Saturday 12 September 2009

'Cutting Chills' - second edition

The second edition of 'Cutting Chills' is now on Lulu.com and on Amazon.com (not UK, unfortunately).

This edition has four new stories and a fantastic cover by Mo Ali.

It can be found here: http://www.lulu.com/content/794103

More information on the Amazon listing later.


Will

Friday 4 September 2009

And 'Crown Wearer' ends...

And so the year-long experiment ends. Read the final parts at Crown Wearer and then tell me what you think.

To everyone who read the whole thing and supported me, you have my many thanks.


Will

Monday 31 August 2009

Finale week.

Yes, that's right. 'Crown Wearer' has come almost come to the end of its year-long run on Twitter.

So be sure to head over to twitter.com/Crown_Wearer and get in on the last of the story.


Will

Monday 6 July 2009

Forge Fire Press update.

Just to keep you informed about my current blogging and writing exploits: Forge Fire Press has an updated reading blog list.

The new list is as follows:

Monday--Sarah Haynes, "Mooring Room"
Tuesday--J.L. Jamieson, "Finding December"
Wednesday--Garon Cockrell, "Demonic & Other Tales"
Thursday--Cixtian Trybe, "Dark Æther"
Friday--Will Couper, "Spinal Curvature"
Saturday--Danielle Dunne-Domanski, "Never Invite a Necromancer to Tea"
Sunday--Phee Stringer, "The Violet Forest"

Fifth week in and I've posted four blogs. Read em and, y'know, open yer yap holes to tell me what you think.


Will

Monday 8 June 2009

Forge Fire Press

Working on an idea by Warren Ellis this website called Forge Fire Press has been started, and I'm part of it.

Every day a different person adds a piece until, at the end, the results are collected in a book.

The current schedule looks like this:

Monday--Sarah Haynes, "Mooring Room"
Tuesday--J.L. Jamieson, "Finding December"
Wednesday--Garon Cockrell, "Demonic & Other Tales"
Thursday--Cixtian Trybe, "Dark Æther"
Friday--Will Couper, "Spinal Curvature"


Will

Friday 22 May 2009

Atrum Tempestas

It's arrived! A collection of dark horror stories from some of the best rising authors around!

And for a while it'll be on Lulu:

http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/atrum-tempestas/6925133

Then you'll be able to get it at amazon.com and Barnes & Noble.

A big thanks to John and Charlotte.


Will

Thursday 26 March 2009

The Penny Dreadful

My story 'Cloak Man' is in the first issue of The Penny Dreadful, it's looks very nice and you should have a look if you haven't read the story before. Hell, take a look even if you have.


Will

Monday 2 March 2009

Crown Wearer (1-240)

“Is no one fit to wear this crown?” thundered Hazakin. The courtiers winced at the sound of his voice and hoped no one was going to die.

Hazakin raised the crown over his head. The courtiers cowered further. The crystalline crown weighed as much as a man and was razor sharp.

The only sounds that could be heard in the throne room were the hissing of his cybernetic arm pistons and the whirring of the sex bellows.

“You bunch of lollygagging, pathetic, snivelling worms! Can't you give me a fucking answer? Are you so worthless you can't even lie?”

Hazakin’s voice rose and rose until it began to shudder the walls of the chamber. The guards at the doors eyed the ceiling with worry.

The guards needn't have worried. As powerful as Hazakin's voice was, the structure of the palace was sturdy and simply echoed it.

Hazakin stepped away from his crystalline throne. The courtiers flinched at the sound of his metal feet striking the marble floor.

Hazakin’s vizier, Jupond plucked up enough courage to look the king in the eye. Eyes that had won battles and destroyed kingdoms.

“Sire, you have killed most of the eligible women within your realm of Pinioh and from three of the surrounding provinces,” said Jupond.

“There’s too much fear,” he said. “They fear less what you will do to them for hiding their women than what you will do to the women.”

Hazakin stared at Jupond as though he couldn't believe he’d just spoken. The following silence would make a god sweat.

The courtiers were aquiver. Even the fear-suppressing tanda beetles on their spines were unable to do their allotted tasks.

The guards were expecting to clear away the mutilated remains of another courtier. They didn't have the benefit of tanda beetles.

