Revolution of the Mind: The Misadventures of Stank and Bohdrum, #2

By Gareth M Long

What makes us do what we do? Have we any real freedom in our decisions and behaviour?

 

These questions and more face Captain 'Stank' Dobrovsk and Ernst Bohdrum as they try to bring peace to a land caught in a decades-long conflict between a cruel dictatorship and desperate rebel forces - and further twisted by the tales and technology of the Ancients.

 

Stank must face up to the harrowing past that shaped his single-minded thirst for knowledge. Bohdrum once again finds himself questioning the motives of his companion, not to mention his own behaviour and reliance on stories to make sense of the world.

 

Their mission is only made more difficult when rumours of a mythical dragon become a deadly possibility...

 

Revolution of the Mind is a retrofuturistic mystery continuing the themes of Struggle to Make Sense of it All: the tools we rely on to uncover the truth, and the illusions we conjure to spare ourselves from it.

Book #2 in The Misadventures of Stank and Bohdrum series. Approx. 90,000 words. Suitable for ages 13+.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gareth M Long
• Release date: Aug 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201771089

Gareth M Long

Gareth M Long has been writing stories since he was a small child. Raised in a little village near Cambridge, England, he spent much of his youth walking and cycling around the beautiful (if flat) countryside, and grew to love the sense of being lost in nature. Sadly, this love was somewhat frustrated by his GCSE science courses, which seemed to focus more on abstracted learning than on fundamental theories, application of ideas or rigorous explanations. Having graduated from the University of Manchester with a BA (Hons) Drama, he returned to Cambridge where he has lived ever since (albeit with a few months in London and a couple of years in Colchester), trying to eke out a living whilst practising and honing his writing. After reading Dawkins’ magnificently written The Selfish Gene, he also rediscovered his love of science and became what some people might call an ‘armchair’ scientist (though he can’t remember ever owning an armchair). While studying for his MA Creative Writing, he hit upon the idea of Stank and Bohdrum as a way of exploring scientific thought through his own - largely self-educated - grasp of the field. It also seemed a lot more fun than the rather over-earnest eco-drama he’d spent years trying to complete.

Book preview

REVOLUTION

OF THE MIND

by

Gareth M Long

Copyright © 2022 Gareth M Long

Cover design and illustrations by Gareth M Long.

‘Secret Typewriter’ font created by Cpr. Sparhelt.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests please email: [e-mail].

Visit garethmlong.com to subscribe to my mailing list for the latest updates and offers, and browse all of my projects.

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"My choices matter — and there are paths towards making wiser ones — but I cannot choose what I choose. And if it ever appears that I do — for instance, after going back between two options—I do not choose to choose what I choose.

There is a regress here that always ends in darkness."

Sam Harris, Free Will

Acknowledgements

This book would not have been possible without the amazing scientific and philosophical thinkers and doers who, through their writing, lectures and discussions, were entirely powerless to stop my meagre mind attempting to better understand their theories and debates on consciousness, the brain and volition.

They include Sam Harris, Susan Greenfield, Peter Tse, John Conway, Robert Sapolsky, Anthony Cashmore, Sean Castleberry, William Casebeer, Neil Levy, Tom Clark, Ray Kurzweil, and Daniel Dennett.

As ever, my deepest thanks go to Rowan for reading and proofreading all my drafts over the past three years. Thanks also to anyone I know who has put up with me telling them enthusiastically that they probably have no real say in anything they think or do.

Get to where you think you want to be:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

One

Ernst Bohdrum was done with adventuring. In fact, he wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to help the Protectorate in the first place. They were far too complicated for the likes of him, with all their technology and worse, their double dealing. Maybe he’d thought working with them would lend his stories a little more authority, spread his fame as a People’s Voice to other villages, and give his family more freedom in how they lived. All these things, once upon a time, he might have wanted more than anything.

‘Waaaaaaaaah.’

Bohdrum rolled over in bed, folding a pillow over his head to block the noise from the next room. What he needed was some peace and quiet to think all this through; come to some understanding of what he really wanted and how to get it.

‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.’

That didn’t seem likely to happen any time soon though. Forcing the pillow tighter against his ears, he tried to seal himself off and make a little chamber of his mind in which to concentrate.

