by

Sam Enthoven

A preview extract, with exclusive art by Malcolm Harrison

words (c) Sam Enthoven / visuals (c) Malcolm Harrison 2010. All rights reserved.

Click here for previous parts: 1 , 2 , 3 , 4

Final Sneak Peek

‘You accept my offer then, Steadman?’ I asked him, through the young man’s mouth.

‘Not . . . quite.’ Even through the speakers on the pit walls I could hear the smile in Steadman’s voice.

‘To the left of your pit,’ he said, ‘there is a door. Through it you could go anywhere you want, but the door is shut and the only one who can open it is me. To the right of your pit is a second door: that door is open. It leads to the building above us, a building known as the Barbican. There I’ve set up . . . a little bet.’

I waited. I had waited a long time. I was patient.

‘You’ve never seen the Barbican, of course,’ said Steadman. ‘The Corporation completed it in nineteen sixty-nine – rather after your time. Then, it was the largest performing arts centre in Europe. Now . . .’ He paused. ‘Well, you’ll find out.

‘I’m giving you a chance to prove yourself, my Queen,’ he went on. ‘If you show me that you can do what you claim, I’ll accept your offer. The first door will open. We’ll go through. Together, you and I will take charge of this world and run it the way it should be run.’

‘And if I . . . displease you?’

‘This room, along with the whole of the Barbican, is rigged with explosives. At midnight precisely they will detonate. The entire building will be destroyed, erasing all evidence of tonight’s events – including, if I have not opened the first door, you. Do we understand each other?’

‘Yes.’ I understood him better than he knew.

‘Then go, my Queen,’ said Steadman. ‘You have less than six hours. If you’re as powerful as you say, you’ll know what to do. And I can hardly wait,’ he added, ‘to see you do it.’

Already my hands were moving. All of them. The pit resounded with soft, crawling sounds.

My wait was over. Now, at last, I could begin.

———————————–

CRAWLERS is available to pre-order from bookshops now. ;D

Find out more at my brand new website: www.theycrawl.com

In the last 12 months I’ve had to learn that patience is a huge part of being a writer. But I don’t like it. The publishing business seems to move at the pace of a snail covered in treacle driving an electric car up a hill in reverse. Decisions take weeks. Action takes months. Negotiation takes forever.

Compared to all of that, writing is a speedy whippet of a thing, breezing through a racehorse stable with a jetpack. Trouble is, that makes it all the more frustrating that projects progress so slowly. To be honest, even when things are going well I find it incredibly demoralising. Maybe this is a symptom of my short attention span. Sometimes I get news (good, bad, indifferent) on projects I’ve forgotten I’m even involved with.

It makes me think that if I had the technical expertise I would just bypass the whole industry and publish everything I write on a website to sell (or give away) my stories directly. I’m not talking about rushing out something that’s substandard. I still take great care over what I write and I never even show it to anybody until I’m happy that it’s as good as it can possibly be. Then I enjoy the process of continuing to rewrite to satisfy excellent notes from my agent and editors. It’s everything else that seems to take so long.

Surely the future is quicker…

by

Sam Enthoven

A preview extract, with exclusive art by Malcolm Harrison

words (c) Sam Enthoven / visuals (c) Malcolm Harrison 2010. All rights reserved.

Click here for previous parts: 1 , 2 , 3

Part 4

Free. More than three centuries had passed while I had been held captive in this pit. In the early days Steadman’s predecessors had kept me here with spiked chains and armed guards. Behind those guards had stood more guards, their weapons trained on the first in case I did what I do.

Now, in Mr Steadman’s time, I heard an echoing hiss and a whine of machinery. As the lid of my pit drew back I allowed myself a moment of triumph. From that first, blazing night when they caught me I had known this day would come. The reason was simple: they had not killed me. Even in 1666 the Corporation of London had recognized my . . . gifts.

-Click here for Part Five-

The sixth form students at Abbeyfield School in Chippenham had been wrestling with this dragon for ages before I arrived. The reason everyone is smiling and happy in this photo is because the dragon had just eaten the librarian and we were all feeling very relieved to no longer be on the menu for lunch!

My round of schools included: The Licensed Victualler’s School in Ascot (now there’s a school I wish I’d gone to as a boy!), Abbeyfield School in Chippenham, Wheatley Park School in Oxford, St Bartholomew’s School in Newbury (whose students hijacked me and locked me in a room for an extra two hours after school so I could help them finish off some of their stories!  Really!  It was like the monster abduction all over again!) and Magdalen College in Brackley.   I had a great week, but am somewhat frustrated to find that despite my best efforts to escape, I’m back here in the cave again at the end of it.

by

Sam Enthoven

A preview extract, with exclusive art by Malcolm Harrison

words (c) Sam Enthoven / visuals (c) Malcolm Harrison 2010. All rights reserved.

Click here for previous parts: 1 , 2

Part 3

Mr Miller shrieked – a short, high note, his voice driven to that pitch by absolute terror.

The shriek stopped.

Then I spoke through his mouth.

