Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Lord Scott Oken, a prince of Albion, and Professor-Prince Mikel Mabruke live in a world where the sun never set on the Egyptian Empire. In the year 1877 of Our Lord Julius Caesar, Pharaoh Djoser-George governs a sprawling realm that spans Europe, Africa, and much of Asia. When the European terrorist Otto von Bismarck touches off an international conspiracy, Scott and Mik are charged with exposing the plot against the Empire.
Their adventure takes them from the sands of Memphis to a lush New World, home of the Incan Tawantinsuyu, a rival empire across the glittering Atlantic Ocean. Encompassing Quetzal airships, operas, blood sacrifice and high diplomacy, Ramona Wheeler's Three Princes is a richly imagined, cinematic vision of a modern Egyptian Empire.
even more sinister. “I have just sent a bird to Ambassador LeBrun, informing him. A number of people were involved in the cover story that got us onto the Qurikancha grounds. The investigation will have to be thorough.” Then he added thoughtfully, “Having Bismarck turn up in the middle of this…” He sighed. “I was certain I would find him hiding in the Atlas Mountains. You and Mik have proved I must broaden my view.” “As broad as the Moon.” “Yes. I want to see this place where you found him.”
Chairs stood between low tables and spinglass lamps in the shape of Isis and Nephthys back to back, with light shining from their upraised palms. “If the gentlemen would wait here,” Lady Khamanny said to them, “I will inform Her Majesty that you have arrived.” Oken spoke up then. “I believe I can safely leave this with you?” He held out the briefcase. “Of course, Lord Oken,” Lady Khamanny said smoothly, taking the case from him without further comment. Mabruke settled down on the edge of a
either hand, dappled with sunlight, like sheep grazing the sky. The horizon ahead of them rose steadily—jagged, raw mountain peaks capped with white. In the purple distance these were majestic, sleeping giants of transparent blue, shadowed in violet and crowned with ice, sacred beings from the beginning of the world. “Mixcomitl,” Viracocha said proudly. “It means ‘Cloud Vessel.’ Here, we are one with the heavens.” The view from this vantage, a third eye above the window-eyes, was far grander in
linked Oken’s rod to the warrior behind him. An iron collar around his neck had a chain linking him to the warrior in front of him. The warriors set the pace, and used blows from metal-tipped lashes to move them along. Oken’s clothes were too heavy for such a march, but he did not care, because they offered some protection from the whips. Oken recognized stretches of the same hard-packed walking paths over which he and Mabruke had climbed before. Once he even glimpsed his own boot print. The
to make the best of it that he could. In the bright sunlight of the courtyard before the palace entry, Ihhuipapalotl was met by General Hukuchasatil, head of the Inheritor’s elite private guard. He was coming down the steps of the palace, his face clouded with thought. They greeted one another, then the general stopped, and put his hand out on Ihhuipapalotl’s shoulder. “Bring only good news, Priest. For your own safety.” Ihhuipapalotl nodded, giving the general a quick smile, and watched as the