2021, ISBN: 9780553581058
Edition reliée
Uhrichsville, OH: Barbour Publishing, Incorporated, 2005. Trade Paperback. Good. 5x0x8. No Stock Photos! We photograph every item. light edge wear, some tanning to page ends; Who does… Plus…
Uhrichsville, OH: Barbour Publishing, Incorporated, 2005. Trade Paperback. Good. 5x0x8. No Stock Photos! We photograph every item. light edge wear, some tanning to page ends; Who doesn't love the Christmas season, and who can resist a heart-touching romance? With romance and Christmas combined, readers won't be able to stop at just one story--and priced under $5, they'll not hesitate to buy more than one collection. So delight your romance readers with a brand-new selection of Christmas 2-in-l story collections. Mayhem ensues in these historical tales of matchmaking machinations in a small Texas town. What does Cut Corners need to do to get these gals hitched by Christmas?, Barbour Publishing, Incorporated, 2005, 2.5, New York: Beagle Books, 1970. Mass market paperback, 124 pages; very gently used, front cover reader's crease,, very tiny traces of shelf wear, very clean and unmarked.. First Thus. Soft Cover. Very Good., Beagle Books, 1970, 3, Crown Books for Young Readers. Library Binding. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Possible ex library copy, will have the markings and stickers associated from the library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, may not be included., Crown Books for Young Readers, 2.5, Viking Books for Young Readers. Used - Good. . . All orders guaranteed and ship within 24 hours. Your purchase supports More Than Words, a nonprofit job training program for youth, empowering youth to take charge of their lives by taking charge of a business., Viking Books for Young Readers, 2.5, "Unbroken "meets "Band of Brothers "and then some. Congressman Pete SessionsDuring the Vietnam War, hundreds of American prisoners-of-war faced years of brutal conditions and horrific torture at the hands of North Vietnamese guards and interrogators who ruthlessly plied them for military intelligence and propaganda. Determined to maintain their Code of Conduct, the POWs developed a powerful underground resistance. To quash it, their captors singled out its eleven leaders, Vietnam s own dirty dozen, and banished them to an isolated jail that would become known as Alcatraz. None would leave its solitary cells and interrogation rooms unscathed; one would never return. Inspirational. "Kirkus Reviews" As these men suffered in Hanoi, their wives back at home launched an extraordinary campaign that would ultimately spark the POW/MIA movement. When the survivors of Alcatraz finally returned, one would go on to receive the Medal of Honor, another would become a U.S. Senator, and a third still serves in the U.S. Congress. A story of survival and triumph, courage and brotherhood, "Defiant "is a compelling work that no reader will soon forget. A riveting tribute to true American heroes. Senator John McCain, POW (1967-73)" Publisher St. Martin's Press ISBN-10 1250091985 ISBN-13 9781250091987 Format Paperback Publication Year 2016 Language English, St. Martin's Paperbacks, 2016, 2.5, Crown Books for Young Readers. Used - Good. A sound copy with only light wear. Overall a solid copy at a great price!, Crown Books for Young Readers, 2.5, Teachers College Press. Paperback. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Possible ex library copy, will have the markings and stickers associated from the library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, may not be included., Teachers College Press, 2.5, Viking Books for Young Readers. Used - Very Good. . . All orders guaranteed and ship within 24 hours. Your purchase supports More Than Words, a nonprofit job training program for youth, empowering youth to take charge of their lives by taking charge of a business., Viking Books for Young Readers, 3, Crown Books for Young Readers. Used - Very Good. . . All orders guaranteed and ship within 24 hours. Your purchase supports More Than Words, a nonprofit job training program for youth, empowering youth to take charge of their lives by taking charge of a business., Crown Books for Young Readers, 3, DK Children. Paperback. POOR. Noticeably used book. Heavy wear to cover. Pages contain marginal notes, underlining, and or highlighting. Possible ex library copy, with all the markings/stickers of that library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, and dust jackets may not be included., DK Children, 1, Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, 2001-09-03. Hardcover. Very Good/Very Good. 9x6x1. Sis, Peter. No Stock Photos! We photograph every item. light edge wear to boards and jacket, light soiling to interior of jacket; Twins Kestrel and Bowman risked their lives to restore the key to the wind singer, and free the people of Aramanth of the evil Morah. Aramanth now lies undefended, unable to resist attack. Bowman is now a slave of the Mastery, but Kestrel escapes. While the twins embark on their adventures, their mother's prophetic dreams reveal their true identity and their dangerous fate., Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, 2001-09-03, 3, New York, New York, USA: Atheneum Books for Young Readers, 1973. BI5 - A tight, clean, sound copy with minor overall shelf wear plus there is some light fading on the cloth top edge plus there is a very light bump to the top right corners plus there is some tape staining on the inside outside surfaces of the boards front back endpapers from where the dust jacket was taped down to the boards plus the dust jacket endflaps are glued to the inside surfaces of the boards plus there is some light edge wear on the front board bottom edge plus there is some fading of the tinting on the top outside paper edges plus there is a crease in the front endpaper plus there are the usual library stamps, marks, pocket, and label on the top outside paper edges, front fixed endpaper, front free endpaper, inside surface of the front free endpaper, front freepaper, and title page. The dust jacket shows minor overall shelf wear mainly in the form of some very light edge wear on the spine top and bottom edges plus a small patch (about 1") of light chipping on the front bottom edge towards the right corner plus there is some light delamination and surface chipping along the front right edge plus the endflaps are glued to the inside surfaces of the boards plus it is still in the original library mylar sleeve. Translated from the French by Ralph Manheim. A novel told through myth and fact of a people's enslavement and humiliation and the survuval of their dignity in spite of everything. The story begins in West Africa among the Diola and the enslavement of some of them and their transport to the new world. The author is a naturalized French Jew of a Polish family of which all but him were rounded up by the Nazis and sent to the extermination camps. He became a member of the French resistance. The author is a winner of the Prix Goncourt. By the author of "The Last of the Just." 179p. . 2nd Printing. Hard Cover. Good/Good. 8vo - over 7¾" - 9¾" tall. Ex-Library., Atheneum Books for Young Readers, 1973, 2.5, Disney Lucasfilm Press. Paperback. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Possible ex library copy, will have the markings and stickers associated from the library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, may not be included., Disney Lucasfilm Press, 2.5, Crown Books for Young Readers. Hardcover. POOR. Noticeably used book. Heavy wear to cover. Pages contain marginal notes, underlining, and or highlighting. Possible ex library copy, with all the markings/stickers of that library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, and dust jackets may not be included., Crown Books for Young Readers, 1, Crown Books for Young Readers. Hardcover. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Possible ex library copy, will have the markings and stickers associated from the library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, may not be included., Crown Books for Young Readers, 2.5, Viking Books for Young Readers. Hardcover. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Possible ex library copy, will have the markings and stickers associated from the library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, may not be included., Viking Books for Young Readers, 2.5, Viking Books for Young Readers. Hardcover. VERY GOOD. Light rubbing wear to cover, spine and page edges. Very minimal writing or notations in margins not affecting the text. Possible clean ex-library copy, with their stickers and or stamp(s)., Viking Books for Young Readers, 3, HarperCollins. Hardcover. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Possible ex library copy, will have the markings and stickers associated from the library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, may not be included., HarperCollins, 2.5, Norton Young Readers. Hardcover. POOR. Noticeably used book. Heavy wear to cover. Pages contain marginal notes, underlining, and or highlighting. Possible ex library copy, with all the markings/stickers of that library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, and dust jackets may not be included., Norton Young Readers, 1, Scholastic. Very Good with no dust jacket. 2012. Hardcover. 0717278328 . Disney's Wonderful World of Reading; 8 oz.; Pictorial HC no DJ as issued name sticker on end page o/w appears unread. Disney's Wonderful World of Reading. Early readers will explore the delights of nature and experience the true power of friendship in this classic Disney tale. Young Mowgli, who was raised by wolves, has no desire to live the life of a human. When his beloved forest friends fear for his safety and encourage him to go to the man village, Mowgli resists and finds himself kidnapped by monkeys, beginning a dangerous adventure that spans a rich variety of jungle settings and characters. ., Scholastic, 2012, 3, Doubleday, 6-Nov-01. First Edition, Ex-Library. Hardcover. Very Good. Nice book! Very slight shelf wear on dustjacket, library stamps on edges & endpage, no marks in text. Amazon: John Grisham turns a satirical eye on the overblown ritual of the festive holiday season, and the result is Skipping Christmas, a modest but funny novel about the tyranny of December 25. Grisham's story revolves around a typical middle-aged American couple, Luther and Nora Krank. On the first Sunday after Thanksgiving they wave their daughter Blair off to Peru to work for the Peace Corps, and they suddenly realize that """"for the first time in her young and sheltered life Blair would spend Christmas away from home.""""\n\nLuther Krank sees his daughter's Christmas absence as an opportunity. He estimates that """"a year earlier, the Luther Krank family had spent $6,100 on Christmas,"""" and have """"precious little to show for it."""" So he makes an executive decision, telling his wife, friends, and neighbors that """"we won't do Christmas."""" Instead, Luther books a 10-day Caribbean cruise. But things start to turn nasty when horrified neighbors get wind of the Krank's subversive scheme and besiege the couple with questions about their decision. Grisham builds up a funny but increasingly terrifying picture of how this tight-knit community turns on the Kranks, who find themselves under increasing pressure to conform. As the tension mounts, readers may wonder whether they will manage to board their plane on Christmas day. Skipping Christmas is Grisham-lite, with none of the serious action or drama of his legal thrillers, but a funny poke at the craziness of Christmas. -Jerry Brotton From Publishers Weekly: For all its clever curmudgeonly edge and minor charms, no way does this Christmas yarn from Grisham rank with A Christmas Carol, as the publisher claims. Nor does it rank with Grisham's own best work. The premise is terrific, as you'd expect from Grisham. Fed up with the commercial aspects of Christmas, particularly all the money spent, and alone for the holiday for the first time in decades (their daughter has just joined the Peace Corps), grumpy Luther Krank and his sweeter wife, Nora, decide to skip Christmas this year to forgo the gifts, the tree, the decorations, the cards, the parties and to spend the dollars saved on a 10-day Caribbean cruise. But as clever as this setup is, its elaboration is ho-hum. There's a good reason why nearly all classic Christmas tales rely on an element of fantasy, for, literarily at least, Christmas is a time of miracles. Grisham sticks to the mundane, however, and his story lacks magic for that. He does a smartly entertaining job of satirizing the usual Christmas frenzy, as Luther and Nora resist entreaties from various charities as well as increasing pressure from their neighbors (all sharply drawn, recognizable members of the generic all-American burb, the book's setting) to do up their house in the traditional way, including installing the giant Frosty that this year adorns the roof of every home on the block except theirs. And when something happens that prompts the Kranks to jump back into Christmas at the last minute, Grisham does slip in a celebration of the real spirit of Christmas, to the point of perhaps squeezing a tear or two from his most sentimental readers (even if he comes uncomfortably close to It's a Wonderful Life to do so). But it's too little, too late. The misanthropy in this short novel makes a good antidote to the more cloying Christmas tales, and the book is fun to read. To compare it to Dickens, however, is...humbug. 1.5-million first printing. Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information, Inc., Doubleday, 6-Nov-01, 3, Viking Books for Young Readers, 2018-09-04. Hardcover. Good +. Hardcover. Good +. Ex-library with usual markings, otherwise in very good condition. Hardcover Book with Jacket.FREE Media Mail Shipping on all U.S. orders over $ 25.00, Viking Books for Young Readers, 2018-09-04, 2.5, Viking Books for Young Readers, 9/4/2018. Illustrated. Hardcover. Very Good. Very Good Condition- May show some limited signs of wear and may have a black line or red dot on edge of pages. Pages and dust cover are intact and not marred by notes or highlighting., Viking Books for Young Readers, 9/4/2018, 3, Wiley. Very Good. 186mm / 114mm. Paperback. 2009. 192 pages. <br>Melbourne Day by Day is the perfect answer for tra vellers who want to know the best places to visit and the best wa y to see the city. This attractively priced, four-colour guide of fers dozens of itineraries that show you how to see the best of M elbourne in a short time -- with bulleted maps that lead the way from sight to sight. Featuring a full range of thematic and neigh bourhood tours, plus dining, accommodation, shopping, nightlife, and practical visitor info, Melbourne Day by Day is the only guid e that helps travellers organise their time to get the most out o f a trip. Inside this book you'll find: Full color throughout w ith hundreds of photos and dozens of maps Sample one- to three- day itineraries that include listening to jazz in a cosmopolitan city laneway, touring the Melbourne Cricket Ground and Sports Mus eum, enjoying the view from St Kilda Pier, eating pasta on Lygon Street, driving the spectacular Great Ocean Road and more. Star ratings for all hotels, restaurants and attractions clue readers in on great finds and values Tear-resistant foldout map in a h andy, reclosable plastic wallet Foldout front cover, with at-a- glance maps and quick-reference info ., Wiley, 2009, 3, NY: Conde Nast Publications, 1970. Vol. LXXXV, No. 5. Edited by John W. Campbell. Cover art by Summers illustrating "Per Stratagem" (novelette) by Robert Chilson. Includes "Star Light" (pt. 2 of 4) by Hal Clement; "Beau Farcson Regrets" by Jack Wodhams; "Rare Events" by D. A. L. Hughes; "Ark IV" by Jackson Burrows. Science Fact: "Zero Resistance" by Walter C. Walterscheid. Reader's Departments: "The Editor's Page: The Pot of Message"; "In Times to Come"; "The Reference Library" by P. Schuyler Miller; "Brass Tacks". Illustrated by Leo Summers, and Kelly Freas. Short tear to front cover over lower staple with mild dampstain at same; dealer's stamp on first page; wraps a little rubbed.. SingleIssueMagazine. Very Good-., Conde Nast Publications, 1970, 3, Viking Books for Young Readers. Used - Like New. Great shape- pages are unmarked and sharp.Has a remainder mark. Hardcover Used - Like New Ships fast! 2018, Viking Books for Young Readers, 5, The New Press, 2018-02-06. Hardcover. Acceptable. 0.9100 in x 8.2700 in x 5.5100 in. Fairly worn, but still very usable. Advanced Reader Copy. Not for Sale. Clean, mark-free interior!, The New Press, 2018-02-06, 2.5, The New Press, 2018-02-06. Hardcover. Very Good. 0.9100 in x 8.2700 in x 5.5100 in. ** ADVANCE READERS EDITION PAPERBACK!! Marketing Campaign info on back! Great Collectible! **, The New Press, 2018-02-06, 3, The companion novel to Rebecca Wells's celebrated Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood.Who can resist the rich cadences of Sidda Walker and her flamboyant, secretive mother, Vivi? Here, the young Siddaa precocious reader and an eloquent observer of the fault lines that divide her familyleads us into her mischievous adventures at Our Lady of Divine Compassion parochial school and beyond. A Catholic girl of pristine manners, devotion, and provocative ideas, Sidda is the very essence of childhood joy and sorrow.An arresting combination of colloquialism, poetry, and grace, Little Altars Everywhere is an insightful, piercing, and unflinching evocation of childhood, a loving tribute to the transformative power of faith, and a thoroughly fresh chronicle of a family that is as haunted as it is blessed., HarperPerennial, 1992, 2.5, Celadon Books, 2021-09-07. Hardcover. Very Good. 0.0000 in x 9.2500 in x 6.1200 in. ** ADVANCE READER'S EDITION PAPERBACK!! Marketing Campaign info on back! Great Collectible! **, Celadon Books, 2021-09-07, 3, Celadon Books, 2021-09-07. Hardcover. Good. 0.0000 in x 9.2500 in x 6.1200 in. ** ADVANCE READER'S EDITION PAPERBACK!! Marketing Campaign info on back! Great Collectible! ** Good Condition. Reasonable wear. Still very usable. Clean, mark-free interior!, Celadon Books, 2021-09-07, 2.5, NY: Conde Nast Publications, 1970. Vol. LXXXV, No. 5. Edited by John W. Campbell. Cover art by Summers illustrating "Per Stratagem" (novelette) by Robert Chilson. Includes "Star Light" (pt. 2 of 4) by Hal Clement; "Beau Farcson Regrets" by Jack Wodhams; "Rare Events" by D. A. L. Hughes; "Ark IV" by Jackson Burrows. Science Fact: "Zero Resistance" by Walter C. Walterscheid. Reader's Departments: "The Editor's Page: The Pot of Message"; "In Times to Come"; "The Reference Library" by P. Schuyler Miller; "Brass Tacks". Illustrated by Leo Summers, and Kelly Freas. Front hinge stress, apparently fairly common with this issue.. SingleIssueMagazine. Very Good., Conde Nast Publications, 1970, 3, St. Martin's Paperbacks, March 2015. Mass Market Paperback. Used - Acceptable. Shelf and spine wear -- reader's copy., St. Martin's Paperbacks, 2.5, Random House Books for Young Readers , 2012. Hard Cover Hardcover. GOOD/GOOD. Binding: Hard Cover Series: Resisters #2 2012 Clean tight pages. Tight square binding. Dust jacket has edgewear, small closed tears. , Random House Books for Young Readers, 2012, 2.5, Random House Books for Young Readers. Hardcover. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Possible ex library copy, will have the markings and stickers associated from the library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, may not be included., Random House Books for Young Readers, 2.5, Disney Lucasfilm Press, October 2019. Paper Back . 3.1 PB standard 50%., Disney Lucasfilm Press, 0, Wiley. Very Good. 18.3 x 10.4 x 1.5 centimetres (0. Paperback. 2009. 192 pages. <br>Sydney Day by Day is the perfect answer for travel lers who want to know the best places to visit and the best way t o see the city. This attractively priced, four-colour guide offer s dozens of itineraries that show you how to see the best of Sydn ey in a short time -- with bulleted maps that lead the way from s ight to sight. Featuring a full range of thematic and neighborhoo d tours, plus dining, accommodation, shopping, nightlife, and pra ctical visitor info, Sydney Day by Day is the only guide that hel ps travellers organise their time to get the most out of a trip. Inside this book you'll find: Full colour throughout with hundr eds of photos and dozens of maps Sample one- to three-day itine raries that include tours of Circular Quay and the historic Rocks area, the city's best architectural sights, Sydney Opera House a nd Sydney Harbour Bridge, and more. Star ratings for all hotels , restaurants and attractions clue readers in on great finds and values Tear-resistant foldout map in a handy, reclosable plasti c wallet Foldout front cover, with at-a-glance maps and quick-r eference info ., Wiley, 2009, 3, Bantam. Good. 4.21 x 1.19 x 6.86 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2000. 464 pages. Cover worn <br>With her bestselling mystery series fea turing Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laurie R. King has creat ed lively adventure in the very best of intellectual company, acc ording to The New York Times Book Review. Now the author of The B eekeeper's Apprentice and The Moor--the first writer since Patric ia Cornwell to win both the American Edgar and British Creasey Aw ards for a debut novel (A Grave Talent)--unfolds a hitherto unkno wn chapter in the history of Russell's apprenticeship to the grea t detective. At the close of the year 1918, forced to flee Engla nd's green and pleasant land, Russell and Holmes enter British-oc cupied Palestine under the auspices of Holmes' enigmatic brother, Mycroft. Gentlemen, we are at your service. Thus Holmes greets the two travel-grimed Arab figures who receive them in the orange groves fringing the Holy Land. Whatever role could the volatile Ali and the taciturn Mahmoud play in Mycroft's design for this la nd the British so recently wrested from the Turks? After passing a series of tests, Holmes and Russell learn their guides are enga ged in a mission for His Majesty's Government, and disguise thems elves as Bedouins--Russell as the beardless youth Amir--to join t hem in a stealthy reconnaissance through the dusty countryside. A recent rash of murders seems unrelated to the growing tensions between Jew, Moslem, and Christian, yet Holmes is adamant that he must reconstruct the most recent one in the desert gully where i t occurred. His singular findings will lead him and Russell throu gh labyrinthine bazaars, verminous inns, cliff-hung monasteries-- and into mortal danger. When her mentor's inquiries jeopardize hi s life, Russell fearlessly wields a pistol and even assays the ar ts of seduction to save him. Bruised and bloodied, the pair ascen d to the jewellike city of Jerusalem, where they will at last mee t their adversary, whose lust for savagery and power could reduce the city's most ancient and sacred place to rubble and ignite th is tinderbox of a land.... Classically Holmesian yet enchantingl y fresh, sinuously plotted, with colorful characters and a dazzli ng historic ambience, O Jerusalem sweeps readers ever onward in t he thrill of the chase. From the Hardcover edition. Editorial R eviews Review Praise for Laurie R. King's Mary Russell novels: The great marvel of King's series is that she's managed to preser ve the integrity of Holmes' character and yet somehow conjure up a woman astute, edgy, and compelling enough to be the partner of his mind as well as his heart. --The Washington Post Book World The Moor: There's no resisting the appeal of King's thrillingly m oody scenes of Dartmoor and her lovely evocations of its legends. --The New York Times Book Review Erudite, fascinating...by all odds the most successful recreation of the famous inhabitant of 2 21B Baker Street ever attempted. --Houston Chronicle A Letter Of Mary: A lively adventure in the very best of intellectual compan y. --The New York Times Book Review An intellectual puzzler, ful l of bright red herrings and dazzling asides. --Chicago Tribune A Monstrous Regiment of Women: As audacious as it is entertaining and moving. --Chicago Tribune King has a gift for the rich, dec isive detail and the narrative crispness that distinguished Conan Doyle's writing. --The Washington Post Book World Beguiling...t antalizing. --The Boston Globe The Beekeeper's Apprentice: Rousi ng...riveting...suspenseful. --Chicago Sun-Times Worthy and welc ome, with the power to charm the most grizzled Baker Street Irreg ular. --Daily News, New York From the Hardcover edition. From t he Inside Flap With her bestselling mystery series featuring Sher lock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laurie R. King has created lively a dventure in the very best of intellectual company, according to T he New York Times Book Review. Now the author of The Beekeeper's Apprentice and The Moor--the first writer since Patricia Cornwell to win both the American Edgar and British Creasey Awards for a debut novel (A Grave Talent)--unfolds a hitherto unknown chapter in the history of Russell's apprenticeship to the great detective . At the close of the year 1918, forced to flee England's green and pleasant land, Russell and Holmes enter British-occupied Pale stine under the auspices of Holmes' enigmatic brother, Mycroft. Gentlemen, we are at your service. Thus Holmes greets the two tra vel-grimed Arab figures who receive them in the orange groves fri nging the Holy Land. Whatever role could the volatile Ali and the taciturn Mahmoud play in Mycroft's design for this land the Brit ish so recently wrested from the Turks? After passing a series of tests, Holmes and Russell learn their guides are engaged in a mi ssion for His Majesty's Government, and disguise themselves as Be douins--Russell as the beardless youth Amir--to join them in a st ealthy reconnaissance through the dusty countryside. A recent ra sh of murders seems unrelated to the growing tensions between Jew , Moslem, and Christian, yet Holmes is adamant that he must recon struct the most recent one in the desert gully where it occurred. His singular findings will lead him and Russell through labyrint hine bazaars, verminous inns, cliff-hung monasteries--and into mo rtal danger. When her mentor's inquiries jeopardize his life, Rus sell fearlessly wields a pistol and even assays the arts of seduc tion to save him. Bruised and bloodied, the pair ascend to the je wellike city of Jerusalem, where they will at last meet their adv ersary, whose lust for savagery and power could reduce the city's most ancient and sacred place to rubble and ignite this tinderbo x of a land.... Classically Holmesian yet enchantingly fresh, si nuously plotted, with colorful characters and a dazzling historic ambience, O Jerusalem sweeps readers ever onward in the thrill o f the chase. From the Hardcover edition. About the Author Lauri e R. King lives with her family in the hills above Monterey Bay i n northern California. Her background includes such diverse inter ests as Old Testament theology and construction work, and she has been writing crime fiction since 1987. The winner of both the Ed gar and the John Creasey Awards for Best First Novel, her most re cent novel is A Darker Place. From the Hardcover edition. Excer pt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. The skiff was black, its gunwales scant inches above the waves. Like my two co mpanions, I was dressed in dark clothing, my face smeared with la mp-black. The rowlocks were wrapped and muffled; the loudest soun ds in all the night were the light slap of water on wood and the rhythmic rustle of Steven's clothing as he pulled at the oars. H olmes stiffened first, then Steven's oars went still, and finally I too heard it: a distant deep thrum of engines off the starboar d side. It was not the boat we had come on, but it was approachin g fast, much too fast to outrun. Steven shipped the oars without a sound, and the three of us folded up into the bottom of the ski ff. The engines grew, and grew, until they filled the night and seemed to be right upon us, and still they grew, until I began to doubt the wisdom of this enterprise before it had even begun. Ho lmes and I kept our faces pressed against the boards and stared u p at the outline that was Steven, his head raised slightly above the boat. He turned to us, and I could see the faint gleam of his teeth as he spoke. They're coming this way, might not see us if they don't put their searchlights on. If they're going to hit us I'll give you ten seconds' warning. Fill your lungs, dive off to the stern as far as you can, and swim like the living hell. Best take your shoes off now. Holmes and I wrestled with each other' s laces and tugged, then lay again waiting. The heavy churn seeme d just feet away, but Steven said nothing. We remained frozen. My teeth ached with the noise, and the thud of the ship's engines b ecame my heart-beat, and then terrifyingly a huge wall loomed abo ve us and dim lights flew past over our heads. Without warning th e skiff dropped and then leapt into the air, spinning about in ti me to hit the next wave broadside, drenching us and coming within a hair's-breadth of overturning before we were slapped back into place by the following one, sliding down into the trough and mou nting the next. Down and up and down and around we were tossed un til eventually, wet through and dizzy as a child's top, we bobble d on the sea like the piece of flotsam we were and listened to th e engines fade. Steven sat up. Anyone overboard? he asked softly . We're both here, Holmes assured him. His voice was not complet ely level, and from the bow came the brief flash of Steven's teet h. Welcome to Palestine, he whispered, grinning ferociously. I groaned as I eased myself upright. My shoulder feels broken and-- oh, damn, I've lost a boot. How are you, Holmes? It was barely tw o weeks since a bomb had blown up just behind him as he stood ten ding a beehive, and although his abrasions were healing, his skin was far from whole. My back survives, Russell, and your footwea r is here. Holmes thrust the boot at me and I fumbled to take it, then bent and pulled it and the one I had managed to hold on to back over my sodden woollen stockings. Why don't they put more r unning lights on? I complained. Troop ship, explained Steven. St ill a bit nervous about submarines. There're rumours about that s ome of the German captains haven't heard the war's over yet. Or d on't want to hear. Quiet with the bailing now, he ordered. Taking the oars back in his hands, he turned us about and continued the steady pull to shore. The remaining mile passed without inciden t. Even with the added water on board, Steven worked the oars wit h a strong, smooth ease that would have put him on an eights team in Oxford. He glanced over his shoulder occasionally at the appr oaching shore, where we were to meet two gentlemen in the employ of His Majesty's government, Ali and Mahmoud Hazr. Other than the ir names, I hadn't a clue what awaited us here. Looking up from the bailing, I eventually decided that he was making for a spot m idway between a double light north of us and a slightly amber sin gle light to the south. Swells began to rise beneath the bow and the sound of breaking waves drew closer, until suddenly we were s kimming through the white foam of mild surf, and with a jar we cr unched onto the beach. Steven immediately shipped his oars, stoo d, and stepped over the prow of the little boat into the shallow water. Holmes grabbed his haversack and went next, jumping lightl y onto the coarse shingle. I followed, pausing for a moment on th e bow to squint through my salt-smeared spectacles at the dark sh ore. Steven put his hand up to help me, and as I shifted my eyes downward they registered with a shock two figures standing perfec tly still, thirty feet or so behind Holmes. Holmes, I hissed, th ere are two women behind you! Steven's hand on mine hesitated br iefly, then tugged again. Miss Russell, there'll be a patrol any minute. It's all right. I stepped cautiously into the water besi de him and moved up to where Holmes stood. Salaam aleikum, Steve n, came a voice from the night: accented, low, and by no means th at of a woman. Aleikum es-salaam, Ali. I hope you are well. Pra ise be to God, was the reply. I have a pair of pigeons for you. They could have landed at a more convenient time, Steven. Shall I take them away again? No, Steven. We accept delivery. Mahmoud regrets we cannot ask you to come and drink coffee, but at the m oment, it would not be wise. Maalesh, he added, using the all-pur pose Arabic expression that was a verbal shrug of the shoulders a t life's inequities and accidents. I thank Mahmoud, and will acc ept another time. Go with God, Ali. Allah watch your back, Steve n. Steven put his hip to the boat and shoved it out, then scramb led on board; his oars flashed briefly. Before he had cleared the breakwater, Holmes was hurrying me up the beach in the wake of t he two flowing black shapes. I stumbled when my boots left the sh ingle and hit a patch of paving stones, and then we were on a str eet, in what seemed to be a village or the outskirts of a town. For twenty breathless minutes our path was hindered by nothing mo re than uneven ground and the occasional barking mongrel, but abr uptly the two figures in front of us whirled around, swept us int o a filthy corner, and there we cowered, shivering in our damp cl othing, while two pairs of military boots trod slowly past and tw o torches illuminated various nooks and crannies, including ours. I froze when the light shone bright around the edges of the cloa ks that covered us, but the patrol must have seen only a pile of rubbish and rags, because the light played down our alley for onl y a brief instant, and went away, leaving us a pile of softly bre athing bodies. Some of us stank of garlic and goats. The footste ps faded around a corner, and we were caught up by our guides as rapidly as we had been pushed down in the first place, and swept off again down the road. This was the land my people had clung t o for more than three thousand years, I thought with irony: a squ alid, stinking village whose inhabitants were kept inside their c rumbling walls by the occupying British Expeditionary Forces. The streets of the Promised Land flowed not with milk and honey but with ordure, and the glories of Askalon and Asdod were faded inde ed. The third time we were pushed bodily into a corner and cover ed with the garlic- and sweat-impregnated robes of our companions (neither of them women, as close proximity had quickly made appa rent, despite the cheap scent one of them wore). I thought I shou ld suffocate with the combined stench of perfume and the nauseous weeks-old fish entrails and sweetly acrid decaying oranges that we knelt in. We were there a long, long time before the two men r emoved their hands from our shoulders and let us up. I staggered a few steps away and gagged, gulping huge cleansing lungfuls of s ea air and scrubbing at my nose in a vain attempt to remove the l ingering smell. Holmes laid a hand on my back, and I pulled mysel f together and followed the men. We covered perhaps six miles th at night, though barely three if measured in a direct line. We fr oze, we doubled back, we went in circles. Once we lost one of the dark robed figures, only to have him rejoin us, equally silently , some twenty minutes and one large circui, Bantam, 2000, 2.5<
