John Drake's Blog, page 3
April 26, 2016
'Fletcher's Fortune' Excerpt
THE VERY BEGINNING:
‘Such a tale of blood and vile perversion I have to set before you that I hardly know where to begin.’
Grayling shivered in his nightshirt as the wicked draft shot up his spindly old legs. Grease from his candle spattered over the bed as he tried to wake his master.
‘Sir! Sir! Oh dear sir!’ he whined, and lightning blasted out of the night to show the rain, blown horizontal against the window. He jumped at the thunderclap and an old man’s tears of self-pity ran down his nose. But at last Surgeon Bolton stirred in the bed and sat up. Thick with sleep he blinked at the candle and cursed the cruel world that dragged him from cosy slumber.
‘God bless my soul. God bless my soul.’ he said. ‘Whatever is it?’
‘Sir! Sir!’ cried Grayling, ‘Tis a mad man, God save us all! He’s downstairs. He’s all but broke in the door! Did you not hear him, sir?’ Bolton saw his servant shaking in terror, and the spectacle stirred nasty thoughts in his own mind. Could it be an escaped lunatic? Could he be violent? In any case he was already in the house … Bolton sighed and threw back the covers.
‘Never fear,’ he said, trying to be confidant, ‘tis a surgeon’s duty to be summoned thus.’
Having dressed in haste, Bolton went downstairs in wig and black coat, with his box of instruments under his arm. In the parlour was a large man, spurred and booted, pacing like a tiger, with water running of his coat on to Bolton’s best Indian rug. At sight of the surgeon he lunged forward and seized his arm.
‘Mr Bolton,’ he cried in a wild voice. ‘All hell and damnation is broke loose at the Hall. You must come at once!’
‘Such a tale of blood and vile perversion I have to set before you that I hardly know where to begin.’
Grayling shivered in his nightshirt as the wicked draft shot up his spindly old legs. Grease from his candle spattered over the bed as he tried to wake his master.
‘Sir! Sir! Oh dear sir!’ he whined, and lightning blasted out of the night to show the rain, blown horizontal against the window. He jumped at the thunderclap and an old man’s tears of self-pity ran down his nose. But at last Surgeon Bolton stirred in the bed and sat up. Thick with sleep he blinked at the candle and cursed the cruel world that dragged him from cosy slumber.
‘God bless my soul. God bless my soul.’ he said. ‘Whatever is it?’
‘Sir! Sir!’ cried Grayling, ‘Tis a mad man, God save us all! He’s downstairs. He’s all but broke in the door! Did you not hear him, sir?’ Bolton saw his servant shaking in terror, and the spectacle stirred nasty thoughts in his own mind. Could it be an escaped lunatic? Could he be violent? In any case he was already in the house … Bolton sighed and threw back the covers.
‘Never fear,’ he said, trying to be confidant, ‘tis a surgeon’s duty to be summoned thus.’
Having dressed in haste, Bolton went downstairs in wig and black coat, with his box of instruments under his arm. In the parlour was a large man, spurred and booted, pacing like a tiger, with water running of his coat on to Bolton’s best Indian rug. At sight of the surgeon he lunged forward and seized his arm.
‘Mr Bolton,’ he cried in a wild voice. ‘All hell and damnation is broke loose at the Hall. You must come at once!’
February 8, 2016
Agent of Death
Blog 1:
Worse than the Atom Bomb. All it does is kill people. It leaves the cities intact, except that nobody can visit them for a thousand years.
That's Mem Tav, the super-weapon of my next book 'Agent of Death'. The premise is that right when the Nazis are being beaten by the Allies, they come up with something new, from someone very clever: Abimilech Swart, brighter than Albert Einstein and more ruthless than Adolph Hitler.
What shame Basil Rathbone is dead. He'd have played the part beautifully in the film (if ever). Maybe Johnny Depp?
Fortunately David Landau, RAF bomber pilot and slight-of-hand expert is chasing Swart and Mem Tav, aided by the beautiful, fox-furred, couture-dressed Lady Margaret Comings.
Give it a try. You'll love it.
All best, John Drake
Worse than the Atom Bomb. All it does is kill people. It leaves the cities intact, except that nobody can visit them for a thousand years.
That's Mem Tav, the super-weapon of my next book 'Agent of Death'. The premise is that right when the Nazis are being beaten by the Allies, they come up with something new, from someone very clever: Abimilech Swart, brighter than Albert Einstein and more ruthless than Adolph Hitler.
What shame Basil Rathbone is dead. He'd have played the part beautifully in the film (if ever). Maybe Johnny Depp?
Fortunately David Landau, RAF bomber pilot and slight-of-hand expert is chasing Swart and Mem Tav, aided by the beautiful, fox-furred, couture-dressed Lady Margaret Comings.
Give it a try. You'll love it.
All best, John Drake
