Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #15 June 2015 | Seite 44

‘Yes, for you maybe. I suspected you might like this
god-awful fate of mine. Not all of us are runaways and
outcasts, Rhin. I’m not in hiding. I have a future here,
in London. I have a great responsibility to inherit, and
a murderer to catch, for Almighty’s sake! My father
must have justice. The Hark name needs protecting
…’ Merion trailed off, flattened by the impossibility
of it all. ‘I can’t just leave. I can’t just let it fall to the
dogs.’
‘You’re thirteen, boy.’

‘Rubbish.’
‘Trust me, I know. Listen to your elders.’ Rhin was
over two hundred years old. He had a point.
Merion slumped in every possible way a person could
slump. He crumpled to his knees and then to his backside, letting his shoulders hang like loose saddlebags
and his hands splay across the marble. ‘I just don’t
know. I can’t put it into words. The world is upside
down.’
Rhin walked forwards to put a small hand on Merion’s
knee. ‘It doesn’t have to be a punishment, Merion. It
could be an adventure, something that could change
you—put some fire into your belly. Five years isn’t
that long a time.’

Merion flapped his hand. ‘But I’m the only one left!
It’s my duty. And don’t call me boy, you know I hate
that.’
Rhin took a step forwards, eyes wide. ‘You would
still have to wait until you were eighteen, even if you
father hadn’t been killed.’

Merion snorted. ‘Easy for you to say.’
‘Are we in agreement. Adventure?’ Rhin asked.
With great solemnity, Merion lifted his head and
stared up at the roiling grey skies, not a patch or
stray thread of blue anywhere to be seen. Merion was
going to miss these skies, and their rain, the staple
of the Empire. He let the cold breeze run its fingers
across his neck and face, savouring that moment. He
swallowed one last time, and found that the lump had
disappeared—for now, at least.

‘Murdered, Rhin. Murdered.’ The fountain received
another ki ck. ‘And no difference, you say? Hah! At
least if he was still alive, I could have lived my life
in comfort, in society, within reach of the capital. But
no, he was murdered, and now we have to go live in
a shack in some place called Fell Falls. No dinners,
no balls, no trips on the rumbleground trains, no visits
to the Emerald Benches. Nothing. Sod all.’ It was at
times like these that Merion wished he’d asked the
kitchen staff to teach him more swearwords.

‘I’ll let you know when we get there,’ replied the
young Hark.

Rhin was not convinced. ‘All I heard was no tedious
ceremonies, no politics, and no father watching your
every move, no offence. We can be free in America,
Merion. Free to do what we want, safe in the knowledge that you can come back to this, to a fortune and a
life in high society.’
‘In five bloody years!’
‘More than enough time to turn you into a proper man,
to toughen you up. Not like one of these silk-clad dandies you idolise. A man with rough hands and bristle
on his cheeks—ladies would love that.’ Rhin dared as
much to wink. Merion pulled a face.

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