A collection of novellas and stories from one of the most critically acclaimed authors in the fantasy genre, Robin Hobb. Including work written under her pseudonym, Megan Lindholm.Bingtown heiresses rub shoulders in this wonderful collection with vampires and alien musicians, tramps and feral cats.In The Homecoming, Lady Carillion Carrock and a number of other Jamaillian nobles are sailing to the Cursed Shores. Their journey is not by choice: for plotting against the Satrap, their wealth has been confiscated and they have been exiled. Until now, Carillion has done nothing but lead a life of privilege. She believes they are bound for wondrous cities, cities where ancient kings and queens dusted their skin with gold and wore jewels above their eyes. But when she is marooned by the ship’s unscrupulous captain, she will soon discover the grim reality of what survival in the Rain Wilds entails.The Silver Lady is a would-be writer, ekeing out a dull existence by working in a Sears store. The one day a man comes in: fortyish, pleasant-looking. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except he says his name is Merlin, and he’s about to change her life.Rosemary got involved with the wrong man. Pell is lazy, good for nothing, a bully. Her best friend Hilia knew it and so did her tom cat, Marmalade. But love is blind: Rosemary had Pell’s baby, renovated the cottage his grandfather left in his will, turned its land to good use; and then he left her for another woman. Now he’s back, and something must be done…

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Lolita

Despite its lascivious reputation, the pleasures of Lolita are as much intellectual as erogenous. It is a love story with the power to raise both chuckles and eyebrows. Humbert Humbert is a European intellectual adrift in America, haunted by memories of a lost adolescent love. When he meets his ideal nymphet in the shape of 12-year-old Dolores Haze, he constructs an elaborate plot to seduce her, but first he must get rid of her mother. In spite of his diabolical wit, reality proves to be more slippery than Humbert's feverish fantasies, and Lolita refuses to conform to his image of the perfect lover.

Playfully perverse in form as well as content, riddled with puns and literary allusions, Nabokov's 1955 novel is a hymn to the Russian-born author's delight in his adopted language. Indeed, readers who want to probe all of its allusive nooks and crannies will need to consult the annotated edition. Lolita is undoubtedly, brazenly erotic, but the eroticism springs less from the "frail honey-hued shoulders ... the silky supple bare back" of little Lo than it does from the wantonly gorgeous prose that Humbert uses to recount his forbidden passion:

She was musical and apple-sweet ... Lola the bobby-soxer, devouring her immemorial fruit, singing through its juice ... and every movement she made, every shuffle and ripple, helped me to conceal and to improve the secret system of tactile correspondence between beast and beauty--between my gagged, bursting beast and the beauty of her dimpled body in its innocent cotton frock.

Much has been made of Lolita as metaphor, perhaps because the love affair at its heart is so troubling. Humbert represents the formal, educated Old World of Europe, while Lolita is America: ripening, beautiful, but not too bright and a little vulgar. Nabokov delights in exploring the intercourse between these cultures, and the passages where Humbert describes the suburbs and strip malls and motels of postwar America are filled with both attraction and repulsion, "those restaurants where the holy spirit of Huncan Dines had descended upon the cute paper napkins and cottage-cheese-crested salads." Yet however tempting the novel's symbolism may be, its chief delight--and power--lies in the character of Humbert Humbert. He, at least as he tells it, is no seedy skulker, no twisted destroyer of innocence. Instead, Nabokov's celebrated mouthpiece is erudite and witty, even at his most depraved. Humbert can't help it--linguistic jouissance is as important to him as the satisfaction of his arrested libido.

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The Naked Face

Sidney Sheldon’s thrilling first novel, repackaged to accompany his fascinating memoirs, ‘The Other Side of Me.’ The psychiatrist's couch holds many secrets. Can it also hold the key to a series of brutal murders? John Hanson, murdered in the street in a gruesome but apparently arbitrary attack. Carol Roberts, brutally tortured and left to die in agony. Now it's the turn of psychoanalyst Dr Judd Stevens… In a chilling game of cat and mouse, Judd must become the hunter rather than the hunted if he wants to stay alive. Working with the mindset of a detective, he must analyse his patients, searching for a motive, clues, reasons. Could it be Teri Washburn, Hollywood starlet, thrown out of tinsel town in scandal and now addicted to sex? Could it be Harrison Burke, top business man and disturbed paranoiac? Or could it be Alexander Fallon, a crazed evangelist, convinced that God has chosen him to avenge all sin in the world? In this deadly game, there can only be one winner…If Judd is to survive he must play the game to win. This is Sidney Sheldon's first novel – a gripping, intense thriller that brought him fame as a bestselling novelist.