After returning from the Cassities all he had wanted was to get back home. Back to  good company, good food, and good stories. In those ill-fated lands, his only company had been Captain Stanek Dobrovsk, and Bohdrum still wasn’t sure if ‘good’ was the right word to describe him. Or his taste in food for that matter – the man seemed to eat nothing but those disgusting cereal bars. And as for stories, well, after two missions with the Protectorate, all Bohdrum had to show for it was a tale from the Southern Continent that, aside from the novelty of the jungle and its deadly creatures, was so dull even his fellow villagers had grown tired of it after the second telling.

‘Waaaaaaggh. Waaaaaaaaagggh.’

Then there was the Cassities. A story he’d sworn to tell nobody about, ever. At first, this hadn’t seemed such a difficult promise to keep. The guilt he felt over his own part in it might have kept him quiet even if Stank hadn’t asked - or strongly advised - him to. But when the Captain had offered - or again, strongly advised – that they both leave Great Burn for a while, Bohdrum just couldn’t see what he was going to get out of it. So instead, his first free movements had brought him back to our village of Barmby, where he’d tried his hardest to catch up on all the things he felt he was missing out on.

‘Waaaaaaaarrrghhh. Waaaaaaaaaaarrrrggghhh.’

The best of company: his beloved Cora, the villagers he counted as his loyal audience, and me, Tessie, his first-born. The best of food: all the cheese, meat and vegetables he could trade for with the local farmers. And of course, the best of stories: his only means to secure such trades.

None of them were working out quite how he had hoped.

‘Waaaaaaaaaarrggghhhh. Waaaaaaa-aaarghhh.’

For a start he had no new stories at all, let alone good ones. The past few months he’d spent scraping together meagre legends from the lesser-known books in his librarium – and they were lesser-known for very good reasons. Reasons that, of course, meant less good food. So instead, they were having to rely on Cora’s new stories, the ones she had recently recovered from dig sites up north. Worse still, the other villagers seemed to love them. Which was a good thing. Obviously. But to Bohdrum, her tales were a pale shade of the one he had witnessed in the Cassities, and barely worth the trades she was offered for them. Knowing this was, quite unaccountably, starting to drive him a little mad.

‘Waaaaaaaarghh. Waaaaarghh. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggghh.’

And that wasn’t the only thing.

Keeping the secret of the Cassities was starting to wear him down. Every moment he felt a curious, pulsing urge to confess it to Cora, if no-one else. This was the seventh night in a row he had lain awake, wondering if he might have done things differently. Save more islanders perhaps, or even the island itself? Or if he hadn’t gone in the first place, might Stank have foiled Peliad’s plan before its full destruction rained down on them all?

‘Waaaaaaaaaaarggh. Waaaaaaaaaaarghh. Mmmmwwwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrgghh.’

It was all impossible to fathom. And for sure, there was more than just this keeping him awake. He’d thought coming home would give him a little control over his life again. But with a baby to look after, he was fast coming to realise that even the things that should have been in his control – like his moods, and his energy, and his time – had all been ripped away by some sadistic puppet-master.

‘Waaaaaaaaaaaarggh. Waaaaaaaaaaaarggh.’

Somehow, even the best of company didn’t seem so great any more.

‘Waaaaaaaaaaargh. Waaaaaaaaaaargh. Grrrggggle. Wwwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargggghh.’

Bohdrum felt Cora’s hand shove him persistently closer to the edge of the bed.

‘Well, go on,’ she said, her voice muffled by the blanket drawn over her face. ‘You’re the one who wanted to look after her more.’

By now, Bohdrum was starting to learn the difference between my cries - the ones for food, the ones for cuddles and the ones for changing cloth. The cries that keeping him awake right then, he was fair sure, fell under the last of these three possibilities, and those cries, he really didn’t like at all.

Pulling the blanket back from Cora, he wrapped it over the pillow already covering his head and squeezed them tight together.

‘Could she not save it for the daytime, when I’m better able to deal with it?’

Cora tugged the blanket away, rolling over onto her side.

‘How would she know to do that? She’s not even half a year old.’

‘That didn’t stop you dragging her up north with you.’ Bohdrum tried pulling the bedclothes back again, but Cora had trapped them firmly beneath her body now. ‘Besides, Stank said children learn better than adults. They’re made of plastic or something.’

