The first thing the book called for was a straight knife. A margin-note by Laroux indicated that “bread knife is right out”. Hawks opened his second desk-drawer on the left side and removed a short, very sharp knife from a plate of dinner that he was keeping in there for later. It looked like it would do, although it was substantially less vicious than the knife illustrated in the book…
writing
The Deadman’s Finger: Chapter Two
Hawks vaulted the fence easily and touched feet to slab in the backyard. Most of it was concreted over, save for a stretch at the far end that had been torn up and left as bare dirt. The door this side had enough space, so he squared up to it and then kicked just to the right of the handle, smashing the lock and sending a jarring jolt up his leg in retaliation. Limping inside, Hawks saw filthy bootprints criss-crossing the kitchen which he now entered into. His moment of respite would soon be over, and he grabbed a kitchen knife from the block. It sat easily in his hand; he had fought with many kinds of blade in his short life, but knife-fighting would always be his home turf…
The Black Gateway: Chapter Four
“These friends of yours sound very interesting,” Apollo said. “I’m almost excited to meet them. I’m sure they’ll make better company than you and your attack dogs.”
“Don’t be so flippant, Miss Ridley. I’m sure you will find that I – and my attack dogs – will take on more positive qualities in your memory. Rest assured our friends are very excited to meet you.” He leaned in close, so that Apollo could hear the uncanny sussuration of his breath escaping via means unknown…
The Black Gateway: Chapter Three
It was midnight. Mina trained her spyglass on the roof opposite. The wooden trapdoor opened and a figure in a dark cloak came up the ladder. This was all normal enough. The tall figure was completely anonymous in the dark shadows. Mina wrapped her own cloak about her and opened the shutter of the window, perching on the sill for a second before leaping into open space…
The Black Gateway: Chapter One
Apollo kicked off from one of the wooden beams that framed the teahouse and grabbed hold of the slats on the roof of the stall opposite, pulling herself up easily. As she swung her leg up, there was a tearing sound, which she ignored.
Running over the wooden roofs of the stalls, a figure clad in billowing robes. He moved with incredible precision, stepping the incredible distances from beam to beam as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Slung across his back, Apollo recognised the steel curve of a crossbow…
The War Machine: Chapter Four
The little wooden shack stood sideways to the road that Whisper rode along. When she saw it, she pulled Silk over to the side and walked her up to the shack. This was where she would put things into action. If everything went to plan, nobody would go home empty-handed tonight.
Inside the shack was a table and one chair, as well as a simple straw bed. Whisper laid the War-Machine’s case carefully on the table and sat down on the bed, feeling the prickling ends of the straw on her hands. She had hours before the handover would come, and she didn’t know when the last time she had slept was…
The War Machine: Chapter Three
As she came closer to the top, she heard voices and froze. She was completely vulnerable here. If a guard heard her and happened to look down, it would be a moment’s work to knock her off the wall and onto the hard cobblestones below.
She breathed slowly, shifted slightly. The soft mortar was starting to crumble under her hooks. It wasn’t meant to stand up to this kind of treatment. The guards were grumbling about the Inquestor working them harder than they were used to. They were right above her…
The War Machine: Chapter Two
Almost immediately something was wrong. The flagstones of the floor trembled, seeming to warp and bend suddenly around the hapless book. Then, with astonishing speed, strong hands emerged from the stones. First immediately around the book, then further and further afield until the entire hallway was carpeted by them, swaying faintly. The hands directly around the book snapped shut around it, opening it wide and cracking the binding. The Armoury man winced. The hands went on pulling, more moving in, tearing the book apart. It reminded Whisper of wild dogs with a piece of meat, everything else subsumed in the thrill of violence. Paper flew, leather binding torn to shreds, finely-embossed gold-leafed lettering strewn like confetti.
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