Volume 1, No. 1

Banquet / Tyrras ... 8 

slammed the table a couple of times with her beefy hand. What were they thinking, Bellamy wondered. A harangue, for that's how it sounded to him, from a political official was a ritual the Russians were used to hearing. Morozin filled Bellamy's glass and his own with more bubbly. They sat and sipped. Bellamy's eyes grew heavy and he let them close for a moment. He could hear the mayor take another gulp of champagne, and then start off again, her voice, like the waves lapping against the shore, rose and fell in pitch and intensity. Bellamy's breathing became even, his mouth dropped open and in his mind he was sitting by a campfire in the Yukon listening to ... Something familiar was sounding nearer and louder, something like the words "...Kanada...iz Kanady, Kanada... Meester Bel-lyami... Meester Bel-lyami! Meester Bel-lyami!!?"
Bellamy's eyes popped open. The diners were