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2001, ISBN: 9780553581058
Edition reliée
Bantam Books. Good. 6.93 x 1.54 x 4.29 inches. Paperback. 1993. 346 pages. Cover worn. <br>A very funny book... no character is m inor: they're all hilarious. --Houston Chronicl… Plus…
Bantam Books. Good. 6.93 x 1.54 x 4.29 inches. Paperback. 1993. 346 pages. Cover worn. <br>A very funny book... no character is m inor: they're all hilarious. --Houston Chronicle. In The Road T o Gandolfo, Robert Ludlum introduced us to the outrageous General MacKenzie Hawkins and his legal wizard, Sam Devereaux, whose plo t to kidnap the Pope spun wildly out of control into sheer hilari ty. Now Ludlum's two wayward heroes return with a diabolical sche me to right a very old wrong -- and wreak vengeance on the (exple tive deleted) who drummed the hawk out of the military. Their out raged opposition will be no less than the White House. Byzantine Treachery. Discovering a long-buried 1878 treaty with an obscure Indian tribe, the hawk -- a.k.a. Chief Thunder Head -- hatches a brilliant plot that will ultimately bring him and his reluctant l awyer Sam before the Supreme Court. Their goal: to reclaim a choi ce piece of American real estate -- the state of Nebraska. Which just happened to the headquarters of the U.S. Strategic Air Comma nd! Will they succeed against the powers that be? Will the Wopota mi tribe ever have their day in the Supreme Court? From the Oval Office to the Pentagon, all the president's men are outfitted, un til it rests with CIA Director Vincent Vinnie the Bam-Bam Mangeca vallo to cut Sam and Hawk off at the pass. And only one thing is certain: Robert Ludlum will keep us in nonstop suspense and side- splitting laughter-through the very last page. From the Paperbac k edition. Editorial Reviews Review Praise for Robert Ludlum an d The Road to Omaha A very funny book . . . No character is mino r: They're all hilarious.--Houston Chronicle Don't ever begin a Ludlum novel if you have to go to work the next day.--Chicago Sun -Times --This text refers to the hardcover edition. From the Pub lisher A very funny book... no character is minor: they're all hi larious. --Houston Chronicle. In The Road To Gandolfo, Robert L udlum introduced us to the outrageous General MacKenzie Hawkins a nd his legal wizard, Sam Devereaux, whose plot to kidnap the Pope spun wildly out of control into sheer hilarity. Now Ludlum's two wayward heroes return with a diabolical scheme to right a very o ld wrong -- and wreak vengeance on the (expletive deleted) who dr ummed the hawk out of the military. Their outraged opposition wil l be no less than the White House. Byzantine Treachery. Discoveri ng a long-buried 1878 treaty with an obscure Indian tribe, the ha wk -- a.k.a. Chief Thunder Head -- hatches a brilliant plot that will ultimately bring him and his reluctant lawyer Sam before the Supreme Court. Their goal: to reclaim a choice piece of American real estate -- the state of Nebraska. Which just happened to the headquarters of the U.S. Strategic Air Command! Will they succee d against the powers that be? Will the Wopotami tribe ever have t heir day in the Supreme Court? From the Oval Office to the Pentag on, all the president's men are outfitted, until it rests with CI A Director Vincent Vinnie the Bam-Bam Mangecavallo to cut Sam and Hawk off at the pass. And only one thing is certain: Robert Ludl um will keep us in nonstop suspense and side-splitting laughter-t hrough the very last page. --This text refers to the hardcover ed ition. About the Author Robert Ludlum was the author of twenty-o ne novels, each a New York Times bestseller. There are more than 210 million of his books in print, and they have been translated into thirty-two languages. In addition to the Jason Bourne series -The Bourne Identity, The Bourne Supremacy, and The Bourne Ultima tum-he was the author of The Scarlatti Inheritance, The Chancello r Manuscript, and The Apocalypse Watch, among many others. Mr. Lu dlum passed away in March, 2001. From the Paperback edition. --T his text refers to the hardcover edition. From the Inside Flap f unny book... no character is minor:  they're all hilarious. --Hou ston  Chronicle. In The Road To  Gandolfo, Robert Ludlum introd uced us to the  outrageous General MacKenzie Hawkins and his lega l  wizard, Sam Devereaux, whose plot to kidnap the  Pope spun wil dly out of control into sheer hilarity.  Now Ludlum's two wayward heroes return with a  diabolical scheme to right a very old wron g -- and  wreak vengeance on the (expletive deleted) who  drummed the hawk out of the military. Their outraged  opposition will be no less than the White House.  Byzantine Treachery. Discovering a long-buried 1878  treaty with an obscure Indian tribe, the hawk --  a.k.a. Chief Thunder Head -- hatches a brilliant plot  that will ultimately bring him and his reluctant  lawyer Sam before th e Supreme Court. Their goal: t --This text refers to the hardcove r edition. Excerpt. ? Reprinted by permission. All rights reserv ed. 1 The small, decrepit office on the top floor of the govern ment building was from another era, which was to say nobody but t he present occupant had used it in sixty-four years and eight mon ths. It was not that there were dark secrets in its walls or male volent ghosts from the past hovering below the shabby ceiling; qu ite simply, nobody wanted to use it. And another point should be made clear. It was not actually on the top floor, it was above th e top floor, reached by a narrow wooden staircase, the kind the w ives of New Bedford whalers climbed to prowl the balconies, hopin g--most of the time--for familiar ships that signaled the return of their own particular Ahabs from the angry ocean. In summer mo nths the office was suffocating, as there was only one small wind ow. During the winter it was freezing, as its wooden shell had no insulation and the window rattled incessantly, impervious to cau lking, permitting the cold winds to whip inside as though invited . In essence, this room, this antiquated upper chamber with its s parse furniture purchased around the turn of the century, was the Siberia of the government agency in which it was housed. The las t formal employee who toiled there was a discredited American Ind ian who had the temerity to learn to read English and suggested t o his superiors, who themselves could barely read English, that c ertain restrictions placed on a reservation of the Navajo nation were too severe. It is said the man died in that upper office in the cold January of 1927 and was not discovered until the followi ng May, when the weather was warm and the air suddenly scented. T he government agency was, of course, the United States Bureau of Indian Affairs. For the current occupant, however, the foregoing was not a deterrent but rather an incentive. The lone figure in the nondescript gray suit huddled over the rolltop desk, which wa sn't much of a desk, as all its little drawers had been removed a nd the rolling top was stuck at half-mast, was General Mac?Ken?zi e Hawkins, military legend, hero in three wars and twice winner o f the Congressional Medal of Honor. This giant of a man, his lean muscular figure belying his elderly years, his steely eyes and t anned leather-lined face perhaps confirming a number of them, had once again gone into combat. However, for the first time in his life, he was not at war with the enemies of his beloved United St ates of America but with the government of the United States itse lf. Over something that took place a hundred and twelve years ago . It didn't much matter when, he thought, as he squeaked around in his ancient swivel chair and propelled himself to an adjacent table piled high with old leather-bound ledgers and maps. They we re the same pricky-shits who had screwed him, stripped him of his uniform, and put him out to military pasture! They were all the goddamned same, whether in their frilly frock coats of a hundred years ago or their piss-elegant, tight-assed pinstripes of today. They were all pricky-shits. Time did not matter, nailing them di d! The general pulled down the chain of a green-shaded, goosenec ked lamp--circa early twenties--and studied a map, in his right h and a large magnifying glass. He then spun around to his dilapida ted desk and reread the paragraph he had underlined in the ledger whose binding had split with age. His perpetually squinting eyes suddenly were wide and bright with excitement. He reached for th e only instrument of communication he had at his disposal, since the installation of a telephone might reveal his more than schola rly presence at the Bureau. It was a small cone attached to a tub e; he blew into it twice, the signal of emergency. He waited for a reply; it came over the primitive instrument thirty-eight secon ds later. Mac? said the rasping voice over the antediluvian conn ection. Heseltine, I've got it! For Christ's sake, blow into th is thing a little easier, will you? My secretary was here and I t hink she thought my dentures were whistling. She's out? She's o ut, confirmed Heseltine Broke?michael, director of the Bureau of Indian Affairs. What is it? I just told you, I've got it! Got w hat? The biggest con job the pricky-shits ever pulled, the same pricky-shits who made us wear civvies, old buddy! Oh, I'd love t o get those bastards. Where did it happen and when? In Nebraska. A hundred and twelve years ago. Silence. Then: Mac, we weren't around then! Not even you! It doesn't matter, Heseltine. It's t he same horseshit. The same bastards who did it to them did it to you and me a hundred years later. Who's 'them'? An offshoot of the Mohawks called the Wopotami tribe. They migrated to the Nebr aska territories in the middle 1800s. So? It's time for the sea led archives, General Broke?michael. Don't say that! Nobody can do that! You can, General. I need final confirmation, just a few loose ends to clear up. For what? Why? Because the Wopotamis m ay still legally own all the land and air rights in and around Om aha, Nebraska. You're crazy, Mac! That's the Strategic Air Comma nd! Only a couple of missing items, buried fragments, and the fa cts are there. . . . I'll meet you in the cella rs, at the vault to the archives, General Broke?michael. .& #8200;. . Or should I call you co-chairman of the Joint Chi efs of Staff, along with me, Heseltine? If I'm right, and I know damn well I am, we've got the White House-Pentagon axis in such a bind, their collective tails won't be able to evacuate until we tell 'em to. Silence. Then: I'll let you in, Mac, but then I fa de until you tell me I've got my uniform back. Fair enough. Inci dentally, I'm packing everything I've got here and taking it back to my place in Arlington. That poor son of a bitch who died up i n this rat's nest and wasn't found until the perfume drifted down didn't die in vain! The two generals stalked through the metal shelves of the musty sealed archives, the dull, webbed lights so dim they relied on their flashlights. In the seventh aisle, Mac?K en?zie Hawkins stopped, his beam on an ancient volume whose leath er binding was cracked. I think this is it, Heseltine. Good, and you can't take it out of here! I understand that, General, so I 'll merely take a few photographs and return it. Hawkins removed a tiny spy camera with 110 film from his gray suit. How many rol ls have you got? asked former General Heseltine Broke?michael as Mac?Ken?zie carried the huge book to a steel table at the end of the aisle. Eight, replied Hawkins, opening the yellow-paged volu me to the pages he needed. I have a couple of others, if you nee d them, said Heseltine. Not that I'm so all fired-up by what you think you may have found, but if there's any way to get back at E thelred, I'll take it! I thought you two had made up, broke in M ac?Ken?zie, while turning pages and snapping pictures. Never! I t wasn't Ethelred's fault, it was that rotten lawyer in the Inspe ctor General's office, a half-assed kid from Harvard named Devere aux, Sam Devereaux. He made the mistake, not Brokey the Deuce. Tw o Broke?michaels; he got 'em mixed up, that's all. Horseshit! Br okey-Two put the finger on me! I think you're wrong, but that's not what I'm here for and neither are you. . .  . Brokey, I need the volume next to or near this one. It should s ay CXII on the binding. Get it for me, will you? As the head of I ndian Affairs walked back into the metal stacks, the Hawk took a single-edged razor out of his pocket and sliced out fifteen succe ssive pages of the archival ledger. Without folding the precious papers, he slipped them under his suit coat. I can't find it, sa id Broke?michael. Never mind, I've got what I need. What now, M ac? A long time, Heseltine, maybe a long, long time, perhaps a y ear or so, but I've got to make it right--so right there's no hol es, no holes at all. In what? In a suit I'm going to file again st the government of the United States, replied Hawkins, pulling a mutilated cigar out of his pocket and lighting it with a World War II Zippo. You wait, Brokey-One, and you watch. Good God, for what? . . . Don't smoke! You're not supposed t o smoke in here! Oh, Brokey, you and your cousin, Ethelred, alwa ys went too much by the book, and when the book didn't match the action, you looked for more books. It's not in the books, Heselti ne, not the ones you can read. It's in your stomach, in your gut. Some things are right and some things are wrong, it's as simple as that. The gut tells you. What the hell are you talking about? Your gut tells you to look for books you're not supposed to rea d. In places where they keep secrets, like right in here. Mac, y ou're not making sense! Give me a year, maybe two, Brokey, and t hen you'll understand. I've got to do it right. Real right. Gener al Mac?Ken?zie Hawkins strode out between the metal racks of the archives to the exit. Goddamn, he said to himself. Now I really g o to work. Get ready for me, you magnificent Wopotamis. I'm yours ! Twenty-one months passed, and nobody was ready for Thunder Hea d, chief of the Wopotamis. 2 The President of the United States , his jaw firm, his angry eyes steady and penetrating, accelerate d his pace along the steel-gray corridor in the underground compl ex of the, Bantam Books, 1993, 2.5, Bantam. Good. 4.21 x 1.19 x 6.86 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2000. 464 pages. Cover worn <br>With her bestselling mystery series fea turing Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laurie R. King has creat ed lively adventure in the very best of intellectual company, acc ording to The New York Times Book Review. Now the author of The B eekeeper's Apprentice and The Moor--the first writer since Patric ia Cornwell to win both the American Edgar and British Creasey Aw ards for a debut novel (A Grave Talent)--unfolds a hitherto unkno wn chapter in the history of Russell's apprenticeship to the grea t detective. At the close of the year 1918, forced to flee Engla nd's green and pleasant land, Russell and Holmes enter British-oc cupied Palestine under the auspices of Holmes' enigmatic brother, Mycroft. Gentlemen, we are at your service. Thus Holmes greets the two travel-grimed Arab figures who receive them in the orange groves fringing the Holy Land. Whatever role could the volatile Ali and the taciturn Mahmoud play in Mycroft's design for this la nd the British so recently wrested from the Turks? After passing a series of tests, Holmes and Russell learn their guides are enga ged in a mission for His Majesty's Government, and disguise thems elves as Bedouins--Russell as the beardless youth Amir--to join t hem in a stealthy reconnaissance through the dusty countryside. A recent rash of murders seems unrelated to the growing tensions between Jew, Moslem, and Christian, yet Holmes is adamant that he must reconstruct the most recent one in the desert gully where i t occurred. His singular findings will lead him and Russell throu gh labyrinthine bazaars, verminous inns, cliff-hung monasteries-- and into mortal danger. When her mentor's inquiries jeopardize hi s life, Russell fearlessly wields a pistol and even assays the ar ts of seduction to save him. Bruised and bloodied, the pair ascen d to the jewellike city of Jerusalem, where they will at last mee t their adversary, whose lust for savagery and power could reduce the city's most ancient and sacred place to rubble and ignite th is tinderbox of a land.... Classically Holmesian yet enchantingl y fresh, sinuously plotted, with colorful characters and a dazzli ng historic ambience, O Jerusalem sweeps readers ever onward in t he thrill of the chase. From the Hardcover edition. Editorial R eviews Review Praise for Laurie R. King's Mary Russell novels: The great marvel of King's series is that she's managed to preser ve the integrity of Holmes' character and yet somehow conjure up a woman astute, edgy, and compelling enough to be the partner of his mind as well as his heart. --The Washington Post Book World The Moor: There's no resisting the appeal of King's thrillingly m oody scenes of Dartmoor and her lovely evocations of its legends. --The New York Times Book Review Erudite, fascinating...by all odds the most successful recreation of the famous inhabitant of 2 21B Baker Street ever attempted. --Houston Chronicle A Letter Of Mary: A lively adventure in the very best of intellectual compan y. --The New York Times Book Review An intellectual puzzler, ful l of bright red herrings and dazzling asides. --Chicago Tribune A Monstrous Regiment of Women: As audacious as it is entertaining and moving. --Chicago Tribune King has a gift for the rich, dec isive detail and the narrative crispness that distinguished Conan Doyle's writing. --The Washington Post Book World Beguiling...t antalizing. --The Boston Globe The Beekeeper's Apprentice: Rousi ng...riveting...suspenseful. --Chicago Sun-Times Worthy and welc ome, with the power to charm the most grizzled Baker Street Irreg ular. --Daily News, New York From the Hardcover edition. From t he Inside Flap With her bestselling mystery series featuring Sher lock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laurie R. King has created lively a dventure in the very best of intellectual company, according to T he New York Times Book Review. Now the author of The Beekeeper's Apprentice and The Moor--the first writer since Patricia Cornwell to win both the American Edgar and British Creasey Awards for a debut novel (A Grave Talent)--unfolds a hitherto unknown chapter in the history of Russell's apprenticeship to the great detective . At the close of the year 1918, forced to flee England's green and pleasant land, Russell and Holmes enter British-occupied Pale stine under the auspices of Holmes' enigmatic brother, Mycroft. Gentlemen, we are at your service. Thus Holmes greets the two tra vel-grimed Arab figures who receive them in the orange groves fri nging the Holy Land. Whatever role could the volatile Ali and the taciturn Mahmoud play in Mycroft's design for this land the Brit ish so recently wrested from the Turks? After passing a series of tests, Holmes and Russell learn their guides are engaged in a mi ssion for His Majesty's Government, and disguise themselves as Be douins--Russell as the beardless youth Amir--to join them in a st ealthy reconnaissance through the dusty countryside. A recent ra sh of murders seems unrelated to the growing tensions between Jew , Moslem, and Christian, yet Holmes is adamant that he must recon struct the most recent one in the desert gully where it occurred. His singular findings will lead him and Russell through labyrint hine bazaars, verminous inns, cliff-hung monasteries--and into mo rtal danger. When her mentor's inquiries jeopardize his life, Rus sell fearlessly wields a pistol and even assays the arts of seduc tion to save him. Bruised and bloodied, the pair ascend to the je wellike city of Jerusalem, where they will at last meet their adv ersary, whose lust for savagery and power could reduce the city's most ancient and sacred place to rubble and ignite this tinderbo x of a land.... Classically Holmesian yet enchantingly fresh, si nuously plotted, with colorful characters and a dazzling historic ambience, O Jerusalem sweeps readers ever onward in the thrill o f the chase. From the Hardcover edition. About the Author Lauri e R. King lives with her family in the hills above Monterey Bay i n northern California. Her background includes such diverse inter ests as Old Testament theology and construction work, and she has been writing crime fiction since 1987. The winner of both the Ed gar and the John Creasey Awards for Best First Novel, her most re cent novel is A Darker Place. From the Hardcover edition. Excer pt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. The skiff was black, its gunwales scant inches above the waves. Like my two co mpanions, I was dressed in dark clothing, my face smeared with la mp-black. The rowlocks were wrapped and muffled; the loudest soun ds in all the night were the light slap of water on wood and the rhythmic rustle of Steven's clothing as he pulled at the oars. H olmes stiffened first, then Steven's oars went still, and finally I too heard it: a distant deep thrum of engines off the starboar d side. It was not the boat we had come on, but it was approachin g fast, much too fast to outrun. Steven shipped the oars without a sound, and the three of us folded up into the bottom of the ski ff. The engines grew, and grew, until they filled the night and seemed to be right upon us, and still they grew, until I began to doubt the wisdom of this enterprise before it had even begun. Ho lmes and I kept our faces pressed against the boards and stared u p at the outline that was Steven, his head raised slightly above the boat. He turned to us, and I could see the faint gleam of his teeth as he spoke. They're coming this way, might not see us if they don't put their searchlights on. If they're going to hit us I'll give you ten seconds' warning. Fill your lungs, dive off to the stern as far as you can, and swim like the living hell. Best take your shoes off now. Holmes and I wrestled with each other' s laces and tugged, then lay again waiting. The heavy churn seeme d just feet away, but Steven said nothing. We remained frozen. My teeth ached with the noise, and the thud of the ship's engines b ecame my heart-beat, and then terrifyingly a huge wall loomed abo ve us and dim lights flew past over our heads. Without warning th e skiff dropped and then leapt into the air, spinning about in ti me to hit the next wave broadside, drenching us and coming within a hair's-breadth of overturning before we were slapped back into place by the following one, sliding down into the trough and mou nting the next. Down and up and down and around we were tossed un til eventually, wet through and dizzy as a child's top, we bobble d on the sea like the piece of flotsam we were and listened to th e engines fade. Steven sat up. Anyone overboard? he asked softly . We're both here, Holmes assured him. His voice was not complet ely level, and from the bow came the brief flash of Steven's teet h. Welcome to Palestine, he whispered, grinning ferociously. I groaned as I eased myself upright. My shoulder feels broken and-- oh, damn, I've lost a boot. How are you, Holmes? It was barely tw o weeks since a bomb had blown up just behind him as he stood ten ding a beehive, and although his abrasions were healing, his skin was far from whole. My back survives, Russell, and your footwea r is here. Holmes thrust the boot at me and I fumbled to take it, then bent and pulled it and the one I had managed to hold on to back over my sodden woollen stockings. Why don't they put more r unning lights on? I complained. Troop ship, explained Steven. St ill a bit nervous about submarines. There're rumours about that s ome of the German captains haven't heard the war's over yet. Or d on't want to hear. Quiet with the bailing now, he ordered. Taking the oars back in his hands, he turned us about and continued the steady pull to shore. The remaining mile passed without inciden t. Even with the added water on board, Steven worked the oars wit h a strong, smooth ease that would have put him on an eights team in Oxford. He glanced over his shoulder occasionally at the appr oaching shore, where we were to meet two gentlemen in the employ of His Majesty's government, Ali and Mahmoud Hazr. Other than the ir names, I hadn't a clue what awaited us here. Looking up from the bailing, I eventually decided that he was making for a spot m idway between a double light north of us and a slightly amber sin gle light to the south. Swells began to rise beneath the bow and the sound of breaking waves drew closer, until suddenly we were s kimming through the white foam of mild surf, and with a jar we cr unched onto the beach. Steven immediately shipped his oars, stoo d, and stepped over the prow of the little boat into the shallow water. Holmes grabbed his haversack and went next, jumping lightl y onto the coarse shingle. I followed, pausing for a moment on th e bow to squint through my salt-smeared spectacles at the dark sh ore. Steven put his hand up to help me, and as I shifted my eyes downward they registered with a shock two figures standing perfec tly still, thirty feet or so behind Holmes. Holmes, I hissed, th ere are two women behind you! Steven's hand on mine hesitated br iefly, then tugged again. Miss Russell, there'll be a patrol any minute. It's all right. I stepped cautiously into the water besi de him and moved up to where Holmes stood. Salaam aleikum, Steve n, came a voice from the night: accented, low, and by no means th at of a woman. Aleikum es-salaam, Ali. I hope you are well. Pra ise be to God, was the reply. I have a pair of pigeons for you. They could have landed at a more convenient time, Steven. Shall I take them away again? No, Steven. We accept delivery. Mahmoud regrets we cannot ask you to come and drink coffee, but at the m oment, it would not be wise. Maalesh, he added, using the all-pur pose Arabic expression that was a verbal shrug of the shoulders a t life's inequities and accidents. I thank Mahmoud, and will acc ept another time. Go with God, Ali. Allah watch your back, Steve n. Steven put his hip to the boat and shoved it out, then scramb led on board; his oars flashed briefly. Before he had cleared the breakwater, Holmes was hurrying me up the beach in the wake of t he two flowing black shapes. I stumbled when my boots left the sh ingle and hit a patch of paving stones, and then we were on a str eet, in what seemed to be a village or the outskirts of a town. For twenty breathless minutes our path was hindered by nothing mo re than uneven ground and the occasional barking mongrel, but abr uptly the two figures in front of us whirled around, swept us int o a filthy corner, and there we cowered, shivering in our damp cl othing, while two pairs of military boots trod slowly past and tw o torches illuminated various nooks and crannies, including ours. I froze when the light shone bright around the edges of the cloa ks that covered us, but the patrol must have seen only a pile of rubbish and rags, because the light played down our alley for onl y a brief instant, and went away, leaving us a pile of softly bre athing bodies. Some of us stank of garlic and goats. The footste ps faded around a corner, and we were caught up by our guides as rapidly as we had been pushed down in the first place, and swept off again down the road. This was the land my people had clung t o for more than three thousand years, I thought with irony: a squ alid, stinking village whose inhabitants were kept inside their c rumbling walls by the occupying British Expeditionary Forces. The streets of the Promised Land flowed not with milk and honey but with ordure, and the glories of Askalon and Asdod were faded inde ed. The third time we were pushed bodily into a corner and cover ed with the garlic- and sweat-impregnated robes of our companions (neither of them women, as close proximity had quickly made appa rent, despite the cheap scent one of them wore). I thought I shou ld suffocate with the combined stench of perfume and the nauseous weeks-old fish entrails and sweetly acrid decaying oranges that we knelt in. We were there a long, long time before the two men r emoved their hands from our shoulders and let us up. I staggered a few steps away and gagged, gulping huge cleansing lungfuls of s ea air and scrubbing at my nose in a vain attempt to remove the l ingering smell. Holmes laid a hand on my back, and I pulled mysel f together and followed the men. We covered perhaps six miles th at night, though barely three if measured in a direct line. We fr oze, we doubled back, we went in circles. Once we lost one of the dark robed figures, only to have him rejoin us, equally silently , some twenty minutes and one large circui, Bantam, 2000, 2.5<
