Chris Nickson's Blog, page 4

Them Without Pain On Sale

Right now, and I don’t know how long it will last, Amazon has Them Without Pain on sale in the UK only. It’s £12.93 for the Kindle edition and a very low £13.61 for the hardback. Find it here.

Christmas is coming and books make good gifts – and I could use the sales. I have no idea how long this will last.

Thank you.

Bargains, Get ‘Em

A very quick not to say that while No Precious Truth isn’t out until April 1 next year, if you pre-order it on Kindle, the price is £10.39, as cheap as I’ve seen Amazon go an on unpublished book – they’re running it for $14.99 in the US. The link is here. I know, it’s Amazon, but Kindle is the big format. I have one.

If you’re catching up on the Simon Westow series, The Scream of Sins is currently £12.99 ($11.49). Buy it here. The first two in the series are just £2.99 – quite a deal.

For Tom Harper fans, Rusted Souls, the final book in the series is £10.39 on Kindle ($11.49). Grab it here. The first eight books in the series are all low priced for Kindle.

Look, I’m from Yorkshire. Our wallets squeak when we have to open them. We all need to save money.

I hope you’ll buy. Thank you.

Who Is Cathy Marsden of No Precious Truth?

Next April sees the publication of No Precious Truth, the first in a series featuring Woman Police Sergeant Cathy Marsden, who’s part of the Special Investigation Branch’s squad in Leeds.

But how did a woman serving in Leeds City Police end up there?

Here’s Cathy’s story. It’s the first in a series of posts about Leeds in World War Two to prepare you for next year. A little taste, if you will.

September, 1940

‘Sorry if I’m late, ma’am. I came as soon as I knew you were looking for me.’

            ‘I thought someone would find you soon enough.’ Inspector Harding sat behind her desk, all her papers carefully squared and ordered. After fifteen years of steady work on the force, she’d risen to be in charge of the women police constables.

            From Flickr

‘Have I done something wrong, ma’am?’ The question had gnawed at her as she hurried up Briggate and the Headrow. She couldn’t imagine what, but…

            Harding couldn’t help herself; she had to laugh. ‘No, Sergeant. It’s nothing like that. Sit down.’

‘Ma’am?’ Harding was always friendly, but one for order and boundaries.

‘Please, take a seat, Sergeant.’

Once Cathy was perched on the edge of her chair, the inspector began.

‘I’ve been watching you these last few months. I don’t know what’s changed, but you don’t look happy in the job.’

‘Ma’am?’ she said again. Had it been that obvious? And what was so urgent about a heart-to-heart? Something like this could wait until the end of shift.

‘Please, Marsden. I wasn’t born last week. It’s been obvious.’

‘If my work isn’t up to snuff-’

‘You work is as good as it’s always been. You been on the force for six years?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Where was the woman going with this?

‘Something’s shifted. It seemed as if it happened when we received those men who’d survived Dunkirk.’

That was all it took. She hadn’t intended to say much, but once she began, it all flooded out.

‘Well,’ Harding said in an easy voice when Cathy finished, ‘I think what we do is important. But I can understand how you feel.’ She took a cigarette case from her breast pocket and offer one to Cathy before lighting her own and blowing a think plume of smoke to the ceiling. ‘Tell me, if I can offer you something different, some far from your routine that might change things in the country a little, what would you say?’

‘I don’t know.’ Her mind was racing. She didn’t understand what the inspector meant. ‘What is it, ma’am?’

‘How would you fancy working in plain clothes for a little while?’

            ‘Me?’ she asked in disbelief. There were only eight women police officers in Leeds, and not a single one of them was in CID. Never had been, and never would be, if the top brass had their way. That was strictly male territory. A few forces had women detectives, but it would be a cold day in hell before it happened here. As it was, twenty years after the first policewoman was appointed in Leeds, they were still barely tolerated in uniform. ‘How?’

             ‘Have you ever heard of an outfit called the SIB? The Special Investigation Branch?’

            ‘No, ma’am.’ All her thoughts was spinning. After the way CID had treated her yesterday, she was suspicious. What would these SIB people expect her to be, the tea girl?

            ‘I’m not surprised. They only started up in the spring. They’re more or less the military police version of CID.’ She paused and gave a short, reassuring smile. ‘Different, though. They investigate crimes involving soldiers.’ Harding held up her finger before Cathy could open her mouth. ‘They have a big operation that’s just begun here. The head of their squad, Sergeant Faulkner, came to see me first thing about seconding a WPC to them for it. They need someone who knows Leeds very well. It might be exactly what you need.’

            ‘Why a policewoman, ma’am?’

            ‘Someone who’s used to disciplined thinking and can obey orders. Well trained.’

