So, if you've been following me on social media you might have seen me tease a bit about this book, but now that NaNo is over, I am officially starting promotion on it as I'm hoping for a February release.
What is The New Emperor's Concerto about?
The year is 2223 and the world is on the cusp of World War Four. London is rife with anarchists and secret plots. It looks like dark days are coming for the British Empire. Darker than any that have been seen for decades.
But luckily England has some help.
Sir Lysander is the King's Righteous Man-and all that entails. He's the king's right hand, and a red one at that, the man who stands in the shadows and does what needs to be done for the protection of his country.
Eidolon is a phantom, the anarchist group Apophis's top retrieval expert. They need something, he gets it, no matter the consequence. Even though he'd secretly prefer to be in his flat with his cat and a good book.
They've been butting heads for a while, but in times like these loyalties are known to change and right now, any help is good help. They just didn't count on being the only thing standing between England and the start of the next world war.
~~~~
So if you like futuristic stories with a historical flair, and the good guys and bad guys having to work together to save the world, this is for you.
Sneak Peek
he halls were dark, empty and silent, save for his own bootsteps across the industrial tile flooring. Sir Lysander, which was our hero’s name, scanned the area with much scrutiny, looking for anything out of place.
One must be thorough when doing a particular mission for the King after all. And when one held the title of King’s Righteous Man, that was even more important.
A chirp in his ear reminded him of his companion, waiting with the car. Lysander put a finger to the com so he could better hear the other man’s voice coming through the device.
“Anything of note, sir?”
Lysander stopped at a door that was slightly ajar, and opened it, only to find a broom closet that hadn’t been properly shut. “Not as yet,” he replied, taking it upon himself to close the door properly. “But His Majesty’s concern is my own, of course. And it does seem remarkably silent. Anything to report on your end?”
“The new guard at the gate still hasn’t shown up.”
Lysander considered this. It couldbe something sinister going on, though of course it could also be something as mundane as the new guard getting waylaid by a trip to the loo. “Keep an eye on it.”
“Do you wish me to join you?”
“No,” Lysander replied. “Stay with the car. There’s no point in us both being in here if it turns out to be nothing.”
“As you wish, sir.”
Sinclair’s voice cut out and Lysander continued on his way through the research facility, abandoned by its workers for the night, not even a janitor to be found, which, come to think of it, was a bit odd.
He tugged the cuff of his glove down and tapped his wristband causing the display on his watch to come up, showing the time to be nearly 1:30 am. According to the rosters, the perimeter guard should have changed by now. If nothing else, it seemed that Lysander would have a poorly run roster to report to the king in one of London’s rather prestigious research labs.
Lysander turned down the next doorway toward the labs and nearly stumbled over the form laying across his path.
He pulled back, instinctively reaching for the gun at his thigh, before he crouched, turning the figure over.
“Well, there’s the janitor,” he muttered to himself, tapping the com in his ear to activate it as he felt for a pulse, surprised to find the man still alive. “Sinclair, it looks like we might have a spot of trouble after all. I just found the janitor unconscious.”
“I would assume the new guard was likewise waylaid then,”Sinclair replied. “Shall I join you now, sir?”
Lysander smirked a little at the veiled eagerness in his man’s voice. “Watch the door. We don’t want anyone escaping.”
He rose and was about to continue down the hallway, when he heard the sound of breaking glass behind the door closest to him. Lysander drew his pistol, and kicked it in.
This was one of the labs, he saw instantly as he entered, long tables filled with glass and metal, beakers and vials, and things he couldn’t guess the use for. He could see some glass on the floor, but no sign of life.
He stalked into the shadowed room, his dark clothing keeping him hidden save for the metallic glint of the king’s crest he wore on the breast of his waistcoat, telling of his occupation. That, however, was enough for the second man in the room.
A ghostly shape appeared out of the shadows with a roundhouse kick, slamming the gun out of Lysander’s hand.
He leapt back, regaining his footing, and blocked the next punch thrown at him with his forearm, before kicking out and gaining a grunt as his heavy boot connected with his opponent’s hip.
“Intriguing,” Lysander said mockingly. “I was told you were a ghost and had begun to believe it myself with all the times you’ve evaded me in the past. But it seems you are only a man of flesh and blood like all of us. What a disappointment.”
A wicked smirk appeared on the face of the other man as he ducked backwards into a beam of ambient light from a skylight. A shock of unnaturally white hair fell over his pale eyes, giving him an otherworldly look despite his obvious corporality. He gave a small bow.
“What a shame that I must disappoint one such as yourself,” he said. “I must say I am honored that the King would send his very own lapdog after me.”
Lysander lunged forward, and the other man skipped aside as if made of the shadows that crowded the majority of the room. Lysander stumbled into a metal table in his haste, hearing lab equipment crash to the floor. He cursed, wishing he’d had the foresight to bring his night vision gear. He heard a chuckle and spun around to see his opponent standing on another table, a gun in his hand. Lysander marveled at how he had gotten up there so fast and seemingly without any trouble. Perhaps he was a ghost after all.
“So sorry to cut this short, old chap, but I really must be going,” the pale man said and reached up.
Lysander dove for his gun on the floor, only to hear a shot ring out, and send his own weapon skittering across the floor. He leapt back and spun around, seeing the other man grabbing hold of a line with an automatic winch. He saluted Lysander as he was lifting off the floor and through the broken skylight.
Lysander grabbed for his gun one last time and turned to shoot, but by then the man was gone in a flutter of pale coattails and the Righteous Man cursed his bad luck, running for the door and barreling down the hallway to the stairs.
He tapped his com. “Sinclair, he’s on the roof, try to cut him off!”
He didn’t wait for an answer, throwing open the door to the stairs and tearing up them until he came out on the rooftop.
He spun around, gun held at the ready, looking for his escapee.
No one.
“Sinclair, do you have him?”
“I saw no one, sir. I’m sorry.”
Lysander cursed, holstering his gun again. “We lost him.”
