Prologue
Elsewhere, three voices speak at a gathering of four...
A royal bird preens
“This is a house with a bridge to dreams
Touched by an angel and his ancient schemes
This is a house where noughts what it seems
A palace of riddles and silent screams”
An abacus counts
“Now this is a place on the edge of a blade
This is a place too bright to fade
This is the place, fuelled by the trade
Of slivers and whimsy, all man made”
A door closes
“Poppycock peacock plans are naught
but pointless moves in a plan ill thought
There's no refuge nor peace to be sought
Not in a place where dreams have fought”
The future holds its silence...