nzl, nzl | Biblio.co.uk |
2008, ISBN: 9780553581058
Edition reliée
Headline. Fair. 6.26 x 9.17 x 1.02 inches. Paperback. 2008. 320 pages. Ex-library. Cover worn.<br>In the fourteenth book in t he series, the stakes are raised even higher as Stephan… Plus…
Headline. Fair. 6.26 x 9.17 x 1.02 inches. Paperback. 2008. 320 pages. Ex-library. Cover worn.<br>In the fourteenth book in t he series, the stakes are raised even higher as Stephanie Plum fi nds herself in her most dangerous, hilarious, hottest, chase yet. With her loveably offbeat family along for the ride (as well as a few new faces), it's clear to see why the Plum novels are calle d Hot Stuff by the New York Times and why Evanovich herself is ca lled the master. Editorial Reviews From Publishers Weekly Starr ed Review. Lorelei King returns to Trenton, N.J., to continue the misadventures of Stephanie Plum, intermittently successful bount y hunter. King is one of many to voice Janet Evanovich's successf ul series, but her voice can be heard above the crowd, especially when she's bringing the more colorful characters to life. Her fo rmer prostitute Lula can tear down walls with the force of her pe rsonality, and King gives professional security specialist (read mercenary) Ranger the measured tones of one who is always in cont rol. Stephanie spends much of the book blue from a briefcase dye bomb. King's Plum accepts her blueness and responds to the reacti ons with indignity, ruefulness and eventually resignation. In add ition to established favorites, Evanovich has thrown into the mix a 60-ish singer trying to hang onto fame who gives King plenty o f scope for her Southern side. Fearless Fourteen becomes peerless fourteen with narrator King at the helm. A St. Martin's hardcove r (Reviews, May 19). (June) Copyright ® Reed Business Informatio n, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. --This t ext refers to the audioCD edition. From Booklist Our heroine, th e irrepressible bounty hunter Stephanie Plum, finds herself watch ing over a goth teen called Zook, who is heavily into gaming, aft er his mom can't make bail and disappears (or has been kidnapped) . A lot of people think there is stolen money buried in or near O fficer Morelli's little house--that's Steph's Morelli, the cop wh o is her number-one boyfriend most of the time, or at least when the entrancing Ranger isn't nearby. The money is the reason behin d Zook's mom's disappearance, and it's the tie that binds Evanovi ch's various plotlines, which carom about endlessly, not always r esolving. Questions abound: Are Steph's sidekick, the plus-size L ula, and Ranger's man Tank really engaged? Ranger is working secu rity for a fading but brassy pop star: How does Steph manage to g et into and out of her reality show? Can Zook and his sidekicks p rotect Morelli's house--and Stephanie--with their homegrown weapo nry (think potatoes as missiles)? Where else but Evanovich's four teenth novel can a line like it's raining money and popsicles! ac tually make sense? Fans will be delighted, but others, who stumbl e into the series at this advanced point, may find themselves sta rved for backstory, so much so that they may need to go all the w ay back to One for the Money (1994). --GraceAnne A. DeCandido --T his text refers to the audioCD edition. From the Back Cover Per sonal vendettas. Hidden treasure. A monkey named Carl. In her lat est adventure, bounty hunter Stephanie Plum is as fearless as eve r... The Crime: Armed robbery to the tune of nine million dollar s. Dom Rizzi robbed a bank, stashed the money, and did the time. His family couldn't be more proud. He always was the smart one. The Cousin: Joe Morelli. Morelli is Dom's cousin. He's also a cop . Less than a week after Dom's release from prison, Morelli has s hadowy figures breaking into his house and dying in his basement. Meanwhile, Dom has gone missing... The Catastrophe: Moonman. Mo relli hires Walter Mooner Dunphy, stoner and inventor turned crim e fighter, to protect his house. Morelli is low on cash. Mooner w ill work for potatoes. The Cupcake: Stephanie Plum. Stephanie an d Morelli have a long-standing relationship that involves sex, af fection, and driving each other nuts. She's a bond enforcement ag ent with more luck than talent, and she's involved in this bank-r obbery-gone-bad disaster from day one. The Crisis: Ranger. Secur ity expert Carlos Manoso, street name Ranger, has a job for Steph anie that will involve night work. Morelli has his own ideas rega rding Stephanie's evening activities. The Conclusion: Be fearles s. Read FOURTEEN! Visit: www.evanovich.com --This text refers to the audioCD edition. Review [Lorelei] King is one of many to v oice Janet Evanovich's successful series, but her voice can be he ard above the crowd...Fearless Fourteen becomes peerless fourteen with narrator King at the helm. -Publishers Weekly, Starred Revi ew Lorelei King gives a fantastic performance... relax and enjoy Evanovich's tight writing and King's amazing reading of everyone from Stephanie to tough cops to adolescent boys to a Big Black M ama of a woman. -AudioFile on Fearless Fourteen, an Earphones Awa rd Winner AudioFile Golden Earphones Award-winning actress Lorel ei King, who also read Evanovich's Eleven on Top and Twelve Sharp , returns, effectively bringing to life more than a dozen of Evan ovich's legendarily quirky characters. -Kirkus Reviews For fans of Evanovich mysteries on audiobook, Lorelei King is more than a reader -- she is Stepahnie Plum. -Publishers Weekly Stephanie Pl um is a bounty hunter with a great sense of humor that balances o ut her attitude and worse luck...like Dorothy Parker with a lousy job and a Jersey accent. -Time Evanovich's series is as addicti ve as Fritos...Evanovich serves up consistently craveable goodies . -People These books are really just laugh-out-loud funny. -Hub Pages --This text refers to the audioCD edition. Excerpt. ® Repr inted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter One In my min d, my kitchen is filled with crackers and cheese, roast chicken l eftovers, farm fresh eggs, and coffee beans ready to grind. The r eality is that I keep my Smith & Wesson in the cookie jar, my Ore os in the micro wave, a jar of peanut butter and hamster food in the over-the-counter cupboard, and I have beer and olives in the refrigerator. I used to have a birthday cake in the freezer for e mergencies, but I ate it. Truth is, I would dearly love to be a domestic goddess, but the birthday cake keeps getting eaten. I m ean, you buy it, and you eat it, right? And then where are you? N o birthday cake. Ditto cheese and crackers and eggs and the roast chicken leftovers (which were from my mother). The coffee beans are light-years away. I don't own a grinder. I guess I could buy two birthday cakes, but I'm afraid I'd eat both. My name is Ste phanie Plum, and in my defense I'd like to say that I have bread and milk on my shopping list, and I don't have any communicable d iseases. I'm five feet, seven inches. My hair is brown and should er length and naturally curly. My eyes are blue. My teeth are mos tly straight. My manicure was pretty good three days ago, and my shape is okay. I work as a bond enforcement agent for my cousin V innie, and today I was standing in Loretta Rizzi's kitchen, think ing not only was Loretta ahead of me in the kitchen-needs-a-makeo ver race, but she made me look like a piker in the Loose Cannon C lub. It was eight in the morning, and Loretta was wearing a lon g, pink flannel nightgown and holding a gun to her head. I'm go nna shoot myself, Loretta said. Not that it would matter to you, because you get your money dead or alive, right? Technically, t hat's true, I told her. But dead is a pain in the tuchus. There's paperwork. A lot of the people Vinnie bonds out are from my Ch ambersburg neighborhood in Trenton, New Jersey. Loretta Rizzi was one of those people. I went to school with Loretta. She's a year older than me, and she left high school early to have a baby. No w she was wanted for armed robbery, and she was about to blow her brains out. Vinnie had posted Loretta's bond, and Loretta had failed to show for her court appearance, so I was dispatched to d rag her back to jail. And as luck would have it, I walked in at a bad moment and interrupted her suicide. I just wanted a drink, Loretta said. Yeah, but you held up a liquor store. Most peopl e would have gone to a bar. I didn't have any money, and it was hot, and I needed a Tom Collins. A tear rolled down Loretta's ch eek. I've been thirsty lately, she said. Loretta is a half a he ad shorter than me. She has curly black hair and a body kept tone d by hefting serving trays for catered affairs at the fire house. She hasn't changed much since high school. A few crinkle lines a round her eyes. A little harder set to her mouth. She's Italian-A merican and related to half the Burg, including my off-and-on boy friend, Joe Morelli. This was your first offense. And you didn' t shoot anyone. Probably you'll get off with a hand-slap, I told Loretta. I had my period, she said. I wasn't thinking right. Loretta lives in a rented row house on the edge of the Burg. She has two bedrooms, one bath, a scrubbed-clean, crackerbox kitchen, and a living room filled with secondhand furniture. Hard to make ends meet when you're a single mother without a high school dipl oma. The back door swung open and my sidekick, Lula, stuck her head in. What's going on in here? I'm tired of waiting in the car . I thought this was gonna be a quick pickup, and then we were go ing for breakfast. Lula is a former 'ho, turned bonds office fi le clerk and wheelman. She's a plus-size black woman who likes to squash herself into too small clothes featuring animal print and spandex. Lula's cup runneth over from head to toe. Loretta is having a bad morning, I said. Lula checked Loretta out. I can s ee that. She's still in her nightie. Notice anything else? I as ked Lula. You mean like she's tryin' to style her hair with a S mith & Wesson? I don't want to go to jail, Loretta said. It's not so bad, Lula told her. If you can get them to send you to th e work house, you'll get dental. I'm a disgrace, Loretta said. Lula shifted her weight on her spike-heeled Manolo knock-offs. You be more of a disgrace if you pull that trigger. You'll have a big hole in your head, and your mother won't be able to have an open-casket viewing. And who's going to clean up the mess it'll m ake in your kitchen? I have an insurance policy, Loretta said. If I kill myself, my son, Mario, will be able to manage until he can get a job. If I go to jail, he'll be on his own without any m oney. Insurance policies don't pay out on suicides, Lula said. Oh crap! Is that true? Loretta asked me. Yeah. Anyway, I don' t know why you're worried about that. You have a big family. Some one will take care of Mario. It's not that easy. My mother is i n rehab from when she had the stroke. She can't take him. And my brother, Dom, can't take him. He just got out of jail three days ago. He's on probation. What about your sister? My sister's g ot her hands full with her own kids. Her rat turd husband left he r for some pre-puberty lap dancer. There must be someone who ca n baby-sit for you, Lula said to Loretta. Everyone's got their own thing going. And I don't want to leave Mario with just anybod y. He's very sensitive . . . and artistic. I counted back and p laced her kid in his early teens. Loretta had never married, and so far as I know, she'd never fingered a father for him. Maybe you could take him, Loretta said to me. What? No. No, no, no, n o. Just until I can make bail. And then I'll try to find someon e more permanent. If I take you in now, Vinnie can bond you out right away. Yeah, but if something goes wrong, I need someone to pick Mario up after school. What can go wrong? I don't kno w. A mother worries about these things. Promise you'll pick him u p if I'm still in jail. He gets out at two-thirty. She'll do it , Lula said to Loretta. Just put the gun down and go get dressed so we can get this over and done. I need coffee. I need one of th ose extra-greasy breakfast sandwiches. I gotta clog my arteries o n account of otherwise the blood rushes around too fast and I mig ht get a dizzy spell. Lula was sprawled on the brown Naugahyde couch hugging the wall in the bonds office, and Vinnie's office m anager, Connie Rosolli, was at her desk. Connie and the desk had been strategically placed in front of Vinnie's inner-office door with the hope it would discourage pissed-off pimps, bookies, and other assorted lowlifes from rushing in and strangling Vinnie. What do you mean she isn't bonded out? I asked Connie, my voice r ising to an octave normally only heard from Minnie Mouse. She h as no money to secure the bond. And no assets. That's impossibl e. Everyone has assets. What about her mother? Her brother? She m ust have a hundred cousins living in a ten-mile radius. She's w orking on it, but right now she has nothing. Bupkus. Nada. So Vin nie's waiting on her. Yeah, and it's almost two-thirty, Lula sa id.You better go get her kid like you promised. Connie swiveled her head toward me and her eyebrows went up to her hairline. You promised to take care of Mario? I said I'd pick him up if Lore tta wasn't bonded out in time. I didn't know there'd be an issue with her bond. Oh boy, Connie said. Good luck with that one. Loretta said he was sensitive and artistic. I don't know about the sensitive part, but his art is limited to spray paint. He's p robably defaced half of Trenton. Loretta has to pick him up from school because they won't let him on a school bus. I hiked my b ag onto my shoulder. I'm just driving him home. That was the deal . There might be some gray area in the deal, Lula said. You mig ht've said you'd take care of him. And anyways, you can't dump hi m in an empty house. You get child ser vices after you for doin' that. Well, what the heck am I supposed to do with him? Lula and Connie did I don't know shoulder shrugs. Maybe I can sign f or Loretta's bond, I said to Connie. I don't think that'll fly, Connie said. You're the only person I know who has fewer assets than Loretta. Great. I huffed out of the office and rammed myse lf into my latest P.O.S. car. It was a Nissan Sentra that used to be silver but was now mostly rust. It had doughnut-size wheels, a Jaguar hood ornament, and a bobble-head Tony Stewart doll in th e back window. I like Tony Stewart a lot, but see, Headline, 2008, 2, Bantam. Good. 4.21 x 1.19 x 6.86 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2000. 464 pages. Cover worn <br>With her bestselling mystery series fea turing Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laurie R. King has creat ed lively adventure in the very best of intellectual company, acc ording to The New York Times Book Review. Now the author of The B eekeeper's Apprentice and The Moor--the first writer since Patric ia Cornwell to win both the American Edgar and British Creasey Aw ards for a debut novel (A Grave Talent)--unfolds a hitherto unkno wn chapter in the history of Russell's apprenticeship to the grea t detective. At the close of the year 1918, forced to flee Engla nd's green and pleasant land, Russell and Holmes enter British-oc cupied Palestine under the auspices of Holmes' enigmatic brother, Mycroft. Gentlemen, we are at your service. Thus Holmes greets the two travel-grimed Arab figures who receive them in the orange groves fringing the Holy Land. Whatever role could the volatile Ali and the taciturn Mahmoud play in Mycroft's design for this la nd the British so recently wrested from the Turks? After passing a series of tests, Holmes and Russell learn their guides are enga ged in a mission for His Majesty's Government, and disguise thems elves as Bedouins--Russell as the beardless youth Amir--to join t hem in a stealthy reconnaissance through the dusty countryside. A recent rash of murders seems unrelated to the growing tensions between Jew, Moslem, and Christian, yet Holmes is adamant that he must reconstruct the most recent one in the desert gully where i t occurred. His singular findings will lead him and Russell throu gh labyrinthine bazaars, verminous inns, cliff-hung monasteries-- and into mortal danger. When her mentor's inquiries jeopardize hi s life, Russell fearlessly wields a pistol and even assays the ar ts of seduction to save him. Bruised and bloodied, the pair ascen d to the jewellike city of Jerusalem, where they will at last mee t their adversary, whose lust for savagery and power could reduce the city's most ancient and sacred place to rubble and ignite th is tinderbox of a land.... Classically Holmesian yet enchantingl y fresh, sinuously plotted, with colorful characters and a dazzli ng historic ambience, O Jerusalem sweeps readers ever onward in t he thrill of the chase. From the Hardcover edition. Editorial R eviews Review Praise for Laurie R. King's Mary Russell novels: The great marvel of King's series is that she's managed to preser ve the integrity of Holmes' character and yet somehow conjure up a woman astute, edgy, and compelling enough to be the partner of his mind as well as his heart. --The Washington Post Book World The Moor: There's no resisting the appeal of King's thrillingly m oody scenes of Dartmoor and her lovely evocations of its legends. --The New York Times Book Review Erudite, fascinating...by all odds the most successful recreation of the famous inhabitant of 2 21B Baker Street ever attempted. --Houston Chronicle A Letter Of Mary: A lively adventure in the very best of intellectual compan y. --The New York Times Book Review An intellectual puzzler, ful l of bright red herrings and dazzling asides. --Chicago Tribune A Monstrous Regiment of Women: As audacious as it is entertaining and moving. --Chicago Tribune King has a gift for the rich, dec isive detail and the narrative crispness that distinguished Conan Doyle's writing. --The Washington Post Book World Beguiling...t antalizing. --The Boston Globe The Beekeeper's Apprentice: Rousi ng...riveting...suspenseful. --Chicago Sun-Times Worthy and welc ome, with the power to charm the most grizzled Baker Street Irreg ular. --Daily News, New York From the Hardcover edition. From t he Inside Flap With her bestselling mystery series featuring Sher lock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laurie R. King has created lively a dventure in the very best of intellectual company, according to T he New York Times Book Review. Now the author of The Beekeeper's Apprentice and The Moor--the first writer since Patricia Cornwell to win both the American Edgar and British Creasey Awards for a debut novel (A Grave Talent)--unfolds a hitherto unknown chapter in the history of Russell's apprenticeship to the great detective . At the close of the year 1918, forced to flee England's green and pleasant land, Russell and Holmes enter British-occupied Pale stine under the auspices of Holmes' enigmatic brother, Mycroft. Gentlemen, we are at your service. Thus Holmes greets the two tra vel-grimed Arab figures who receive them in the orange groves fri nging the Holy Land. Whatever role could the volatile Ali and the taciturn Mahmoud play in Mycroft's design for this land the Brit ish so recently wrested from the Turks? After passing a series of tests, Holmes and Russell learn their guides are engaged in a mi ssion for His Majesty's Government, and disguise themselves as Be douins--Russell as the beardless youth Amir--to join them in a st ealthy reconnaissance through the dusty countryside. A recent ra sh of murders seems unrelated to the growing tensions between Jew , Moslem, and Christian, yet Holmes is adamant that he must recon struct the most recent one in the desert gully where it occurred. His singular findings will lead him and Russell through labyrint hine bazaars, verminous inns, cliff-hung monasteries--and into mo rtal danger. When her mentor's inquiries jeopardize his life, Rus sell fearlessly wields a pistol and even assays the arts of seduc tion to save him. Bruised and bloodied, the pair ascend to the je wellike city of Jerusalem, where they will at last meet their adv ersary, whose lust for savagery and power could reduce the city's most ancient and sacred place to rubble and ignite this tinderbo x of a land.... Classically Holmesian yet enchantingly fresh, si nuously plotted, with colorful characters and a dazzling historic ambience, O Jerusalem sweeps readers ever onward in the thrill o f the chase. From the Hardcover edition. About the Author Lauri e R. King lives with her family in the hills above Monterey Bay i n northern California. Her background includes such diverse inter ests as Old Testament theology and construction work, and she has been writing crime fiction since 1987. The winner of both the Ed gar and the John Creasey Awards for Best First Novel, her most re cent novel is A Darker Place. From the Hardcover edition. Excer pt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. The skiff was black, its gunwales scant inches above the waves. Like my two co mpanions, I was dressed in dark clothing, my face smeared with la mp-black. The rowlocks were wrapped and muffled; the loudest soun ds in all the night were the light slap of water on wood and the rhythmic rustle of Steven's clothing as he pulled at the oars. H olmes stiffened first, then Steven's oars went still, and finally I too heard it: a distant deep thrum of engines off the starboar d side. It was not the boat we had come on, but it was approachin g fast, much too fast to outrun. Steven shipped the oars without a sound, and the three of us folded up into the bottom of the ski ff. The engines grew, and grew, until they filled the night and seemed to be right upon us, and still they grew, until I began to doubt the wisdom of this enterprise before it had even begun. Ho lmes and I kept our faces pressed against the boards and stared u p at the outline that was Steven, his head raised slightly above the boat. He turned to us, and I could see the faint gleam of his teeth as he spoke. They're coming this way, might not see us if they don't put their searchlights on. If they're going to hit us I'll give you ten seconds' warning. Fill your lungs, dive off to the stern as far as you can, and swim like the living hell. Best take your shoes off now. Holmes and I wrestled with each other' s laces and tugged, then lay again waiting. The heavy churn seeme d just feet away, but Steven said nothing. We remained frozen. My teeth ached with the noise, and the thud of the ship's engines b ecame my heart-beat, and then terrifyingly a huge wall loomed abo ve us and dim lights flew past over our heads. Without warning th e skiff dropped and then leapt into the air, spinning about in ti me to hit the next wave broadside, drenching us and coming within a hair's-breadth of overturning before we were slapped back into place by the following one, sliding down into the trough and mou nting the next. Down and up and down and around we were tossed un til eventually, wet through and dizzy as a child's top, we bobble d on the sea like the piece of flotsam we were and listened to th e engines fade. Steven sat up. Anyone overboard? he asked softly . We're both here, Holmes assured him. His voice was not complet ely level, and from the bow came the brief flash of Steven's teet h. Welcome to Palestine, he whispered, grinning ferociously. I groaned as I eased myself upright. My shoulder feels broken and-- oh, damn, I've lost a boot. How are you, Holmes? It was barely tw o weeks since a bomb had blown up just behind him as he stood ten ding a beehive, and although his abrasions were healing, his skin was far from whole. My back survives, Russell, and your footwea r is here. Holmes thrust the boot at me and I fumbled to take it, then bent and pulled it and the one I had managed to hold on to back over my sodden woollen stockings. Why don't they put more r unning lights on? I complained. Troop ship, explained Steven. St ill a bit nervous about submarines. There're rumours about that s ome of the German captains haven't heard the war's over yet. Or d on't want to hear. Quiet with the bailing now, he ordered. Taking the oars back in his hands, he turned us about and continued the steady pull to shore. The remaining mile passed without inciden t. Even with the added water on board, Steven worked the oars wit h a strong, smooth ease that would have put him on an eights team in Oxford. He glanced over his shoulder occasionally at the appr oaching shore, where we were to meet two gentlemen in the employ of His Majesty's government, Ali and Mahmoud Hazr. Other than the ir names, I hadn't a clue what awaited us here. Looking up from the bailing, I eventually decided that he was making for a spot m idway between a double light north of us and a slightly amber sin gle light to the south. Swells began to rise beneath the bow and the sound of breaking waves drew closer, until suddenly we were s kimming through the white foam of mild surf, and with a jar we cr unched onto the beach. Steven immediately shipped his oars, stoo d, and stepped over the prow of the little boat into the shallow water. Holmes grabbed his haversack and went next, jumping lightl y onto the coarse shingle. I followed, pausing for a moment on th e bow to squint through my salt-smeared spectacles at the dark sh ore. Steven put his hand up to help me, and as I shifted my eyes downward they registered with a shock two figures standing perfec tly still, thirty feet or so behind Holmes. Holmes, I hissed, th ere are two women behind you! Steven's hand on mine hesitated br iefly, then tugged again. Miss Russell, there'll be a patrol any minute. It's all right. I stepped cautiously into the water besi de him and moved up to where Holmes stood. Salaam aleikum, Steve n, came a voice from the night: accented, low, and by no means th at of a woman. Aleikum es-salaam, Ali. I hope you are well. Pra ise be to God, was the reply. I have a pair of pigeons for you. They could have landed at a more convenient time, Steven. Shall I take them away again? No, Steven. We accept delivery. Mahmoud regrets we cannot ask you to come and drink coffee, but at the m oment, it would not be wise. Maalesh, he added, using the all-pur pose Arabic expression that was a verbal shrug of the shoulders a t life's inequities and accidents. I thank Mahmoud, and will acc ept another time. Go with God, Ali. Allah watch your back, Steve n. Steven put his hip to the boat and shoved it out, then scramb led on board; his oars flashed briefly. Before he had cleared the breakwater, Holmes was hurrying me up the beach in the wake of t he two flowing black shapes. I stumbled when my boots left the sh ingle and hit a patch of paving stones, and then we were on a str eet, in what seemed to be a village or the outskirts of a town. For twenty breathless minutes our path was hindered by nothing mo re than uneven ground and the occasional barking mongrel, but abr uptly the two figures in front of us whirled around, swept us int o a filthy corner, and there we cowered, shivering in our damp cl othing, while two pairs of military boots trod slowly past and tw o torches illuminated various nooks and crannies, including ours. I froze when the light shone bright around the edges of the cloa ks that covered us, but the patrol must have seen only a pile of rubbish and rags, because the light played down our alley for onl y a brief instant, and went away, leaving us a pile of softly bre athing bodies. Some of us stank of garlic and goats. The footste ps faded around a corner, and we were caught up by our guides as rapidly as we had been pushed down in the first place, and swept off again down the road. This was the land my people had clung t o for more than three thousand years, I thought with irony: a squ alid, stinking village whose inhabitants were kept inside their c rumbling walls by the occupying British Expeditionary Forces. The streets of the Promised Land flowed not with milk and honey but with ordure, and the glories of Askalon and Asdod were faded inde ed. The third time we were pushed bodily into a corner and cover ed with the garlic- and sweat-impregnated robes of our companions (neither of them women, as close proximity had quickly made appa rent, despite the cheap scent one of them wore). I thought I shou ld suffocate with the combined stench of perfume and the nauseous weeks-old fish entrails and sweetly acrid decaying oranges that we knelt in. We were there a long, long time before the two men r emoved their hands from our shoulders and let us up. I staggered a few steps away and gagged, gulping huge cleansing lungfuls of s ea air and scrubbing at my nose in a vain attempt to remove the l ingering smell. Holmes laid a hand on my back, and I pulled mysel f together and followed the men. We covered perhaps six miles th at night, though barely three if measured in a direct line. We fr oze, we doubled back, we went in circles. Once we lost one of the dark robed figures, only to have him rejoin us, equally silently , some twenty minutes and one large circui, Bantam, 2000, 2.5<
nzl, nzl | Biblio.co.uk |
