Nuala Ní Chonchúir books

The Closet of Savage Mementos

I bite into a beef sandwich and look at the Klondyker ships hulking in the bay like the forgotten remnants of a war. They are battered and loaded with ragged nets; one ship even has a Lada on board, sitting white and impatient on the deck. It is a drowsy day but, behind me, The Windhorse is havin...