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Summary
The spark grows into a flame.
Pantalone’s vision blurs. The scene in the compartment condenses and disperses before his empty eyes, and through the haze of lantern light he can see the leather, the flex of fingers, flying fast across a keyboard at the heart of a ballroom, drowning out the noise of the background into no more than accompaniment to the melody.
All of a sudden he is not standing in the doorway of a train carriage, watching the carousal from the shadows as it hurtles homeward to Snezhnaya.
He is in his office, and the man opposite him is not Omega, not a segment, but a memory centuries back, in late-afternoon sunlight, a first time sitting from across the man with which it all started.
the train ride back to snezhnaya is too silent for his liking.
Series
- Part 42 of joint enterprise