‘Stank. Stank. Stank. Maybe Stank should come and look after her if he’s so clever. Sure, he couldn’t do a worse job.’

Bohdrum tried pinning the pillow harder over his ears again, but Cora whipped it from his hands and, with an ice-cold foot, shunted him clean out of bed.

He gave up. There was no way he could get his thoughts straight anyway, with all that racket. Better just deal with it, he figured. Get it out of the way. Rubbing the back of his thigh, he hobbled to the window and rattled open the curtains. Cool moonlight flooded in, lighting his way to the door. And with any luck, he thought, with a sly smile at Cora’s huddled form, it’ll stop her getting back to sleep as well.

An hour later he returned, fully awake now, to find Cora snuggled up in all the bedclothes and snoring gently. Loud as he could, he snapped the curtains closed and jumped in beside her. Wrapping his cold arms round her warm body, he tried to soothe himself into sleep. (Leastways that’s the story he always told me, though with Colm and Immie yet to be born, sleep was likely the last thing on his mind).

Whatever his intentions, they were soon interrupted by a sudden tapping at the window.

‘What’s that now?’ he said, his head thumping back on the pillow. Cora rolled over to face him, trailing a finger up and down his arm.

‘Go see then.’

‘Why me?’

‘’Cos I’m not like to get messages in the middle of the night, am I? Go on. Could be important.’

‘And this isn’t?’

Cora grinned.

‘Ah, quit your grinning,’ he said. ‘Puts me in mind of...  Ballsch to it.’ 

Flinging aside the blanket, he stomped to the window and threw open the curtains again. On the other side of the glass a large pigeon perched on the narrow sill, studying him with bead-like eyes and twitching its head curiously.

Bohdrum cursed. It was almost as if, on this clear winter’s night with the path to the heavens open, the fates had looked down and, seeing his dilemma, decided they knew better than himself what he needed. Or leastways, somebody had…

Cursing again, he opened the window to see what the bird wanted. A chill draught shivered through his naked body, colder even than Cora’s hands and feet. Slamming the window shut again, he turned back to the bed and grabbed hold of the blanket in both hands, ripping it quickly out from under his beloved. She rolled off to the other side with a yelp and, as he wrapped the blanket round himself, lunged at him to pull it back. Bohdrum sidestepped neatly though and, opening up the blanket, pulled her into its folds. She grinned, then narrowed her eyes and, faster than he was prepared for, toppled him to the floor. For a few blissful moments they wrestled playfully within the bedding until, like rain from a broken gutter, the pigeon’s tapping grew more and more insistent. Cora clawed at the edge of the blanket and poked her head out.

‘Were you not supposed to be doing something, love?’

Bohdrum groaned but, struggling to his feet, helped Cora up beside him. Pulling the blanket tighter round themselves, they shuffled to the window, a two-headed beast, and opened it up again. This time the pigeon gave them no chance to change their minds. Shooting in through the gap, it flapped around the room until, at last, it settled on a chest of drawers. Coradrum, holding the blanket in place, shuffled over to inspect it.

‘It’s not Aristotle,’ said Bohdrum, peering closer.

‘Aristotle?’

‘Stank’s pigeon. Leastways, his superior’s.’

He couldn’t help sounding a little gruff at this mention of Peliad. He would have to be careful of that, he realised, so as not to raise Cora’s suspicions. For now though, she seemed too busy with the pigeon to pay him any attention. Head tilted to one side, she stared into its eyes and scrunched up her face.

‘Is there not something a little off about it?’

‘Off?’

‘The way it moves. The eyes. They’re a little… glassy.’

‘Trick of the moonlight, dear. We need one those bulb things they have in the Protectorate.’

‘If you say so, dear.’

She poked a finger out from the blanket and pointed at the bird’s feet. 

‘Is that your message?’

Bohdrum looked closer. Tied to its leg like a little ball and chain was a crumpled bundle of paper. Slowly, he reached a hand out to it.

‘Easy now. Let’s see what you’ve got.’

His stiff fingers fumbled at the thread and pulled the parcel away. The pigeon didn’t so much as ruffle a feather.

‘Poor thing’s cold as ice,’ he said, stroking its head with a finger. ‘Not the best weather for flying.’

