yeah, you get me. I've been here a while.
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