Gideon the Ninth (The Locked Tomb, #1)

by Tamsyn Muir

In Gideon’s mind she looked like an evil stick.

The House of the First had been abandoned, and breathlessly waited to be used by someone other than time.

Harrowhark was too busy storming out of the room with her robe billowing out behind her in the way Gideon suspected she had secretly practised.

Naberius had finished his length of the pool, too, and had struck through the water to come and see them. His swimming shirt was a lot tighter than Coronabeth’s, and his fifty-seven abdominal muscles rippled under it importantly. He gave a long and rather obvious stretch, but stopped when he realised nobody was looking.

“Why, Gideon the Ninth!” she exclaimed, mourning banished. “You’re a ginger!”

“Come on, don’t just lurk there,” said Gideon impatiently. “Let’s find this guy. It shouldn’t be too hard, he’s massive.”

Come with me for the cold hard facts.” They all traipsed after him for the cold hard facts.

“Ask me how I am and I’ll scream,” she said. “How are you,” said Camilla, who was a pill.

“This won’t work,” she said. “I’ve never had to work with something so small before.” “That’s what she said,” murmured Gideon, sotto voce.

“If anything moves—” “Yaaas, I know. Let it head for Camilla.”

Griddle, at the first sign of trouble—” “Run like hell,” said Gideon. “I was going to say, Hit it with your sword,” said Harrow.

They had never fought together before, but they had always fought, and they could work in and around each other without a second’s thought.

Gideon wished she was less interested and more dying, but you had to take victories where you could get them.