‘A wonder it can fly at all, with that thing tied to it.’

Sure enough, the bundle in Bohdrum’s hand was as big as a pinecone. Placing it on the dresser, he picked impatiently at the paper, finally ripping it in two. When he saw what was inside he screwed up half of it tight in his hand, allowing the other half to waft to the floor.

In his palm was a small metal sphere.

‘What in the name of Roiland is that?’ said Cora, reaching out for it.

Bohdrum moved it away from her grasp.

‘Careful. I’ve seen such things before.’

‘They’re dangerous then?’ 

‘Sure. But not the way you’re thinking.’

‘Why? What do they do?’

‘They…’ Bohdrum’s face wrinkled as he tried to explain. ‘They show you things that have already happened. Like a diary, but in pictures.’

‘Pictures?’ Cora’s eyes grew brighter. ‘How does that work?’

Bohdrum had absolutely no idea but, keen to keep up appearances, he prodded the surface a few times as if he actually knew what he was doing.

‘Usually there’s some kind of button, or…’

‘Oh.’ Cora’s excitement began to ebb. ‘Are there no instructions then?’

Bending down, she picked up the paper from the floor and studied both sides of it. Then, prising the other half from Bohdrum’s hand, she smoothed them out side by side on the dresser.

‘Hello Bohdrum,’ she read. ‘My name is Leucippus. Watch my message, then act with all haste and caution.’

‘Haste and caution?’ Bohdrum’s face fell slack. ‘Sure, there’s only one person who could’ve sent that.’

Cora turned the two halves over again.

‘That’s all. Maybe he thought you’d know how to use it?’

Bohdrum tapped the sphere on the dresser a few times, then scratched a fingernail over its surface.

‘But there’s no buttons.’

Cora took the thing from him and looked it over.

‘There’s this.’ She pointed to a small triangular hole on the surface. ‘Is it supposed to fit something, do you think?’

‘Something small, if so. Have you got any needles or pins up here?’

‘Ah…’ A crafty smile played out over her lips. ‘I don’t think we’ll be needing them.’

Placing the sphere hole-up in front of the pigeon, she raised her hands and waited. The bird took a few steps forward and then, as if smacked from behind, lowered its beak neatly into the slot. A beam of light shot out from the sphere, hitting the opposite wall.

‘Would you look at that?’ said Bohdrum. Then, realising he sounded a little too impressed, he added: ‘A little overcomplicated, to the ones I’m used to.’

‘Sure.’ Cora squeezed his hand. ‘I prefer things simple myself.’

In the patch of light on the wall an image was forming, no more than a couple of hands square and so dark and murky it took a while for them to realise what they were seeing. At first, it looked like nothing more than a deep crimson glow lining several dark lumps. Then, barely noticeable, the lumps began to move.

‘A hand.’ Cora pointed to the spindly red thing reaching slowly out from the lumps. Bohdrum said nothing. He was fast learning that was the best thing to do, until he knew for sure what was going on.

The hand grew clearer in the light. It seemed to be drawing aside some kind of cover.

‘A head!’ said Cora. ‘It’s a person, for sure. Incredible!’

Bohdrum pulled her back a step, saying: ‘Don’t block the light.’

The head sat perfectly still, cocked to one side in the crimson shadows. Then it began to move, as slowly as the hand had. In the red stripes of light, Bohdrum could now make out a sweep of blonde hair, and beneath it a single eye, wide and alert.

‘It’s him,’ said Bohdrum.

‘Stank?’ Cora bent closer to the image. ‘Handsome devil. You never told me that.’

‘Never thought about it.’

Save for the glow through what had to be Stank’s curtains, the image was pitch black and menacingly still. Stank seemed to be staring at something though. Something at the other end of the room.

‘Do not think you can escape,’ he said. ‘Guards are stationed on every corner, and the nearest sewer entrance is two streets away. It is better that you show yourself, yes?’

Cora squealed with delight. ‘I can hear him! Can you hear him, love?’

‘Yes. I can hear him.’

‘So it’s sounds as well. Think what this could do for our stories!’

‘I have been.’

The images pulled up and behind Stank, revealing the rest of the room smothered in red shadow. At the far end of it, in front of a long curtain, a dark patch shifted a little as if threatening to break free.

