Dichter bij huis - Poet at home

4             Charles Stone was not easily scared. Certainly, if it was about the accession to the throne and all the problems he encountered in connection with it. He would never become sovereign if he couldn’t find the ring. Where had this good-for-nothing of an uncle put it? After all, had they not searched enough through his chambers? Would he have to search through everything again or would he have to deliver to Joeri Marten what he had promised? The ring finger of Conrad Stone! He chose for the quickest and less spectacular solution and went in the direction of the crypt with the sarcophagi.             The castle was a real maze for uninitiated ones with all sorts of corridors and chambers, some of them leading into each other. Charles knew it like the back of his hand. In no time, he was by way of the cellar vaults gone to the crypt where all the Kings o...

4             Karel Steen was voor geen kleintje vervaard. Zeker als het om de troonsopvolging ging en de problemen die hij hieromtrent ondervond. Hij zou nooit geen vorst worden als hij de ring niet zou vinden. Waar had die nietsnut van een nonkel die steen gelaten? Hadden ze toch niet goed gezocht in zijn vertrekken? Zou hij toch nog eens proberen en alles gaan doorzoeken of zou hij hetgeen hij aan Joeri Marten beloofd had, kunnen leveren? De ringvinger van Konrad Steen! Hij koos voor de rapste en de minst opvallende oplossing en ging in de richting van de grafkamer met de sarcofagen.             Het kasteel was voor onbekenden een echt doolhof met allerlei gangen en kamers die in elkaar uitliepen. Karel kende het als zijn broekzak. Het duurde dan ook geen tijd of hij was via de keldergangen naar de grafkamer gegaan waar alle Koningen van de lijn Steen waren opgeb...

7             Stephen pushed the key 837 in the cavity of the door style from the apartment of Suzy Chang, turned him a quarter to the left and held his eye before the scanner while he told his name. For a moment, he had feared that the memory of the apartment had erased his personal access info and that he wouldn’t get inside. But his suspicions seemed to be unfounded. A liberating click of the lock confirmed the opposite. Now he could turn the key a quarter further and open the door.             A feeling of sadness had suddenly taken him by surprise and it made him swallow of emotion. Suzy looked at him from the multifunctional mirror, smiled and said, ‘ Okairi Nasai ! Welcome! Stephen, do you have a moment, I’m not present at this moment. A message is sent to my mobile number, make you comfortable in my home, I will be there quickly.’     ...

2              He had memories from a way back in time. Flashes of images which were shooting through his head without having power over them. Brow. That was his name or at least ‘one’ of his many names. They lived in caves, sheltered from the scorching sun that made the sand boil or against the destructive winds that tore through the plains.             It was a whole other language they were talking then. Many gestures added by hard sounds that came from deep out of his throat. He pointed at one of the drawings on the walls of the cave. Images of slaughter, pictures of the bloodshed in his name. The blood of the little animals was only a drop in the ocean. Then the buffaloes came and the wildebeests and sometimes also a saber-toothed cat if they were lucky to cross his path. Also, eventually, this was too little to quench his thirst.         ...

2             Hij had herinneringen die heel ver terug gingen. Flitsen van beelden die door zijn hoofd schoten zonder dat hij er macht over had. Brow was zijn naam geweest, of toch één van zijn vele namen. Ze leefden in grotten, beschut voor de verzengende zon die het zand deed koken of voor de verwoestende winden die de vlakten over raasden.             Het was een geheel andere taal die ze toen spraken. Veel gebaren werden bijgezet door harde klanken die uit diep van zijn keel kwamen. Hij wees naar een van de tekeningen op de muren in de rots. Beelden van slachtingen, beelden van bloed vergoten in zijn naam. Het bloed van de kleinere dieren was enkel een druppel op een hete plaat geweest. Toen kwamen de buffels en de gnoes en soms ook een sabeltijger als ze geluk hadden om zijn pad te kruisen. Uiteindelijk bleek dit ook te kort te schieten om zijn dorst te lessen....

6 Inspector Norino Vastai once again read the note that was sent to him by post. Despite all the efforts of his colleagues to identify the sender of the note, these attempts hadn’t achieved a thing. It turned out impossible to trace the person in question through finding the address on the note. The laser codification of the letter indicated that the note was posted at the post-office box 2509 Sanctuary. But even with the numerous fixed cameras in the streets or the mobile spybots that supervised some parts of the city they couldn’t screen all the post-office boxes. Maybe it would have been possible, knowing that they had to keep an eye on the particular post-office box and programming a number of the cameras in the proximity. After investigation of the post-office box in question, it showed out that it was standing in a dead corner. Coincidence or meant?             Not that Norino Vastai, in the f...