“The wee fat man: the Mittel-European; the guy with the cheeky smile; the captain of the ship; the Boss. He’s the one you want. But you’re starting from the wrong place. You are at the door of his castle, but you can’t enter. You must speak with his agents. His agents are not here. I can’t tell you where they are, but they will tell you if you are likely to be granted some level of permission. It would be best not to try; it’s best to wait. They’ll come for you. If they don’t, then that is an answer.”
A lightning bolt, mainlined to a spire, channels electricity between the heavens and the Earth with so much power.
* * *
All the candles he has lit, he has seen, has had lit for him. Offerings of light and he, he offers light too. These offerings are full of the weight of hope and yet they are light.
He wakes early to catch the sun’s rise. In the evenings he reads in a gloomy room and outside – the city, its artificial light…
He strains to see a word, black ink on white page, but all becomes grey. The word fades and vanishes.