Stank reached for a dressing gown draped over the chair beside his bed but, even as his fingers touched it, the dark patch disappeared as if sucked through the window, the curtain flapping in its wake.

‘Prekleto.’

Stank leapt from the bed, flinging the gown around his body.

‘Bedak!’

Crossing the room, he drew the curtain wide and stared through it a while. Then he jumped out.

‘I don’t get it,’ Cora said, unable to draw her eyes away. ‘How are we seeing all this?’

‘The ball,’ said Bohdrum. ‘It was in there with him, copying it all or something.’

‘So that’s why it all seems to glide so? Like we’re floating round the room? Wait…’ She looked back at him, eyes wide. ‘Can this thing fly as well? Why haven’t you told…?’

‘Can we just watch please?’

‘No need to get snippy, love.’

‘Sorry. It’s just… Look - it’s moving after him.’

The device caught up with Stank below the window. They watched him clamber from a well-placed haycart, before brushing himself down and chasing after his quarry.

‘That’s how the thief got away,’ said Cora. ‘He’d put the cart there already.’

‘Or she,’ said Bohdrum. ‘If it was a thief. You make a lot of assumptions, Cora.’

‘A woman would be more careful than to get seen like that. Especially a woman thief.’

Bohdrum shushed her. Like you know any of that for sure, he thought.

The shadow was just visible now in the corner of the image. Sprinting up the street, it veered into an alley. Stank followed quickly, but when he turned the corner there was nothing to see except a wooden ladder. A soft scuffling sound from above alerted him though and, as the view swung round to the top of the ladder, a pair of bare feet could be seen scrambling to the rooftop. Stank jumped weightlessly up the first few rungs, scaling the rest with little effort.

‘He’s a bit of an athlete,’ said Cora.

‘Would you just watch?’

The sloped and thatched roof proved a little harder for Stank to negotiate. Dropping to all fours, he scrabbled up the tiles to the central ridge before tiptoeing along it, arms out to steady himself. Ahead of him, the shadow moved swifter along the ridge, placing one foot evenly in front of the other.

‘Not that athletic,’ said Bohdrum.

Reaching the edge of the roof, the shadow stopped, clearly visible in the moonlight now. Its body was covered by a shabby grey cloak, the hood swishing from side to side as it searched for a safe way down.

‘We are done.’ Stank approached cautiously. ‘There is nowhere to go.’

The shadow turned to face him. Spreading its arms wide, it dropped backwards from the roof.

‘No!’

Stank reached out to where it had been. A second later, a splash sounded from below. Looking down, he saw ripples spreading out across the river, and the shadow surfacing further downstream. Diving smoothly in after it, Stank surfaced fast, glancing from bank to bank. On the far side of the river, the shadow was pulling itself back to the street now. Stank swam to the nearest bank and hauled himself out, his gown sopping as he ran along the opposite side of the water.

‘Not so clever,’ said Cora.

‘They’re nearly head to head though.’

‘But there’s no way across, far as I can see. No bridges or boats even.’

Sure enough, the shadow soon dashed out of sight down another alley, leaving Stank no choice but to dive back in and swim briskly to the other side. By the time he reached the alley there was no sign of it. Running out the other end into a wide, well-lit street, Stank paused to get his bearings. The area was littered with people outside a nearby inn - the same inn, Bohdrum fancied, where the ship’s crew had gathered on their return from the Cassities.

Stank studied the revellers. Amongst their dancing and singing, the occasional jostle of bodies or turn of an annoyed-looking head could be seen. Something was carving a path of disturbance through them all. But instead of following it through the crowd, Stank ran into the backyard of the inn. Hurdling the benches and tables, he returned to the street just as his mark emerged from the crowd.

Crouching, they faced each other as if about to spring. The shadow darted forward. Stank threw his arms wide to block its escape. But the shadow jumped. Planting a light foot on Stank’s shoulder, it sprang off behind him and ran on down the street. Stank spun around, watching it.

‘Impresivna.’

Again he sprinted on, breathing heavily now. The further they ran, the more the shadow stretched its lead. By the time it turned the next corner, Stank had no choice but stop to catch his breath.