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Far Edge of Darkness

ALL ROADS LEAD TO ROME

Sibyl Johnson—a graduate student In classical archeology, just this side of her Ph.D., when an anachronism at her dig in Italy causes her career to take a sudden lurch—and suddenly she's a slave in the very society she was studying!

Charlie Flynn—a Miami cop, deep undercover on a Mafia sting operation stumbled onto something he shouldn't have seen, end now he's scheduled for a hit—in the Roman forum. Lagan McKee—once a commando, now a bum, he got caught in a Florida thunderstorm and suddenly he was in Alaska—five years after the storm struck. Now he's slated for a fatal visit to the dark side of Classical Rome.

Three people, all castaways in time, all victims of the same evil hand—all out for vengeance, on the Far Edge of Darkness.

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IT ALL HAPPENED SO FAST

One minute the two space Hab astronauts were scoop-diving the atmosphere, the next they'd been shot down over the North Dakota Glacier and were the object of a massive manhunt by the United States government.

That government, dedicated to saving the environment from the evils of technology, had been voted into power because everybody knew that the Green House Effect had to be controlled, whatever the cost. But who would have thought that the cost of ending pollution would include not only total government control of day-to-day life, but the onset of a new Ice Age?

Stranded in the anti-technological heartland of America, paralyzed by Earth's gravity, the "Angels" had no way back to the Space Habs, the last bastions of high technology and intellectual freedom on or over the Earth. But help was on its way, help from the most unlikely sources ....

Join # 1 national bestsellers Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle and Michael Flynn in a world where civilization is on the ropes, and the environmentalists have created their own worst nightmare: A world of

Fallen Angels

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Fiddler Fair

A COMMAND PERFORMANCE BY

FANTASY'S GRAND DIVA

Mercedes Lackey has, in a few short years, soared to the peak of the fantasy field, and her thousands of enthusiastic readers clamor for more and more. Now comes a volume demonstrating the wide range of her talent, running the gamut from her beloved Bardic fantasies to urban fantasy set in the modern world; from science fiction adventure to chilling horror. And throughout Fiddler Fair, Lackeys sheer storytelling skill will hold the reader spellbound. Learn what happens when animal rights fanatics try to "liberate" genetically reconstructed dinosaurs. Follow Lawrence of Arabia into the desert to meet a power beyond human comprehension; and be with King Arthur, reborn into the present day, when he again gains possession of the enchanted sword Excalibur. And, in a very weird encounter of the most bizarre kind, learn why an alien from a UFO took an unusual interest in a battered Chevy pickup truck.

Fiddler Fair is a feast for the multitudes of Lackey fans everywhere—and for new readers, a powerful introduction to the most significant new fantasy writer of the decade.

Bouquets from Colleagues and Critics for Mercedes Lackey:

"She'll keep you up long past your bedtime."—Stephen King

A writer whose work I've loved all along."—Marion Zimmer Bradley

. . . with [Lackey], the principal joy is story: she sweeps you along and never lets you go."—Locus

. . . remarkable . . . high-octane adventure and sharp social commentary."—Dragon

"An undoubted mistress of the well-told tale." —Booklist

. . . above all else, Lackey can tell a good story . . . highly, highly recommended . . . ."—Kliatt

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The Philosophical Strangler

PHILOSOPHY: THE HANDS ON APPROACH

Mighty Greyboar, the world’s greatest professional strangler, is dissatisfied with his lot in life. The work is steady and the pay is good, but what, he wonders, is the point of it all?

