2000, ISBN: 9781611778212

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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, New. All items ship Monday - Friday - Fast Shipping in a secure bubble mailer., 6<