Marriage of the Living Dark by David Wingrove

Author:David Wingrove [Wingrove, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-03-11T07:00:00+00:00

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The body lay on the bed where the servants had laid it, the skin so pale it seemed like wax. Looking across at it from the doorway, Levitch could not help wondering what his Master had been feeling in those last few moments before he'd died, for he had never seen a smiling corpse before - never seen such joy on the face of a dead man. And that erection!

Chalker's men had come an hour back to confiscate the tape, but it had been too late to save Harding.

Six times he'd visited the shell. Six times! And each time more feverishly, as if he could not live unless he were back there, inside that awful, suffocating box.

It had killed him. Levitch was as sure of that as he could be. Harding had been a fit old bastard and had no history of heart trouble, so the seizure was totally unexpected.

Unless that too had been part of the programme.

The idea hadn't occurred to him immediately. He'd been too shocked to find his Master dead in the shell with that grin on his face. But the more he thought about it, the more it troubled him.

He had seen Harding use the shell before. The old boy had at least two dozen tapes, Shepherd's The Familiar among them, but he had never acted the way he had last night

Like someone driven. Someone who had totally lost control.

Levitch shook his head then turned away, heading back to his room. The surgeon's report was on his desk, along with the death certificate. "Natural causes," it read.

Natural causes, my arse.

Sitting down behind the desk, Levitch pushed the surgeon's papers aside, then reached across to take the house journal from the tray. He knew already what he would write for this evening's entry: "Master found dead." There was no need for any further details. No, nor time to write them, really. The old man's death had created an administrative headache that would eat up his every waking hour. Even so, he felt he ought to mention his suspicions to someone.

Chalker, perhaps.

Opening the big, leather-bound book, Levitch reached across, took the pen from the inkstand and began to write, even as the dawn's light began to filter through the blinds.

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