The best way to stop a museum heist is to get stolen yourself.
In the darkness of the shipping crate, I wait amid packing peanuts and the four-by-six oaken-framed masterpiece that da Vinci painted with his left hand while using his right for a certain other work.
A shaft of light pierces the gloom as a crowbar pries off one of the top slats,
With my American sense of direction and independence, I’d thought I could make it from my boarding house to the dreaming spires and spinning cogs of Oxford University without help. But I’d been wandering the crooked, twisting streets for hours now. A distant clock tower, hidden behind thick swathes of fog, struck noon with a melodic mix of bells and whistles.
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If there was one thing that Iris City had in surplus, it was abandoned buildings. In his Icebird guise, Houston Haas circled over a block full of them, trying to localize the lady’s cries for help. At last, he pinpointed a rusting building that had once been a warehouse, surrounded by a graveyard of other similarly decrepit structures.
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“Come one, come all.” Erizan waved to the bustling crowds passing before his small circus tent. “Dr. Erizan Aziz’s world of mystery awaits those who dare tread the waters of the lost deep!”
He’d tailored this pitch for the ocean people of Leaslin. They were born in water, lived on water, died in water,
In her pink dress, with her golden hair, the girl looks like a rose—if the flower was human.
I stepped behind a pillar edging the palace portico as she approached. Dashed inconvenient, but I don’t want to shock her when I turn green and slimy.
She paused on the other side of the pillar.
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