Lucifer's Crown
Lucifer's Crown
“He was minded of the sanctuary knocker at Durham cathedral. Sanctuary. The word had a good sound to it, solid, like the reverberating thud of iron upon iron.The door opened. His bleary eyes focused on the man who stood in the opening. “Mr. Puckle, is it?""Puckle it is, lad. Come through.” And, over Mick's shoulder as he stepped across the threshold, “Thomas. Filthy night, isn't it?""And yet without rain nothing would grow.” The second man was tall, with a stern pale face like the stone effigy o...f a Crusader. He closed his umbrella and shut the door. “Good evening. Mick Dewar, I presume?""Aye, that I am.""Thomas London.” His handclasp was firm if cool."The missus has already gone up to bed—headache—but I can lay on some sandwiches and a cuppa,” said Puckle.Mick flexed his icy fingers. “Thank you kindly."The distant beat of Nevermas's newest hit reverberated not in his ears but in his entire body. The lads had done themselves proud—brilliant bit of work, “First Rites.”MoreLess
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