But when he learns that there is a Supreme Philosophy of Life*, Greyboar the Strangler is Born Again! Still, just how can a professional man in good standing pay the bills with all this philosophical exploration getting in the way?

That’s what his hard-headed agent and manager Ignace wants to know! And Ignace’s skepticism turns quickly into outright horror when Greyboar’s philosophical preoccupation leads to one disaster after another . . .

—simple choke jobs turn into ethical quandaries . . .

—a bizarre artist and a deadly arms-master turn up to complicate their life . . .

—as if their new girlfriends haven’t complicated it enough!

Before you know it, Greyboar the strangler and his disgruntled manager find themselves embroiled with an abbess at odds with her deity, heretics on the run, dwarves needing to be rescued, and then—worst of all!

Greyboar’s long-estranged sister Gwendolyn, political activist and revolutionary, comes back to town asking Greyboar’s help in an insane mission to the underworld. It’s purely a noble cause, one which no self-respecting assassin would touch for a moment. But in the pursuit of Enlightenment, anything can happen. . . .

*What? You want the details? Hint: Entropy. For more on the secret, buy this book!

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Echoes of Honor

BACK FROM HELL

For eight bloody years, the Star Kingdom of Manticore and its allies have taken the war to the vastly more powerful People's Republic of Haven, and Commodore Honor Harrington has been in the forefront of that war.
But now Honor has fallen, captured by the Peep Navy, turned over to the forces of State Security ... and executed on the interstellar network's nightly news.
The Manticoran Alliance is stunned and infuriated by Honor's death and grimly resolved to avenge it. Yet their military is over-extended and the People's Republic is poised to take (he offensive once more, this time with a new strategy, new weapons, a new command team, and a whole new determination to win. The war is about to enter a phase of unprecedented ferocity . . . and the Alliance is on the short end of the stick.
But even as powerful Peep fleets hurtle towards their objectives, neither they nor the Alliance are aware of events occurring on a distant, isolated, inescapable prison planet called Hell. For what no one knows, not even State Security, is that Honor Harrington is not dead. She and a handful of her people are trapped on Hell, and determined to disprove the Peep boast that no one can ever escape it. Honor Harrington is going home, and taking her people with her... even if she has to conquer Hell to do it.

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Doc Sidhe

DOWN, BUT NOT OUT

Harris came up off his jumping foot and brought the same leg up before him in extension—a flying side kick straight out of tournament demonstrations. The huge man felt like Jell-O, but he still fell over backwards. Harris hit the ground hard, too, but scrambled up instantly."Gaby?"
The bag the man had dropped said, "Harris?" and her arm stretched out of it.
The old man said, "Mine." He stepped out of the way. "Phipps, I need this young man removed. Adonis, get up."
"Gaby, get the hell out of here!"
The third man pulled something from under his armpit. Harris felt fear clutching at him, but he charged and side-kicked just as Phipps got his revolver out into the open. The kick connected, knocking the man clean off his feet.
Harris almost grinned. From the opening bell to the knockout, one point five seconds. Not bad for a drunk loser. He bent over, grabbed Phipps' revolver, and swung it around to aim at the others.
The huge man's gloved hand clamped down on the barrel and yanked. The gun fired into nothingness and the huge man flung it off into the darkness. With his free hand, he pulled his hat away from his head and looked down at Harris. Moonlight illuminated his face.
His skin, cinnamon brown, hung in packed layers of wrinkles like earthworms laid lengthwise. No mouth or ears were discernible, but there were eyes, animal's eyes, set deep in. Harris took an involuntary step back, looking for the seam that proved this was a mask.
But the mouth opened. It was too large and too wide to belong to any human. No man or woman possessed a forest of sharklike teeth like those. It twisted into a smile.
The Smile mocked him.

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Destiny's Shield

EVIL FROM BEYOND TIME

The Malwa Empire squats like a toad across 6th century India, commanded by ruthless men with depraved appetites. The thing from the distant future that commands them is far worse.

AN ADVISOR WITHOUT A BODY

Those who oppose the purulent Hell the Malwa will make of Earth have sent a crystal, Aide, to halt their advance. Aide holds all human knowledge-but he cannot act by himself.

