Renue is from the Slants, from poverty, and yet he is at the great gates that lead to the home of Mesmer, the dictator. Slamming doors and laughing, the hillborns leave their cars to the valets and amble up the grassy hill towards the Manor. He waits as they pass, those lords and ladies, the guests, fashionable hillborns with their top hats, watches, ivory canes. To address this sole signpost of his past is to look, but to look is to be consumed. The touch produces a thought is this a nightmare, or a shadow of his broken memories and dark dreams, or a solitary, strange vision? Although he has forgotten his name and his mission, a single image is planted in his mind, a playing card, but he is caught in a paradox. Suddenly, a finger brushes his elbow, but his mind is dulled as though drugged and he can but let the cold touch remain, though the hairs on his neck rise and beads of sweat collect on his temple. He swallows against sickness, watching as the crowd flows down the street. He swallows, eyeing the crowd’s hypnotic walk, their daily business, running errands, buying loaves of bread, bartering, picking fruits, lost in chatter. The humid sea air carries stray voices, rumors, conversation. Stifling another rush of panic, Renue stares at his hands, blackened as though burnt. With luck, the spades won’t see his hands. With luck, the louts won’t know his face. No one has turned on him and perhaps no one will. Merchants call out to strangers who call out to friends, yet he stands frozen, feeling breath on the back of his neck. Where is he? What has happened? His shirt, in tatters, a flash of remembrance, leaving white gloves, suit, and vest in the forest, but he can’t remember why his clothes had been shed like snakeskin.Īt least the market is a familiar place, reds and golds glinting in the afternoon sun. Stepping up onto the sidewalk to get his bearings, Renue takes in the faces of strangers and is overcome with panic. His polished shoes hit the cold graying cobblestone of a crowded street. EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT! Here’s a sneak peek at The Queen of Hearts, by Daniel Homan.īut one question remains: Did it begin or end in theft?
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