The slow tattoo of Hazakin’s metallic feet clanged around the chamber as he walked towards the cowering Jupond.

He thrust his scarred face into Jupond’s and said, “Find me a woman or you will wear the crown next and I will fuck your corpse.”

Jupond’s already overworked tanda beetle squealed as fiery endorphins burned it. Hazakin's toxic breath melted into his skin.

Hazakin’s rage was a force to be reckoned with normally, but in the throws of intense sexual frustration it was apocalyptic.

As terrified and cowed as Jupond was, he was the closest Hazakin had to a friend and confidant at court. His position was coveted.

Any other member of the court, or in the kingdom, would have found themselves a banquet course for questioning Hazakin so.

A hurricane of beration and the skin irritation from Hazakin’s breath was a small price for avoiding the attentions of The Cook.

Cassie Warwick got into the flat and slumped onto the sofa and turned on the television and stared furiously at the screen.

That little shit Ralph had been talking shit about her again, just because she had told him to fuck off.

Did the smarmy, petty rodent think that she would suddenly change her mind after he started rumours about fucking her?

Just because she didn’t feel the need to spend time with other people in the office didn’t mean she was a weak target.

And what right did he have to be pissed off when she made a counter rumour about the tiny size of his cock?

Ralph was lucky that she had been able to resist the urge to hammer him into unconsciousness with a phone receiver.

She would get utterly soused. Fuck it if she went into work tomorrow reeking of booze. They’d have to deal with it.

She got the chilled bottle of vodka from the fridge and took a dirty pint glass from the sink and poured to half way.

She drank the vodka as if it was water, gulping back the half pints and then refilling when the glass was empty.

Two hours later, the bottle was drained and she felt groggy was when she felt that horrible sensation of being watched.

The feeling had been following her for the last six or seven months and made her feel dirty. The booze didn’t numb it.

The sensation made her queasy, even as she sat on the settee. The alcohol only amplified the sickening paranoia.

Urgently, she lurched unsteadily to her feet and swung around to try and find the source of the watched feeling.

She saw nothing, but her stomach kept on moving and she stumbled to the toilet where she vomited. Ralph was forgotten.

Hazakin lurched upright in his huge bed, causing one of the twelve brain-spayed concubines to stir. The dream had come again.

He grabbed one of the naked, burbling women by the ankle and stared at her exquisite, naked form and felt nothing.

This puzzled him, as each one had been bred and honed to be the most desirable creature that he could imagine.

It was always the same after the dreams, he felt aroused yet he couldn’t bring himself to plunder one of the concubines.

He let go of the woman’s ankle, leaving a bruise that worked up the porcelain white skin of her calf.

She moaned and writhed and looked up at him seductively. Induced as she was to want him all her waking moments.

Sighing, he cuffed her half-heartedly on the side of the head, indicating that he wasn’t interested. She recoiled.

He could have activated the mechanical penis to service the wench, but somehow he felt that was a cheat.

He climbed off the bed and away from the tangle of beautiful bodies. He pulled on a bear hide robe and left the room.

The castle breathed with the sound of hundreds of beasts held captive to heat the stone walls, their breaths siphoned through pipes.

He had once kept one of the gigantic, hairy and horned beasts as a pet. It had been loyal to the point of stupidity.

It hadn’t been stupid though and he had felt a certain level of fondness for it, more so than his lobotomised harem.

As he wound through the echoing corridors of the castle he contemplated whether he ought to get another beast pet.

It would be something that could keep him company at times like this, after the dream, when he couldn’t sleep.

He needed something that had few expectations of him and wouldn’t ask foolish questions to anger him.

He required something that wouldn’t interrupt his thoughts about the strange woman from his dreams.

He didn’t want to encounter any of those idiotic courtiers on this late-night walk. Certainly not Jupond.

The smell of tanda beetle turds drove him crazy. If cowardice wasn’t an even more sickening stench he would destroy them all.

Jupond tried to make himself seem like the fearless, cool leader of the skulking, gossiping courtiers. Hazakin sneered at that.

If anything Jupond was the most terrified of Hazakin. He had been picked to be closest to the king. An unenviable position.

Hazakin almost laughed out loud when he remembered what he did to his last vizier for being incompetent.