A CHAMPION FOR ALL TIMES

Count Belisarius, the greatest general of the age and perhaps of all ages, must outwit the evil empire -- and then, when there is no longer room to maneuver, to meet it sword-edge to sword-edge, because,
no matter what it costs

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Changer of Worlds

WELCOME AGAIN TO THE

MANY WORLDS OF HONOR

Lady Dame Honor Harrington—starship captain, admiral, Steadholder, and Duchess—has spent decades defending the Star Kingdom of Manticore against all comers. Along the way, she has become the legend known as “the Salamander” from her habit of always being where the fire is hottest . . . and also a national bestseller (Ashes of Victory: #7, The Wall Street Journal).
But it’s a big universe, and Honor’s actions affect a lot of lives, not all of them human. And their actions affect her—a lesson “Ms. Midshipwoman Harrington” learns years before rising to command rank when a desperate battle against “pirates” who aren’t quite what they seem begins her brilliant career.
Closer to home, in “Changer of Worlds,” a secret that the alien treecats have kept from their human friends for hundreds of years is about to come out . . . and completely change the relationship between the two species forever.
Meanwhile, Eric Flint weighs in with “From the Highlands.” Honor can’t be everywhere, so when the People’s Republic of Haven tries to stage a political assassination on Earth, Anton Zilwicki—husband of one of the Star Kingdom’s most revered military martyrs, and father of a young woman who is clearly a chip off the old block—steps into the breach . . . and takes the opportunity to settle some old scores along the way.
And finally, Esther McQueen and Oscar Saint-Just square off for their final confrontation in Noveau Paris in “Nightfall.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR AND HOST

Granted, the decade has just begun, but David Weber shows all signs of being the science fiction phenomenon of the decade. Weber is often compared to C.S. Forester (the celebrated creator of Captain Horatio Hornblower), is the recipient of critical praise worthy of Heinlein or Asimov, and has hordes of voracious fans clamoring for more and more Weber. Fortunately for them, Weber keeps steadily producing book after book with first printings that sell out almost immediately, then go back into printing after printing after printing. His novels range from epic fantasy (Oath of Swords, The War God’s Own) to breathtaking space opera (Path of the Fury, The Armageddon Inheritance) to military science fiction with in-depth characterization (the celebrated and awesomely popular Honor Harrington novels, the New York Times bestselling Ashes of Victory being the latest). Reviewers call Weber “irresistible . . masterful” (Publishers Weekly), “highly entertaining” (Booklist), “outstanding . . . superb . . . excellent” (Wilson Library Bulletin), “remarkable” (Kliatt), “the best” (Dragon), “worth shouting about” (Philadelphia Weekly Press), “great” (Locus), and “the best writer around today” (FosFax). Readers call Weber similar things, but mostly they call the Baen offices several times a week demanding more from their main man. Weber lives in South Carolina and, in spite of having gotten married a year ago, shows no sign of slowing down. . . .

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Born to Run

"Excuse me?" said a low, sexy, female voice.
Tannim jumped in startlement, and turned to face the barn door—and froze as he saw who was standing there. His mind lodged on a single thought, unable to get past it: It's her—it's her—it's her—
And it was: the woman who had haunted and hunted him through his dreams for years. The woman he'd dreamed of this morning. Her. And she stood there, calmly taking in his look of utter shock.
There was absolutely no doubt of it; she matched his dreams in every detail. Gently curved raven-wing hair framed a face that he knew as well as he knew his own. Amused emerald-green eyes gazed at him from beneath strong brows that arched as delicately as a bit of Japanese brushwork.
"Excuse me," she said again in that throaty contralto. ". . . but I understood that I could find someone here who works on Mustangs."
He looked past her and spotted her black Mustang standing in the midst of the tall grass outside the barn door. "Not—for a long time," he said dazedly.
"Ah," she replied. Then her eyes widened as she looked past his shoulder, and she stepped back in alarm.
Fear lanced him. He whirled to look. There was nothing there.
He turned back, and she was already gone. And so was her car.
Only then did his mind click back into gear, as he sprinted to stood where the car had been. There was the imprint of four tires in the grass—but no track-marks leading up to them. There was no sign that the car had actually been driven through the grass to reach that spot, and there had been no sound of a motor.
She was haunting him still, it would seem. . . .

