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Authors: T. R. Williams
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turns out I need to.”
“Everything is working out,” Ms. Crawley reassured him. Whispering in Logan’s ear, she added, “These collectors enjoy a bit of unexpected drama in their lives, and it makes the auction more high-spirited.”
Logan nodded. “Thanks for keeping my identity quiet,” he said. “I don’t want any attention.”
“I understand, dear,” Ms. Crawley said, as she escorted Logan into the great auction hall.
Logan had inherited an original copy of The Chronicles of Satraya that wasknown as the Forest Set when his mother and father died two years ago. He remembered watching them page through the books as they sat together discussing its many short stories and philosophies. Some nights they went on for hours debating the meaning of what they had just read. Logan would fall asleep in a chair, waking up the next morning alone in the study with a blanket over him.
He still didn’t fully understand how his parents had come to possess the books. Whenever he’d asked, he’d received only vague answers:
“A very good friend of ours gave them to us for safekeeping,” his father had told him when he was around ten years old. “Your mother and I knew him when we lived in Washington, D.C., before you were born. He had to go on an extended trip on behalf of the Council and didn’t want to take them along.”
“You mean Camden Ford?” Logan asked. “My teacher, Mr. D, says the Rising would not have happened without Camden and the Council of Satraya. He says that without them, we might not be here, at least not like we are today.”
“I suppose that is true in some ways.” His father smiled. “But I think the books deserve most of the credit. The books are what really inspired people.”
“Mr. D said that Camden disappeared after the first Council of Satraya broke up, and nobody knows why he left or where he went.”
“Yes, that is true. It’s one of the great mysteries of the post–Great Disruption period. But before he left, he gave your mother and me these books. Camden wanted us to keep them safe and never tell anyone we had them. He said he would return one day and reclaim them.”
“You mean he wanted you to keep them a secret? Why?”
“He didn’t say; he just made us promise. And you have to promise, too.”
“I promise.”
As the years passed, Logan lost interest in the hows and whys of the books. He remembered seeing the books all over the house, sometimes on his father’s desk or on the bookshelf, sometimes in his parents’ bedroomor on the kitchen table. But whenever guests came over, the books were put away and out of sight. Logan witnessed his father’s diligence about keeping his word to Camden. As time went on, Logan saw the books less frequently. By the time Logan entered his adult years, he hardly saw the books at all, and soon forgot about them entirely. That is, until his parents’ death two years ago.
Logan had inherited all of his parents’ worldly goods, along with a Destiny Box, a high-tech lockbox that was invented after the Great Disruption, when looting and identity theft had been rampant. A Destiny Box could be programmed to open at a certain time but only if the proper piece of DNA was placed on a sensory pad connected to the lock. When Logan’s box had opened last year, it contained the forgotten books. They were the only things of value he possessed. That was why he had no choice but to do what he was about to do. He needed the money. Surely his parents would have understood that.
“All right, first things first.” Ms. Crawley broke into Logan’s thoughts. “Let’s get you something to drink.” She led Logan over to the bar. Glasses of wine and champagne stood ready on the counter, and waiters were circulating through the crowd serving hors d’oeuvres.
“You’re right, there are a lot of people here,” Logan observed.
“Yes, it’s a very good turnout.” Ms. Crawley seemed to know everyone, acknowledging people with a wave or a
“Everything is working out,” Ms. Crawley reassured him. Whispering in Logan’s ear, she added, “These collectors enjoy a bit of unexpected drama in their lives, and it makes the auction more high-spirited.”
Logan nodded. “Thanks for keeping my identity quiet,” he said. “I don’t want any attention.”
“I understand, dear,” Ms. Crawley said, as she escorted Logan into the great auction hall.
Logan had inherited an original copy of The Chronicles of Satraya that wasknown as the Forest Set when his mother and father died two years ago. He remembered watching them page through the books as they sat together discussing its many short stories and philosophies. Some nights they went on for hours debating the meaning of what they had just read. Logan would fall asleep in a chair, waking up the next morning alone in the study with a blanket over him.
He still didn’t fully understand how his parents had come to possess the books. Whenever he’d asked, he’d received only vague answers:
“A very good friend of ours gave them to us for safekeeping,” his father had told him when he was around ten years old. “Your mother and I knew him when we lived in Washington, D.C., before you were born. He had to go on an extended trip on behalf of the Council and didn’t want to take them along.”
“You mean Camden Ford?” Logan asked. “My teacher, Mr. D, says the Rising would not have happened without Camden and the Council of Satraya. He says that without them, we might not be here, at least not like we are today.”
“I suppose that is true in some ways.” His father smiled. “But I think the books deserve most of the credit. The books are what really inspired people.”
“Mr. D said that Camden disappeared after the first Council of Satraya broke up, and nobody knows why he left or where he went.”
“Yes, that is true. It’s one of the great mysteries of the post–Great Disruption period. But before he left, he gave your mother and me these books. Camden wanted us to keep them safe and never tell anyone we had them. He said he would return one day and reclaim them.”
“You mean he wanted you to keep them a secret? Why?”
“He didn’t say; he just made us promise. And you have to promise, too.”
“I promise.”
As the years passed, Logan lost interest in the hows and whys of the books. He remembered seeing the books all over the house, sometimes on his father’s desk or on the bookshelf, sometimes in his parents’ bedroomor on the kitchen table. But whenever guests came over, the books were put away and out of sight. Logan witnessed his father’s diligence about keeping his word to Camden. As time went on, Logan saw the books less frequently. By the time Logan entered his adult years, he hardly saw the books at all, and soon forgot about them entirely. That is, until his parents’ death two years ago.
Logan had inherited all of his parents’ worldly goods, along with a Destiny Box, a high-tech lockbox that was invented after the Great Disruption, when looting and identity theft had been rampant. A Destiny Box could be programmed to open at a certain time but only if the proper piece of DNA was placed on a sensory pad connected to the lock. When Logan’s box had opened last year, it contained the forgotten books. They were the only things of value he possessed. That was why he had no choice but to do what he was about to do. He needed the money. Surely his parents would have understood that.
“All right, first things first.” Ms. Crawley broke into Logan’s thoughts. “Let’s get you something to drink.” She led Logan over to the bar. Glasses of wine and champagne stood ready on the counter, and waiters were circulating through the crowd serving hors d’oeuvres.
“You’re right, there are a lot of people here,” Logan observed.
“Yes, it’s a very good turnout.” Ms. Crawley seemed to know everyone, acknowledging people with a wave or a
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