            That made a curious kind of sense. But: ‘Why me?’

            Harding gave a kindly smile. ‘Eighteen months ago you were promoted to sergeant. I fought for that because you’re the best I have. You’re a natural leader. The others ask you questions, they listen to you. They look up to you.’ Cathy blushed, feeling the heat rise on her face. ‘You’re very observant. You have a real way with people, too. You put them at ease. They open up when you talk to them. I don’t want you to leave the police. If I second you to SIB for their operation, I believe you’ll come back refreshed and raring to go. If not, then leave the police and find something else. Does that sound fair?’

            Cathy stayed silent for a long time as fears and hopes chased each other around her head.

‘Do you honestly think I can do it, Ma’am?’

            Another smile, this one glowing with satisfaction. ‘My reputation is one the line, Marsden. If I wasn’t certain, I’d never have put you forward for it.’

            She scribbled an address on a scrap of paper and pushed it across the desk. ‘Go here and talk to Sergeant Faulkner. He’s expecting you. The SIB have their own office, separate from the army and us.’

            Cathy tucked it in her uniform pocket, stood and saluted. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

            ‘There’s one condition, and I made this very clear to Sergeant Faulkner: if I need you back for something, the police take precedence. You understand?’

            ‘Yes, ma’am. And thank you.’

            ‘Go and show them what you’re made of, Sergeant.’

Meet Cathy Marsden

Coming next May – months away, I know, but it’ll be here before we know it – you’ll be able to meet Woman Police Sergeant Cathy Marsden, seconded to the Leeds squad of the Special Investigation Branch for the duration of the war.

The SIB was real, and still exists, broadly investigating that area where military and civil crime meet, and there was a fair bit of it back then. But that’s not their focus this time…

It’s 1941, with things looking bleak. When Cathy’s older brother Dan arrives, an intelligent youung man who’d disappeared down to London as soon as he could to become a civil servant, he has a new job for them. It turns out he’s not quite the civil servant he claimed on his annual visits home; he ended up in MI5 and was the recruited to work for the XX Committee, a brand-new unit charged with turning German spies caught trying to enter the country into double agents. But one in his charge has escaped and is heading for Leeds to sabotage the war effort.

They have to catch him before he can act. Failure is not an option.

The cover copy: As the war rages across Europe, Police Sergeant Cathy Marsden’s life since she was seconded to the Special Investigation Branch has remained focused on deserters and home-front crimes. Until now.

Things take a chilling turn when Cathy’s civil servant brother, Dan, arrives from London with a dark secret: he is working for the XX Committee – a special MI5 unit set up to turn German spies into double agents. But one of these agents has escaped and is heading for Leeds, sent to destroy targets key to the war effort. Suddenly Cathy and the squad are plunged into an unfamiliar world of espionage and subterfuge.

With the fate of the country and the war in the balance, failure is not an option, and Cathy must risk everything, including her own life, to stop a spy.

And the very wonderful cover:

Meanwhile, please don’t forget that Them Without Pain is still brand-new and itching for you to read it. One reviewer called it my “best Westow yet” and who am I to disagree. All your favourite outlets and libraries will have it…

The Best Yet?

This is a wonderful review to receive. Booklist, a publication that’s influential with librarians (and bookseller) in the US, praised the Simon Westow series as “a real find for historical-mystery fans.” That’s sumptuous enough paise, but the reviewer concludes: “Brimming with Nickson’s trademark period details, memorable characters, and realistic portrayal of life in nineteenth-century England—but also filled with frightening twists, bloody violence, suspense, and danger—this may just be Nickson’s best Simon Westow book yet.”

Best Simon Westow yet? I’ll gladly take that! A reader who’s read it – maybe through NetGalley where it’s available, hint hint – also thought it was the best yet.

Maybe I’m doing something right. Well, there has to be a first time.

If you’re not on NetGalley, you can pre-order the book, which comes out September 3, or ask your library to order in a copy. Believe me, it would all be gratefully received.

If I may, one final request. If you’d care to leave a review somewhere, that would be wonderful.

Thank you.

Welcome To Pitfall

I’ve no idea why, but Pitfall Street, a few yards downstream from Leeds Bridge, has long been my favourite street in Leeds. No reason for it. It’s only a few yards long, blink and you miss it as you pass on the Calls.

But I’ve used it in many books – I think it’s there in every Simon Westow – and it has much more history than anyone would imagine today.

Look at it from Leeds Bridge and it’s a gap between building. But look down towards the waterline and you’ll see the openings in the stonework. They let in water for the Leeds Water Engine, designed and built by engineer George Sorocold.

