By Rory Clements
A riveting novella set in Elizabethan England—perfect for fanatics of C. J. Sansom and The Tudors.
Just a couple of days ahead of Christmas, a reluctant John Shakespeare—brother of a emerging playwright—answers a plea for aid from Joshua Peace, Searcher of the lifeless, yet he has no concept the type of risk he'll face. a unadorned guy has been present in a snowdrift, a wreath of holly crowning his head and a bullet in his back.
As throughout him organize for the festive season, Shakespeare needs to get to the bottom of a fancy plot of ardour and treachery and confront a cold-blooded assassin who won't hesitate to kill again.
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Extra resources for The Man in the Snow: A John Shakespeare Novella (John Shakespeare Mystery)
It's a time for charity. ’ The earl used to be sincerely inebriated and stumbled again into the corridor, clasping at a desk for help. His spouse sighed. ‘Come in, Mr Shakespeare and we are going to locate a few mulled wine for you either. ’ ‘Where is Dorcas? ’ ‘Why, in her chamber, i feel. ’ ‘And Stickley? ’ They seemed approximately one of the team of merry-makers. there has been no signal of him. ‘What is that this, Mr Shakespeare? you're scary me. ’ He overlooked her and drew his sword. ‘Come, Boltfoot. ’ The room fell silent and the revellers moved apart like an outgoing tide as Shakespeare led Boltfoot in the course of the little throng in the direction of the passage behind the home that ended in Dorcas’s chamber. as though from nowhere, the earl seemed in entrance of Shakespeare back, his personal sword now drawn. ‘Halt, you damnable dog! i cannot have you ever striding via my residence as if you have been the grasp right here. ’ ‘I am attempting to store a woman’s lifestyles. permit me move. ’ ‘No, Christ rattling you, i cannot. ’ The earl lunged ahead and stumbled to the floor. He have been driven within the again through the octagonal muzzle of Boltfoot’s caliver. Boltfoot stood over him, his gun pointing down, without delay at his middle. ‘Keep him there, Boltfoot. ’ Shakespeare driven on. He heard a cry and a crashing noise from someplace above. toes, heavy on floorboards, the sound of a fight. He started to run, tripping up the stairwell. Throwing open the door, he stepped in to the chamber, his sword-tip prolonged prior to him. the sunshine used to be dim, not more than one candle. figures have been wrestling at the flooring, gasping and growling. males. Dorcas used to be status opposed to a wall clutching her child. there has been a lurch and twisting of our bodies. one of many males threw the opposite one directly to his again. Shakespeare observed that it was once the French cook dinner, Curly Marot, on best. He had one hand at Stickley’s throat, the opposite gripped the steward’s knife-hand on the wrist. Shakespeare realised that Marot, although robust, wouldn't have the capacity to carry again Stickley’s lengthy dagger. unexpectedly the Frenchman’s grip slipped and the blade plunged into his higher arm. Marot cried out. because the dagger got here away, able to stab back, blood leapt out and spat into Stickley’s eye. He wrenched his skinny face sideways and pulled again the dagger for the second one strike. The blade hovered. This time its trajectory will be greater managed. it is going to plunge into Marot’s throat. Stickley used to be too gradual. Shakespeare was once already relocating ahead. With a low, arcing lower, his sword sliced in the course of the air and struck the wrist underneath Stickley’s hand. The blade used to be sharp and slashed simply via flesh, tendons and bone. The dagger flew, spinning, around the room, its hilt nonetheless gripped through Stickley’s severed hand. Blood rushed forth from either the lads at the ground. Marot fell again, clutching his arm. Stickley groaned and rose to his knees. He regarded approximately wildly and observed a baby’s swaddle band. Grabbing it together with his left hand, he wrapped it furiously round the blood-drenched stump the place his correct hand were. Wild-eyed, he attempted to upward thrust to his toes.