He made a good meal, good curtains and a shitty stool for the more favoured of the chamber children.

The memory of eating old L’sadak’s liver made Hazakin hungry. A visit to the kitchens may be in order.

Even he didn’t take such a thing lightly. The cook may have been the only person in the world more fearsome than he.

Imarile the cook towered over Hazakin, but he still deferred to him, grudgingly. He never, ever slept though.

Hazakin wandered through the corridors, sensing the other inhabitants of the castle cowering as they realised where he was going.

He kept his rage under control because he would massacre most of the castle if he allowed the spinelessness to bother him.

The closer he got to the kitchens, the noisier, hotter and more pungent the air became. He took a deep sniff.

Screams came to him only when he got to the heavy wooden door that kept the cook from wandering too often.

The bands of thick metal that reinforced the door resisted his pull for a moment before opening.

The steam from within the kitchens tumbled out like a pleasant-smelling wild animal and engulfed him.

Exquisite smell steam whirled around his head, filling it with epicurean want as strong as sexual desire.

“What kind of ball-brained, pus-testicled idiot comes into my kitchens at this time of night?” came the bellow.

“The only one who could serve you up as a feast, you old pig,” Hazakin bellowed back with a smile.

“Oh. It’s you,” grunted Imarile as he made his way from the recesses of the kitchens. The screaming stopped.

Imarile had once been one of Hazakin’s most trusted lieutenants. A fine soldier as terrifying in battle as Hazakin.

The only thing was that his units kept losing men between campaigns, or even between battles.

Given that Imarile’s units were always well-fed in comparison to the rest of the army cannibalism was soon discovered.

Hazakin couldn’t bring himself to execute Imarile; he was too distinguished a soldier for that. And the shared history was important.

However the destroying of the army couldn’t be allowed to continue as large numbers of soldiers were disappearing.

When Hazakin had gone to preside over the investigation himself, he was served an incredible banquet cooked by Imarile on his own.

So the solution presented itself with Imarile’s knack for gastronomic engineering and he now performed two castle roles.

However, the term ‘pig’ couldn’t really be used in relation to Imarile, he was as muscular as during his fighting days.

He still maintained the twelve retractable spikes around his shoulders and his extra pincer forearm.

His blood-splattered tunic bulged with toned muscle and he still looked always on the verge of hideous violence. And often was.

They were a rare breed. They had been created in the Foundries and they were the greatest warriors ever to grace the world.

The processes that created them, also created the downfall of their creators. It drove them mad while making them smarter.

Those who created the Foundries were an even more rarefied breed. They skulked and planned in dark places.

Only in those dark places was the name of the Foundry creators allowed to be uttered with any degree of safety.

If the word ‘Unthinis’ was heard anywhere in the lands ruled or inhabited by the Foundrylings death was swift in coming.

The Foundrylings could no more stand each other and had destroyed themselves in terrible wars.

Hazakin and Imarile were unique in that they learned to work together and so survive against their violent kin.

They had survived and now, thanks to Hazakin’s indulgence Imarile’s life was continued. He felt the resentment deeply.

Hazakin knew about Imarile’s resentment. It was something to be revelled in, but also allowing the torture tempered it.

“What brings His Esteemed Majesty down to the sweating, working bowels of the castle at this late hour?” Said Imarile.

“I require that I be fed, Imarile. I’m sure that’s something that even you can handle on your own.”

“His Majesty doesn’t normally sup at this time of night. Could there be something that is playing on his mind?”

“Stop with that Majesty shit, Imarile. You sound too insubordinate and sarcastic for my liking.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t want to anger the great and mighty King Hazakin, who keeps his lackeys on a tight leash.”

“As usual, you’re walking an extremely tenuous line, Imarile. Just do as you’re told and avoid the headsman.”

“As you wish, Hazakin. There was a time, though, that you wouldn’t have hesitated to murder me yourself.”

“You say that as though these long years haven’t brought changes in you, either. You’ve had thousands of chances to poison me.

“Our fellow Foundrylings are either dead or too far away to be of concern and the creators, well…

“If you had been able to control your urges a little more, you would still be fighting. Instead you languish here.”

Imarile said nothing, but glared enough venom to make up for the years of missed poisoning opportunities and stalked off.

