Legion of the Dead (Barnaby Grimes, Book 3)

By Paul Stewart, Chris Riddell

“The corpses swayed the place they stood, their bony palms outstretched prior to them and tattered sleeves placing limply within the foggy air. I smelled the sourness of the sewers approximately them; that, and the candy whiff of dying. Their sunken eyes bored into mine. i used to be surrounded. . . .”

Barnaby Grimes is a tick-tock lad, supplying messages and working errands everywhere in the urban, day and evening. Gangland funerals and diving expeditions are damaging adequate, but if the graveyards start to hand over their lifeless, this tick-tock lad is confronted together with his deadliest problem but. . . .

A blood-curdling story of greed and betrayal. Will Barnaby be defeated by way of the Legion of the Dead?

Paul Stewart and Chris Riddell’s incomparable Barnaby Grimes returns for one more event within the 3rd installment of the brilliantly interesting horrorthriller sequence set in Dickensian London.

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I swallowed nervously. The ghastly apparitions have been on the gateway. there has been a wizened hag with a hooked nostril and rat’s-nest hair. A portly matron, the ague that had noticeable her off nonetheless glistening on her furrowed forehead… A sly-eyed ragger and a bare-knuckled wrestler, his left eyeball out of its socket and dangling on a glistening thread. a chunky costermonger; a stooped scrivener, their outfits – one satins and frill, the opposite threadbare serge – smeared alike with black dust and sewer slime. A maid, a chimney-sweep, a number of stable-lads; one with the facet of his cranium stoved in through a unmarried blow from a horse’s hoof, the opposite gray and glittery-eyed from the blood-flecked cough that had ended his lifestyles.

My name’s Lucy,’ she stated. ‘Lucy Partleby. ’ We climbed the steps, part by way of aspect, her together with her lamp raised and me stealing glances. She had auburn hair, tied up and topped with a starched white cap; milky dermis, with freckles on the tops of her cheeks and in a line around the bridge of her nostril, and the greenest eyes I’d ever noticeable. She led me down a protracted tiled hall to an empty surgical procedure, the place she sat me down and started to undo my bandages. ‘I needs to say, this has been dressed very well,’ she commented.

I offered my hair to a wigmaker final week to make up the lease on my part room within the Wasps’ Nest. ’ ‘Are instances that onerous? ’ I requested. Will nodded. ‘I’m a cobblestone-creeper, no longer a highstacker like you,’ he defined. ‘I can’t cost highstacking charges. ’ ‘Then we’ll simply need to cope with that,’ I stated. ‘Now, let’s get this over with. ’ on the backside touchdown, rather than reducing the ultimate size of ladder, I swung down on a horizontal strut and dropped evenly to the cobblestones less than me. Will landed beside me a second later.

Punctual as ever. i used to be simply ensuring every thing was once prepared. ’ mendacity at the forums beside the kneeling professor was once an unusual-looking boilersuit. It produced from oilskin, with gloves and boots seamlessly hooked up. ‘What’s this? ’ I requested. ‘This,’ acknowledged the professor, the delight in his voice unmistakable, ‘is what I name a “Neptune” swimsuit. It’s made up of the best oiled linen and handled with my very own patent mix of rubber and wax, designed to insulate the wearer and make allowance air flow for underwater exploration.

But, from the instant he started to recite the burial rites, the Reverend Spool’s voice was once remodeled into one as transparent, as deep, and as unbroken as a tolling bell. ‘We have come right here this present day, prior to God,’ he intoned, ‘to take note our brother and to dedicate his physique …’ Above our heads, a raven spiralled down out of the sky, letting out a noisy rasping shriek that made the vicar and a number of other of the onlookers bounce. It was once via a number of extra of its noisy brothers. The hoarse, screeching cries grew louder as progressively more of the jet-black birds swooped all the way down to the graveyard, their finger-like wing-tips scraping the needles of the yew timber as they got here in to land.

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