First Lines - THE BEARDMORE RELICS
[Posted 13 Sep 2016]
CHAPTER 4
What was he going to find? he thought.
He allowed the Sportage to glide to a stop. Thick leafy shrubs crowded the boundaries of the trail and rose three and four and sometimes five metres in the air. He could see no ghostly masts. What the hell was he going to find?
Vanderhorst had not returned to his room yesterday . . .
CHAPTER 4
What was he going to find? he thought.
He allowed the Sportage to glide to a stop. Thick leafy shrubs crowded the boundaries of the trail and rose three and four and sometimes five metres in the air. He could see no ghostly masts. What the hell was he going to find?
Vanderhorst had not returned to his room yesterday . . .
[Posted 6 Sep 2016]
CHAPTER 3
The dilapidated premises of The Hook’n’Bullet stood well back from the main street. Artifacts of the sporting world littered the forecourt – a rusted-out fishing tug, old machinery, a tripod for hanging moose, figurines of bear and wolf and trout carved by a chainsaw artist . . . Beside the doorway and elevated on a dais, a wooden captain's chair with cushioned seat and a hand-lettered sign:
Grouch's Chair
Sit at your Peril
CHAPTER 3
The dilapidated premises of The Hook’n’Bullet stood well back from the main street. Artifacts of the sporting world littered the forecourt – a rusted-out fishing tug, old machinery, a tripod for hanging moose, figurines of bear and wolf and trout carved by a chainsaw artist . . . Beside the doorway and elevated on a dais, a wooden captain's chair with cushioned seat and a hand-lettered sign:
Grouch's Chair
Sit at your Peril
[Posted 30 Aug 2016]
CHAPTER 2
Kennet cycled across campus to the Fermi Building and chained the bike outside. He found Dr. Peter Sheridan in his office cum lab in the basement. A fire had swept through the basement complex last winter and forced a relocation of some lab accoutrements of the Anthropology Department.
Peter's long frame sprawled gracefully in an antique wooden swivel chair behind a scarred wooden table.
CHAPTER 2
Kennet cycled across campus to the Fermi Building and chained the bike outside. He found Dr. Peter Sheridan in his office cum lab in the basement. A fire had swept through the basement complex last winter and forced a relocation of some lab accoutrements of the Anthropology Department.
Peter's long frame sprawled gracefully in an antique wooden swivel chair behind a scarred wooden table.
[Posted 23 Aug 2016]
CHAPTER 1
In winter a cruel wind blows every morning from the west and scours the streets. It's no fun for pedestrians nor is it for the hardy cyclist, and one does find the odd cyclist in Thunder Bay when the Sleeping Giant takes its first deep breath of a winter morning.
On a summer morning, though, the gentle giant exhales, and its sweet breath skips westward across the Bay of Thunder and up the slopes of the sleeping city and winds through the flats and creeps through every open window.
CHAPTER 1
In winter a cruel wind blows every morning from the west and scours the streets. It's no fun for pedestrians nor is it for the hardy cyclist, and one does find the odd cyclist in Thunder Bay when the Sleeping Giant takes its first deep breath of a winter morning.
On a summer morning, though, the gentle giant exhales, and its sweet breath skips westward across the Bay of Thunder and up the slopes of the sleeping city and winds through the flats and creeps through every open window.
[Posted Tue Aug 16 2016]
PROLOGUE
The man dropped from the train when the sun was crowning the mountain to the east. The locomotive huffed and snorted, its nose pointed to the mountain. The man carried a khaki haversack slung from one shoulder, and from the other, a big-bore rifle. He glanced westward over the rooftops at the choppy waters of the big bay, and walked stiff-legged to the baggage car. The conductor waddled comically after him, like a penguin, cradling his vested paunch with one hand.
.
PROLOGUE
The man dropped from the train when the sun was crowning the mountain to the east. The locomotive huffed and snorted, its nose pointed to the mountain. The man carried a khaki haversack slung from one shoulder, and from the other, a big-bore rifle. He glanced westward over the rooftops at the choppy waters of the big bay, and walked stiff-legged to the baggage car. The conductor waddled comically after him, like a penguin, cradling his vested paunch with one hand.
.
