City of Last Chances (The Tyrant Philosophers #1)

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

It was always a joy to further the perfection of the world by adding to another School’s workload.

We will be ashamed of what we did here, one day. And at least, if that came true, it would mean things had got better. A better tomorrow bought with a succession of compromised todays.

You can’t control the ripples once you’ve thrown the stone. You can only choose not to throw the stone.”

But there were calculations you could do, regarding the moon’s course and an antique Maric calendar and the seasonal ebb and flow of background magic. There was a book, many-times repaired and rebound, passed down the line of those unfortunates who’d taken up the mantle of harbourmaster at the Port to Nowhere. It let you know when the Wood would open.

God knows that everybody dies. Priests and followers, paragons of the faith, every voice that ever sang His praises. Why else would He be so disillusioned with Himself? God is timeless but no god is greater than time.