2000, ISBN: 9780553581058
Edition reliée
Little, Brown Book Group. Good. 4.25 x 1.1 x 7.01 inches. Paperback. 2000. 440 pages. Cover worn. <br>A farmhouse destroyed by fire. A body amongst the ruins. Dr Kay Scarpetta, Chi… Plus…
Little, Brown Book Group. Good. 4.25 x 1.1 x 7.01 inches. Paperback. 2000. 440 pages. Cover worn. <br>A farmhouse destroyed by fire. A body amongst the ruins. Dr Kay Scarpetta, Chief Medical Examiner and c onsulting pathologist for the federal law enforcement agency ATF, is called out to a farmhouse in Virginia which has been destroye d by fire. In the ruins of the house she finds a body which tells a story of a violent and grisly murder. The fire has come at the same time as another, even more incendiary horror: Carrie Grethe n, a killer who nearly destroyed the lives of Scarpetta and those closest to her, has escaped from a forensic psychiatric hospital . Her whereabouts is unknown, but her ultimate destination is not , for Carrie has begun to communicate with Scarpetta, conveying h er deadly - if cryptic - plans for revenge. Chillingly mesmeric i n tone, labyrinthine in structure, POINT OF ORIGIN is Patricia Co rnwell at her most dazzling. For more about Patricia Cornwell a nd her books visit her website on www.patricia-cornwell.com ., Little, Brown Book Group, 2000, 2.5, Bantam. Good. 4.21 x 1.19 x 6.86 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2000. 464 pages. Cover worn <br>With her bestselling mystery series fea turing Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laurie R. King has creat ed lively adventure in the very best of intellectual company, acc ording to The New York Times Book Review. Now the author of The B eekeeper's Apprentice and The Moor--the first writer since Patric ia Cornwell to win both the American Edgar and British Creasey Aw ards for a debut novel (A Grave Talent)--unfolds a hitherto unkno wn chapter in the history of Russell's apprenticeship to the grea t detective. At the close of the year 1918, forced to flee Engla nd's green and pleasant land, Russell and Holmes enter British-oc cupied Palestine under the auspices of Holmes' enigmatic brother, Mycroft. Gentlemen, we are at your service. Thus Holmes greets the two travel-grimed Arab figures who receive them in the orange groves fringing the Holy Land. Whatever role could the volatile Ali and the taciturn Mahmoud play in Mycroft's design for this la nd the British so recently wrested from the Turks? After passing a series of tests, Holmes and Russell learn their guides are enga ged in a mission for His Majesty's Government, and disguise thems elves as Bedouins--Russell as the beardless youth Amir--to join t hem in a stealthy reconnaissance through the dusty countryside. A recent rash of murders seems unrelated to the growing tensions between Jew, Moslem, and Christian, yet Holmes is adamant that he must reconstruct the most recent one in the desert gully where i t occurred. His singular findings will lead him and Russell throu gh labyrinthine bazaars, verminous inns, cliff-hung monasteries-- and into mortal danger. When her mentor's inquiries jeopardize hi s life, Russell fearlessly wields a pistol and even assays the ar ts of seduction to save him. Bruised and bloodied, the pair ascen d to the jewellike city of Jerusalem, where they will at last mee t their adversary, whose lust for savagery and power could reduce the city's most ancient and sacred place to rubble and ignite th is tinderbox of a land.... Classically Holmesian yet enchantingl y fresh, sinuously plotted, with colorful characters and a dazzli ng historic ambience, O Jerusalem sweeps readers ever onward in t he thrill of the chase. From the Hardcover edition. Editorial R eviews Review Praise for Laurie R. King's Mary Russell novels: The great marvel of King's series is that she's managed to preser ve the integrity of Holmes' character and yet somehow conjure up a woman astute, edgy, and compelling enough to be the partner of his mind as well as his heart. --The Washington Post Book World The Moor: There's no resisting the appeal of King's thrillingly m oody scenes of Dartmoor and her lovely evocations of its legends. --The New York Times Book Review Erudite, fascinating...by all odds the most successful recreation of the famous inhabitant of 2 21B Baker Street ever attempted. --Houston Chronicle A Letter Of Mary: A lively adventure in the very best of intellectual compan y. --The New York Times Book Review An intellectual puzzler, ful l of bright red herrings and dazzling asides. --Chicago Tribune A Monstrous Regiment of Women: As audacious as it is entertaining and moving. --Chicago Tribune King has a gift for the rich, dec isive detail and the narrative crispness that distinguished Conan Doyle's writing. --The Washington Post Book World Beguiling...t antalizing. --The Boston Globe The Beekeeper's Apprentice: Rousi ng...riveting...suspenseful. --Chicago Sun-Times Worthy and welc ome, with the power to charm the most grizzled Baker Street Irreg ular. --Daily News, New York From the Hardcover edition. From t he Inside Flap With her bestselling mystery series featuring Sher lock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laurie R. King has created lively a dventure in the very best of intellectual company, according to T he New York Times Book Review. Now the author of The Beekeeper's Apprentice and The Moor--the first writer since Patricia Cornwell to win both the American Edgar and British Creasey Awards for a debut novel (A Grave Talent)--unfolds a hitherto unknown chapter in the history of Russell's apprenticeship to the great detective . At the close of the year 1918, forced to flee England's green and pleasant land, Russell and Holmes enter British-occupied Pale stine under the auspices of Holmes' enigmatic brother, Mycroft. Gentlemen, we are at your service. Thus Holmes greets the two tra vel-grimed Arab figures who receive them in the orange groves fri nging the Holy Land. Whatever role could the volatile Ali and the taciturn Mahmoud play in Mycroft's design for this land the Brit ish so recently wrested from the Turks? After passing a series of tests, Holmes and Russell learn their guides are engaged in a mi ssion for His Majesty's Government, and disguise themselves as Be douins--Russell as the beardless youth Amir--to join them in a st ealthy reconnaissance through the dusty countryside. A recent ra sh of murders seems unrelated to the growing tensions between Jew , Moslem, and Christian, yet Holmes is adamant that he must recon struct the most recent one in the desert gully where it occurred. His singular findings will lead him and Russell through labyrint hine bazaars, verminous inns, cliff-hung monasteries--and into mo rtal danger. When her mentor's inquiries jeopardize his life, Rus sell fearlessly wields a pistol and even assays the arts of seduc tion to save him. Bruised and bloodied, the pair ascend to the je wellike city of Jerusalem, where they will at last meet their adv ersary, whose lust for savagery and power could reduce the city's most ancient and sacred place to rubble and ignite this tinderbo x of a land.... Classically Holmesian yet enchantingly fresh, si nuously plotted, with colorful characters and a dazzling historic ambience, O Jerusalem sweeps readers ever onward in the thrill o f the chase. From the Hardcover edition. About the Author Lauri e R. King lives with her family in the hills above Monterey Bay i n northern California. Her background includes such diverse inter ests as Old Testament theology and construction work, and she has been writing crime fiction since 1987. The winner of both the Ed gar and the John Creasey Awards for Best First Novel, her most re cent novel is A Darker Place. From the Hardcover edition. Excer pt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. The skiff was black, its gunwales scant inches above the waves. Like my two co mpanions, I was dressed in dark clothing, my face smeared with la mp-black. The rowlocks were wrapped and muffled; the loudest soun ds in all the night were the light slap of water on wood and the rhythmic rustle of Steven's clothing as he pulled at the oars. H olmes stiffened first, then Steven's oars went still, and finally I too heard it: a distant deep thrum of engines off the starboar d side. It was not the boat we had come on, but it was approachin g fast, much too fast to outrun. Steven shipped the oars without a sound, and the three of us folded up into the bottom of the ski ff. The engines grew, and grew, until they filled the night and seemed to be right upon us, and still they grew, until I began to doubt the wisdom of this enterprise before it had even begun. Ho lmes and I kept our faces pressed against the boards and stared u p at the outline that was Steven, his head raised slightly above the boat. He turned to us, and I could see the faint gleam of his teeth as he spoke. They're coming this way, might not see us if they don't put their searchlights on. If they're going to hit us I'll give you ten seconds' warning. Fill your lungs, dive off to the stern as far as you can, and swim like the living hell. Best take your shoes off now. Holmes and I wrestled with each other' s laces and tugged, then lay again waiting. The heavy churn seeme d just feet away, but Steven said nothing. We remained frozen. My teeth ached with the noise, and the thud of the ship's engines b ecame my heart-beat, and then terrifyingly a huge wall loomed abo ve us and dim lights flew past over our heads. Without warning th e skiff dropped and then leapt into the air, spinning about in ti me to hit the next wave broadside, drenching us and coming within a hair's-breadth of overturning before we were slapped back into place by the following one, sliding down into the trough and mou nting the next. Down and up and down and around we were tossed un til eventually, wet through and dizzy as a child's top, we bobble d on the sea like the piece of flotsam we were and listened to th e engines fade. Steven sat up. Anyone overboard? he asked softly . We're both here, Holmes assured him. His voice was not complet ely level, and from the bow came the brief flash of Steven's teet h. Welcome to Palestine, he whispered, grinning ferociously. I groaned as I eased myself upright. My shoulder feels broken and-- oh, damn, I've lost a boot. How are you, Holmes? It was barely tw o weeks since a bomb had blown up just behind him as he stood ten ding a beehive, and although his abrasions were healing, his skin was far from whole. My back survives, Russell, and your footwea r is here. Holmes thrust the boot at me and I fumbled to take it, then bent and pulled it and the one I had managed to hold on to back over my sodden woollen stockings. Why don't they put more r unning lights on? I complained. Troop ship, explained Steven. St ill a bit nervous about submarines. There're rumours about that s ome of the German captains haven't heard the war's over yet. Or d on't want to hear. Quiet with the bailing now, he ordered. Taking the oars back in his hands, he turned us about and continued the steady pull to shore. The remaining mile passed without inciden t. Even with the added water on board, Steven worked the oars wit h a strong, smooth ease that would have put him on an eights team in Oxford. He glanced over his shoulder occasionally at the appr oaching shore, where we were to meet two gentlemen in the employ of His Majesty's government, Ali and Mahmoud Hazr. Other than the ir names, I hadn't a clue what awaited us here. Looking up from the bailing, I eventually decided that he was making for a spot m idway between a double light north of us and a slightly amber sin gle light to the south. Swells began to rise beneath the bow and the sound of breaking waves drew closer, until suddenly we were s kimming through the white foam of mild surf, and with a jar we cr unched onto the beach. Steven immediately shipped his oars, stoo d, and stepped over the prow of the little boat into the shallow water. Holmes grabbed his haversack and went next, jumping lightl y onto the coarse shingle. I followed, pausing for a moment on th e bow to squint through my salt-smeared spectacles at the dark sh ore. Steven put his hand up to help me, and as I shifted my eyes downward they registered with a shock two figures standing perfec tly still, thirty feet or so behind Holmes. Holmes, I hissed, th ere are two women behind you! Steven's hand on mine hesitated br iefly, then tugged again. Miss Russell, there'll be a patrol any minute. It's all right. I stepped cautiously into the water besi de him and moved up to where Holmes stood. Salaam aleikum, Steve n, came a voice from the night: accented, low, and by no means th at of a woman. Aleikum es-salaam, Ali. I hope you are well. Pra ise be to God, was the reply. I have a pair of pigeons for you. They could have landed at a more convenient time, Steven. Shall I take them away again? No, Steven. We accept delivery. Mahmoud regrets we cannot ask you to come and drink coffee, but at the m oment, it would not be wise. Maalesh, he added, using the all-pur pose Arabic expression that was a verbal shrug of the shoulders a t life's inequities and accidents. I thank Mahmoud, and will acc ept another time. Go with God, Ali. Allah watch your back, Steve n. Steven put his hip to the boat and shoved it out, then scramb led on board; his oars flashed briefly. Before he had cleared the breakwater, Holmes was hurrying me up the beach in the wake of t he two flowing black shapes. I stumbled when my boots left the sh ingle and hit a patch of paving stones, and then we were on a str eet, in what seemed to be a village or the outskirts of a town. For twenty breathless minutes our path was hindered by nothing mo re than uneven ground and the occasional barking mongrel, but abr uptly the two figures in front of us whirled around, swept us int o a filthy corner, and there we cowered, shivering in our damp cl othing, while two pairs of military boots trod slowly past and tw o torches illuminated various nooks and crannies, including ours. I froze when the light shone bright around the edges of the cloa ks that covered us, but the patrol must have seen only a pile of rubbish and rags, because the light played down our alley for onl y a brief instant, and went away, leaving us a pile of softly bre athing bodies. Some of us stank of garlic and goats. The footste ps faded around a corner, and we were caught up by our guides as rapidly as we had been pushed down in the first place, and swept off again down the road. This was the land my people had clung t o for more than three thousand years, I thought with irony: a squ alid, stinking village whose inhabitants were kept inside their c rumbling walls by the occupying British Expeditionary Forces. The streets of the Promised Land flowed not with milk and honey but with ordure, and the glories of Askalon and Asdod were faded inde ed. The third time we were pushed bodily into a corner and cover ed with the garlic- and sweat-impregnated robes of our companions (neither of them women, as close proximity had quickly made appa rent, despite the cheap scent one of them wore). I thought I shou ld suffocate with the combined stench of perfume and the nauseous weeks-old fish entrails and sweetly acrid decaying oranges that we knelt in. We were there a long, long time before the two men r emoved their hands from our shoulders and let us up. I staggered a few steps away and gagged, gulping huge cleansing lungfuls of s ea air and scrubbing at my nose in a vain attempt to remove the l ingering smell. Holmes laid a hand on my back, and I pulled mysel f together and followed the men. We covered perhaps six miles th at night, though barely three if measured in a direct line. We fr oze, we doubled back, we went in circles. Once we lost one of the dark robed figures, only to have him rejoin us, equally silently , some twenty minutes and one large circui, Bantam, 2000, 2.5<
nzl, nzl | Biblio.co.uk |
2000, ISBN: 9780553581058
Edition reliée
Bantam. Good. 4.21 x 1.19 x 6.86 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2000. 464 pages. Cover worn <br>With her bestselling mystery series fea turing Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laur… Plus…
Bantam. Good. 4.21 x 1.19 x 6.86 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2000. 464 pages. Cover worn <br>With her bestselling mystery series fea turing Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laurie R. King has creat ed lively adventure in the very best of intellectual company, acc ording to The New York Times Book Review. Now the author of The B eekeeper's Apprentice and The Moor--the first writer since Patric ia Cornwell to win both the American Edgar and British Creasey Aw ards for a debut novel (A Grave Talent)--unfolds a hitherto unkno wn chapter in the history of Russell's apprenticeship to the grea t detective. At the close of the year 1918, forced to flee Engla nd's green and pleasant land, Russell and Holmes enter British-oc cupied Palestine under the auspices of Holmes' enigmatic brother, Mycroft. Gentlemen, we are at your service. Thus Holmes greets the two travel-grimed Arab figures who receive them in the orange groves fringing the Holy Land. Whatever role could the volatile Ali and the taciturn Mahmoud play in Mycroft's design for this la nd the British so recently wrested from the Turks? After passing a series of tests, Holmes and Russell learn their guides are enga ged in a mission for His Majesty's Government, and disguise thems elves as Bedouins--Russell as the beardless youth Amir--to join t hem in a stealthy reconnaissance through the dusty countryside. A recent rash of murders seems unrelated to the growing tensions between Jew, Moslem, and Christian, yet Holmes is adamant that he must reconstruct the most recent one in the desert gully where i t occurred. His singular findings will lead him and Russell throu gh labyrinthine bazaars, verminous inns, cliff-hung monasteries-- and into mortal danger. When her mentor's inquiries jeopardize hi s life, Russell fearlessly wields a pistol and even assays the ar ts of seduction to save him. Bruised and bloodied, the pair ascen d to the jewellike city of Jerusalem, where they will at last mee t their adversary, whose lust for savagery and power could reduce the city's most ancient and sacred place to rubble and ignite th is tinderbox of a land.... Classically Holmesian yet enchantingl y fresh, sinuously plotted, with colorful characters and a dazzli ng historic ambience, O Jerusalem sweeps readers ever onward in t he thrill of the chase. From the Hardcover edition. Editorial R eviews Review Praise for Laurie R. King's Mary Russell novels: The great marvel of King's series is that she's managed to preser ve the integrity of Holmes' character and yet somehow conjure up a woman astute, edgy, and compelling enough to be the partner of his mind as well as his heart. --The Washington Post Book World The Moor: There's no resisting the appeal of King's thrillingly m oody scenes of Dartmoor and her lovely evocations of its legends. --The New York Times Book Review Erudite, fascinating...by all odds the most successful recreation of the famous inhabitant of 2 21B Baker Street ever attempted. --Houston Chronicle A Letter Of Mary: A lively adventure in the very best of intellectual compan y. --The New York Times Book Review An intellectual puzzler, ful l of bright red herrings and dazzling asides. --Chicago Tribune A Monstrous Regiment of Women: As audacious as it is entertaining and moving. --Chicago Tribune King has a gift for the rich, dec isive detail and the narrative crispness that distinguished Conan Doyle's writing. --The Washington Post Book World Beguiling...t antalizing. --The Boston Globe The Beekeeper's Apprentice: Rousi ng...riveting...suspenseful. --Chicago Sun-Times Worthy and welc ome, with the power to charm the most grizzled Baker Street Irreg ular. --Daily News, New York From the Hardcover edition. From t he Inside Flap With her bestselling mystery series featuring Sher lock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laurie R. King has created lively a dventure in the very best of intellectual company, according to T he New York Times Book Review. Now the author of The Beekeeper's Apprentice and The Moor--the first writer since Patricia Cornwell to win both the American Edgar and British Creasey Awards for a debut novel (A Grave Talent)--unfolds a hitherto unknown chapter in the history of Russell's apprenticeship to the great detective . At the close of the year 1918, forced to flee England's green and pleasant land, Russell and Holmes enter British-occupied Pale stine under the auspices of Holmes' enigmatic brother, Mycroft. Gentlemen, we are at your service. Thus Holmes greets the two tra vel-grimed Arab figures who receive them in the orange groves fri nging the Holy Land. Whatever role could the volatile Ali and the taciturn Mahmoud play in Mycroft's design for this land the Brit ish so recently wrested from the Turks? After passing a series of tests, Holmes and Russell learn their guides are engaged in a mi ssion for His Majesty's Government, and disguise themselves as Be douins--Russell as the beardless youth Amir--to join them in a st ealthy reconnaissance through the dusty countryside. A recent ra sh of murders seems unrelated to the growing tensions between Jew , Moslem, and Christian, yet Holmes is adamant that he must recon struct the most recent one in the desert gully where it occurred. His singular findings will lead him and Russell through labyrint hine bazaars, verminous inns, cliff-hung monasteries--and into mo rtal danger. When her mentor's inquiries jeopardize his life, Rus sell fearlessly wields a pistol and even assays the arts of seduc tion to save him. Bruised and bloodied, the pair ascend to the je wellike city of Jerusalem, where they will at last meet their adv ersary, whose lust for savagery and power could reduce the city's most ancient and sacred place to rubble and ignite this tinderbo x of a land.... Classically Holmesian yet enchantingly fresh, si nuously plotted, with colorful characters and a dazzling historic ambience, O Jerusalem sweeps readers ever onward in the thrill o f the chase. From the Hardcover edition. About the Author Lauri e R. King lives with her family in the hills above Monterey Bay i n northern California. Her background includes such diverse inter ests as Old Testament theology and construction work, and she has been writing crime fiction since 1987. The winner of both the Ed gar and the John Creasey Awards for Best First Novel, her most re cent novel is A Darker Place. From the Hardcover edition. Excer pt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. The skiff was black, its gunwales scant inches above the waves. Like my two co mpanions, I was dressed in dark clothing, my face smeared with la mp-black. The rowlocks were wrapped and muffled; the loudest soun ds in all the night were the light slap of water on wood and the rhythmic rustle of Steven's clothing as he pulled at the oars. H olmes stiffened first, then Steven's oars went still, and finally I too heard it: a distant deep thrum of engines off the starboar d side. It was not the boat we had come on, but it was approachin g fast, much too fast to outrun. Steven shipped the oars without a sound, and the three of us folded up into the bottom of the ski ff. The engines grew, and grew, until they filled the night and seemed to be right upon us, and still they grew, until I began to doubt the wisdom of this enterprise before it had even begun. Ho lmes and I kept our faces pressed against the boards and stared u p at the outline that was Steven, his head raised slightly above the boat. He turned to us, and I could see the faint gleam of his teeth as he spoke. They're coming this way, might not see us if they don't put their searchlights on. If they're going to hit us I'll give you ten seconds' warning. Fill your lungs, dive off to the stern as far as you can, and swim like the living hell. Best take your shoes off now. Holmes and I wrestled with each other' s laces and tugged, then lay again waiting. The heavy churn seeme d just feet away, but Steven said nothing. We remained frozen. My teeth ached with the noise, and the thud of the ship's engines b ecame my heart-beat, and then terrifyingly a huge wall loomed abo ve us and dim lights flew past over our heads. Without warning th e skiff dropped and then leapt into the air, spinning about in ti me to hit the next wave broadside, drenching us and coming within a hair's-breadth of overturning before we were slapped back into place by the following one, sliding down into the trough and mou nting the next. Down and up and down and around we were tossed un til eventually, wet through and dizzy as a child's top, we bobble d on the sea like the piece of flotsam we were and listened to th e engines fade. Steven sat up. Anyone overboard? he asked softly . We're both here, Holmes assured him. His voice was not complet ely level, and from the bow came the brief flash of Steven's teet h. Welcome to Palestine, he whispered, grinning ferociously. I groaned as I eased myself upright. My shoulder feels broken and-- oh, damn, I've lost a boot. How are you, Holmes? It was barely tw o weeks since a bomb had blown up just behind him as he stood ten ding a beehive, and although his abrasions were healing, his skin was far from whole. My back survives, Russell, and your footwea r is here. Holmes thrust the boot at me and I fumbled to take it, then bent and pulled it and the one I had managed to hold on to back over my sodden woollen stockings. Why don't they put more r unning lights on? I complained. Troop ship, explained Steven. St ill a bit nervous about submarines. There're rumours about that s ome of the German captains haven't heard the war's over yet. Or d on't want to hear. Quiet with the bailing now, he ordered. Taking the oars back in his hands, he turned us about and continued the steady pull to shore. The remaining mile passed without inciden t. Even with the added water on board, Steven worked the oars wit h a strong, smooth ease that would have put him on an eights team in Oxford. He glanced over his shoulder occasionally at the appr oaching shore, where we were to meet two gentlemen in the employ of His Majesty's government, Ali and Mahmoud Hazr. Other than the ir names, I hadn't a clue what awaited us here. Looking up from the bailing, I eventually decided that he was making for a spot m idway between a double light north of us and a slightly amber sin gle light to the south. Swells began to rise beneath the bow and the sound of breaking waves drew closer, until suddenly we were s kimming through the white foam of mild surf, and with a jar we cr unched onto the beach. Steven immediately shipped his oars, stoo d, and stepped over the prow of the little boat into the shallow water. Holmes grabbed his haversack and went next, jumping lightl y onto the coarse shingle. I followed, pausing for a moment on th e bow to squint through my salt-smeared spectacles at the dark sh ore. Steven put his hand up to help me, and as I shifted my eyes downward they registered with a shock two figures standing perfec tly still, thirty feet or so behind Holmes. Holmes, I hissed, th ere are two women behind you! Steven's hand on mine hesitated br iefly, then tugged again. Miss Russell, there'll be a patrol any minute. It's all right. I stepped cautiously into the water besi de him and moved up to where Holmes stood. Salaam aleikum, Steve n, came a voice from the night: accented, low, and by no means th at of a woman. Aleikum es-salaam, Ali. I hope you are well. Pra ise be to God, was the reply. I have a pair of pigeons for you. They could have landed at a more convenient time, Steven. Shall I take them away again? No, Steven. We accept delivery. Mahmoud regrets we cannot ask you to come and drink coffee, but at the m oment, it would not be wise. Maalesh, he added, using the all-pur pose Arabic expression that was a verbal shrug of the shoulders a t life's inequities and accidents. I thank Mahmoud, and will acc ept another time. Go with God, Ali. Allah watch your back, Steve n. Steven put his hip to the boat and shoved it out, then scramb led on board; his oars flashed briefly. Before he had cleared the breakwater, Holmes was hurrying me up the beach in the wake of t he two flowing black shapes. I stumbled when my boots left the sh ingle and hit a patch of paving stones, and then we were on a str eet, in what seemed to be a village or the outskirts of a town. For twenty breathless minutes our path was hindered by nothing mo re than uneven ground and the occasional barking mongrel, but abr uptly the two figures in front of us whirled around, swept us int o a filthy corner, and there we cowered, shivering in our damp cl othing, while two pairs of military boots trod slowly past and tw o torches illuminated various nooks and crannies, including ours. I froze when the light shone bright around the edges of the cloa ks that covered us, but the patrol must have seen only a pile of rubbish and rags, because the light played down our alley for onl y a brief instant, and went away, leaving us a pile of softly bre athing bodies. Some of us stank of garlic and goats. The footste ps faded around a corner, and we were caught up by our guides as rapidly as we had been pushed down in the first place, and swept off again down the road. This was the land my people had clung t o for more than three thousand years, I thought with irony: a squ alid, stinking village whose inhabitants were kept inside their c rumbling walls by the occupying British Expeditionary Forces. The streets of the Promised Land flowed not with milk and honey but with ordure, and the glories of Askalon and Asdod were faded inde ed. The third time we were pushed bodily into a corner and cover ed with the garlic- and sweat-impregnated robes of our companions (neither of them women, as close proximity had quickly made appa rent, despite the cheap scent one of them wore). I thought I shou ld suffocate with the combined stench of perfume and the nauseous weeks-old fish entrails and sweetly acrid decaying oranges that we knelt in. We were there a long, long time before the two men r emoved their hands from our shoulders and let us up. I staggered a few steps away and gagged, gulping huge cleansing lungfuls of s ea air and scrubbing at my nose in a vain attempt to remove the l ingering smell. Holmes laid a hand on my back, and I pulled mysel f together and followed the men. We covered perhaps six miles th at night, though barely three if measured in a direct line. We fr oze, we doubled back, we went in circles. Once we lost one of the dark robed figures, only to have him rejoin us, equally silently , some twenty minutes and one large circui, Bantam, 2000, 2.5<
Biblio.co.uk |
2021, ISBN: 9780553581058
Edition reliée
Uhrichsville, OH: Barbour Publishing, Incorporated, 2005. Trade Paperback. Good. 5x0x8. No Stock Photos! We photograph every item. light edge wear, some tanning to page ends; Who does… Plus…
