Bleary-eyed, Cannon reached for his pocket watch. He sat bolt upright on seeing that it read nine o’clock. Then he remembered, spinning the dial on its side until it read seven, then winding it for the day. Iseabail still slept … Continue reading →

Dinner passed pleasantly. Stewards served black bread, borscht, potatoes, and fish, whisking away dishes and refilling glasses with speed and efficiency entirely out of keeping with Cannon’s expectations. Later, the stewards deposited a tea tray in the Russian style on … Continue reading →

Cannon looked into the distance at the ostentatious red banner hanging at the forward end of the dining room, as though he were deep in remembrance. “When I was a mere boy,” he began, “before the war, I had occasion … Continue reading →

Somewhere in the middle of the stream of passengers, Cannon and Iseabail entered the room on the balcony level. In two rows, one on each side of the door, stewards in gleaming white uniforms stood to define a passage to … Continue reading →

Iseabail pulled the cabin door closed. “Three-time heavyweight champion, eh? I dinnae think ye can take him anymore.” Cannon paced, or tried to. The narrow confines of the cabin, along with the baggage still sitting on the deck—evidently, it was … Continue reading →

“Then perhaps,” said Wailani, “you’ve heard of our most distinguished passenger, Artiom Volkov?” Cannon didn’t need to feign his excitement. “I have. He has advanced the state of Central American archaeology by decades.” Wailani nodded. “He is also a three-time … Continue reading →