Hazakin smiled at his inevitable verbal win over Imarile, but the smile disappeared when he heard the explosion.

The walls of the castle were designed by him and Imarile to withstand the worst of any siege that could be waged.

The power of the blast was enough to shake the floor beneath Hazakin’s feet though. That wasn’t right.

Given the strength of the blast, the only way he could imagine that it could be so strong was if it was within the castle. He gasped.

As Imarile rushed from the rear of the kitchens, Hazakin was charging out the door again.

The scars on his face knotted as he snarled and grimaced with fury. He was being attacked in his own castle.

Servants were already coming out of their rooms to see what had happened, and getting in his way.

Their milling stupidity was already infuriating him and he decapitated several of them to clear his way.

Seeing Hazakin ripping the heads off their comrades, the rest of the staff stayed out of his way, watching with awe.

With unworthy servant’s blood dripping from his hands, he pounded down the stone corridor.

His guards had better be reacting to whatever this threat was or there would be more going to Imarile, he thought.

He found a window and surveyed the castle grounds that he saw were bathed in a flickering orange light.

Following to the source of the light, he was further horrified and enraged to see where it was coming from.

One of the beast enclosures was nothing more than a pillar of flame that licked at the low-cast clouds’ bellies.

Someone had the audacity to assault one of the castle’s greatest innovations, spitting in his face.

Clenching his blood-soaked fist, he could guess who it would be, but he would have to get a closer look.

With his fingers, he impaled one of the cowering servants against the wall. It felt good and he marched off with purpose.

Killing with his bare hands was always more satisfying than using any other kind of weapon.

He was more than ready to kill in such a manner those that he knew he would find at the beast enclosures.

The more he thought about it, the more he was certain that he knew who would be behind such effrontery.

A roving group of guards fell in behind him as he searched for a better vantage point to assess the situation.

He turned on them and roared, “Don’t bother with me! Get down there and deal with it! Idiots!”

The men, stunned and the rage being directed at them took a moment to regroup and head away.

Hazakin continued onto one of the turrets that would give him an elevated enough view to determine what had happened.

The turret gave him the view that he wanted. It enraged him more than he had expected it would.

With a burst of fury he brought his huge metal fist down on a crenellation causing the stone to explode.

The fragments and dust of grey stone fell towards the fire and movement far below him. His suspicions confirmed.

It was the Brigands. A group of self-styled revolutionaries who sought to overthrow Hazakin. The fools.

This was their boldest attack yet and to Hazakin this meant that it was also their greatest mistake. He made up his mind.

Without a further pause, he climbed up onto the parapet where the jagged remains of the stone still shed dust, and stood.

He dropped from the high wall, still wearing his sleeping tunic and nothing else, heading to the battle below.

He landed like a meteorite, stunning guards and Brigands alike with his incredible arrival in their midst.

The Brigands had no time to recover their wits when Hazakin launched himself at them, his hands raised and face fierce.

With a whirling blur of movement, he had disembowelled or bisected seven men with a couple of blows.

He laughed wildly as the blood and viscera showered him. His guards moved towards the now running Brigands.

The flames of the wrecked beast enclosure were a corridor, funnelling the Brigands in one direction.

His laughter degenerated into the sound of a wild animal as he ran down the Brigands, surging ahead of the guards.

He barrelled into a group of ten of them, feeling bones shatter under the impact and hearing yelps of pain.

The yelps and screams were short-lived as he tore bloody parts from his enemies with careless, terrifying ease.

His teeth sank into the throat of one struggling Brigand until the thick, warm blood ran down his throat.

After worrying and then tossing the limp body aside he pointed, smiling at the next group of terrorised Brigands.

These were in an area near a breach in the castle’s defensive wall, where there was no fire. They stood, frozen.

He rushed forward at the still group of intruders and he could smell the terror that he instilled within them. Perfect.

Like a sexually-aroused bear he burst out from the surrounding conflagration at the Brigades, expecting to end them.

He was stopped dead in his tracks the moment that he broke out of the encompassing flames. Pain cracked in his chest.

Staggering back and away from the Brigands he felt the pain in his chest intensify. Puzzled, he looked down.

There was a vibrating spear, twice the size of a normal man embedded in the middle of his chest.