Uhrichsville, OH: Barbour Publishing, Incorporated, 2005. Trade Paperback. Good. 5x0x8. No Stock Photos! We photograph every item. light edge wear, some tanning to page ends; Who doesn't love the Christmas season, and who can resist a heart-touching romance? With romance and Christmas combined, readers won't be able to stop at just one story--and priced under $5, they'll not hesitate to buy more than one collection. So delight your romance readers with a brand-new selection of Christmas 2-in-l story collections. Mayhem ensues in these historical tales of matchmaking machinations in a small Texas town. What does Cut Corners need to do to get these gals hitched by Christmas?, Barbour Publishing, Incorporated, 2005, 2.5, New York: Beagle Books, 1970. Mass market paperback, 124 pages; very gently used, front cover reader's crease,, very tiny traces of shelf wear, very clean and unmarked.. First Thus. Soft Cover. Very Good., Beagle Books, 1970, 3, Crown Books for Young Readers. Library Binding. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Possible ex library copy, will have the markings and stickers associated from the library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, may not be included., Crown Books for Young Readers, 2.5, Viking Books for Young Readers. Used - Good. . . All orders guaranteed and ship within 24 hours. Your purchase supports More Than Words, a nonprofit job training program for youth, empowering youth to take charge of their lives by taking charge of a business., Viking Books for Young Readers, 2.5, "Unbroken "meets "Band of Brothers "and then some. Congressman Pete SessionsDuring the Vietnam War, hundreds of American prisoners-of-war faced years of brutal conditions and horrific torture at the hands of North Vietnamese guards and interrogators who ruthlessly plied them for military intelligence and propaganda. Determined to maintain their Code of Conduct, the POWs developed a powerful underground resistance. To quash it, their captors singled out its eleven leaders, Vietnam s own dirty dozen, and banished them to an isolated jail that would become known as Alcatraz. None would leave its solitary cells and interrogation rooms unscathed; one would never return. Inspirational. "Kirkus Reviews" As these men suffered in Hanoi, their wives back at home launched an extraordinary campaign that would ultimately spark the POW/MIA movement. When the survivors of Alcatraz finally returned, one would go on to receive the Medal of Honor, another would become a U.S. Senator, and a third still serves in the U.S. Congress. A story of survival and triumph, courage and brotherhood, "Defiant "is a compelling work that no reader will soon forget. A riveting tribute to true American heroes. Senator John McCain, POW (1967-73)" Publisher St. Martin's Press ISBN-10 1250091985 ISBN-13 9781250091987 Format Paperback Publication Year 2016 Language English, St. Martin's Paperbacks, 2016, 2.5, Crown Books for Young Readers. Used - Good. A sound copy with only light wear. Overall a solid copy at a great price!, Crown Books for Young Readers, 2.5, Teachers College Press. Paperback. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Possible ex library copy, will have the markings and stickers associated from the library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, may not be included., Teachers College Press, 2.5, Viking Books for Young Readers. Used - Very Good. . . All orders guaranteed and ship within 24 hours. Your purchase supports More Than Words, a nonprofit job training program for youth, empowering youth to take charge of their lives by taking charge of a business., Viking Books for Young Readers, 3, Crown Books for Young Readers. Used - Very Good. . . All orders guaranteed and ship within 24 hours. Your purchase supports More Than Words, a nonprofit job training program for youth, empowering youth to take charge of their lives by taking charge of a business., Crown Books for Young Readers, 3, DK Children. Paperback. POOR. Noticeably used book. Heavy wear to cover. Pages contain marginal notes, underlining, and or highlighting. Possible ex library copy, with all the markings/stickers of that library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, and dust jackets may not be included., DK Children, 1, Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, 2001-09-03. Hardcover. Very Good/Very Good. 9x6x1. Sis, Peter. No Stock Photos! We photograph every item. light edge wear to boards and jacket, light soiling to interior of jacket; Twins Kestrel and Bowman risked their lives to restore the key to the wind singer, and free the people of Aramanth of the evil Morah. Aramanth now lies undefended, unable to resist attack. Bowman is now a slave of the Mastery, but Kestrel escapes. While the twins embark on their adventures, their mother's prophetic dreams reveal their true identity and their dangerous fate., Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, 2001-09-03, 3, New York, New York, USA: Atheneum Books for Young Readers, 1973. BI5 - A tight, clean, sound copy with minor overall shelf wear plus there is some light fading on the cloth top edge plus there is a very light bump to the top right corners plus there is some tape staining on the inside outside surfaces of the boards front back endpapers from where the dust jacket was taped down to the boards plus the dust jacket endflaps are glued to the inside surfaces of the boards plus there is some light edge wear on the front board bottom edge plus there is some fading of the tinting on the top outside paper edges plus there is a crease in the front endpaper plus there are the usual library stamps, marks, pocket, and label on the top outside paper edges, front fixed endpaper, front free endpaper, inside surface of the front free endpaper, front freepaper, and title page. The dust jacket shows minor overall shelf wear mainly in the form of some very light edge wear on the spine top and bottom edges plus a small patch (about 1") of light chipping on the front bottom edge towards the right corner plus there is some light delamination and surface chipping along the front right edge plus the endflaps are glued to the inside surfaces of the boards plus it is still in the original library mylar sleeve. Translated from the French by Ralph Manheim. A novel told through myth and fact of a people's enslavement and humiliation and the survuval of their dignity in spite of everything. The story begins in West Africa among the Diola and the enslavement of some of them and their transport to the new world. The author is a naturalized French Jew of a Polish family of which all but him were rounded up by the Nazis and sent to the extermination camps. He became a member of the French resistance. The author is a winner of the Prix Goncourt. By the author of "The Last of the Just." 179p. . 2nd Printing. Hard Cover. Good/Good. 8vo - over 7¾" - 9¾" tall. Ex-Library., Atheneum Books for Young Readers, 1973, 2.5, Disney Lucasfilm Press. Paperback. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Possible ex library copy, will have the markings and stickers associated from the library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, may not be included., Disney Lucasfilm Press, 2.5, Crown Books for Young Readers. Hardcover. POOR. Noticeably used book. Heavy wear to cover. Pages contain marginal notes, underlining, and or highlighting. Possible ex library copy, with all the markings/stickers of that library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, and dust jackets may not be included., Crown Books for Young Readers, 1, Crown Books for Young Readers. Hardcover. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Possible ex library copy, will have the markings and stickers associated from the library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, may not be included., Crown Books for Young Readers, 2.5, Viking Books for Young Readers. Hardcover. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Possible ex library copy, will have the markings and stickers associated from the library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, may not be included., Viking Books for Young Readers, 2.5, Viking Books for Young Readers. Hardcover. VERY GOOD. Light rubbing wear to cover, spine and page edges. Very minimal writing or notations in margins not affecting the text. Possible clean ex-library copy, with their stickers and or stamp(s)., Viking Books for Young Readers, 3, HarperCollins. Hardcover. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Possible ex library copy, will have the markings and stickers associated from the library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, may not be included., HarperCollins, 2.5, Norton Young Readers. Hardcover. POOR. Noticeably used book. Heavy wear to cover. Pages contain marginal notes, underlining, and or highlighting. Possible ex library copy, with all the markings/stickers of that library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, and dust jackets may not be included., Norton Young Readers, 1, Scholastic. Very Good with no dust jacket. 2012. Hardcover. 0717278328 . Disney's Wonderful World of Reading; 8 oz.; Pictorial HC no DJ as issued name sticker on end page o/w appears unread. Disney's Wonderful World of Reading. Early readers will explore the delights of nature and experience the true power of friendship in this classic Disney tale. Young Mowgli, who was raised by wolves, has no desire to live the life of a human. When his beloved forest friends fear for his safety and encourage him to go to the man village, Mowgli resists and finds himself kidnapped by monkeys, beginning a dangerous adventure that spans a rich variety of jungle settings and characters. ., Scholastic, 2012, 3, Doubleday, 6-Nov-01. First Edition, Ex-Library. Hardcover. Very Good. Nice book! Very slight shelf wear on dustjacket, library stamps on edges & endpage, no marks in text. Amazon: John Grisham turns a satirical eye on the overblown ritual of the festive holiday season, and the result is Skipping Christmas, a modest but funny novel about the tyranny of December 25. Grisham's story revolves around a typical middle-aged American couple, Luther and Nora Krank. On the first Sunday after Thanksgiving they wave their daughter Blair off to Peru to work for the Peace Corps, and they suddenly realize that """"for the first time in her young and sheltered life Blair would spend Christmas away from home.""""\n\nLuther Krank sees his daughter's Christmas absence as an opportunity. He estimates that """"a year earlier, the Luther Krank family had spent $6,100 on Christmas,"""" and have """"precious little to show for it."""" So he makes an executive decision, telling his wife, friends, and neighbors that """"we won't do Christmas."""" Instead, Luther books a 10-day Caribbean cruise. But things start to turn nasty when horrified neighbors get wind of the Krank's subversive scheme and besiege the couple with questions about their decision. Grisham builds up a funny but increasingly terrifying picture of how this tight-knit community turns on the Kranks, who find themselves under increasing pressure to conform. As the tension mounts, readers may wonder whether they will manage to board their plane on Christmas day. Skipping Christmas is Grisham-lite, with none of the serious action or drama of his legal thrillers, but a funny poke at the craziness of Christmas. -Jerry Brotton From Publishers Weekly: For all its clever curmudgeonly edge and minor charms, no way does this Christmas yarn from Grisham rank with A Christmas Carol, as the publisher claims. Nor does it rank with Grisham's own best work. The premise is terrific, as you'd expect from Grisham. Fed up with the commercial aspects of Christmas, particularly all the money spent, and alone for the holiday for the first time in decades (their daughter has just joined the Peace Corps), grumpy Luther Krank and his sweeter wife, Nora, decide to skip Christmas this year to forgo the gifts, the tree, the decorations, the cards, the parties and to spend the dollars saved on a 10-day Caribbean cruise. But as clever as this setup is, its elaboration is ho-hum. There's a good reason why nearly all classic Christmas tales rely on an element of fantasy, for, literarily at least, Christmas is a time of miracles. Grisham sticks to the mundane, however, and his story lacks magic for that. He does a smartly entertaining job of satirizing the usual Christmas frenzy, as Luther and Nora resist entreaties from various charities as well as increasing pressure from their neighbors (all sharply drawn, recognizable members of the generic all-American burb, the book's setting) to do up their house in the traditional way, including installing the giant Frosty that this year adorns the roof of every home on the block except theirs. And when something happens that prompts the Kranks to jump back into Christmas at the last minute, Grisham does slip in a celebration of the real spirit of Christmas, to the point of perhaps squeezing a tear or two from his most sentimental readers (even if he comes uncomfortably close to It's a Wonderful Life to do so). But it's too little, too late. The misanthropy in this short novel makes a good antidote to the more cloying Christmas tales, and the book is fun to read. To compare it to Dickens, however, is...humbug. 1.5-million first printing. Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information, Inc., Doubleday, 6-Nov-01, 3, Viking Books for Young Readers, 2018-09-04. Hardcover. Good +. Hardcover. Good +. Ex-library with usual markings, otherwise in very good condition. Hardcover Book with Jacket.FREE Media Mail Shipping on all U.S. orders over $ 25.00, Viking Books for Young Readers, 2018-09-04, 2.5, Viking Books for Young Readers, 9/4/2018. Illustrated. Hardcover. Very Good. Very Good Condition- May show some limited signs of wear and may have a black line or red dot on edge of pages. Pages and dust cover are intact and not marred by notes or highlighting., Viking Books for Young Readers, 9/4/2018, 3, Wiley. Very Good. 186mm / 114mm. Paperback. 2009. 192 pages. <br>Melbourne Day by Day is the perfect answer for tra vellers who want to know the best places to visit and the best wa y to see the city. This attractively priced, four-colour guide of fers dozens of itineraries that show you how to see the best of M elbourne in a short time -- with bulleted maps that lead the way from sight to sight. Featuring a full range of thematic and neigh bourhood tours, plus dining, accommodation, shopping, nightlife, and practical visitor info, Melbourne Day by Day is the only guid e that helps travellers organise their time to get the most out o f a trip. Inside this book you'll find: Full color throughout w ith hundreds of photos and dozens of maps Sample one- to three- day itineraries that include listening to jazz in a cosmopolitan city laneway, touring the Melbourne Cricket Ground and Sports Mus eum, enjoying the view from St Kilda Pier, eating pasta on Lygon Street, driving the spectacular Great Ocean Road and more. Star ratings for all hotels, restaurants and attractions clue readers in on great finds and values Tear-resistant foldout map in a h andy, reclosable plastic wallet Foldout front cover, with at-a- glance maps and quick-reference info ., Wiley, 2009, 3, NY: Conde Nast Publications, 1970. Vol. LXXXV, No. 5. Edited by John W. Campbell. Cover art by Summers illustrating "Per Stratagem" (novelette) by Robert Chilson. Includes "Star Light" (pt. 2 of 4) by Hal Clement; "Beau Farcson Regrets" by Jack Wodhams; "Rare Events" by D. A. L. Hughes; "Ark IV" by Jackson Burrows. Science Fact: "Zero Resistance" by Walter C. Walterscheid. Reader's Departments: "The Editor's Page: The Pot of Message"; "In Times to Come"; "The Reference Library" by P. Schuyler Miller; "Brass Tacks". Illustrated by Leo Summers, and Kelly Freas. Short tear to front cover over lower staple with mild dampstain at same; dealer's stamp on first page; wraps a little rubbed.. SingleIssueMagazine. Very Good-., Conde Nast Publications, 1970, 3, Viking Books for Young Readers. Used - Like New. Great shape- pages are unmarked and sharp.Has a remainder mark. Hardcover Used - Like New Ships fast! 2018, Viking Books for Young Readers, 5, The New Press, 2018-02-06. Hardcover. Acceptable. 0.9100 in x 8.2700 in x 5.5100 in. Fairly worn, but still very usable. Advanced Reader Copy. Not for Sale. Clean, mark-free interior!, The New Press, 2018-02-06, 2.5, The New Press, 2018-02-06. Hardcover. Very Good. 0.9100 in x 8.2700 in x 5.5100 in. ** ADVANCE READERS EDITION PAPERBACK!! Marketing Campaign info on back! Great Collectible! **, The New Press, 2018-02-06, 3, The companion novel to Rebecca Wells's celebrated Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood.Who can resist the rich cadences of Sidda Walker and her flamboyant, secretive mother, Vivi? Here, the young Siddaa precocious reader and an eloquent observer of the fault lines that divide her familyleads us into her mischievous adventures at Our Lady of Divine Compassion parochial school and beyond. A Catholic girl of pristine manners, devotion, and provocative ideas, Sidda is the very essence of childhood joy and sorrow.An arresting combination of colloquialism, poetry, and grace, Little Altars Everywhere is an insightful, piercing, and unflinching evocation of childhood, a loving tribute to the transformative power of faith, and a thoroughly fresh chronicle of a family that is as haunted as it is blessed., HarperPerennial, 1992, 2.5, Celadon Books, 2021-09-07. Hardcover. Very Good. 0.0000 in x 9.2500 in x 6.1200 in. ** ADVANCE READER'S EDITION PAPERBACK!! Marketing Campaign info on back! Great Collectible! **, Celadon Books, 2021-09-07, 3, Celadon Books, 2021-09-07. Hardcover. Good. 0.0000 in x 9.2500 in x 6.1200 in. ** ADVANCE READER'S EDITION PAPERBACK!! Marketing Campaign info on back! Great Collectible! ** Good Condition. Reasonable wear. Still very usable. Clean, mark-free interior!, Celadon Books, 2021-09-07, 2.5, NY: Conde Nast Publications, 1970. Vol. LXXXV, No. 5. Edited by John W. Campbell. Cover art by Summers illustrating "Per Stratagem" (novelette) by Robert Chilson. Includes "Star Light" (pt. 2 of 4) by Hal Clement; "Beau Farcson Regrets" by Jack Wodhams; "Rare Events" by D. A. L. Hughes; "Ark IV" by Jackson Burrows. Science Fact: "Zero Resistance" by Walter C. Walterscheid. Reader's Departments: "The Editor's Page: The Pot of Message"; "In Times to Come"; "The Reference Library" by P. Schuyler Miller; "Brass Tacks". Illustrated by Leo Summers, and Kelly Freas. Front hinge stress, apparently fairly common with this issue.. SingleIssueMagazine. Very Good., Conde Nast Publications, 1970, 3, St. Martin's Paperbacks, March 2015. Mass Market Paperback. Used - Acceptable. Shelf and spine wear -- reader's copy., St. Martin's Paperbacks, 2.5, Random House Books for Young Readers , 2012. Hard Cover Hardcover. GOOD/GOOD. Binding: Hard Cover Series: Resisters #2 2012 Clean tight pages. Tight square binding. Dust jacket has edgewear, small closed tears. , Random House Books for Young Readers, 2012, 2.5, Random House Books for Young Readers. Hardcover. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Possible ex library copy, will have the markings and stickers associated from the library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, may not be included., Random House Books for Young Readers, 2.5, Disney Lucasfilm Press, October 2019. Paper Back . 3.1 PB standard 50%., Disney Lucasfilm Press, 0, Wiley. Very Good. 18.3 x 10.4 x 1.5 centimetres (0. Paperback. 2009. 192 pages. <br>Sydney Day by Day is the perfect answer for travel lers who want to know the best places to visit and the best way t o see the city. This attractively priced, four-colour guide offer s dozens of itineraries that show you how to see the best of Sydn ey in a short time -- with bulleted maps that lead the way from s ight to sight. Featuring a full range of thematic and neighborhoo d tours, plus dining, accommodation, shopping, nightlife, and pra ctical visitor info, Sydney Day by Day is the only guide that hel ps travellers organise their time to get the most out of a trip. Inside this book you'll find: Full colour throughout with hundr eds of photos and dozens of maps Sample one- to three-day itine raries that include tours of Circular Quay and the historic Rocks area, the city's best architectural sights, Sydney Opera House a nd Sydney Harbour Bridge, and more. Star ratings for all hotels , restaurants and attractions clue readers in on great finds and values Tear-resistant foldout map in a handy, reclosable plasti c wallet Foldout front cover, with at-a-glance maps and quick-r eference info ., Wiley, 2009, 3, Bantam. Good. 4.21 x 1.19 x 6.86 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2000. 464 pages. Cover worn <br>With her bestselling mystery series fea turing Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laurie R. King has creat ed lively adventure in the very best of intellectual company, acc ording to The New York Times Book Review. Now the author of The B eekeeper's Apprentice and The Moor--the first writer since Patric ia Cornwell to win both the American Edgar and British Creasey Aw ards for a debut novel (A Grave Talent)--unfolds a hitherto unkno wn chapter in the history of Russell's apprenticeship to the grea t detective. At the close of the year 1918, forced to flee Engla nd's green and pleasant land, Russell and Holmes enter British-oc cupied Palestine under the auspices of Holmes' enigmatic brother, Mycroft. Gentlemen, we are at your service. Thus Holmes greets the two travel-grimed Arab figures who receive them in the orange groves fringing the Holy Land. Whatever role could the volatile Ali and the taciturn Mahmoud play in Mycroft's design for this la nd the British so recently wrested from the Turks? After passing a series of tests, Holmes and Russell learn their guides are enga ged in a mission for His Majesty's Government, and disguise thems elves as Bedouins--Russell as the beardless youth Amir--to join t hem in a stealthy reconnaissance through the dusty countryside. A recent rash of murders seems unrelated to the growing tensions between Jew, Moslem, and Christian, yet Holmes is adamant that he must reconstruct the most recent one in the desert gully where i t occurred. His singular findings will lead him and Russell throu gh labyrinthine bazaars, verminous inns, cliff-hung monasteries-- and into mortal danger. When her mentor's inquiries jeopardize hi s life, Russell fearlessly wields a pistol and even assays the ar ts of seduction to save him. Bruised and bloodied, the pair ascen d to the jewellike city of Jerusalem, where they will at last mee t their adversary, whose lust for savagery and power could reduce the city's most ancient and sacred place to rubble and ignite th is tinderbox of a land.... Classically Holmesian yet enchantingl y fresh, sinuously plotted, with colorful characters and a dazzli ng historic ambience, O Jerusalem sweeps readers ever onward in t he thrill of the chase. From the Hardcover edition. Editorial R eviews Review Praise for Laurie R. King's Mary Russell novels: The great marvel of King's series is that she's managed to preser ve the integrity of Holmes' character and yet somehow conjure up a woman astute, edgy, and compelling enough to be the partner of his mind as well as his heart. --The Washington Post Book World The Moor: There's no resisting the appeal of King's thrillingly m oody scenes of Dartmoor and her lovely evocations of its legends. --The New York Times Book Review Erudite, fascinating...by all odds the most successful recreation of the famous inhabitant of 2 21B Baker Street ever attempted. --Houston Chronicle A Letter Of Mary: A lively adventure in the very best of intellectual compan y. --The New York Times Book Review An intellectual puzzler, ful l of bright red herrings and dazzling asides. --Chicago Tribune A Monstrous Regiment of Women: As audacious as it is entertaining and moving. --Chicago Tribune King has a gift for the rich, dec isive detail and the narrative crispness that distinguished Conan Doyle's writing. --The Washington Post Book World Beguiling...t antalizing. --The Boston Globe The Beekeeper's Apprentice: Rousi ng...riveting...suspenseful. --Chicago Sun-Times Worthy and welc ome, with the power to charm the most grizzled Baker Street Irreg ular. --Daily News, New York From the Hardcover edition. From t he Inside Flap With her bestselling mystery series featuring Sher lock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laurie R. King has created lively a dventure in the very best of intellectual company, according to T he New York Times Book Review. Now the author of The Beekeeper's Apprentice and The Moor--the first writer since Patricia Cornwell to win both the American Edgar and British Creasey Awards for a debut novel (A Grave Talent)--unfolds a hitherto unknown chapter in the history of Russell's apprenticeship to the great detective . At the close of the year 1918, forced to flee England's green and pleasant land, Russell and Holmes enter British-occupied Pale stine under the auspices of Holmes' enigmatic brother, Mycroft. Gentlemen, we are at your service. Thus Holmes greets the two tra vel-grimed Arab figures who receive them in the orange groves fri nging the Holy Land. Whatever role could the volatile Ali and the taciturn Mahmoud play in Mycroft's design for this land the Brit ish so recently wrested from the Turks? After passing a series of tests, Holmes and Russell learn their guides are engaged in a mi ssion for His Majesty's Government, and disguise themselves as Be douins--Russell as the beardless youth Amir--to join them in a st ealthy reconnaissance through the dusty countryside. A recent ra sh of murders seems unrelated to the growing tensions between Jew , Moslem, and Christian, yet Holmes is adamant that he must recon struct the most recent one in the desert gully where it occurred. His singular findings will lead him and Russell through labyrint hine bazaars, verminous inns, cliff-hung monasteries--and into mo rtal danger. When her mentor's inquiries jeopardize his life, Rus sell fearlessly wields a pistol and even assays the arts of seduc tion to save him. Bruised and bloodied, the pair ascend to the je wellike city of Jerusalem, where they will at last meet their adv ersary, whose lust for savagery and power could reduce the city's most ancient and sacred place to rubble and ignite this tinderbo x of a land.... Classically Holmesian yet enchantingly fresh, si nuously plotted, with colorful characters and a dazzling historic ambience, O Jerusalem sweeps readers ever onward in the thrill o f the chase. From the Hardcover edition. About the Author Lauri e R. King lives with her family in the hills above Monterey Bay i n northern California. Her background includes such diverse inter ests as Old Testament theology and construction work, and she has been writing crime fiction since 1987. The winner of both the Ed gar and the John Creasey Awards for Best First Novel, her most re cent novel is A Darker Place. From the Hardcover edition. Excer pt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. The skiff was black, its gunwales scant inches above the waves. Like my two co mpanions, I was dressed in dark clothing, my face smeared with la mp-black. The rowlocks were wrapped and muffled; the loudest soun ds in all the night were the light slap of water on wood and the rhythmic rustle of Steven's clothing as he pulled at the oars. H olmes stiffened first, then Steven's oars went still, and finally I too heard it: a distant deep thrum of engines off the starboar d side. It was not the boat we had come on, but it was approachin g fast, much too fast to outrun. Steven shipped the oars without a sound, and the three of us folded up into the bottom of the ski ff. The engines grew, and grew, until they filled the night and seemed to be right upon us, and still they grew, until I began to doubt the wisdom of this enterprise before it had even begun. Ho lmes and I kept our faces pressed against the boards and stared u p at the outline that was Steven, his head raised slightly above the boat. He turned to us, and I could see the faint gleam of his teeth as he spoke. They're coming this way, might not see us if they don't put their searchlights on. If they're going to hit us I'll give you ten seconds' warning. Fill your lungs, dive off to the stern as far as you can, and swim like the living hell. Best take your shoes off now. Holmes and I wrestled with each other' s laces and tugged, then lay again waiting. The heavy churn seeme d just feet away, but Steven said nothing. We remained frozen. My teeth ached with the noise, and the thud of the ship's engines b ecame my heart-beat, and then terrifyingly a huge wall loomed abo ve us and dim lights flew past over our heads. Without warning th e skiff dropped and then leapt into the air, spinning about in ti me to hit the next wave broadside, drenching us and coming within a hair's-breadth of overturning before we were slapped back into place by the following one, sliding down into the trough and mou nting the next. Down and up and down and around we were tossed un til eventually, wet through and dizzy as a child's top, we bobble d on the sea like the piece of flotsam we were and listened to th e engines fade. Steven sat up. Anyone overboard? he asked softly . We're both here, Holmes assured him. His voice was not complet ely level, and from the bow came the brief flash of Steven's teet h. Welcome to Palestine, he whispered, grinning ferociously. I groaned as I eased myself upright. My shoulder feels broken and-- oh, damn, I've lost a boot. How are you, Holmes? It was barely tw o weeks since a bomb had blown up just behind him as he stood ten ding a beehive, and although his abrasions were healing, his skin was far from whole. My back survives, Russell, and your footwea r is here. Holmes thrust the boot at me and I fumbled to take it, then bent and pulled it and the one I had managed to hold on to back over my sodden woollen stockings. Why don't they put more r unning lights on? I complained. Troop ship, explained Steven. St ill a bit nervous about submarines. There're rumours about that s ome of the German captains haven't heard the war's over yet. Or d on't want to hear. Quiet with the bailing now, he ordered. Taking the oars back in his hands, he turned us about and continued the steady pull to shore. The remaining mile passed without inciden t. Even with the added water on board, Steven worked the oars wit h a strong, smooth ease that would have put him on an eights team in Oxford. He glanced over his shoulder occasionally at the appr oaching shore, where we were to meet two gentlemen in the employ of His Majesty's government, Ali and Mahmoud Hazr. Other than the ir names, I hadn't a clue what awaited us here. Looking up from the bailing, I eventually decided that he was making for a spot m idway between a double light north of us and a slightly amber sin gle light to the south. Swells began to rise beneath the bow and the sound of breaking waves drew closer, until suddenly we were s kimming through the white foam of mild surf, and with a jar we cr unched onto the beach. Steven immediately shipped his oars, stoo d, and stepped over the prow of the little boat into the shallow water. Holmes grabbed his haversack and went next, jumping lightl y onto the coarse shingle. I followed, pausing for a moment on th e bow to squint through my salt-smeared spectacles at the dark sh ore. Steven put his hand up to help me, and as I shifted my eyes downward they registered with a shock two figures standing perfec tly still, thirty feet or so behind Holmes. Holmes, I hissed, th ere are two women behind you! Steven's hand on mine hesitated br iefly, then tugged again. Miss Russell, there'll be a patrol any minute. It's all right. I stepped cautiously into the water besi de him and moved up to where Holmes stood. Salaam aleikum, Steve n, came a voice from the night: accented, low, and by no means th at of a woman. Aleikum es-salaam, Ali. I hope you are well. Pra ise be to God, was the reply. I have a pair of pigeons for you. They could have landed at a more convenient time, Steven. Shall I take them away again? No, Steven. We accept delivery. Mahmoud regrets we cannot ask you to come and drink coffee, but at the m oment, it would not be wise. Maalesh, he added, using the all-pur pose Arabic expression that was a verbal shrug of the shoulders a t life's inequities and accidents. I thank Mahmoud, and will acc ept another time. Go with God, Ali. Allah watch your back, Steve n. Steven put his hip to the boat and shoved it out, then scramb led on board; his oars flashed briefly. Before he had cleared the breakwater, Holmes was hurrying me up the beach in the wake of t he two flowing black shapes. I stumbled when my boots left the sh ingle and hit a patch of paving stones, and then we were on a str eet, in what seemed to be a village or the outskirts of a town. For twenty breathless minutes our path was hindered by nothing mo re than uneven ground and the occasional barking mongrel, but abr uptly the two figures in front of us whirled around, swept us int o a filthy corner, and there we cowered, shivering in our damp cl othing, while two pairs of military boots trod slowly past and tw o torches illuminated various nooks and crannies, including ours. I froze when the light shone bright around the edges of the cloa ks that covered us, but the patrol must have seen only a pile of rubbish and rags, because the light played down our alley for onl y a brief instant, and went away, leaving us a pile of softly bre athing bodies. Some of us stank of garlic and goats. The footste ps faded around a corner, and we were caught up by our guides as rapidly as we had been pushed down in the first place, and swept off again down the road. This was the land my people had clung t o for more than three thousand years, I thought with irony: a squ alid, stinking village whose inhabitants were kept inside their c rumbling walls by the occupying British Expeditionary Forces. The streets of the Promised Land flowed not with milk and honey but with ordure, and the glories of Askalon and Asdod were faded inde ed. The third time we were pushed bodily into a corner and cover ed with the garlic- and sweat-impregnated robes of our companions (neither of them women, as close proximity had quickly made appa rent, despite the cheap scent one of them wore). I thought I shou ld suffocate with the combined stench of perfume and the nauseous weeks-old fish entrails and sweetly acrid decaying oranges that we knelt in. We were there a long, long time before the two men r emoved their hands from our shoulders and let us up. I staggered a few steps away and gagged, gulping huge cleansing lungfuls of s ea air and scrubbing at my nose in a vain attempt to remove the l ingering smell. Holmes laid a hand on my back, and I pulled mysel f together and followed the men. We covered perhaps six miles th at night, though barely three if measured in a direct line. We fr oze, we doubled back, we went in circles. Once we lost one of the dark robed figures, only to have him rejoin us, equally silently , some twenty minutes and one large circui, Bantam, 2000, 2.5<
