Previous / Next The Pessimist’s Daughter Written by Mark H. Huston The Gardens, December, 1634 “I found every last one of those sons-of-bitches. Every last one. Do you have any idea how much money that son-of-a-bitch spends on those sons-of-bitches?” Staunton Bell took a deep swig of pilsner beer, emptied the mug, and slammed it […]

Previous / Next The Royal and Ancient Game Written by Mark H. Huston St Andrews Scotland, Winter 1634 James O’Fehl, the butler of Ramsay Manor, wearily tugged open the heavy wooden door to Andrew’s bedchamber. He could see faint streaks of morning light through gaps in the drawn draperies. Andrew was sleeping soundly in the […]

Previous / Next Comedy of Error Written by Mark H. Huston “Oh. My. God. They have those damned things down-time too?” “What things Flo?” Anna followed Flo’s icy glare toward a temporary stage erected in the Grantville market. On it, a group of Italian traveling players were performing a broad, ribald and highly improvised show. […]

Previous / Next Twenty-eight Men by Mark Huston January, 1635 The cold wind cut through to the very core of the men as they walked to the entrance of the mine. It was dark, well before dawn, in the dead time of the night. The cold was complete, a January cold, dry, harsh and sharp. […]