It had been a long time since he had been treated to the sight of his own blood. Its blue-black colour was surprising to see.

Still barely able to comprehend what was happening, he dipped his fingers into the wound and sniffed them.

“Sire, are–?” said one of his guards, but was cut off when his skull was pulped by Hazakin’s swinging arm.

With his other hand he gripped the shaft of the spear and pulled. Pain wracked him, but it wouldn’t move.

“That’s a Foundry weapon, Hazakin! It’s the first blow against your tyrannical rule!” A voice from above said.

Hazakin looked up to the man standing on to of the wall, carrying a weapon almost the same size as the man.

“This is just a warning, King Hazakin. You can’t oppress Pinioh any more with your militaristic bullying.

“We will not be stopped and even if you find us, we will crush your forces and continue until you are forced out.

“You can’t count on your castle to keep out the anger of the masses. Stone can’t keep the spirit of the people out!”

Hazakin knew who this vociferous little insect was and, if he could have, he would have thrown the spear at him. Baldenine.

Baldenine, the Brigand leader, made another arrogant little flourish to signal his people to retreat.

The Brigands were closely followed by the castle guards and soldiers as they poured out of the hole in the wall.

Hazakin wanted to pursue the insolent shit stains, but the shaft in his chest stopped any kind of movement.

That reminded him that the Brigands had somehow come into possession of Foundry weapons. He called for retreat.

It was something that would have caused him pain even were he not transfixed by the accursed weapon.

The men couldn’t have believed that he would call for such a thing and continued to go after the escaping Brigands.

Baldenine was long gone from the top of the wall, following his outlaws; he had planned it that way. Bastard, thought Hazakin.

A ball of green energy engulfed the stream of chasing guards and soldiers, reducing fifty of them to nothing but dust.

The shock wave from the weapon lifted him and many close by up and back into where the flames had been.

The flames were snuffed out by the power of the shock wave from this other Foundry weapon.

Hazakin was left lying gasping in the ashy mud left where the beast enclosure had once been. Pain and anger fought for supremacy.

When his guards and soldiers got to him and began to move him, he realised that his voice gone. It explained a lot.

“Get the king to the Grand Seer! He will be the only one who can save him!” Said the captain of the guard.

“I didn’t think that the king could be injured by anything,” said another one of the guards, sounding worried.

“You would do well, if you value your life, and I say this to you all, that you forget that you know that,” the captain said.

“I will eat your hearts to sustain my convalescence if you break your silence,” Hazakin murmured before he passed out.

Travelling in London was bad enough when you were sober, but with the kind of hangover Cassie had it was torture.

The bustling crowds getting into the Underground made her want to punch someone in the balls.

Especially the little pervert who managed to cop a feel and grin at her when she turned around to see who did it.

Her mouth still tasted sour and dry from drinking way too much vodka and she was still nauseous. The train made it worse.

The stench of stagnant water that was ever present in the underground trains was flipping her stomach into tighter circles.

She had been tempted to phone in sick that morning; she had stupidly not expected to feel this bad.

She stopped into a coffee shop and bought the biggest, strongest coffee she could, even though she was already half an hour late.

Most of the time she thought that it was a miracle that she still had the job after two years. More amazing was that she tolerated it.

She only just managed to indulge most of the people she worked with, with certain exceptions. Like Ralph.

He wasn’t around when she got in and she avoided anyone who might try to talk to her while she made her way to her desk.

There was no chance that her supervisor was going to miss her coming in so late. She made no attempt to go unnoticed.

Just as she suspected when Harriet came over she said quietly, “Cassie, can I have a word with you, please?”

With a long-suffering, almost teenager-like sigh, Cassie followed Harriet into the office and waited.

Harriet looked at Cassie an appraising frown on her face. Harriet was one of the less annoying people working here.

Right now, though, Cassie was in no mood to be indulgently patient with anyone, she just wanted to sit and stew in her hangover.

“Christ, Cassie, you look like shit. Were you attacked by a booze-soaked rag or something?” Harriet said, wrinkling her nose.

“I had a few drinks last night, to help me get to sleep. So what?” She knew it was stupid to get this surly, but kept at it.