2001, ISBN: 9780553581058
Edition reliée
Bantam Books. Good. 6.93 x 1.54 x 4.29 inches. Paperback. 1993. 346 pages. Cover worn. <br>A very funny book... no character is m inor: they're all hilarious. --Houston Chronicl… Plus…
Bantam Books. Good. 6.93 x 1.54 x 4.29 inches. Paperback. 1993. 346 pages. Cover worn. <br>A very funny book... no character is m inor: they're all hilarious. --Houston Chronicle. In The Road T o Gandolfo, Robert Ludlum introduced us to the outrageous General MacKenzie Hawkins and his legal wizard, Sam Devereaux, whose plo t to kidnap the Pope spun wildly out of control into sheer hilari ty. Now Ludlum's two wayward heroes return with a diabolical sche me to right a very old wrong -- and wreak vengeance on the (exple tive deleted) who drummed the hawk out of the military. Their out raged opposition will be no less than the White House. Byzantine Treachery. Discovering a long-buried 1878 treaty with an obscure Indian tribe, the hawk -- a.k.a. Chief Thunder Head -- hatches a brilliant plot that will ultimately bring him and his reluctant l awyer Sam before the Supreme Court. Their goal: to reclaim a choi ce piece of American real estate -- the state of Nebraska. Which just happened to the headquarters of the U.S. Strategic Air Comma nd! Will they succeed against the powers that be? Will the Wopota mi tribe ever have their day in the Supreme Court? From the Oval Office to the Pentagon, all the president's men are outfitted, un til it rests with CIA Director Vincent Vinnie the Bam-Bam Mangeca vallo to cut Sam and Hawk off at the pass. And only one thing is certain: Robert Ludlum will keep us in nonstop suspense and side- splitting laughter-through the very last page. From the Paperbac k edition. Editorial Reviews Review Praise for Robert Ludlum an d The Road to Omaha A very funny book . . . No character is mino r: They're all hilarious.--Houston Chronicle Don't ever begin a Ludlum novel if you have to go to work the next day.--Chicago Sun -Times --This text refers to the hardcover edition. From the Pub lisher A very funny book... no character is minor: they're all hi larious. --Houston Chronicle. In The Road To Gandolfo, Robert L udlum introduced us to the outrageous General MacKenzie Hawkins a nd his legal wizard, Sam Devereaux, whose plot to kidnap the Pope spun wildly out of control into sheer hilarity. Now Ludlum's two wayward heroes return with a diabolical scheme to right a very o ld wrong -- and wreak vengeance on the (expletive deleted) who dr ummed the hawk out of the military. Their outraged opposition wil l be no less than the White House. Byzantine Treachery. Discoveri ng a long-buried 1878 treaty with an obscure Indian tribe, the ha wk -- a.k.a. Chief Thunder Head -- hatches a brilliant plot that will ultimately bring him and his reluctant lawyer Sam before the Supreme Court. Their goal: to reclaim a choice piece of American real estate -- the state of Nebraska. Which just happened to the headquarters of the U.S. Strategic Air Command! Will they succee d against the powers that be? Will the Wopotami tribe ever have t heir day in the Supreme Court? From the Oval Office to the Pentag on, all the president's men are outfitted, until it rests with CI A Director Vincent Vinnie the Bam-Bam Mangecavallo to cut Sam and Hawk off at the pass. And only one thing is certain: Robert Ludl um will keep us in nonstop suspense and side-splitting laughter-t hrough the very last page. --This text refers to the hardcover ed ition. About the Author Robert Ludlum was the author of twenty-o ne novels, each a New York Times bestseller. There are more than 210 million of his books in print, and they have been translated into thirty-two languages. In addition to the Jason Bourne series -The Bourne Identity, The Bourne Supremacy, and The Bourne Ultima tum-he was the author of The Scarlatti Inheritance, The Chancello r Manuscript, and The Apocalypse Watch, among many others. Mr. Lu dlum passed away in March, 2001. From the Paperback edition. --T his text refers to the hardcover edition. From the Inside Flap f unny book... no character is minor:  they're all hilarious. --Hou ston  Chronicle. In The Road To  Gandolfo, Robert Ludlum introd uced us to the  outrageous General MacKenzie Hawkins and his lega l  wizard, Sam Devereaux, whose plot to kidnap the  Pope spun wil dly out of control into sheer hilarity.  Now Ludlum's two wayward heroes return with a  diabolical scheme to right a very old wron g -- and  wreak vengeance on the (expletive deleted) who  drummed the hawk out of the military. Their outraged  opposition will be no less than the White House.  Byzantine Treachery. Discovering a long-buried 1878  treaty with an obscure Indian tribe, the hawk --  a.k.a. Chief Thunder Head -- hatches a brilliant plot  that will ultimately bring him and his reluctant  lawyer Sam before th e Supreme Court. Their goal: t --This text refers to the hardcove r edition. Excerpt. ? Reprinted by permission. All rights reserv ed. 1 The small, decrepit office on the top floor of the govern ment building was from another era, which was to say nobody but t he present occupant had used it in sixty-four years and eight mon ths. It was not that there were dark secrets in its walls or male volent ghosts from the past hovering below the shabby ceiling; qu ite simply, nobody wanted to use it. And another point should be made clear. It was not actually on the top floor, it was above th e top floor, reached by a narrow wooden staircase, the kind the w ives of New Bedford whalers climbed to prowl the balconies, hopin g--most of the time--for familiar ships that signaled the return of their own particular Ahabs from the angry ocean. In summer mo nths the office was suffocating, as there was only one small wind ow. During the winter it was freezing, as its wooden shell had no insulation and the window rattled incessantly, impervious to cau lking, permitting the cold winds to whip inside as though invited . In essence, this room, this antiquated upper chamber with its s parse furniture purchased around the turn of the century, was the Siberia of the government agency in which it was housed. The las t formal employee who toiled there was a discredited American Ind ian who had the temerity to learn to read English and suggested t o his superiors, who themselves could barely read English, that c ertain restrictions placed on a reservation of the Navajo nation were too severe. It is said the man died in that upper office in the cold January of 1927 and was not discovered until the followi ng May, when the weather was warm and the air suddenly scented. T he government agency was, of course, the United States Bureau of Indian Affairs. For the current occupant, however, the foregoing was not a deterrent but rather an incentive. The lone figure in the nondescript gray suit huddled over the rolltop desk, which wa sn't much of a desk, as all its little drawers had been removed a nd the rolling top was stuck at half-mast, was General Mac?Ken?zi e Hawkins, military legend, hero in three wars and twice winner o f the Congressional Medal of Honor. This giant of a man, his lean muscular figure belying his elderly years, his steely eyes and t anned leather-lined face perhaps confirming a number of them, had once again gone into combat. However, for the first time in his life, he was not at war with the enemies of his beloved United St ates of America but with the government of the United States itse lf. Over something that took place a hundred and twelve years ago . It didn't much matter when, he thought, as he squeaked around in his ancient swivel chair and propelled himself to an adjacent table piled high with old leather-bound ledgers and maps. They we re the same pricky-shits who had screwed him, stripped him of his uniform, and put him out to military pasture! They were all the goddamned same, whether in their frilly frock coats of a hundred years ago or their piss-elegant, tight-assed pinstripes of today. They were all pricky-shits. Time did not matter, nailing them di d! The general pulled down the chain of a green-shaded, goosenec ked lamp--circa early twenties--and studied a map, in his right h and a large magnifying glass. He then spun around to his dilapida ted desk and reread the paragraph he had underlined in the ledger whose binding had split with age. His perpetually squinting eyes suddenly were wide and bright with excitement. He reached for th e only instrument of communication he had at his disposal, since the installation of a telephone might reveal his more than schola rly presence at the Bureau. It was a small cone attached to a tub e; he blew into it twice, the signal of emergency. He waited for a reply; it came over the primitive instrument thirty-eight secon ds later. Mac? said the rasping voice over the antediluvian conn ection. Heseltine, I've got it! For Christ's sake, blow into th is thing a little easier, will you? My secretary was here and I t hink she thought my dentures were whistling. She's out? She's o ut, confirmed Heseltine Broke?michael, director of the Bureau of Indian Affairs. What is it? I just told you, I've got it! Got w hat? The biggest con job the pricky-shits ever pulled, the same pricky-shits who made us wear civvies, old buddy! Oh, I'd love t o get those bastards. Where did it happen and when? In Nebraska. A hundred and twelve years ago. Silence. Then: Mac, we weren't around then! Not even you! It doesn't matter, Heseltine. It's t he same horseshit. The same bastards who did it to them did it to you and me a hundred years later. Who's 'them'? An offshoot of the Mohawks called the Wopotami tribe. They migrated to the Nebr aska territories in the middle 1800s. So? It's time for the sea led archives, General Broke?michael. Don't say that! Nobody can do that! You can, General. I need final confirmation, just a few loose ends to clear up. For what? Why? Because the Wopotamis m ay still legally own all the land and air rights in and around Om aha, Nebraska. You're crazy, Mac! That's the Strategic Air Comma nd! Only a couple of missing items, buried fragments, and the fa cts are there. . . . I'll meet you in the cella rs, at the vault to the archives, General Broke?michael. .& #8200;. . Or should I call you co-chairman of the Joint Chi efs of Staff, along with me, Heseltine? If I'm right, and I know damn well I am, we've got the White House-Pentagon axis in such a bind, their collective tails won't be able to evacuate until we tell 'em to. Silence. Then: I'll let you in, Mac, but then I fa de until you tell me I've got my uniform back. Fair enough. Inci dentally, I'm packing everything I've got here and taking it back to my place in Arlington. That poor son of a bitch who died up i n this rat's nest and wasn't found until the perfume drifted down didn't die in vain! The two generals stalked through the metal shelves of the musty sealed archives, the dull, webbed lights so dim they relied on their flashlights. In the seventh aisle, Mac?K en?zie Hawkins stopped, his beam on an ancient volume whose leath er binding was cracked. I think this is it, Heseltine. Good, and you can't take it out of here! I understand that, General, so I 'll merely take a few photographs and return it. Hawkins removed a tiny spy camera with 110 film from his gray suit. How many rol ls have you got? asked former General Heseltine Broke?michael as Mac?Ken?zie carried the huge book to a steel table at the end of the aisle. Eight, replied Hawkins, opening the yellow-paged volu me to the pages he needed. I have a couple of others, if you nee d them, said Heseltine. Not that I'm so all fired-up by what you think you may have found, but if there's any way to get back at E thelred, I'll take it! I thought you two had made up, broke in M ac?Ken?zie, while turning pages and snapping pictures. Never! I t wasn't Ethelred's fault, it was that rotten lawyer in the Inspe ctor General's office, a half-assed kid from Harvard named Devere aux, Sam Devereaux. He made the mistake, not Brokey the Deuce. Tw o Broke?michaels; he got 'em mixed up, that's all. Horseshit! Br okey-Two put the finger on me! I think you're wrong, but that's not what I'm here for and neither are you. . .  . Brokey, I need the volume next to or near this one. It should s ay CXII on the binding. Get it for me, will you? As the head of I ndian Affairs walked back into the metal stacks, the Hawk took a single-edged razor out of his pocket and sliced out fifteen succe ssive pages of the archival ledger. Without folding the precious papers, he slipped them under his suit coat. I can't find it, sa id Broke?michael. Never mind, I've got what I need. What now, M ac? A long time, Heseltine, maybe a long, long time, perhaps a y ear or so, but I've got to make it right--so right there's no hol es, no holes at all. In what? In a suit I'm going to file again st the government of the United States, replied Hawkins, pulling a mutilated cigar out of his pocket and lighting it with a World War II Zippo. You wait, Brokey-One, and you watch. Good God, for what? . . . Don't smoke! You're not supposed t o smoke in here! Oh, Brokey, you and your cousin, Ethelred, alwa ys went too much by the book, and when the book didn't match the action, you looked for more books. It's not in the books, Heselti ne, not the ones you can read. It's in your stomach, in your gut. Some things are right and some things are wrong, it's as simple as that. The gut tells you. What the hell are you talking about? Your gut tells you to look for books you're not supposed to rea d. In places where they keep secrets, like right in here. Mac, y ou're not making sense! Give me a year, maybe two, Brokey, and t hen you'll understand. I've got to do it right. Real right. Gener al Mac?Ken?zie Hawkins strode out between the metal racks of the archives to the exit. Goddamn, he said to himself. Now I really g o to work. Get ready for me, you magnificent Wopotamis. I'm yours ! Twenty-one months passed, and nobody was ready for Thunder Hea d, chief of the Wopotamis. 2 The President of the United States , his jaw firm, his angry eyes steady and penetrating, accelerate d his pace along the steel-gray corridor in the underground compl ex of the, Bantam Books, 1993, 2.5, Bantam. Good. 4.21 x 1.19 x 6.86 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2000. 464 pages. Cover worn <br>With her bestselling mystery series fea turing Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laurie R. King has creat ed lively adventure in the very best of intellectual company, acc ording to The New York Times Book Review. Now the author of The B eekeeper's Apprentice and The Moor--the first writer since Patric ia Cornwell to win both the American Edgar and British Creasey Aw ards for a debut novel (A Grave Talent)--unfolds a hitherto unkno wn chapter in the history of Russell's apprenticeship to the grea t detective. At the close of the year 1918, forced to flee Engla nd's green and pleasant land, Russell and Holmes enter British-oc cupied Palestine under the auspices of Holmes' enigmatic brother, Mycroft. Gentlemen, we are at your service. Thus Holmes greets the two travel-grimed Arab figures who receive them in the orange groves fringing the Holy Land. Whatever role could the volatile Ali and the taciturn Mahmoud play in Mycroft's design for this la nd the British so recently wrested from the Turks? After passing a series of tests, Holmes and Russell learn their guides are enga ged in a mission for His Majesty's Government, and disguise thems elves as Bedouins--Russell as the beardless youth Amir--to join t hem in a stealthy reconnaissance through the dusty countryside. A recent rash of murders seems unrelated to the growing tensions between Jew, Moslem, and Christian, yet Holmes is adamant that he must reconstruct the most recent one in the desert gully where i t occurred. His singular findings will lead him and Russell throu gh labyrinthine bazaars, verminous inns, cliff-hung monasteries-- and into mortal danger. When her mentor's inquiries jeopardize hi s life, Russell fearlessly wields a pistol and even assays the ar ts of seduction to save him. Bruised and bloodied, the pair ascen d to the jewellike city of Jerusalem, where they will at last mee t their adversary, whose lust for savagery and power could reduce the city's most ancient and sacred place to rubble and ignite th is tinderbox of a land.... Classically Holmesian yet enchantingl y fresh, sinuously plotted, with colorful characters and a dazzli ng historic ambience, O Jerusalem sweeps readers ever onward in t he thrill of the chase. From the Hardcover edition. Editorial R eviews Review Praise for Laurie R. King's Mary Russell novels: The great marvel of King's series is that she's managed to preser ve the integrity of Holmes' character and yet somehow conjure up a woman astute, edgy, and compelling enough to be the partner of his mind as well as his heart. --The Washington Post Book World The Moor: There's no resisting the appeal of King's thrillingly m oody scenes of Dartmoor and her lovely evocations of its legends. --The New York Times Book Review Erudite, fascinating...by all odds the most successful recreation of the famous inhabitant of 2 21B Baker Street ever attempted. --Houston Chronicle A Letter Of Mary: A lively adventure in the very best of intellectual compan y. --The New York Times Book Review An intellectual puzzler, ful l of bright red herrings and dazzling asides. --Chicago Tribune A Monstrous Regiment of Women: As audacious as it is entertaining and moving. --Chicago Tribune King has a gift for the rich, dec isive detail and the narrative crispness that distinguished Conan Doyle's writing. --The Washington Post Book World Beguiling...t antalizing. --The Boston Globe The Beekeeper's Apprentice: Rousi ng...riveting...suspenseful. --Chicago Sun-Times Worthy and welc ome, with the power to charm the most grizzled Baker Street Irreg ular. --Daily News, New York From the Hardcover edition. From t he Inside Flap With her bestselling mystery series featuring Sher lock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laurie R. King has created lively a dventure in the very best of intellectual company, according to T he New York Times Book Review. Now the author of The Beekeeper's Apprentice and The Moor--the first writer since Patricia Cornwell to win both the American Edgar and British Creasey Awards for a debut novel (A Grave Talent)--unfolds a hitherto unknown chapter in the history of Russell's apprenticeship to the great detective . At the close of the year 1918, forced to flee England's green and pleasant land, Russell and Holmes enter British-occupied Pale stine under the auspices of Holmes' enigmatic brother, Mycroft. Gentlemen, we are at your service. Thus Holmes greets the two tra vel-grimed Arab figures who receive them in the orange groves fri nging the Holy Land. Whatever role could the volatile Ali and the taciturn Mahmoud play in Mycroft's design for this land the Brit ish so recently wrested from the Turks? After passing a series of tests, Holmes and Russell learn their guides are engaged in a mi ssion for His Majesty's Government, and disguise themselves as Be douins--Russell as the beardless youth Amir--to join them in a st ealthy reconnaissance through the dusty countryside. A recent ra sh of murders seems unrelated to the growing tensions between Jew , Moslem, and Christian, yet Holmes is adamant that he must recon struct the most recent one in the desert gully where it occurred. His singular findings will lead him and Russell through labyrint hine bazaars, verminous inns, cliff-hung monasteries--and into mo rtal danger. When her mentor's inquiries jeopardize his life, Rus sell fearlessly wields a pistol and even assays the arts of seduc tion to save him. Bruised and bloodied, the pair ascend to the je wellike city of Jerusalem, where they will at last meet their adv ersary, whose lust for savagery and power could reduce the city's most ancient and sacred place to rubble and ignite this tinderbo x of a land.... Classically Holmesian yet enchantingly fresh, si nuously plotted, with colorful characters and a dazzling historic ambience, O Jerusalem sweeps readers ever onward in the thrill o f the chase. From the Hardcover edition. About the Author Lauri e R. King lives with her family in the hills above Monterey Bay i n northern California. Her background includes such diverse inter ests as Old Testament theology and construction work, and she has been writing crime fiction since 1987. The winner of both the Ed gar and the John Creasey Awards for Best First Novel, her most re cent novel is A Darker Place. From the Hardcover edition. Excer pt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. The skiff was black, its gunwales scant inches above the waves. Like my two co mpanions, I was dressed in dark clothing, my face smeared with la mp-black. The rowlocks were wrapped and muffled; the loudest soun ds in all the night were the light slap of water on wood and the rhythmic rustle of Steven's clothing as he pulled at the oars. H olmes stiffened first, then Steven's oars went still, and finally I too heard it: a distant deep thrum of engines off the starboar d side. It was not the boat we had come on, but it was approachin g fast, much too fast to outrun. Steven shipped the oars without a sound, and the three of us folded up into the bottom of the ski ff. The engines grew, and grew, until they filled the night and seemed to be right upon us, and still they grew, until I began to doubt the wisdom of this enterprise before it had even begun. Ho lmes and I kept our faces pressed against the boards and stared u p at the outline that was Steven, his head raised slightly above the boat. He turned to us, and I could see the faint gleam of his teeth as he spoke. They're coming this way, might not see us if they don't put their searchlights on. If they're going to hit us I'll give you ten seconds' warning. Fill your lungs, dive off to the stern as far as you can, and swim like the living hell. Best take your shoes off now. Holmes and I wrestled with each other' s laces and tugged, then lay again waiting. The heavy churn seeme d just feet away, but Steven said nothing. We remained frozen. My teeth ached with the noise, and the thud of the ship's engines b ecame my heart-beat, and then terrifyingly a huge wall loomed abo ve us and dim lights flew past over our heads. Without warning th e skiff dropped and then leapt into the air, spinning about in ti me to hit the next wave broadside, drenching us and coming within a hair's-breadth of overturning before we were slapped back into place by the following one, sliding down into the trough and mou nting the next. Down and up and down and around we were tossed un til eventually, wet through and dizzy as a child's top, we bobble d on the sea like the piece of flotsam we were and listened to th e engines fade. Steven sat up. Anyone overboard? he asked softly . We're both here, Holmes assured him. His voice was not complet ely level, and from the bow came the brief flash of Steven's teet h. Welcome to Palestine, he whispered, grinning ferociously. I groaned as I eased myself upright. My shoulder feels broken and-- oh, damn, I've lost a boot. How are you, Holmes? It was barely tw o weeks since a bomb had blown up just behind him as he stood ten ding a beehive, and although his abrasions were healing, his skin was far from whole. My back survives, Russell, and your footwea r is here. Holmes thrust the boot at me and I fumbled to take it, then bent and pulled it and the one I had managed to hold on to back over my sodden woollen stockings. Why don't they put more r unning lights on? I complained. Troop ship, explained Steven. St ill a bit nervous about submarines. There're rumours about that s ome of the German captains haven't heard the war's over yet. Or d on't want to hear. Quiet with the bailing now, he ordered. Taking the oars back in his hands, he turned us about and continued the steady pull to shore. The remaining mile passed without inciden t. Even with the added water on board, Steven worked the oars wit h a strong, smooth ease that would have put him on an eights team in Oxford. He glanced over his shoulder occasionally at the appr oaching shore, where we were to meet two gentlemen in the employ of His Majesty's government, Ali and Mahmoud Hazr. Other than the ir names, I hadn't a clue what awaited us here. Looking up from the bailing, I eventually decided that he was making for a spot m idway between a double light north of us and a slightly amber sin gle light to the south. Swells began to rise beneath the bow and the sound of breaking waves drew closer, until suddenly we were s kimming through the white foam of mild surf, and with a jar we cr unched onto the beach. Steven immediately shipped his oars, stoo d, and stepped over the prow of the little boat into the shallow water. Holmes grabbed his haversack and went next, jumping lightl y onto the coarse shingle. I followed, pausing for a moment on th e bow to squint through my salt-smeared spectacles at the dark sh ore. Steven put his hand up to help me, and as I shifted my eyes downward they registered with a shock two figures standing perfec tly still, thirty feet or so behind Holmes. Holmes, I hissed, th ere are two women behind you! Steven's hand on mine hesitated br iefly, then tugged again. Miss Russell, there'll be a patrol any minute. It's all right. I stepped cautiously into the water besi de him and moved up to where Holmes stood. Salaam aleikum, Steve n, came a voice from the night: accented, low, and by no means th at of a woman. Aleikum es-salaam, Ali. I hope you are well. Pra ise be to God, was the reply. I have a pair of pigeons for you. They could have landed at a more convenient time, Steven. Shall I take them away again? No, Steven. We accept delivery. Mahmoud regrets we cannot ask you to come and drink coffee, but at the m oment, it would not be wise. Maalesh, he added, using the all-pur pose Arabic expression that was a verbal shrug of the shoulders a t life's inequities and accidents. I thank Mahmoud, and will acc ept another time. Go with God, Ali. Allah watch your back, Steve n. Steven put his hip to the boat and shoved it out, then scramb led on board; his oars flashed briefly. Before he had cleared the breakwater, Holmes was hurrying me up the beach in the wake of t he two flowing black shapes. I stumbled when my boots left the sh ingle and hit a patch of paving stones, and then we were on a str eet, in what seemed to be a village or the outskirts of a town. For twenty breathless minutes our path was hindered by nothing mo re than uneven ground and the occasional barking mongrel, but abr uptly the two figures in front of us whirled around, swept us int o a filthy corner, and there we cowered, shivering in our damp cl othing, while two pairs of military boots trod slowly past and tw o torches illuminated various nooks and crannies, including ours. I froze when the light shone bright around the edges of the cloa ks that covered us, but the patrol must have seen only a pile of rubbish and rags, because the light played down our alley for onl y a brief instant, and went away, leaving us a pile of softly bre athing bodies. Some of us stank of garlic and goats. The footste ps faded around a corner, and we were caught up by our guides as rapidly as we had been pushed down in the first place, and swept off again down the road. This was the land my people had clung t o for more than three thousand years, I thought with irony: a squ alid, stinking village whose inhabitants were kept inside their c rumbling walls by the occupying British Expeditionary Forces. The streets of the Promised Land flowed not with milk and honey but with ordure, and the glories of Askalon and Asdod were faded inde ed. The third time we were pushed bodily into a corner and cover ed with the garlic- and sweat-impregnated robes of our companions (neither of them women, as close proximity had quickly made appa rent, despite the cheap scent one of them wore). I thought I shou ld suffocate with the combined stench of perfume and the nauseous weeks-old fish entrails and sweetly acrid decaying oranges that we knelt in. We were there a long, long time before the two men r emoved their hands from our shoulders and let us up. I staggered a few steps away and gagged, gulping huge cleansing lungfuls of s ea air and scrubbing at my nose in a vain attempt to remove the l ingering smell. Holmes laid a hand on my back, and I pulled mysel f together and followed the men. We covered perhaps six miles th at night, though barely three if measured in a direct line. We fr oze, we doubled back, we went in circles. Once we lost one of the dark robed figures, only to have him rejoin us, equally silently , some twenty minutes and one large circui, Bantam, 2000, 2.5<