‘See?’ said Bohdrum. ‘Not so athletic at all.’

Stank wiped his brow. Then, hearing a creaking noise above him, he looked up at a sign hanging over the entrance to the street, and smiled.

‘The docks,’ he said. ‘There is nowhere left to run, friend.’

Striding through the entrance, Stank followed the wooden boards past the many ships moored to the jetties, and the bustling dockhands carrying crates and barking at one another. Even at this late hour, many folk in the capital were still hard at work it seemed.

‘Who are they all?’ said Cora.

‘Protectorate mostly,’ Bohdrum said, recognising the uniforms. ‘The others, no idea. Maybe they’ve got their own ships.’

‘Imagine that,’ said Cora. ‘Free to go where you want, whenever you want.’

Bohdrum had to admit the idea appealed, though he was sure the Protectorate kept a careful watch on where they went and what they did when they got there.

Ahead of Stank, the shadow reached the end of the final quay, stopping at last in front of a mid-sized freighter.

‘You are out of ground,’ Stank called to it, casually crossing the boardwalk some distance away. ‘Now we talk, yes?’

But the hull of ship began to shudder. On the jetty beside it, a dockhand threw the warp up to a sailor on deck. As the anchor rose, the shadow turned, latching onto it with one arm and riding it up against the hull. Stank’s smile dropped. He sped into a jog, then a sprint. But the winds that night were kind to sailors. Slowly and gracefully, the ship slid free of its mooring and, by the time Stank reached the jetty, its sails were blown out full, carrying it far out into the harbour. As the anchor settled in its hawse, the shadow turned around to sit on it. Stretching out its legs, it raised a thumb at Stank.

Stank just stood there, watching it sail out into open waters. The he returned to the dockhand.

‘That ship,’ he said. ‘Where is it going?’

The dockhand looked down at her clipboard. 

‘The Southern Continent, sir.’

Stank nodded. Then, reaching a hand towards Cora and Bohdrum, he clicked something and the images turned black.

Cora frowned at the wall, head to one side.

‘Odd,’ she said.

‘I know.’ Bohdrum patted her shoulder. ‘Takes a bit of getting used to.

‘No, I mean… I don’t know. Just odd. Like the pigeon.’

‘Sure.’ Bohdrum hugged her from behind. ‘And no clue to what any of it means. Shame.’

Even as he said it the wall fuzzed into motion again, another image forming: Stank, on his bed, towelling his hair and staring straight out at the two of them.

‘Bohdrum,’ he said. ‘The vial is gone. Meet me here...’

He paused to look at something they couldn’t see. 

‘In two days, yes? The office of Peliad. Midday. To the second. Bring the device.’

‘Peliad’s office?’ said Bohdrum. ‘Sure, I’ve no idea where it even is. And why two days?’

‘I don’t think he can hear you, love.’

Stank reached out again and, with another click, the wall faded back to its usual dull cream. Cora turned to Bohdrum, her eyes narrowing.

‘What vial?’

‘I’ve no idea.’ 

It wasn’t really a lie, he figured. For all the times he’d read and re-read Stank’s diary and the reports from the Protectorate, he still hadn’t the foggiest idea what most of them meant. Particularly the parts about Stank’s ‘tiny world’, which he insisted on going on and on about in almost every entry.

Lifting the pigeon’s beak, he picked up the sphere and studied it dismally. Cora wrapped her arms around his waist, jiggling his belly.

‘Man of mystery, are you now?’

‘Not through choice.’

‘Still, this sounds important Ernst.’

She kissed the back of his neck.

‘But.. Don’t you need me here?’ said Bohdrum, almost pleading. ‘To help with Tessie and everything?’

‘Sure, we’ll be fine.’ Whipping the blanket from his waist, she belly-dived onto the bed. ‘But if you don’t want to go...’

‘What?’ he said, hopeful she might have changed her mind.

‘Well, if it’s a People’s Voice they need, I’ve no work lined up. And I wouldn’t mind meeting this Captain either.’

Bohdrum’s fist closed tighter round the metal ball.

‘That pencil I brought back,’ he said. ‘Where is it?’ 

‘The strange metal one?’ Cora teased his leg with a foot. ‘In your coat, I should think.’

He left the room, returning seconds later with the pencil in hand.