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Black on Black

Rescued from slavers, raised among humans, the alien Heyoka must return to his birthworld and regain his place in Hrinnti society. Nebula nominee K. D. Wentworth does a masterful job in giving readers a multi-faceted view of an alien society, its strengths and beauties, warts and foibles. Indeed, Wentworth's particular genius is a wholeness of vision: even the darkest character is shown to have a glimmering of light, whether it is the tenderness in the vicious priest Rakshal's instruction of the cublings or the beauty in the songs of the nihilistic Flek invaders. Such touches, however, never stand in the way of Wentworth's killer plot, full of devious twists and stunning action scenes. Like the young hero of STAR WARS, Heyoka learns that the fate of countless worlds rests on his search for self.

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Ashes of Victory

BACK FROM HELL

For eight bloody years, the Star Kingdom of Manticore and its allies have taken the war to the vastly more powerful People's Republic of Haven, and Commodore Honor Harrington has been in the forefront of that war.
But now Honor has fallen, captured by the Peep Navy, turned over to the forces of State Security ... and executed on the interstellar network's nightly news.
The Manticoran Alliance is stunned and infuriated by Honor's death and grimly resolved to avenge it. Yet their military is over-extended and the People's Republic is poised to take the offensive once more, this time with a new strategy, new weapons, a new command team, and a whole new determination to win. The war is about to enter a phase of unprecedented ferocity . . . and the Alliance is on the short end of the stick.
But even as powerful Peep fleets hurtle towards their objectives, neither they nor the Alliance are aware of events occurring on a distant, isolated, inescapable prison planet called Hell. For what no one knows, not even State Security, is that Honor Harrington is not dead. She and a handful of her people are trapped on Hell, and determined to disprove the Peep boast that no one can ever escape it. Honor Harrington is going home, and taking her people with her... even if she has to conquer Hell to do it.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A lifetime military history huff, David Weber has carried his interest in history into his fiction. In the Honor Harrington series, the spirit of both C.S. Forester's Horatio Hornblower and history's Admiral Lord Nelson are evident. Weber's other work includes the science fiction adventure novel, Path of the Fury, his new epic fantasy series, so far consisting of Oath of Swords and The War God's Own, and the three novels of the "Dahak" space adventure series: Mutineers' Moon, The Armageddon Inheritance, and Heirs of Empire. Weber has worked as a war game designer, most extensively on the Task Force game Starfire™. With Steve White, he has written three novels set in that universe, Insurrection, Crusade, and In Death Ground.
Weber lives in Greenville, South Carolina. He shows all signs of being the next Big Name in science fiction.