“You’ve been doing it a hell of a lot in the past few months and it’s really affecting your work. It’s getting noticed.”

“I’m sorry that my private habits are such an inconvenience to the company, Harriet. It makes me sad, really.”

“For god’s sake, Cassie, I’m trying to help you. And it becomes the company’s business when it comes in here stinking of booze.”

Cassie wasn’t in any mood to get into this kind of talk right now. She knew it was unavoidable though.

She would have been happy to just stay at home and not have to deal with anyone, any time.

Being a loner was one of the very few things that she was really good at. She knew how to keep anyone at a distance.

In her life she had been described as angry, disturbed, hateful, pathetic, sad and cold. All she wanted was to be left alone.

Unfortunately, in her view, she had to get out of the house every day so that she could make money to shelter herself.

“Look, I’ll let you go home today and let you rest, but you need to start being more careful around here,” said Harriet.

Harriet smiled at her in a way that she obviously thought was maternal. Ridiculous considering she a year younger than Cassie.

Cassie was about to say something when the feeling of being watched hit her and caught the breath in her throat.

Even as the feeling stole over her, she knew that it couldn’t be, but it gripped harder than she had felt it so far.

There was only one small window in the office and there were no buildings looking in on it from any direction.

The only other way that anyone could be looking on was from the office floor. She looked, but everyone was busy.

She could feel her knees beginning to buckle and her breathing becoming laboured. Harriet stepped forward.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” Cassie said. She didn’t recognise the voice it was so distorted with fear.

Harriet stepped back terrified, concerned and placating all in one. She didn’t have a clue what to do.

Cassie only wanted to find somewhere to hide, but she had no strength to move. She was stuck there.

She felt removed from the situation and even more so when she slumped to the floor and everything was blotted out by blackness.

He could sense her there, in the dark, warm and her heart beating fast and separate from his and his pulsating cybernetic implants.

Her warmth was like a beacon to him and he wanted to touch the strange woman with angry-sad eyes.

Even though he could see her, smell her, taste her, he couldn’t touch her, she remained out of reach.

This angered him. Nothing should be out of reach for Hazakin. He was a king and had incredible resources at his command.

Jupond watched the king lying on the metal slab, even unconscious he made Jupond’s tanda beetle work hard.

The fist-sized machine-insect hybrid pulsed and shifted as it worked to counter-act the adrenaline in Jupond’s body.

His nerves were such that he touched the metal casing that had once been his genitals. An old habit that Hazakin had tried to stop.

Kolp the Grand Seer glanced at Jupond touching himself through his tunic and gave a reproachful sigh.

Kolp was a technologist and magician of incomparable skill. He was the only non-Unhinis who could replicate Foundry technology.

He was also one of the few men not mechanically indentured in the castle, his mind was too precious to be dealt with so.

Not that there was any chance of him going anywhere, he revelled in the conditions allowed to him.

His freedom was assured as he loved to create and to study Hazakin whenever it was necessary.

“Fascinating!” He said peering at the projectile in Hazakin’s chest. “It looks like a vibro-spear! Amazing!”

“Will you be able to heal him?” said Jupond, the feeling of being parted by from Hazakin by death terrified him.

Kolp looked at Jupond and cackled. “Who do you think you are talking to, you mind-addled lackey?

“This is a weapon I have not encountered outside of books on the Foundries. I want to extract it to study it in depth.

“The process for doing so should be simple. Hazakin’s Foundry-enhanced system could take ten times this much damage.

“Don’t look so damned worried. I’ll make sure there is as little further damage as possible. He’ll live.”

An old part of Jupond still managed to become indignant at that, just as he knew Kolp had read him correctly.

Piston-fast, Hazakin’s arm shot out, hissing like an electrified snake from hydraulic vents to fasten fingers around Kolp’s throat.

Kolp let out the started sound of someone whose throat was about to be mangled. Jupond just squealed.

Through Kolp’s desperate gasping, the sound of whirring cybernetics cut, as Hazakin pulled the Great Seer towards him.

With the clarity of having his skull on the verge of popping, Kolp saw that Hazakin’s purple eyes were glassy and unfocussed.

“You will come to me! You will let me touch you!” Hazakin snarled and then his eyes rolled back into head and he went limp.

