The Devil in Amber: A Lucifer Box Novel by Mark Gatiss

Author:Mark Gatiss
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Humorous, General, Mystery & Detective, Fiction
ISBN: 9780743283960
Publisher: Scribner
Published: 2007-01-09T00:00:00+00:00

I could head for the nearest town. Despite my state of déshabillé, I’d pass for a sailor and I still had cash, tucked away in the soaking money-belt. But, of course, the place would be crawling with rozzers. I might as well turn up and bang a gong, announcing the arrival of the celebrated Lucifer Box: artist, bon-viveur, sexual athlete and wanted felon.

An uncontrollable shivering took hold of me and I hugged my knees in a vain effort to keep warm. I knew I should move on, find somewhere genuinely secure to rest, but I felt my head nodding again as the strain of the past few hours began to take its toll.

I snapped suddenly awake at the dreaded sound of baying hounds. With renewed desperation, I felt in my pocket for matches, hoping against hope that they were sufficiently dry to be of use. I stiffened as, below the noise of the pursuing dogs I became aware of another sound. Close to. A sort of shuffling.

At once, I tried the matches. Once, twice, three times, I rasped at the sandpaper without result until, suddenly, the little stalk flared into sulphurous life.

I grinned happily at my success until I saw what the match had illumined.

It was as though the whole of the stern of the ruined old boat were encrusted with jewels. Bright, shining shapes glittered at me like rubies in the darkness.

Eyes.

I gawped as the match spent its little life and then an horrendous squealing confirmed what I already knew. The place was alive, was boiling with rats.

Scrambling backwards on my rear, I made for the open air just as the mass of rodents exploded outwards and I was overtaken by a torrent of stinking fur. I cried out in sheer horror as they overwhelmed me, their teeth sinking into the fabric of my coat and trousers, their scaly tails, thick as my numbed fingers, thrashing about my face. Gagging with disgust, I tried to scramble under the rotten planks and out into the daylight but the tide of rodents overwhelmed me. I positively swam through the onslaught of fur and teeth, my arms flailing as I clawed at the wet ground and dragged myself through into the open air.

Then, all at once, as though obeying some silent command, the rats streamed away into the marshes like a trickle of oil.

Flat on my back, I looked up at the vast expanse of sky, chest heaving.

A strange quiet had descended and I sat up, looking about me. There was absolutely no sign of the pack of rats and not a sound to be heard: no curlew winging through the morning sky, no frog paddling in the soaking ground at my feet. Even the icy wind had dropped completely. I got to my feet and looked about, conscious of the same curious feeling of dread that had come upon me in my cabin on the Stiffkey. I felt with absolute certainty that if I stamped my foot it would make no sound whatsoever.

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