2008
ISBN: 9780553581058
Edition reliée
Headline. Fair. 6.26 x 9.17 x 1.02 inches. Paperback. 2008. 320 pages. Ex-library. Cover worn.<br>In the fourteenth book in t he series, the stakes are raised even higher as Stephan… Plus…
Headline. Fair. 6.26 x 9.17 x 1.02 inches. Paperback. 2008. 320 pages. Ex-library. Cover worn.<br>In the fourteenth book in t he series, the stakes are raised even higher as Stephanie Plum fi nds herself in her most dangerous, hilarious, hottest, chase yet. With her loveably offbeat family along for the ride (as well as a few new faces), it's clear to see why the Plum novels are calle d Hot Stuff by the New York Times and why Evanovich herself is ca lled the master. Editorial Reviews From Publishers Weekly Starr ed Review. Lorelei King returns to Trenton, N.J., to continue the misadventures of Stephanie Plum, intermittently successful bount y hunter. King is one of many to voice Janet Evanovich's successf ul series, but her voice can be heard above the crowd, especially when she's bringing the more colorful characters to life. Her fo rmer prostitute Lula can tear down walls with the force of her pe rsonality, and King gives professional security specialist (read mercenary) Ranger the measured tones of one who is always in cont rol. Stephanie spends much of the book blue from a briefcase dye bomb. King's Plum accepts her blueness and responds to the reacti ons with indignity, ruefulness and eventually resignation. In add ition to established favorites, Evanovich has thrown into the mix a 60-ish singer trying to hang onto fame who gives King plenty o f scope for her Southern side. Fearless Fourteen becomes peerless fourteen with narrator King at the helm. A St. Martin's hardcove r (Reviews, May 19). (June) Copyright ® Reed Business Informatio n, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. --This t ext refers to the audioCD edition. From Booklist Our heroine, th e irrepressible bounty hunter Stephanie Plum, finds herself watch ing over a goth teen called Zook, who is heavily into gaming, aft er his mom can't make bail and disappears (or has been kidnapped) . A lot of people think there is stolen money buried in or near O fficer Morelli's little house--that's Steph's Morelli, the cop wh o is her number-one boyfriend most of the time, or at least when the entrancing Ranger isn't nearby. The money is the reason behin d Zook's mom's disappearance, and it's the tie that binds Evanovi ch's various plotlines, which carom about endlessly, not always r esolving. Questions abound: Are Steph's sidekick, the plus-size L ula, and Ranger's man Tank really engaged? Ranger is working secu rity for a fading but brassy pop star: How does Steph manage to g et into and out of her reality show? Can Zook and his sidekicks p rotect Morelli's house--and Stephanie--with their homegrown weapo nry (think potatoes as missiles)? Where else but Evanovich's four teenth novel can a line like it's raining money and popsicles! ac tually make sense? Fans will be delighted, but others, who stumbl e into the series at this advanced point, may find themselves sta rved for backstory, so much so that they may need to go all the w ay back to One for the Money (1994). --GraceAnne A. DeCandido --T his text refers to the audioCD edition. From the Back Cover Per sonal vendettas. Hidden treasure. A monkey named Carl. In her lat est adventure, bounty hunter Stephanie Plum is as fearless as eve r... The Crime: Armed robbery to the tune of nine million dollar s. Dom Rizzi robbed a bank, stashed the money, and did the time. His family couldn't be more proud. He always was the smart one. The Cousin: Joe Morelli. Morelli is Dom's cousin. He's also a cop . Less than a week after Dom's release from prison, Morelli has s hadowy figures breaking into his house and dying in his basement. Meanwhile, Dom has gone missing... The Catastrophe: Moonman. Mo relli hires Walter Mooner Dunphy, stoner and inventor turned crim e fighter, to protect his house. Morelli is low on cash. Mooner w ill work for potatoes. The Cupcake: Stephanie Plum. Stephanie an d Morelli have a long-standing relationship that involves sex, af fection, and driving each other nuts. She's a bond enforcement ag ent with more luck than talent, and she's involved in this bank-r obbery-gone-bad disaster from day one. The Crisis: Ranger. Secur ity expert Carlos Manoso, street name Ranger, has a job for Steph anie that will involve night work. Morelli has his own ideas rega rding Stephanie's evening activities. The Conclusion: Be fearles s. Read FOURTEEN! Visit: www.evanovich.com --This text refers to the audioCD edition. Review [Lorelei] King is one of many to v oice Janet Evanovich's successful series, but her voice can be he ard above the crowd...Fearless Fourteen becomes peerless fourteen with narrator King at the helm. -Publishers Weekly, Starred Revi ew Lorelei King gives a fantastic performance... relax and enjoy Evanovich's tight writing and King's amazing reading of everyone from Stephanie to tough cops to adolescent boys to a Big Black M ama of a woman. -AudioFile on Fearless Fourteen, an Earphones Awa rd Winner AudioFile Golden Earphones Award-winning actress Lorel ei King, who also read Evanovich's Eleven on Top and Twelve Sharp , returns, effectively bringing to life more than a dozen of Evan ovich's legendarily quirky characters. -Kirkus Reviews For fans of Evanovich mysteries on audiobook, Lorelei King is more than a reader -- she is Stepahnie Plum. -Publishers Weekly Stephanie Pl um is a bounty hunter with a great sense of humor that balances o ut her attitude and worse luck...like Dorothy Parker with a lousy job and a Jersey accent. -Time Evanovich's series is as addicti ve as Fritos...Evanovich serves up consistently craveable goodies . -People These books are really just laugh-out-loud funny. -Hub Pages --This text refers to the audioCD edition. Excerpt. ® Repr inted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter One In my min d, my kitchen is filled with crackers and cheese, roast chicken l eftovers, farm fresh eggs, and coffee beans ready to grind. The r eality is that I keep my Smith & Wesson in the cookie jar, my Ore os in the micro wave, a jar of peanut butter and hamster food in the over-the-counter cupboard, and I have beer and olives in the refrigerator. I used to have a birthday cake in the freezer for e mergencies, but I ate it. Truth is, I would dearly love to be a domestic goddess, but the birthday cake keeps getting eaten. I m ean, you buy it, and you eat it, right? And then where are you? N o birthday cake. Ditto cheese and crackers and eggs and the roast chicken leftovers (which were from my mother). The coffee beans are light-years away. I don't own a grinder. I guess I could buy two birthday cakes, but I'm afraid I'd eat both. My name is Ste phanie Plum, and in my defense I'd like to say that I have bread and milk on my shopping list, and I don't have any communicable d iseases. I'm five feet, seven inches. My hair is brown and should er length and naturally curly. My eyes are blue. My teeth are mos tly straight. My manicure was pretty good three days ago, and my shape is okay. I work as a bond enforcement agent for my cousin V innie, and today I was standing in Loretta Rizzi's kitchen, think ing not only was Loretta ahead of me in the kitchen-needs-a-makeo ver race, but she made me look like a piker in the Loose Cannon C lub. It was eight in the morning, and Loretta was wearing a lon g, pink flannel nightgown and holding a gun to her head. I'm go nna shoot myself, Loretta said. Not that it would matter to you, because you get your money dead or alive, right? Technically, t hat's true, I told her. But dead is a pain in the tuchus. There's paperwork. A lot of the people Vinnie bonds out are from my Ch ambersburg neighborhood in Trenton, New Jersey. Loretta Rizzi was one of those people. I went to school with Loretta. She's a year older than me, and she left high school early to have a baby. No w she was wanted for armed robbery, and she was about to blow her brains out. Vinnie had posted Loretta's bond, and Loretta had failed to show for her court appearance, so I was dispatched to d rag her back to jail. And as luck would have it, I walked in at a bad moment and interrupted her suicide. I just wanted a drink, Loretta said. Yeah, but you held up a liquor store. Most peopl e would have gone to a bar. I didn't have any money, and it was hot, and I needed a Tom Collins. A tear rolled down Loretta's ch eek. I've been thirsty lately, she said. Loretta is a half a he ad shorter than me. She has curly black hair and a body kept tone d by hefting serving trays for catered affairs at the fire house. She hasn't changed much since high school. A few crinkle lines a round her eyes. A little harder set to her mouth. She's Italian-A merican and related to half the Burg, including my off-and-on boy friend, Joe Morelli. This was your first offense. And you didn' t shoot anyone. Probably you'll get off with a hand-slap, I told Loretta. I had my period, she said. I wasn't thinking right. Loretta lives in a rented row house on the edge of the Burg. She has two bedrooms, one bath, a scrubbed-clean, crackerbox kitchen, and a living room filled with secondhand furniture. Hard to make ends meet when you're a single mother without a high school dipl oma. The back door swung open and my sidekick, Lula, stuck her head in. What's going on in here? I'm tired of waiting in the car . I thought this was gonna be a quick pickup, and then we were go ing for breakfast. Lula is a former 'ho, turned bonds office fi le clerk and wheelman. She's a plus-size black woman who likes to squash herself into too small clothes featuring animal print and spandex. Lula's cup runneth over from head to toe. Loretta is having a bad morning, I said. Lula checked Loretta out. I can s ee that. She's still in her nightie. Notice anything else? I as ked Lula. You mean like she's tryin' to style her hair with a S mith & Wesson? I don't want to go to jail, Loretta said. It's not so bad, Lula told her. If you can get them to send you to th e work house, you'll get dental. I'm a disgrace, Loretta said. Lula shifted her weight on her spike-heeled Manolo knock-offs. You be more of a disgrace if you pull that trigger. You'll have a big hole in your head, and your mother won't be able to have an open-casket viewing. And who's going to clean up the mess it'll m ake in your kitchen? I have an insurance policy, Loretta said. If I kill myself, my son, Mario, will be able to manage until he can get a job. If I go to jail, he'll be on his own without any m oney. Insurance policies don't pay out on suicides, Lula said. Oh crap! Is that true? Loretta asked me. Yeah. Anyway, I don' t know why you're worried about that. You have a big family. Some one will take care of Mario. It's not that easy. My mother is i n rehab from when she had the stroke. She can't take him. And my brother, Dom, can't take him. He just got out of jail three days ago. He's on probation. What about your sister? My sister's g ot her hands full with her own kids. Her rat turd husband left he r for some pre-puberty lap dancer. There must be someone who ca n baby-sit for you, Lula said to Loretta. Everyone's got their own thing going. And I don't want to leave Mario with just anybod y. He's very sensitive . . . and artistic. I counted back and p laced her kid in his early teens. Loretta had never married, and so far as I know, she'd never fingered a father for him. Maybe you could take him, Loretta said to me. What? No. No, no, no, n o. Just until I can make bail. And then I'll try to find someon e more permanent. If I take you in now, Vinnie can bond you out right away. Yeah, but if something goes wrong, I need someone to pick Mario up after school. What can go wrong? I don't kno w. A mother worries about these things. Promise you'll pick him u p if I'm still in jail. He gets out at two-thirty. She'll do it , Lula said to Loretta. Just put the gun down and go get dressed so we can get this over and done. I need coffee. I need one of th ose extra-greasy breakfast sandwiches. I gotta clog my arteries o n account of otherwise the blood rushes around too fast and I mig ht get a dizzy spell. Lula was sprawled on the brown Naugahyde couch hugging the wall in the bonds office, and Vinnie's office m anager, Connie Rosolli, was at her desk. Connie and the desk had been strategically placed in front of Vinnie's inner-office door with the hope it would discourage pissed-off pimps, bookies, and other assorted lowlifes from rushing in and strangling Vinnie. What do you mean she isn't bonded out? I asked Connie, my voice r ising to an octave normally only heard from Minnie Mouse. She h as no money to secure the bond. And no assets. That's impossibl e. Everyone has assets. What about her mother? Her brother? She m ust have a hundred cousins living in a ten-mile radius. She's w orking on it, but right now she has nothing. Bupkus. Nada. So Vin nie's waiting on her. Yeah, and it's almost two-thirty, Lula sa id.You better go get her kid like you promised. Connie swiveled her head toward me and her eyebrows went up to her hairline. You promised to take care of Mario? I said I'd pick him up if Lore tta wasn't bonded out in time. I didn't know there'd be an issue with her bond. Oh boy, Connie said. Good luck with that one. Loretta said he was sensitive and artistic. I don't know about the sensitive part, but his art is limited to spray paint. He's p robably defaced half of Trenton. Loretta has to pick him up from school because they won't let him on a school bus. I hiked my b ag onto my shoulder. I'm just driving him home. That was the deal . There might be some gray area in the deal, Lula said. You mig ht've said you'd take care of him. And anyways, you can't dump hi m in an empty house. You get child ser vices after you for doin' that. Well, what the heck am I supposed to do with him? Lula and Connie did I don't know shoulder shrugs. Maybe I can sign f or Loretta's bond, I said to Connie. I don't think that'll fly, Connie said. You're the only person I know who has fewer assets than Loretta. Great. I huffed out of the office and rammed myse lf into my latest P.O.S. car. It was a Nissan Sentra that used to be silver but was now mostly rust. It had doughnut-size wheels, a Jaguar hood ornament, and a bobble-head Tony Stewart doll in th e back window. I like Tony Stewart a lot, but see, Headline, 2008, 2, Bantam. Good. 4.21 x 1.19 x 6.86 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2000. 464 pages. Cover worn <br>With her bestselling mystery series fea turing Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laurie R. King has creat ed lively adventure in the very best of intellectual company, acc ording to The New York Times Book Review. Now the author of The B eekeeper's Apprentice and The Moor--the first writer since Patric ia Cornwell to win both the American Edgar and British Creasey Aw ards for a debut novel (A Grave Talent)--unfolds a hitherto unkno wn chapter in the history of Russell's apprenticeship to the grea t detective. At the close of the year 1918, forced to flee Engla nd's green and pleasant land, Russell and Holmes enter British-oc cupied Palestine under the auspices of Holmes' enigmatic brother, Mycroft. Gentlemen, we are at your service. Thus Holmes greets the two travel-grimed Arab figures who receive them in the orange groves fringing the Holy Land. Whatever role could the volatile Ali and the taciturn Mahmoud play in Mycroft's design for this la nd the British so recently wrested from the Turks? After passing a series of tests, Holmes and Russell learn their guides are enga ged in a mission for His Majesty's Government, and disguise thems elves as Bedouins--Russell as the beardless youth Amir--to join t hem in a stealthy reconnaissance through the dusty countryside. A recent rash of murders seems unrelated to the growing tensions between Jew, Moslem, and Christian, yet Holmes is adamant that he must reconstruct the most recent one in the desert gully where i t occurred. His singular findings will lead him and Russell throu gh labyrinthine bazaars, verminous inns, cliff-hung monasteries-- and into mortal danger. When her mentor's inquiries jeopardize hi s life, Russell fearlessly wields a pistol and even assays the ar ts of seduction to save him. Bruised and bloodied, the pair ascen d to the jewellike city of Jerusalem, where they will at last mee t their adversary, whose lust for savagery and power could reduce the city's most ancient and sacred place to rubble and ignite th is tinderbox of a land.... Classically Holmesian yet enchantingl y fresh, sinuously plotted, with colorful characters and a dazzli ng historic ambience, O Jerusalem sweeps readers ever onward in t he thrill of the chase. From the Hardcover edition. Editorial R eviews Review Praise for Laurie R. King's Mary Russell novels: The great marvel of King's series is that she's managed to preser ve the integrity of Holmes' character and yet somehow conjure up a woman astute, edgy, and compelling enough to be the partner of his mind as well as his heart. --The Washington Post Book World The Moor: There's no resisting the appeal of King's thrillingly m oody scenes of Dartmoor and her lovely evocations of its legends. --The New York Times Book Review Erudite, fascinating...by all odds the most successful recreation of the famous inhabitant of 2 21B Baker Street ever attempted. --Houston Chronicle A Letter Of Mary: A lively adventure in the very best of intellectual compan y. --The New York Times Book Review An intellectual puzzler, ful l of bright red herrings and dazzling asides. --Chicago Tribune A Monstrous Regiment of Women: As audacious as it is entertaining and moving. --Chicago Tribune King has a gift for the rich, dec isive detail and the narrative crispness that distinguished Conan Doyle's writing. --The Washington Post Book World Beguiling...t antalizing. --The Boston Globe The Beekeeper's Apprentice: Rousi ng...riveting...suspenseful. --Chicago Sun-Times Worthy and welc ome, with the power to charm the most grizzled Baker Street Irreg ular. --Daily News, New York From the Hardcover edition. From t he Inside Flap With her bestselling mystery series featuring Sher lock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laurie R. King has created lively a dventure in the very best of intellectual company, according to T he New York Times Book Review. Now the author of The Beekeeper's Apprentice and The Moor--the first writer since Patricia Cornwell to win both the American Edgar and British Creasey Awards for a debut novel (A Grave Talent)--unfolds a hitherto unknown chapter in the history of Russell's apprenticeship to the great detective . At the close of the year 1918, forced to flee England's green and pleasant land, Russell and Holmes enter British-occupied Pale stine under the auspices of Holmes' enigmatic brother, Mycroft. Gentlemen, we are at your service. Thus Holmes greets the two tra vel-grimed Arab figures who receive them in the orange groves fri nging the Holy Land. Whatever role could the volatile Ali and the taciturn Mahmoud play in Mycroft's design for this land the Brit ish so recently wrested from the Turks? After passing a series of tests, Holmes and Russell learn their guides are engaged in a mi ssion for His Majesty's Government, and disguise themselves as Be douins--Russell as the beardless youth Amir--to join them in a st ealthy reconnaissance through the dusty countryside. A recent ra sh of murders seems unrelated to the growing tensions between Jew , Moslem, and Christian, yet Holmes is adamant that he must recon struct the most recent one in the desert gully where it occurred. His singular findings will lead him and Russell through labyrint hine bazaars, verminous inns, cliff-hung monasteries--and into mo rtal danger. When her mentor's inquiries jeopardize his life, Rus sell fearlessly wields a pistol and even assays the arts of seduc tion to save him. Bruised and bloodied, the pair ascend to the je wellike city of Jerusalem, where they will at last meet their adv ersary, whose lust for savagery and power could reduce the city's most ancient and sacred place to rubble and ignite this tinderbo x of a land.... Classically Holmesian yet enchantingly fresh, si nuously plotted, with colorful characters and a dazzling historic ambience, O Jerusalem sweeps readers ever onward in the thrill o f the chase. From the Hardcover edition. About the Author Lauri e R. King lives with her family in the hills above Monterey Bay i n northern California. Her background includes such diverse inter ests as Old Testament theology and construction work, and she has been writing crime fiction since 1987. The winner of both the Ed gar and the John Creasey Awards for Best First Novel, her most re cent novel is A Darker Place. From the Hardcover edition. Excer pt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. The skiff was black, its gunwales scant inches above the waves. Like my two co mpanions, I was dressed in dark clothing, my face smeared with la mp-black. The rowlocks were wrapped and muffled; the loudest soun ds in all the night were the light slap of water on wood and the rhythmic rustle of Steven's clothing as he pulled at the oars. H olmes stiffened first, then Steven's oars went still, and finally I too heard it: a distant deep thrum of engines off the starboar d side. It was not the boat we had come on, but it was approachin g fast, much too fast to outrun. Steven shipped the oars without a sound, and the three of us folded up into the bottom of the ski ff. The engines grew, and grew, until they filled the night and seemed to be right upon us, and still they grew, until I began to doubt the wisdom of this enterprise before it had even begun. Ho lmes and I kept our faces pressed against the boards and stared u p at the outline that was Steven, his head raised slightly above the boat. He turned to us, and I could see the faint gleam of his teeth as he spoke. They're coming this way, might not see us if they don't put their searchlights on. If they're going to hit us I'll give you ten seconds' warning. Fill your lungs, dive off to the stern as far as you can, and swim like the living hell. Best take your shoes off now. Holmes and I wrestled with each other' s laces and tugged, then lay again waiting. The heavy churn seeme d just feet away, but Steven said nothing. We remained frozen. My teeth ached with the noise, and the thud of the ship's engines b ecame my heart-beat, and then terrifyingly a huge wall loomed abo ve us and dim lights flew past over our heads. Without warning th e skiff dropped and then leapt into the air, spinning about in ti me to hit the next wave broadside, drenching us and coming within a hair's-breadth of overturning before we were slapped back into place by the following one, sliding down into the trough and mou nting the next. Down and up and down and around we were tossed un til eventually, wet through and dizzy as a child's top, we bobble d on the sea like the piece of flotsam we were and listened to th e engines fade. Steven sat up. Anyone overboard? he asked softly . We're both here, Holmes assured him. His voice was not complet ely level, and from the bow came the brief flash of Steven's teet h. Welcome to Palestine, he whispered, grinning ferociously. I groaned as I eased myself upright. My shoulder feels broken and-- oh, damn, I've lost a boot. How are you, Holmes? It was barely tw o weeks since a bomb had blown up just behind him as he stood ten ding a beehive, and although his abrasions were healing, his skin was far from whole. My back survives, Russell, and your footwea r is here. Holmes thrust the boot at me and I fumbled to take it, then bent and pulled it and the one I had managed to hold on to back over my sodden woollen stockings. Why don't they put more r unning lights on? I complained. Troop ship, explained Steven. St ill a bit nervous about submarines. There're rumours about that s ome of the German captains haven't heard the war's over yet. Or d on't want to hear. Quiet with the bailing now, he ordered. Taking the oars back in his hands, he turned us about and continued the steady pull to shore. The remaining mile passed without inciden t. Even with the added water on board, Steven worked the oars wit h a strong, smooth ease that would have put him on an eights team in Oxford. He glanced over his shoulder occasionally at the appr oaching shore, where we were to meet two gentlemen in the employ of His Majesty's government, Ali and Mahmoud Hazr. Other than the ir names, I hadn't a clue what awaited us here. Looking up from the bailing, I eventually decided that he was making for a spot m idway between a double light north of us and a slightly amber sin gle light to the south. Swells began to rise beneath the bow and the sound of breaking waves drew closer, until suddenly we were s kimming through the white foam of mild surf, and with a jar we cr unched onto the beach. Steven immediately shipped his oars, stoo d, and stepped over the prow of the little boat into the shallow water. Holmes grabbed his haversack and went next, jumping lightl y onto the coarse shingle. I followed, pausing for a moment on th e bow to squint through my salt-smeared spectacles at the dark sh ore. Steven put his hand up to help me, and as I shifted my eyes downward they registered with a shock two figures standing perfec tly still, thirty feet or so behind Holmes. Holmes, I hissed, th ere are two women behind you! Steven's hand on mine hesitated br iefly, then tugged again. Miss Russell, there'll be a patrol any minute. It's all right. I stepped cautiously into the water besi de him and moved up to where Holmes stood. Salaam aleikum, Steve n, came a voice from the night: accented, low, and by no means th at of a woman. Aleikum es-salaam, Ali. I hope you are well. Pra ise be to God, was the reply. I have a pair of pigeons for you. They could have landed at a more convenient time, Steven. Shall I take them away again? No, Steven. We accept delivery. Mahmoud regrets we cannot ask you to come and drink coffee, but at the m oment, it would not be wise. Maalesh, he added, using the all-pur pose Arabic expression that was a verbal shrug of the shoulders a t life's inequities and accidents. I thank Mahmoud, and will acc ept another time. Go with God, Ali. Allah watch your back, Steve n. Steven put his hip to the boat and shoved it out, then scramb led on board; his oars flashed briefly. Before he had cleared the breakwater, Holmes was hurrying me up the beach in the wake of t he two flowing black shapes. I stumbled when my boots left the sh ingle and hit a patch of paving stones, and then we were on a str eet, in what seemed to be a village or the outskirts of a town. For twenty breathless minutes our path was hindered by nothing mo re than uneven ground and the occasional barking mongrel, but abr uptly the two figures in front of us whirled around, swept us int o a filthy corner, and there we cowered, shivering in our damp cl othing, while two pairs of military boots trod slowly past and tw o torches illuminated various nooks and crannies, including ours. I froze when the light shone bright around the edges of the cloa ks that covered us, but the patrol must have seen only a pile of rubbish and rags, because the light played down our alley for onl y a brief instant, and went away, leaving us a pile of softly bre athing bodies. Some of us stank of garlic and goats. The footste ps faded around a corner, and we were caught up by our guides as rapidly as we had been pushed down in the first place, and swept off again down the road. This was the land my people had clung t o for more than three thousand years, I thought with irony: a squ alid, stinking village whose inhabitants were kept inside their c rumbling walls by the occupying British Expeditionary Forces. The streets of the Promised Land flowed not with milk and honey but with ordure, and the glories of Askalon and Asdod were faded inde ed. The third time we were pushed bodily into a corner and cover ed with the garlic- and sweat-impregnated robes of our companions (neither of them women, as close proximity had quickly made appa rent, despite the cheap scent one of them wore). I thought I shou ld suffocate with the combined stench of perfume and the nauseous weeks-old fish entrails and sweetly acrid decaying oranges that we knelt in. We were there a long, long time before the two men r emoved their hands from our shoulders and let us up. I staggered a few steps away and gagged, gulping huge cleansing lungfuls of s ea air and scrubbing at my nose in a vain attempt to remove the l ingering smell. Holmes laid a hand on my back, and I pulled mysel f together and followed the men. We covered perhaps six miles th at night, though barely three if measured in a direct line. We fr oze, we doubled back, we went in circles. Once we lost one of the dark robed figures, only to have him rejoin us, equally silently , some twenty minutes and one large circui, Bantam, 2000, 2.5<
2000, ISBN: 9780553581058
Edition reliée
Little, Brown Book Group. Good. 4.25 x 1.1 x 7.01 inches. Paperback. 2000. 440 pages. Cover worn. <br>A farmhouse destroyed by fire. A body amongst the ruins. Dr Kay Scarpetta, Chi… Plus…
