By Paul Stewart, Chris Riddell
“The corpses swayed the place they stood, their bony fingers 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 loss of life. Their sunken eyes bored into mine. i used to be surrounded. . . .”
Barnaby Grimes is a tick-tock lad, providing messages and operating errands everywhere in the urban, day and evening. Gangland funerals and diving expeditions are dangerous adequate, but if the graveyards start to quit their useless, this tick-tock lad is confronted along with his deadliest problem but. . . .
A blood-curdling story of greed and betrayal. Will Barnaby be defeated via 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 intriguing horrorthriller sequence set in Dickensian London.
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Additional resources for Legion of the Dead (Barnaby Grimes, Book 3)
As a substitute, staring again at me via hideous purple eyes used to be the stuff of submarine nightmares, a loathsome sea serpent of appalling measurement. Its physique on my own should have been 8 ft lengthy and used to be as thick as a tea-clipper’s mast. It used to be fringed, most sensible and backside, with a ruff of mottled spines, whereas muscular fins on both sides flexed and flicked like draymen’s whips. however it was once the creature’s head that used to be its so much massive characteristic. Inches from the diving helmet, it used to be blunt and shovel-shaped, the head aspect pitted and scratched from numerous encounters, and people chilly deep-set crimson eyes embedded on both sides of a whiplash barbelled snout. It raised its head and, throughout the glass panel of the breathing-hood, i discovered myself staring down into the ocean monster’s terrifying maw; a cavernous darkish gap surrounded via circle upon concentric circle of hooked, razor-sharp fangs. A tongue unfurled, thick and fibrous and set with 3 chisel-like enamel, because the creature lunged in the direction of me. Staring again at me used to be the stuff of submarine nightmares … all of sudden, every thing was once a blur of flow. In my panic I dropped the flare – and harpoon – which disappeared at the present. yet I controlled to snatch the awl in my correct hand as, with a hideous scraping noise, I felt the creature’s sucker-like mouth latch onto my left arm, which I had raised instinctively to guard my head. My screams reverberating round the steel helmet, I hacked blindly on the writhing, flexing physique of the monster, whilst I felt the corrosive sting of its chunk sinking into my forearm in the course of the oilskin. again and again, I introduced the metal awl down, puncturing the creature’s black scaly pores and skin, penetrating the rubbery flesh underneath after which wrenching the blade loose back. The water round us boiled and frothed with black scales, clumps of white flesh and billowing clouds of crimson blood. Then, by surprise – as suddenly because it had began – it was once over. The creature published its grip on my arm and that i tumbled backwards, the powerful harbour present sweeping me from my toes and wearing me off, clear of the harbour rock. Too overdue, as i used to be swept away, i noticed that during my frenzy I had severed the rope that tethered me to the professor’s boat. on the comparable second, an immense jerking wrench at my neck informed me that the respiring tube had reached the tip of its quantity. There sounded, through my correct ear, a pop like a cork flying from a champagne bottle. The tube had damaged freed from the valve at the helmet and the breathing-hood by surprise started to fill with water. I gulped in a final mouthful of air after which struck out for the skin, battling the load of the brass helmet – a second previous, the technique of survival; now the reason for peril. these moments in the dead of night waters of the harbour, being swept away on a present and struggling with to get to the outside, have been the longest of my lifestyles and, because the salt water rose within the helmet, filling my ears and stinging my eyes, i really believed that they have been to be my final. Then, after a seeming life of flailing, kicking, spluttering attempt, my ft hooked up with a deep shelf of shingle.