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1633

AMERICAN FREEDOM AND JUSTICE
VS. THE TYRANNIES OF
THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY

The new government in central Europe, called the Confederated Principalities of Europe, was formed by an alliance between Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden, and the West Virginians led by Mike Stearns who were transplanted into 17^th-century Germany by a mysterious cosmic accident. The new regime is shaky. Outside its borders, the Thirty Years War continues to rage. Within, it is beset by financial crisis as well as the political and social tensions between the democratic ideals of the 20^th-century Americans and the aristocracy which continues to rule the roost in the CPE as everywhere in Europe.
Worst of all, the CPE has aroused the implacable hostility of Cardinal Richelieu, the effective ruler of France. Richelieu has created the League of Ostend in order to strike at the weakest link in the CPE's armor—its dependence on the Baltic as the lifeline between Gustav Adolf's Sweden and the rest of his realm.
The greatest naval war in European history is about to erupt. Like it or not, Gustavus Adolphus will have to rely on Mike Stearns and the technical wizardry of his obstreperous Americans to save the King of Sweden from ruin.
Caught in the conflagration are two American diplomatic missions abroad: Rebecca Stearns' mission to France and Holland, and the embassy which Mike Stearns sent to King Charles of England headed by his sister Rita and Melissa Mailey. Rebecca finds herself trapped in war-torn Amsterdam; Rita and Melissa, imprisoned in the Tower of London.
And much as Mike wants to transport 20^th-century values into war-torn 17th-century Europe by Sweet Reason, still he finds comfort in the fact that Julie, who once trained to be an Olympic marksman, still has her rifle . . .
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
David Weber is best known for his New York Times bestselling Honor Harrington series, arguably the most popular series in science fiction, which has led to reviewers comparing him to C.S. Forester , celebrated creator of Captain Horatio Hornblower. Weber's work ranges from epic fantasy (Oath of Swords, The War God's Own] to breathtaking space opera (Path of the Fury, The Armageddon Inheritance] to military science fiction with in-depth characterization (the Honor Harrington novels). With John Ringo, he inaugurated the Prince Roger series of space adventures with March Upcountrij and has continued it with March to the Sea. Weber and his wife Sharon live in South Carolina.
Eric Flint is a new master of alternate-history science fiction. His 1632, prequel to 1633, received lavish critical praise from all directions and enjoyed high sales. His first novel, Mother of Demons, was picked by Science Fiction Chronicle as a best novel of the year. He has also shown a powerful gift for humorous fantasy adventure with Forward the Mage and The Philosophical Strangler, which Booklist described as "Monty Python let loose in Tolkien's Middle Earth." With David Drake he has collaborated on five novels in the popular Belisarius series, the next of which will be The Dance of Time. A longtime labor union activist with a Master's Degree in history, he currently resides in Indiana with his wife Lucille.
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1632

The mystery would never be solved. It would simply join others, like the Tunguska event or the Square Crater on Callisto, in the catalogue of unexplained occurrences. The initial worldwide excitement waned within a few months, as it became clear that no quick answers would be found. For a few years grieving relatives would, with some success, press officialdom to maintain the studies and inquiries. But there were no lawyers to keep the fires stoked. The courts ruled soon enough that the Grantville Disaster was an Act of God, for which insurance companies were not liable. Within ten years, the Disaster had devolved into another domain of fanatics and enthusiasts, like the Kennedy Assassination. Thereafter, of course, it enjoyed a near-eternal half-life. But few if any reputable scientists in the world held out any hope for a final explanation.

Theories, of course, abounded. But the vague traces on instruments were impossible to decipher clearly. A small black hole, passing through the Earth. That was one theory. Another—popular for a time until the underlying mathematics were rejected in the light of later discoveries—was that a fragmented superstring had struck the planet a glancing blow.

The only man who ever came close to understanding that a new universe had been created was a biologist. A junior biologist by the name of Hank Tapper, attached almost as an afterthought to one of the geological teams sent to study the disaster. The team devoted several months to a study of the terrain which had replaced what had once been part of West Virginia. They came to no conclusions other than the obvious fact that the terrain was not indigenous to the area, but that—this eliminated the once-avid interest of the SETI crowd—it was clearly terrestrial.

The size of the foreign terrain was mapped, quite precisely. It formed a perfectly circular hemisphere about six miles in diameter, approximately half that deep at its center. Once the team left, Tapper remained behind for a few more months. Eventually, he identified the fauna and flora as being almost identical to those of parts of Central Europe. He became excited. That matched the archaeological report, which—very, very diffidently—suggested that the ruined farmhouses on the new terrain had a vaguely late-medieval/early modern Germanic feel to them. So did the seven human corpses found in one of the farmhouses. Two men, two women, and three children. The remains were badly charred by the fire, but marks on the bones indicated that at least two of the people had been murdered by some kind of large cutting implements.

The dental evidence suggested that the dead people were not modern. Or, at least, had somehow never been given any kind of dental treatment. But medical examination determined that the murders were very recent. And the farmhouses were still smoldering when they were found.

Tapper teetered on the edge of the truth. Then, after several more months of work failed to turn up any matching piece of disturbed terrain anywhere in central Europe, he abandoned the study altogether. He had suspicions, but—

The only possible explanation was a transposition in time as well as space. Tapper was a junior biologist. His budding career would be ruined if he advanced his suspicions without evidence. And there could be no evidence, if he was right. Whatever remained of the area of West Virginia which had vanished was lost somewhere back in time.

