'Fallen Weapon' - Teaser

fracture_childTue 15/01/08 18:55

Hey everyone,

Below is an excerpt from my novel 'Fallen Weapon'. It's an SF thriler with strong gay themes, dealing with a war fought using living technology and what happens to one of those weapons when it becomes entangled in the schemes of both sides.

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People did not like Edward Cornish. It was his smile. His round, fleshy face was always stretched into a beaming grin. Happiness like that was unnerving, especially in an overweight, balding man of forty eight. All his acquaintances had long agreed amongst themselves that he was covering something up. Given the chance, he would turn to rape or murder. Whenever his name came up in conversation, it was always with talk of strange looks and sly, unwanted touches. Men claimed that, given half the chance, they'd punch some decency into him. Women devised all manner of punishments for his imagined deviances.

Mr Cornish was well aware of his reputation. It didn't trouble him in the least. Whatever his customers suspected, they knew that his bookshop was the best. There was no text so esoteric that he could not track it down nor subject so arcane that he wouldn't have a reference work. The same clients that damned him as a pervert came in secret to ask for dominatrix instruction manuals and tourist guides to Hell.

The bookstore nestled amongst a crop of ruthlessly competing antiques shops in a street that was easily missed if you weren't looking. When Mr Cornish had purchased the property, it had already served five years as a chemist's. Very few changes had been necessary. The walls were still an antiseptic cream and the metal shelves that had once carried pills and sanitary towels were still in place but now filled with books. It was all spotlessly clean, thanks to the attentions of a spry, middle aged woman who was also his occasional and only lover.

Mr Cornish liked his routines. He would arrive for work at 6.00 AM and open at 9.00 AM. The intervening time was useful for getting things done that he wouldn't want his clients to be aware of. Like meeting business associates.

It was 6.35 AM . Outside, the world was shrouded in icy darkness. The agent

would arrive in exactly five minutes. Mr Cornish waited behind the counter, drumming his fingers. A tumbler of whisky sat at his elbow, already half empty. The Fracture made him uneasy. Extensive and exhaustive searching through his books had revealed no mention of them. It was as though their presence was hidden from the entire world. Which was odd considering some of the claims they made. Nonetheless, they could always be trusted to fulfil a bargain. In the end, that was all that mattered.

He took another sip of whisky, savouring its warmth. For years now, each day would begin with whisky and each night ended with it. Ironically for a man rumoured to enjoy an almost unimaginable number of vices, no-one had ever suspected him of alcoholism. Sometimes the dependence made him feel old. All the bars were shutting down now. The children had found new addictions.

With a swish, the automated door slid open and a cruel breeze accosted his skin. Mr Cornish leapt to his feet with unaccustomed speed. Despite the cold, there was sweat on his forehead.

'Good morning Cornish'

The figure was tall and slender. He was clad in dark brown leather trousers and a matching jerkin. His head was sheathed in a blank, grey metal mask. The only opening was where the mouth should have been. But there were no lips, just a small, circular orifice in which something red shuddered.

'Good morning…?'

'You can call me Phillip'

His voice was surprisingly soft. The agent came forward, the door sealing itself behind him. His movements were curious, neither masculine nor feminine. Mr Cornish got the impression that it wasn't just his face that was damaged.

Phillip rested his gloved hands on the counter, observing the bookseller impassively. Mr Cornish tried desperately not to recoil. There were many strange creatures in the Fracture, but this walking ruin of a man was frightening even by their standards.

'It would appear that I disgust you' stated Phillip bluntly. There was a trace of amusement in the gentle tones.

Mr Cornish reply was little more than a squeak.

'No, no, of course not. No'

This was ridiculous! He had done deals with these people before and knew their ways. There was nothing to fear. The Fracture were indifferent to him - a tool, little more. They only hurt those that mattered to them. He forced himself to take a deep breath.

'That is, you look strange, but…'

'You have known stranger?'

'Yes. Not many, but yes'

The red flesh within the aperture wobbled as Phillip chuckled.

'I'd be surprised if that were true. But never mind'

Phillip reached into his jerkin and drew out a small, paper bound package.

'I have brought the book, Cornish'

He handed it to the bookseller. Mr Cornish held it reverently for a moment and then tore away the brown wrapping, unable to wait. In his hands lay an old hardback volume. He flipped the pages tenderly and then clasped it to his chest.

The book reeked of age. It was all he could do to stop himself sniffing the pages.

'You are pleased?'

'Oh yes' breathed the bookseller. 'Christina Alberta's Father, 1925, a first edition. I'm more pleased than you can imagine'

'You admire Wells?'

'He was a genius. He foresaw so much'

'Not us, though'

The pride was unmistakable. For a moment the agent caressed his mask with a gloved hand. Phillip clearly took some satisfaction in his shattered face.

'I doubt anyone could have foreseen you' said Cornish quietly.

Another chuckle.

True'

Phillip's greasy jerkin creaked as he leaned forward.

'The boy will come here tomorrow. In all likelihood, he will bring the subject with him'

Mr Cornish nodded. He was calmer now. The ancient book was a talisman. While he held it, no harm could befall him.

'What do you want me to do?'

'Nothing. Your part is played out now. Give the boy his reward and let him go'

Now that it was nearly over, he found he was curious.

'Why did you choose him? I don't think he's a very stable young man'

'He isn't. That's why we chose him. Enjoy the book'

Phillip turned to go. Mr Cornish started examining the volume more closely. This one wasn't for selling. It would be added to his private collection. Early 20th Century literature was his greatest passion - echoes of a naivety long since lost to the world. He would shut the shop for the day and withdraw into the backroom to savour his prize. None of his gossiping acquaintances could have guessed that the fat man with the sinister smile wanted only two things in life - to drink whiskey and to read old books . Doubtless they would have been disappointed.

'Oh, one more thing Cornish'

He looked up. Phillip was standing in the open doorway.

'Yes?'

'The boy has given the subject a name. He calls him Jason'

With that, the Fracture agent was gone. Mr Cornish emptied his tumbler and activated the door lock. As he retreated into the backroom, his bizarre visitor was already half forgotten. The book awaited him and that was far more important. Still, he reflected, perhaps he should have asked Phillip who was winning the war.

Fallen Weapon by Damian Whittle is published by Athena Press and is available through Amazon. UK