For Tristan, the city dump was a treasure trove full of history. He would take each sad, broken, and dirty thing apart to see how each could be made to tick, whir, or ring. Then he found the box. It was filled with lenses, a microscope, a monocle, a magni
Nobody in Preston could remember when the watertower was built, or who had built it, but there it stood on Shooter's Hill -- its iron legs rusted, its egg-shaped tank warped and leaking -- casting a long dark shadow across the valley, across Preston itsel