So, Tapper accepted the loss of a year's work, and went in search of greener pastures. He published his findings, to be sure; but only as dry factual accounts in obscure publications. He made no attempt to draw conclusions, or posit theories, or draw any kind of public attention.

It was just as well. His career would have been ruined—and for no good purpose. No one would have believed him. Even if someone had, the most extensive archaeological search of central Europe would never have discovered the matching hemisphere. It was there, of course, in that region of Germany called Thuringia. But it was there almost four centuries earlier, and only for an instant. The moment those hemispheres had been transposed, a new universe split off from the old.

And, besides, the truth was far stranger than even Tapper ever imagined. Even he assumed that the cause was some kind of natural cosmic disaster.

* * *

In reality, the Grantville Disaster was the result of what humans of the day would have called criminal negligence. Caused by a shard of cosmic garbage, a discarded fragment of what, for lack of a better term, could be called a work of art. A shaving, you might say, from a sculpture. The Assiti fancied their solipsist amusements with the fabric of spacetime. They were quite oblivious to the impact of their "art" on the rest of the universe.

The Assiti would be exterminated, eighty-five million years later, by the Fta Tei. Ironically, the Fta Tei were a collateral branch of one of the human race's multitude of descendant species. Their motive, however, was not revenge. The Fta Tei knew nothing of their origins on a distant planet once called Earth, much less a minor disaster which had occurred there. The Fta Tei exterminated the Assiti simply because, after many stern warnings, they persisted in practicing their dangerous and irresponsible art.
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The Zahir

PAULO COELHO

The Zahir

A NOVEL OF OBSESSION

Translated from the Portuguese

by Margaret Jull Costa

Her name is Esther; she is a war correspondent who has just returned from Iraq

because of the imminent invasion of that country; she is thirty years old, married, without

children. He is an unidentified male, between twenty-three and twenty-five years old,

with dark, Mongolian features. The two were last seen in a café on the Rue du Faubourg

St-Honoré.

The police were told that they had met before, although no one knew how often: Esther

had always said that the man—who concealed his true identity behind the name

Mikhail—was someone very important, although she had never explained whether he

was important for her career as a journalist or for her as a woman.

The police began a formal investigation. Various theories were put forward—kidnapping,

blackmail, a kidnapping that had ended in murder—none of which were beyond the

bounds of possibility given that, in her search for information, her work brought her into

frequent contact with people who had links with terrorist cells. They discovered that, in

the weeks prior to her disappearance, regular sums of money had been withdrawn from

her bank account: those in charge of the investigation felt that these could have been

payments made for information. She had taken no change of clothes with her, but, oddly

enough, her passport was nowhere to be found.

He is a stranger, very young, with no police record, with no clue as to his identity.

She is Esther, thirty years old, the winner of two international prizes for journalism, and

married.

My wife.

I immediately come under suspicion and am detained because I refuse to say where I

was on the day she disappeared. However, a prison officer has just opened the door of my

cell, saying that I’m a free man.

And why am I a free man? Because nowadays, everyone knows everything about

everyone; you just have to ask and the information is there: where you’ve used your

credit card, where you spend your time, whom you’ve slept with. In my case, it was even

easier: a woman, another journalist, a friend of my wife, and divorced—which is why she

doesn’t mind revealing that she slept with me—came forward as a witness in my favor

when she heard that I had been detained. She provided concrete proof that I was with her

on the day and the night of Esther’s disappearance.

I talk to the chief inspector, who returns my belongings and offers his apologies, adding

that my rapid detention was entirely within the law, and that I have no grounds on which

to accuse or sue the state. I say that I haven’t the slightest intention of doing either of

those things, that I am perfectly aware that we are all under constant suspicion and under

twenty-four-hour surveillance, even when we have committed no crime.

“You’re free to go,” he says, echoing the words of the prison officer.

I ask: Isn’t it possible that something really has happened to my wife? She had said to me

once that—understandably given her vast network of contacts in the terrorist

underworld—she occasionally got the feeling she was being followed.

The inspector changes the subject. I insist, but he says nothing.

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