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« Ma mère était une créature des abysses, une sirène. Et parce que sa fille est humaine, il lui est impossible de réellement rentrer chez elle. »
Afficher en entierPrologue
Poland. Modern day.
"These are the best in the world," Antoni said, handing a file folder filled with documents to Martinius. "Although, I'm still not sure why you want to look abroad. We have a perfectly good team available to us here in Gdansk."
Martinius took the file folder in his age-spotted hand and pulled his chair up to his wooden desk. It was the same desk that had been used by his father and his grandfather before him. "It's very simple," he answered. "This is not just any job. We need the best there is, Polish or not."
"I can't think how your supporters will feel about us choosing a foreign team," Antoni speculated. "I don't have a problem with it, may the best company win and all. But we might hear grumblings in the village if you know what I mean."
"We have only a few supporters left now and most of them aren't even Polish. The world forgot about The Sybille long ago. Who we choose is none of their affair." Martinius took a pair of wire specs from his front pocket and perched them on the end of his nose. His eyes were still good for a man well into his seventies, just a little help with the reading was all that was needed. "Thank you, Antoni," he said, by way of a dismissal.
Antoni nodded and left the room.
Martinius began to flip slowly through the pages in the folder. A hot cup of Darjeeling tea sat at his right hand. The early morning sunlight dappled through the trees and fell across the pages, lighting them for his consumption. As he lifted his steaming teacup to his lips, he flipped over one of the loose pages to expose an article with a photograph underneath. His eyes widened in shock and the cup halted halfway to his lips. His hand tumbled and he set the teacup down, missing the saucer and leaving a water ring on he antique wood.
Martinius used both hands to pick up the page and hold it in a patch of un-dappled sunlight to ensure his eyes hadn't betrayed him. "It's not possible," he said, squinting at the photograph. "is it?"
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