Little, Brown Book Group. Good. 4.25 x 1.1 x 7.01 inches. Paperback. 2000. 440 pages. Cover worn. <br>A farmhouse destroyed by fire. A body amongst the ruins. Dr Kay Scarpetta, Chief Medical Examiner and c onsulting pathologist for the federal law enforcement agency ATF, is called out to a farmhouse in Virginia which has been destroye d by fire. In the ruins of the house she finds a body which tells a story of a violent and grisly murder. The fire has come at the same time as another, even more incendiary horror: Carrie Grethe n, a killer who nearly destroyed the lives of Scarpetta and those closest to her, has escaped from a forensic psychiatric hospital . Her whereabouts is unknown, but her ultimate destination is not , for Carrie has begun to communicate with Scarpetta, conveying h er deadly - if cryptic - plans for revenge. Chillingly mesmeric i n tone, labyrinthine in structure, POINT OF ORIGIN is Patricia Co rnwell at her most dazzling. For more about Patricia Cornwell a nd her books visit her website on www.patricia-cornwell.com ., Little, Brown Book Group, 2000, 2.5, Bantam. Good. 4.21 x 1.19 x 6.86 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2000. 464 pages. Cover worn <br>With her bestselling mystery series fea turing Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laurie R. King has creat ed lively adventure in the very best of intellectual company, acc ording to The New York Times Book Review. Now the author of The B eekeeper's Apprentice and The Moor--the first writer since Patric ia Cornwell to win both the American Edgar and British Creasey Aw ards for a debut novel (A Grave Talent)--unfolds a hitherto unkno wn chapter in the history of Russell's apprenticeship to the grea t detective. At the close of the year 1918, forced to flee Engla nd's green and pleasant land, Russell and Holmes enter British-oc cupied Palestine under the auspices of Holmes' enigmatic brother, Mycroft. Gentlemen, we are at your service. Thus Holmes greets the two travel-grimed Arab figures who receive them in the orange groves fringing the Holy Land. Whatever role could the volatile Ali and the taciturn Mahmoud play in Mycroft's design for this la nd the British so recently wrested from the Turks? After passing a series of tests, Holmes and Russell learn their guides are enga ged in a mission for His Majesty's Government, and disguise thems elves as Bedouins--Russell as the beardless youth Amir--to join t hem in a stealthy reconnaissance through the dusty countryside. A recent rash of murders seems unrelated to the growing tensions between Jew, Moslem, and Christian, yet Holmes is adamant that he must reconstruct the most recent one in the desert gully where i t occurred. His singular findings will lead him and Russell throu gh labyrinthine bazaars, verminous inns, cliff-hung monasteries-- and into mortal danger. When her mentor's inquiries jeopardize hi s life, Russell fearlessly wields a pistol and even assays the ar ts of seduction to save him. Bruised and bloodied, the pair ascen d to the jewellike city of Jerusalem, where they will at last mee t their adversary, whose lust for savagery and power could reduce the city's most ancient and sacred place to rubble and ignite th is tinderbox of a land.... Classically Holmesian yet enchantingl y fresh, sinuously plotted, with colorful characters and a dazzli ng historic ambience, O Jerusalem sweeps readers ever onward in t he thrill of the chase. From the Hardcover edition. Editorial R eviews Review Praise for Laurie R. King's Mary Russell novels: The great marvel of King's series is that she's managed to preser ve the integrity of Holmes' character and yet somehow conjure up a woman astute, edgy, and compelling enough to be the partner of his mind as well as his heart. --The Washington Post Book World The Moor: There's no resisting the appeal of King's thrillingly m oody scenes of Dartmoor and her lovely evocations of its legends. --The New York Times Book Review Erudite, fascinating...by all odds the most successful recreation of the famous inhabitant of 2 21B Baker Street ever attempted. --Houston Chronicle A Letter Of Mary: A lively adventure in the very best of intellectual compan y. --The New York Times Book Review An intellectual puzzler, ful l of bright red herrings and dazzling asides. --Chicago Tribune A Monstrous Regiment of Women: As audacious as it is entertaining and moving. --Chicago Tribune King has a gift for the rich, dec isive detail and the narrative crispness that distinguished Conan Doyle's writing. --The Washington Post Book World Beguiling...t antalizing. --The Boston Globe The Beekeeper's Apprentice: Rousi ng...riveting...suspenseful. --Chicago Sun-Times Worthy and welc ome, with the power to charm the most grizzled Baker Street Irreg ular. --Daily News, New York From the Hardcover edition. From t he Inside Flap With her bestselling mystery series featuring Sher lock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laurie R. King has created lively a dventure in the very best of intellectual company, according to T he New York Times Book Review. Now the author of The Beekeeper's Apprentice and The Moor--the first writer since Patricia Cornwell to win both the American Edgar and British Creasey Awards for a debut novel (A Grave Talent)--unfolds a hitherto unknown chapter in the history of Russell's apprenticeship to the great detective . At the close of the year 1918, forced to flee England's green and pleasant land, Russell and Holmes enter British-occupied Pale stine under the auspices of Holmes' enigmatic brother, Mycroft. Gentlemen, we are at your service. Thus Holmes greets the two tra vel-grimed Arab figures who receive them in the orange groves fri nging the Holy Land. Whatever role could the volatile Ali and the taciturn Mahmoud play in Mycroft's design for this land the Brit ish so recently wrested from the Turks? After passing a series of tests, Holmes and Russell learn their guides are engaged in a mi ssion for His Majesty's Government, and disguise themselves as Be douins--Russell as the beardless youth Amir--to join them in a st ealthy reconnaissance through the dusty countryside. A recent ra sh of murders seems unrelated to the growing tensions between Jew , Moslem, and Christian, yet Holmes is adamant that he must recon struct the most recent one in the desert gully where it occurred. His singular findings will lead him and Russell through labyrint hine bazaars, verminous inns, cliff-hung monasteries--and into mo rtal danger. When her mentor's inquiries jeopardize his life, Rus sell fearlessly wields a pistol and even assays the arts of seduc tion to save him. Bruised and bloodied, the pair ascend to the je wellike city of Jerusalem, where they will at last meet their adv ersary, whose lust for savagery and power could reduce the city's most ancient and sacred place to rubble and ignite this tinderbo x of a land.... Classically Holmesian yet enchantingly fresh, si nuously plotted, with colorful characters and a dazzling historic ambience, O Jerusalem sweeps readers ever onward in the thrill o f the chase. From the Hardcover edition. About the Author Lauri e R. King lives with her family in the hills above Monterey Bay i n northern California. Her background includes such diverse inter ests as Old Testament theology and construction work, and she has been writing crime fiction since 1987. The winner of both the Ed gar and the John Creasey Awards for Best First Novel, her most re cent novel is A Darker Place. From the Hardcover edition. Excer pt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. The skiff was black, its gunwales scant inches above the waves. Like my two co mpanions, I was dressed in dark clothing, my face smeared with la mp-black. The rowlocks were wrapped and muffled; the loudest soun ds in all the night were the light slap of water on wood and the rhythmic rustle of Steven's clothing as he pulled at the oars. H olmes stiffened first, then Steven's oars went still, and finally I too heard it: a distant deep thrum of engines off the starboar d side. It was not the boat we had come on, but it was approachin g fast, much too fast to outrun. Steven shipped the oars without a sound, and the three of us folded up into the bottom of the ski ff. The engines grew, and grew, until they filled the night and seemed to be right upon us, and still they grew, until I began to doubt the wisdom of this enterprise before it had even begun. Ho lmes and I kept our faces pressed against the boards and stared u p at the outline that was Steven, his head raised slightly above the boat. He turned to us, and I could see the faint gleam of his teeth as he spoke. They're coming this way, might not see us if they don't put their searchlights on. If they're going to hit us I'll give you ten seconds' warning. Fill your lungs, dive off to the stern as far as you can, and swim like the living hell. Best take your shoes off now. Holmes and I wrestled with each other' s laces and tugged, then lay again waiting. The heavy churn seeme d just feet away, but Steven said nothing. We remained frozen. My teeth ached with the noise, and the thud of the ship's engines b ecame my heart-beat, and then terrifyingly a huge wall loomed abo ve us and dim lights flew past over our heads. Without warning th e skiff dropped and then leapt into the air, spinning about in ti me to hit the next wave broadside, drenching us and coming within a hair's-breadth of overturning before we were slapped back into place by the following one, sliding down into the trough and mou nting the next. Down and up and down and around we were tossed un til eventually, wet through and dizzy as a child's top, we bobble d on the sea like the piece of flotsam we were and listened to th e engines fade. Steven sat up. Anyone overboard? he asked softly . We're both here, Holmes assured him. His voice was not complet ely level, and from the bow came the brief flash of Steven's teet h. Welcome to Palestine, he whispered, grinning ferociously. I groaned as I eased myself upright. My shoulder feels broken and-- oh, damn, I've lost a boot. How are you, Holmes? It was barely tw o weeks since a bomb had blown up just behind him as he stood ten ding a beehive, and although his abrasions were healing, his skin was far from whole. My back survives, Russell, and your footwea r is here. Holmes thrust the boot at me and I fumbled to take it, then bent and pulled it and the one I had managed to hold on to back over my sodden woollen stockings. Why don't they put more r unning lights on? I complained. Troop ship, explained Steven. St ill a bit nervous about submarines. There're rumours about that s ome of the German captains haven't heard the war's over yet. Or d on't want to hear. Quiet with the bailing now, he ordered. Taking the oars back in his hands, he turned us about and continued the steady pull to shore. The remaining mile passed without inciden t. Even with the added water on board, Steven worked the oars wit h a strong, smooth ease that would have put him on an eights team in Oxford. He glanced over his shoulder occasionally at the appr oaching shore, where we were to meet two gentlemen in the employ of His Majesty's government, Ali and Mahmoud Hazr. Other than the ir names, I hadn't a clue what awaited us here. Looking up from the bailing, I eventually decided that he was making for a spot m idway between a double light north of us and a slightly amber sin gle light to the south. Swells began to rise beneath the bow and the sound of breaking waves drew closer, until suddenly we were s kimming through the white foam of mild surf, and with a jar we cr unched onto the beach. Steven immediately shipped his oars, stoo d, and stepped over the prow of the little boat into the shallow water. Holmes grabbed his haversack and went next, jumping lightl y onto the coarse shingle. I followed, pausing for a moment on th e bow to squint through my salt-smeared spectacles at the dark sh ore. Steven put his hand up to help me, and as I shifted my eyes downward they registered with a shock two figures standing perfec tly still, thirty feet or so behind Holmes. Holmes, I hissed, th ere are two women behind you! Steven's hand on mine hesitated br iefly, then tugged again. Miss Russell, there'll be a patrol any minute. It's all right. I stepped cautiously into the water besi de him and moved up to where Holmes stood. Salaam aleikum, Steve n, came a voice from the night: accented, low, and by no means th at of a woman. Aleikum es-salaam, Ali. I hope you are well. Pra ise be to God, was the reply. I have a pair of pigeons for you. They could have landed at a more convenient time, Steven. Shall I take them away again? No, Steven. We accept delivery. Mahmoud regrets we cannot ask you to come and drink coffee, but at the m oment, it would not be wise. Maalesh, he added, using the all-pur pose Arabic expression that was a verbal shrug of the shoulders a t life's inequities and accidents. I thank Mahmoud, and will acc ept another time. Go with God, Ali. Allah watch your back, Steve n. Steven put his hip to the boat and shoved it out, then scramb led on board; his oars flashed briefly. Before he had cleared the breakwater, Holmes was hurrying me up the beach in the wake of t he two flowing black shapes. I stumbled when my boots left the sh ingle and hit a patch of paving stones, and then we were on a str eet, in what seemed to be a village or the outskirts of a town. For twenty breathless minutes our path was hindered by nothing mo re than uneven ground and the occasional barking mongrel, but abr uptly the two figures in front of us whirled around, swept us int o a filthy corner, and there we cowered, shivering in our damp cl othing, while two pairs of military boots trod slowly past and tw o torches illuminated various nooks and crannies, including ours. I froze when the light shone bright around the edges of the cloa ks that covered us, but the patrol must have seen only a pile of rubbish and rags, because the light played down our alley for onl y a brief instant, and went away, leaving us a pile of softly bre athing bodies. Some of us stank of garlic and goats. The footste ps faded around a corner, and we were caught up by our guides as rapidly as we had been pushed down in the first place, and swept off again down the road. This was the land my people had clung t o for more than three thousand years, I thought with irony: a squ alid, stinking village whose inhabitants were kept inside their c rumbling walls by the occupying British Expeditionary Forces. The streets of the Promised Land flowed not with milk and honey but with ordure, and the glories of Askalon and Asdod were faded inde ed. The third time we were pushed bodily into a corner and cover ed with the garlic- and sweat-impregnated robes of our companions (neither of them women, as close proximity had quickly made appa rent, despite the cheap scent one of them wore). I thought I shou ld suffocate with the combined stench of perfume and the nauseous weeks-old fish entrails and sweetly acrid decaying oranges that we knelt in. We were there a long, long time before the two men r emoved their hands from our shoulders and let us up. I staggered a few steps away and gagged, gulping huge cleansing lungfuls of s ea air and scrubbing at my nose in a vain attempt to remove the l ingering smell. Holmes laid a hand on my back, and I pulled mysel f together and followed the men. We covered perhaps six miles th at night, though barely three if measured in a direct line. We fr oze, we doubled back, we went in circles. Once we lost one of the dark robed figures, only to have him rejoin us, equally silently , some twenty minutes and one large circui, Bantam, 2000, 2.5<
2000, ISBN: 9780553581058
Edition reliée
Bantam. Good. 4.21 x 1.19 x 6.86 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2000. 464 pages. Cover worn <br>With her bestselling mystery series fea turing Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laur… Plus…
Bantam. Good. 4.21 x 1.19 x 6.86 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2000. 464 pages. Cover worn <br>With her bestselling mystery series fea turing Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laurie R. King has creat ed lively adventure in the very best of intellectual company, acc ording to The New York Times Book Review. Now the author of The B eekeeper's Apprentice and The Moor--the first writer since Patric ia Cornwell to win both the American Edgar and British Creasey Aw ards for a debut novel (A Grave Talent)--unfolds a hitherto unkno wn chapter in the history of Russell's apprenticeship to the grea t detective. At the close of the year 1918, forced to flee Engla nd's green and pleasant land, Russell and Holmes enter British-oc cupied Palestine under the auspices of Holmes' enigmatic brother, Mycroft. Gentlemen, we are at your service. Thus Holmes greets the two travel-grimed Arab figures who receive them in the orange groves fringing the Holy Land. Whatever role could the volatile Ali and the taciturn Mahmoud play in Mycroft's design for this la nd the British so recently wrested from the Turks? After passing a series of tests, Holmes and Russell learn their guides are enga ged in a mission for His Majesty's Government, and disguise thems elves as Bedouins--Russell as the beardless youth Amir--to join t hem in a stealthy reconnaissance through the dusty countryside. A recent rash of murders seems unrelated to the growing tensions between Jew, Moslem, and Christian, yet Holmes is adamant that he must reconstruct the most recent one in the desert gully where i t occurred. His singular findings will lead him and Russell throu gh labyrinthine bazaars, verminous inns, cliff-hung monasteries-- and into mortal danger. When her mentor's inquiries jeopardize hi s life, Russell fearlessly wields a pistol and even assays the ar ts of seduction to save him. Bruised and bloodied, the pair ascen d to the jewellike city of Jerusalem, where they will at last mee t their adversary, whose lust for savagery and power could reduce the city's most ancient and sacred place to rubble and ignite th is tinderbox of a land.... Classically Holmesian yet enchantingl y fresh, sinuously plotted, with colorful characters and a dazzli ng historic ambience, O Jerusalem sweeps readers ever onward in t he thrill of the chase. From the Hardcover edition. Editorial R eviews Review Praise for Laurie R. King's Mary Russell novels: The great marvel of King's series is that she's managed to preser ve the integrity of Holmes' character and yet somehow conjure up a woman astute, edgy, and compelling enough to be the partner of his mind as well as his heart. --The Washington Post Book World The Moor: There's no resisting the appeal of King's thrillingly m oody scenes of Dartmoor and her lovely evocations of its legends. --The New York Times Book Review Erudite, fascinating...by all odds the most successful recreation of the famous inhabitant of 2 21B Baker Street ever attempted. --Houston Chronicle A Letter Of Mary: A lively adventure in the very best of intellectual compan y. --The New York Times Book Review An intellectual puzzler, ful l of bright red herrings and dazzling asides. --Chicago Tribune A Monstrous Regiment of Women: As audacious as it is entertaining and moving. --Chicago Tribune King has a gift for the rich, dec isive detail and the narrative crispness that distinguished Conan Doyle's writing. --The Washington Post Book World Beguiling...t antalizing. --The Boston Globe The Beekeeper's Apprentice: Rousi ng...riveting...suspenseful. --Chicago Sun-Times Worthy and welc ome, with the power to charm the most grizzled Baker Street Irreg ular. --Daily News, New York From the Hardcover edition. From t he Inside Flap With her bestselling mystery series featuring Sher lock Holmes and Mary Russell, Laurie R. King has created lively a dventure in the very best of intellectual company, according to T he New York Times Book Review. Now the author of The Beekeeper's Apprentice and The Moor--the first writer since Patricia Cornwell to win both the American Edgar and British Creasey Awards for a debut novel (A Grave Talent)--unfolds a hitherto unknown chapter in the history of Russell's apprenticeship to the great detective . At the close of the year 1918, forced to flee England's green and pleasant land, Russell and Holmes enter British-occupied Pale stine under the auspices of Holmes' enigmatic brother, Mycroft. Gentlemen, we are at your service. Thus Holmes greets the two tra vel-grimed Arab figures who receive them in the orange groves fri nging the Holy Land. Whatever role could the volatile Ali and the taciturn Mahmoud play in Mycroft's design for this land the Brit ish so recently wrested from the Turks? After passing a series of tests, Holmes and Russell learn their guides are engaged in a mi ssion for His Majesty's Government, and disguise themselves as Be douins--Russell as the beardless youth Amir--to join them in a st ealthy reconnaissance through the dusty countryside. A recent ra sh of murders seems unrelated to the growing tensions between Jew , Moslem, and Christian, yet Holmes is adamant that he must recon struct the most recent one in the desert gully where it occurred. His singular findings will lead him and Russell through labyrint hine bazaars, verminous inns, cliff-hung monasteries--and into mo rtal danger. When her mentor's inquiries jeopardize his life, Rus sell fearlessly wields a pistol and even assays the arts of seduc tion to save him. Bruised and bloodied, the pair ascend to the je wellike city of Jerusalem, where they will at last meet their adv ersary, whose lust for savagery and power could reduce the city's most ancient and sacred place to rubble and ignite this tinderbo x of a land.... Classically Holmesian yet enchantingly fresh, si nuously plotted, with colorful characters and a dazzling historic ambience, O Jerusalem sweeps readers ever onward in the thrill o f the chase. From the Hardcover edition. About the Author Lauri e R. King lives with her family in the hills above Monterey Bay i n northern California. Her background includes such diverse inter ests as Old Testament theology and construction work, and she has been writing crime fiction since 1987. The winner of both the Ed gar and the John Creasey Awards for Best First Novel, her most re cent novel is A Darker Place. From the Hardcover edition. Excer pt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. The skiff was black, its gunwales scant inches above the waves. Like my two co mpanions, I was dressed in dark clothing, my face smeared with la mp-black. The rowlocks were wrapped and muffled; the loudest soun ds in all the night were the light slap of water on wood and the rhythmic rustle of Steven's clothing as he pulled at the oars. H olmes stiffened first, then Steven's oars went still, and finally I too heard it: a distant deep thrum of engines off the starboar d side. It was not the boat we had come on, but it was approachin g fast, much too fast to outrun. Steven shipped the oars without a sound, and the three of us folded up into the bottom of the ski ff. The engines grew, and grew, until they filled the night and seemed to be right upon us, and still they grew, until I began to doubt the wisdom of this enterprise before it had even begun. Ho lmes and I kept our faces pressed against the boards and stared u p at the outline that was Steven, his head raised slightly above the boat. He turned to us, and I could see the faint gleam of his teeth as he spoke. They're coming this way, might not see us if they don't put their searchlights on. If they're going to hit us I'll give you ten seconds' warning. Fill your lungs, dive off to the stern as far as you can, and swim like the living hell. Best take your shoes off now. Holmes and I wrestled with each other' s laces and tugged, then lay again waiting. The heavy churn seeme d just feet away, but Steven said nothing. We remained frozen. My teeth ached with the noise, and the thud of the ship's engines b ecame my heart-beat, and then terrifyingly a huge wall loomed abo ve us and dim lights flew past over our heads. Without warning th e skiff dropped and then leapt into the air, spinning about in ti me to hit the next wave broadside, drenching us and coming within a hair's-breadth of overturning before we were slapped back into place by the following one, sliding down into the trough and mou nting the next. Down and up and down and around we were tossed un til eventually, wet through and dizzy as a child's top, we bobble d on the sea like the piece of flotsam we were and listened to th e engines fade. Steven sat up. Anyone overboard? he asked softly . We're both here, Holmes assured him. His voice was not complet ely level, and from the bow came the brief flash of Steven's teet h. Welcome to Palestine, he whispered, grinning ferociously. I groaned as I eased myself upright. My shoulder feels broken and-- oh, damn, I've lost a boot. How are you, Holmes? It was barely tw o weeks since a bomb had blown up just behind him as he stood ten ding a beehive, and although his abrasions were healing, his skin was far from whole. My back survives, Russell, and your footwea r is here. Holmes thrust the boot at me and I fumbled to take it, then bent and pulled it and the one I had managed to hold on to back over my sodden woollen stockings. Why don't they put more r unning lights on? I complained. Troop ship, explained Steven. St ill a bit nervous about submarines. There're rumours about that s ome of the German captains haven't heard the war's over yet. Or d on't want to hear. Quiet with the bailing now, he ordered. Taking the oars back in his hands, he turned us about and continued the steady pull to shore. The remaining mile passed without inciden t. Even with the added water on board, Steven worked the oars wit h a strong, smooth ease that would have put him on an eights team in Oxford. He glanced over his shoulder occasionally at the appr oaching shore, where we were to meet two gentlemen in the employ of His Majesty's government, Ali and Mahmoud Hazr. Other than the ir names, I hadn't a clue what awaited us here. Looking up from the bailing, I eventually decided that he was making for a spot m idway between a double light north of us and a slightly amber sin gle light to the south. Swells began to rise beneath the bow and the sound of breaking waves drew closer, until suddenly we were s kimming through the white foam of mild surf, and with a jar we cr unched onto the beach. Steven immediately shipped his oars, stoo d, and stepped over the prow of the little boat into the shallow water. Holmes grabbed his haversack and went next, jumping lightl y onto the coarse shingle. I followed, pausing for a moment on th e bow to squint through my salt-smeared spectacles at the dark sh ore. Steven put his hand up to help me, and as I shifted my eyes downward they registered with a shock two figures standing perfec tly still, thirty feet or so behind Holmes. Holmes, I hissed, th ere are two women behind you! Steven's hand on mine hesitated br iefly, then tugged again. Miss Russell, there'll be a patrol any minute. It's all right. I stepped cautiously into the water besi de him and moved up to where Holmes stood. Salaam aleikum, Steve n, came a voice from the night: accented, low, and by no means th at of a woman. Aleikum es-salaam, Ali. I hope you are well. Pra ise be to God, was the reply. I have a pair of pigeons for you. They could have landed at a more convenient time, Steven. Shall I take them away again? No, Steven. We accept delivery. Mahmoud regrets we cannot ask you to come and drink coffee, but at the m oment, it would not be wise. Maalesh, he added, using the all-pur pose Arabic expression that was a verbal shrug of the shoulders a t life's inequities and accidents. I thank Mahmoud, and will acc ept another time. Go with God, Ali. Allah watch your back, Steve n. Steven put his hip to the boat and shoved it out, then scramb led on board; his oars flashed briefly. Before he had cleared the breakwater, Holmes was hurrying me up the beach in the wake of t he two flowing black shapes. I stumbled when my boots left the sh ingle and hit a patch of paving stones, and then we were on a str eet, in what seemed to be a village or the outskirts of a town. For twenty breathless minutes our path was hindered by nothing mo re than uneven ground and the occasional barking mongrel, but abr uptly the two figures in front of us whirled around, swept us int o a filthy corner, and there we cowered, shivering in our damp cl othing, while two pairs of military boots trod slowly past and tw o torches illuminated various nooks and crannies, including ours. I froze when the light shone bright around the edges of the cloa ks that covered us, but the patrol must have seen only a pile of rubbish and rags, because the light played down our alley for onl y a brief instant, and went away, leaving us a pile of softly bre athing bodies. Some of us stank of garlic and goats. The footste ps faded around a corner, and we were caught up by our guides as rapidly as we had been pushed down in the first place, and swept off again down the road. This was the land my people had clung t o for more than three thousand years, I thought with irony: a squ alid, stinking village whose inhabitants were kept inside their c rumbling walls by the occupying British Expeditionary Forces. The streets of the Promised Land flowed not with milk and honey but with ordure, and the glories of Askalon and Asdod were faded inde ed. The third time we were pushed bodily into a corner and cover ed with the garlic- and sweat-impregnated robes of our companions (neither of them women, as close proximity had quickly made appa rent, despite the cheap scent one of them wore). I thought I shou ld suffocate with the combined stench of perfume and the nauseous weeks-old fish entrails and sweetly acrid decaying oranges that we knelt in. We were there a long, long time before the two men r emoved their hands from our shoulders and let us up. I staggered a few steps away and gagged, gulping huge cleansing lungfuls of s ea air and scrubbing at my nose in a vain attempt to remove the l ingering smell. Holmes laid a hand on my back, and I pulled mysel f together and followed the men. We covered perhaps six miles th at night, though barely three if measured in a direct line. We fr oze, we doubled back, we went in circles. Once we lost one of the dark robed figures, only to have him rejoin us, equally silently , some twenty minutes and one large circui, Bantam, 2000, 2.5<
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Informations détaillées sur le livre - O Jerusalem (Mary Russell Mystery)
EAN (ISBN-13): 9780553581058
ISBN (ISBN-10): 0553581058
Version reliée
Livre de poche
Date de parution: 2000
Editeur: Bantam Books
464 Pages
Poids: 0,227 kg
Langue: eng/Englisch
Livre dans la base de données depuis 2007-02-27T05:49:41+01:00 (Paris)
Page de détail modifiée en dernier sur 2024-02-05T12:28:53+01:00 (Paris)
ISBN/EAN: 9780553581058
ISBN - Autres types d'écriture:
0-553-58105-8, 978-0-553-58105-8
Autres types d'écriture et termes associés:
Auteur du livre: laurie, king, richard, booba, russell, else jerusalem, rüssell
Titre du livre: russell, russel, bo2ba dans turfu, more mary, jérusalem, jerusalém, jerusalem 1000 1400
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