The engine powered the water through lead pipes up to a reservoir in a relatively high point in Leeds, up neat St John’s Church on the far side of the Headrow. From there, pipes made of elm went to the houses of those who paid for it. Piped water was a revelation for the time.

However, Pitfall had been in use long before that – there’s no record of its origin-  with a pair of cloth fulling mills powered by water flowing along the Aire; it might originally have been a path leading to the mills; that makes as much sense as anything. The fulling mills were replaced by a rape seed mill, one of several around town. That in its turn, became the housing for the water engine.

How did Pitfall acquire its name? I wish I knew. It certainly has a sinister aspect. For many years it was simply Pitfall; the Street is much more recent.

But it still holds some kind of magic for me.

And just to remind you, Them Without Pain is published in hardback on September 3. Nod’s as good as a wink, right?

The Real Arthur Mangey – In The Paper

Haqppy Yorkshire day, wherever you are. Starting out decidedly wet here, but brighter later, or so they say.

Still, not bad with the Yorkshire Post talking about Arthur Mangey, the hanged man at the root of Them Without Pain. Read it and find out the truth.

Remember, too, you can pre-order from your favourite place or place a reserve at the library. Just over a month until it’s out!

A Sneak Peek…At The New Book

It’s just six weeks until Them Without Pain is published. It’s a twisting tale with its foundation ir real Leeds history, and by the end, one of the main characters will have their life changed completely.

Intrigued? Good. Come on, take five minutes and read a very short extract. You can pre-order it at all the usual places (and indie bookshops are alwasy best). For online, Speedy Hen has the best price with free UK delivery. See it here. I know many can’t afford new hardbacks, but ask your library to get it in for you (and others). It all helps.

Thank you – and enjoy

Jane spotted Simon, dressed in a good suit, and Constable Porter in his best swallowtail coat, with a fresh, crisp stock tied around his neck. Mrs Shields had been right to insist that she wore her best dress; she fitted in. Another man stood with Simon and Porter, someone older, with a sprawl of grey hair and expensive, unfashionable clothes, an eager expression on his face. She touched the gold ring on her right hand that Mrs Shields had long ago given her for luck.

‘This is Miss Jane Truscott’, Simon introduced her. ‘Mr Armistead.’ The man had fine manners, taking her hand and bowing.

‘It’s time,’ the constable said as he glanced at his watch. He picked up a heavy hammer and started to lead the way up the creaking wooden stairs to the galley. Eagerly, Armistead skipped ahead of him.

Jane had been up here before; she knew every crevice of Leeds in her pores. Yet never inside any of the workshops. She watched as Porter selected a rusty old key from a heavy ring of them looped over his arm, and turned it in the lock.

Simon kept his eyes on Armistead. The man was full of anticipation, shifting from one foot to another as the constable opened the door, then scurrying to be first into the room.

He paused, feeling the tiny sliver of fear return at the edge of his mind. Stupid. It was a bright morning, an empty room with others around; there was no danger here.

The workshop was almost bare, only a scarred old wooden table under the dirty window that looked out over Briggate. A thick layer of dust covered everything, cobwebs across the glass and in all the corners. He breathed in the smell of neglect and dereliction, years of scents piled on top of each other. Simon watched Porter gaze around, unimpressed.

Armistead was running his hands across the dirty wooden panelling on the far wall, his face so close to it that he looked to be studying the grain. Very lightly, he tapped his fist against the wood. Simon heard. So did the constable; he raised his head. Hollow. There was space behind there.

‘I can’t see any catch to open it,’ Armistead said.

‘Doesn’t matter. It’s going to come down, anyway. Stand back.’ He was reluctant to move until Porter brought the hammer down close to his hands and he slid away to safety.

The first blow fell like thunder, dry wood shattering as splinters flew around the room. Simon realized his throat was dry. He was holding his breath in anticipation. From the corner of his eye he saw Jane, standing, silent, gaze fixed on the scene. He’d done right to ask her. Neither Rosie nor Sally had seemed too interested, but she was rapt.

A second blow, then a third turned into a rhythm of booming. By the fifth he’d made a small gap, enough for an arm. Finally, sweating from the effort, the constable lowered the hammer. Space for a man to wriggle through.

Armistead was the first. That was only fair; he was the one who’d been so certain this hidden room existed. A small shout of delight became a wail of horror.

Simon looked at Porter, then squeezed through the hole.

The secret workshop ran the width of the room. No windows. No light beyond the little that came through the gap. Four feet wide at most, hard rat droppings all over the floorboards. A small wooden bench held two rusted pairs of shears and a tarnished silver coin.

The body was sprawled face down across the floor.

Not an ancient wastage of bones and dry, leathery skin. This one was fresh, barely the start of a high summer stink. The rodents and insects had begun to feast on him, but he guessed the corpse hadn’t even been here a full day.

