Member-only story
Selfie, Selphy, Sell Fee
Shylock Homes has a premonition
“Your eggs have gone cold,” I said as Shylock Homes appeared at the breakfast table. However, a mere glance at his appearance told me that he was not about to eat. His eyes were wild, his hair dishevelled, and he was still clad in his pyjamas. He was muttering something, over and over, that sounded to me like selphy. Sell Fee?
He snatched our copy of The Times from my hands and leafed through it in agitation. “Notebook, Watsup,” he instructed, waving at me. “Dream.”
At once I abandoned my own breakfast and reached for the notebook and pencil that are always at my side for just such an eventuality. A dream to transcribe! There had not been one of these for some weeks. I opened the book at the first blank page.
“A man from Criminalia invents a… device,” Homes began, “something like a mirror and something like a photographic plate. It… fixes a likeness of the person who holds it, and their immediate surroundings. The device, mass-produced, soon becomes ubiquitous. Unknown to its users, the man is able to collect these pictures. Some are of people in what might be considered compromising circumstances. He blackmails those with money or position, and publishes others, principally of young women in a state of undress. These activities make him rich, and riches bring him power…