Kolp, taken completely by surprise, tumbled to the floor of his surgery, hacking and gasping, his face scarlet.

“Master!” Jupond cried and rushed to Hazakin, almost tripping over Kolp in the process. Kolp managed to push the vizier away.

“Get back, you snivelling idiot. He was dreaming!” Kolp wheezed as he got back onto his feet.

“He was dreaming! Stay out of my way while I save his life and rouse him,” said Kolp, feeling surly and put upon.

Cassie was helped into a chair by Harriet and Bill. She sat for half an hour before she felt she could walk again.

She was glad to get out of the place, as the sympathetic or just curious looks were starting to annoy her.

The journey home was shaky. She bought coffee and huddled over it while on the tube, scowling at the other commuters.

When she got home, the feeling of being watched hit as soon as she closed the front door. The air shimmered blue.

Archive time!

Yep, since the Twitter novella's hit its five hundredth update, I think it's time that I put together a bunch of the earlier updates. First three months' worth should do it.


Will

Monday 16 February 2009

Memories of Light

Muck and stink and shit and pain and fucking. That was all that Logk knew. He didn’t even think Logk was his real name.

He’d had a different life once. One that included the sun and smells of the outside. He was sure he had a different name too, but he had long since forgotten it.

He knew Kolp’s name. He knew it well. One day he would deal with the Grand Seer. One day he would eat his corpse.

Wednesday 4 February 2009

Appointed

The feast had lasted all day and all but Hazakin were exhausted and spent. Even the brain-spayed concubines were mewling and wanting to rest. Many of the courtiers had tried to leave at earlier points in the celebrations and were threatened with summary execution.

This execution was all the more fearful because of the nature of the feast that had taken place. The centre piece was long since stripped to the bones, but for those without the benefit of tanda beetles there was something queasily recognisable about the remains sitting on the six-foot long silver platter.

Imarile had out did himself and even Hazakin had admitted this loudly during the feast, but not loudly enough for the evil Foundryling could hear.

None of the courtiers dared to say that they wanted to and rest for fear that they would become another course for the feast, as old L’sadak had become the main course all those hours ago.

Hazakin stood. Some of the sharper-eyed courtiers would have sworn that he was unsteady, given the amount of poisonously alcoholic barabeur that he had drank it was no surprise that even he was feeling the effects.

“I require a new vizier!” He said. “One who isn’t an incompetent and dithering fool like our esteemed meal!”

The exhausted courtiers were suddenly energised by this announcement and there began a murmur of excitement amongst them. Being the King of Pinioh’s vizier was both the most prestigious and most dangerous appointment in the kingdom.

Hazakin’s violet gaze searched the room, but none of the courtiers could bring themselves to move.

The young man had been quiet since he had come into the service of the king a few months before. He was too lowly even to rate being given a tanda beetle. This man had listened, and learned a great deal about the workings of the court. Since he was nothing more than a cleaning boy he had been ignored by the courtiers and even Hazakin.

At last, the opening for his ambition had come and, in a quivering voice barely audible through gut-loosening fear he said, “I can do the job.”

Hazakin blinked in surprise.

The courtiers stared in horror and bewilderment. One of the older, braver courtiers managed to find her voice:

“Begone, boy! This is no place for peasants like you!”

Hazakin turned and glared and the woman and she quailed in fear at the hard look.

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but–” the woman began, pointing to the young man standing so uncertainly just inside the door to the chamber.

“Silence, you snivelling, wrinkled sow!” Hazakin bellowed.

When he returned his gaze, the boy almost fell over under its power, but managed to stand his ground. Then Hazakin laughed.

“Excellent! This barely washed child has shown more backbone than any ten of you worthless piles of beast entrails could hope to possess!” He said. “Yes, boy, you shall become my new vizier. Kolp hasn’t installed a tanda beetle in a long while. Pray, whelp, what is your name?”

“I am Gliggen Jupond,” said the boy.

And now some bonus fiction...

Coming up is a little bit of a bonus piece connected with Crown Wearer.


Will

Tuesday 3 February 2009

Here too!

Well it's time to start the 'Crown Wearer' blog. You'll find anything new with the Twitter novella.

Just in case you didn't know you can find the story here: Crown Wearer


Will