Simon squatted. In the gloom he could make out two pale lines about an inch apart on the back of the corpse’s left hand.

He knew of one man with scars like that. He’d read about them just the day before.

A Non-Pirate Looks At Seventy

A curious title, isn’t it? It’s actually an oblique reference to a Jimmy Buffett song. I’ve never heard it, I’m not a fan of his music, but I always liked of it – the title “A Pirate Looks At Forty.”

But at seventy? Well, that’s coming up fast. Next week. None of the earlier milestones ever bothered me, but this seems to loom very large. A real intimation of mortality.

I’m keeping a tighter focus for my work, concentrating on my novels only, and an occasional album review to remind myself I was once a music journalist, and loved it. Music still moves me, but even in my little corner of it – roots and world music – so much is passing me by. It’s time for younger voices with a different language to brin g it all alive.

But the books…I have plenty to keep me going. The seventh Simon Westow novel, Them Without Pain, is coming out in two months, and I’m moving along with the eighth (eight? I’m not sure how that’s happened). In May next year, you’ll meet Woman Police Sergeant Cathy Marsden and a little down the line I’ll be joining up with her again in Leeds, this time in 1942. Like I say, ample to keep me going.

I do have a definite sense of time passing these days. It doesn’t worry me; I’ve always been a fatalist. Just don’t let me keel over until I’ve finished whatever I’m writing, because I’m the only one with a clue who it ends, and even them, I’m frequently not certain until I’m almost there. Probably a good reason to keep writing. It’s my talisman, my lucky charm.

I was a late bloomer. I’d always written, and published bits and pieces. But I was almost forty before the music journalism became regular and my first non-fiction quickie bio appeared. Quite a number of those followed, but I was 55 when the first novel – The Broken Token – landed in the world. Since then, 36 others have followed, 31 one of them set in Leeds.

I love this place and its history, even if I came to that later, too.

So yes, 70. No banners, no bunting, definitely no party.

Let it come and I’ll make of it what I can.

By the way, before you go, let me tell you a little about this upcoming novel, Them Without Pain.

This one adds an extra layer as it has a real root in local history: in 1696, goldsmith Arthur Mangey created the elaborate ceremonial Leeds Mace. Two years later, he was accused of treason for coin clipping (debasing the coinage), found guilty and hanged. It was a dubious conviction, at best. In testimony, someone claimed he had a secret workshop where he committed his crimes, but nobody searched for it.

In 1825, they knocked down the block where the workshop was supposed to be, and…they found it. Inside were two pairs of metal shears and an Elizabethan coin.

Those are the facts. In the fiction, the room also contains the body of a man Westow has been hunting who stole a set of silver cups made by Mangey. How does the past connect to the death – and who killed him?

It’s Regency noir, as dark as it can get, set in a town polluted by the growing number of factories belching out their smoke. A place where people arrive, hunting for work and pavements covered to gold, to find only scraps. But where the rich have money, and the criminals can be deadly.

If you’re on NetGalley and approved for Severn House, you can read it now (please leave a review!). If not, you can still pre-order it. Independent bookshops would love your business, but all your favourite places will carry it. Speedy Hen has the cheapest British price, plus free UK delivery. Just saying.

Some Very Good News

I’ve been quiet, I know, but I’ve been busy writing. Just as well, too, as yesterday I signed a contract with my publisher for two new books. I’d hope for one, but two, well, that left me overjoyed.

One is for the eighth Simon Westow novels, currently called A Rage Of Souls, and which is about half done (the project that’s kept me busy), and the other is for a second Cathy Marsden novel, set in 1942 and with the tentative title of 0 Dark 30. That one will appear in Spring 2026 – I know, reaching science fiction dates here, but the first Cathy novel, No Precious Truth isn’t out until next May.

Yesterday my research for the new Westow took me (and Jane) out to the lovely St Mary’s Chapel in Lead, always such a joy.

St Mary’s ChapelFrom inside

I’ve been busy planting in the allotment, too, and relishing the growth as the weather grows warmer; had the first strawberry of the season yesterday and it was deliciously sweet. But plenty of rain has made the slugs believe everything popping out of the ground and is all you can eat buffet…and so it becomes a battle, while I pray for no rain.

And the final thing was my computer gave up the ghost. I’ve had a spare, a laptop, waiting in the wings for months, but it still takes take to make the transition, all the programs, transferring data. I’m obsessive about backing up my work in several places, so nothing was lost.

Meanwhile, I’m beginning to gear up for the release of the seventh Simon Westow book in September. It has its foundation in a piece of Leeds history that should be better known. But you can pre-order the book now. The cheapest price for the hardback is here.

And now, there are some words calling my name…