‘I . . . like this one, Steadman.’ The words were husky and thick at first as I worked the unfamiliar vocal cords. ‘He’s young. Healthy. Much better than the sickly things you usually bring me.’

‘A treat for you, my Queen,’ said Steadman. ‘And he’s just the first of many. As of now, you no longer have to make do with those dregs I can steal from the streets without anyone noticing. As of this moment, you can take anyone you want.’ He paused, then said: ‘You are free.’

-Click here for Part 4-

by

Sam Enthoven

A preview extract, with exclusive art by Malcolm Harrison

words (c) Sam Enthoven / visuals (c) Malcolm Harrison 2010. All rights reserved.

Click here for Part 1

Part 2

Miller fell silent.

‘I . . . hate you,’ Steadman began.

‘I’ve never had the chance to say this to one of you before, but I’ve hated people like you my whole life. Ever since school, where my existence was made a misery by a smug, self-satisfied waster just like you, I have quietly dedicated my life to finding ways to revenge myself on your kind. Something unpleasant is about to happen to you. But you can comfort yourself with two things. First, it will be over far more quickly than you deserve, and second, you’re in a very privileged position. You, Mr Miller, are about to serve the Queen.’

I took my cue.

‘Gah!’ cried Miller into the darkness when I first touched him. ‘What’s that?’

‘What’s what?’ Steadman asked, amused.

‘There’s something . . . crawling. Like a spider. It’s going up my legs. Now it’s on my back! I can’t . . . Oh! Oh, God! GET IT OFF ME!’

-Click here for Part 3-

There’s no real order to them, other than the A3 sketchbooks which I allocate for each book I’m illustrating. And then there are the square sketchbooks (small, meduim and large), that I can’t resist buying and play around with for a couple of weeks before they dissapear under a pile of – well, usually books. I have way too many of those in my studio. Come to think of it, a lot of them are probably neglected and half finished sketchbooks.

But I digress. Back to my recently finished A5. Well, I’m always a little reluctant to say goodbye to the sketchbook I have on the go. It’s the closest I get to a diary, and it carries my most recent thoughts around with me. When I start a new one I sometimes like to carry a few of the more interesting drawings over, copying them again on the first few pages. It helps to give me a footing, somewhere to start.

Here’s a page I quite like. I’d been thinking about a story with a wolf and a sheep. I say a story, not even that, I just liked the idea of this unlikely couple. So I started to draw them. Scribbles really. But sometimes I feel I have something. So I decided to paint them.

I’m still not sure where they will go, if anywhere, but I’ve grown quite fond of them. I think I’ll start drawing them first in my new A5. Perhaps by the time I’ve finished this one – sometime in June, I guess – I may have found a place for them. A story, a poster, or just a few more pages in a half finished sketchbook..only time will tell.

by

Sam Enthoven

A preview extract, with exclusive art by Malcolm Harrison

words (c) Sam Enthoven / visuals (c) Malcolm Harrison 2010. All rights reserved.

Part 1

LONDON. The financial district, aka the City. Deep underground. 6:16pm

In the dark pit that had been my prison for almost three hundred and fifty years, Steadman’s latest victim was regaining consciousness.

‘Mr Miller?’ said Steadman’s voice from the pit’s wall-mounted speakers. ‘Mr Miller? Can you hear me?’

There was a groan. ‘Wh . . . what?’ The voice was that of a young man, not much more than a teenager. ‘Where am I? What . . . what happened?’

‘I imagine,’ said Steadman, ‘that the last thing you remember is lunch at my club. You spent most of the meal boasting about some trivial few million you made on the money markets this morning. For my part, I allowed you to imagine that the Corporation might be interested in you for a purpose other than your present one – and drugged your wine.’ He sighed. ‘Shocking way to treat a fine Margaux, I know. But then, so was wasting it on you.’

‘Mr Steadman,’ said his victim, trying for reason, ‘Lionel, I don’t—’

‘Kindly shut up and let me tell you what you’re doing there.’

-Click here for Part 2-

I just woke up from a very bad dream.
I was walking up the aisle with a custard cream.
Everyone was smiling and I tried to look festive,
But it’s hard when you really love a chocolate digestive.
The custard cream took off its veil. Should I kiss it? Could I risk it?
Spend the rest of my days with a stale, old biscuit?
I couldn’t face it. Had to go back to my true love, so pretty,
So I admitted, ‘Sorry, darling, I’m in love with Miss McVitie.’

Followers of TBM might remember Jethro’s Ace of Hearts, the story I posted here episodically together with some glorious artwork by our own David Melling.

Well: during the next week (starting Mon 8th March) I am going to serialize the opening scene of my new book, Crawlers.

The official launch date for the book isn’t until April. But right here, for free, every day for (as I’m currently planning-!) five days straight, you can get a special, early taste of what the book is like.

As an online-only bonus my words will be accompanied by some extraordinary images graciously provided for the purpose by digital artist Malcolm Harrison. Here’s an extra piece he sent me to give you an idea of what he can do.

I’m very excited. HEE HEE HEE HEE! Um, ’scuse me. ;D

Til Monday then,

Sam