Can Emelia and her band of plucky outcasts save the world from a cult of fanatics intent on unleashing an ancient horror?
The Beckoning Void
by Patrick LeClerc
Genre: Gaslamp Adventure Horror
Emelia DuMond is an actress, her skill at adopting and changing her identity lifting her from her humble beginnings to success on the stage of Victorian London. And to the attention of the Ghost Society, a secret organization who work to defend the world from threats of the paranormal. After centuries of seeking, the sinister Disciples of the Void have obtained an arcane book of great power. A power that could tear the veil between dimensions and plunge the world into a dark, unspeakable future.
Now she has recruited an aging soldier of fortune burdened by a conscience, the sword wielding daughter of an Afghan brigand and an airship whose captain escaped slavery during the Civil War by stealing a Confederate vessel.
Can Emelia and her band of plucky outcasts save the world from a cult of fanatics intent on unleashing an ancient horror?
“The Beckoning Void” is a tale of cunning plots, flashing swords, skillful piloting, witty repartee and eldritch dread.
** Recently made it into the semi finals of the 2023 Book Blogger Novel of the Year Award! Details can be found at https://www.bbnya.com/ OR on Twitter at @BBNYA_Official **
It did not take long for the two new bodyguards to gather their belongings and meet Emelia at the Phoenix. After they had seen the ship and been shown their berths, MacGregor invited them all for a drink at the big table in the wardroom. As they took their seats, he reverently opened a new bottle of whisky.
“Not hoarding the good stuff for yourself?” asked Connolly.
“Figured you deserved a dram since I won it betting on you.”
“Trading on inside information?” said Connolly, accepting the offered glass.
“Having knowledge and failing to use it goes against every principle of engineering. At that point, you may as well just be a scientist.”
“Where do you two know one another from?” Emelia asked. “I know you said you met in the army, but there must be a story there.”
“We met in India. On the Northwest Frontier. Near Afghanistan,” said MacGregor.
“Long time ago,” added Connolly. “Twenty years?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Jesus.”
“I was in the Royal Engineers, doing aerial surveying and building bridges in that godforsaken country. Connolly here had a Company commission. Led a troop of irregular cavalry.”
“Like leading Ali Baba’s Forty Thieves,” Connolly smiled. “First class scouts, damn fine horsemen. Thieves to the bone. Steal the horse from under your saddle if you looked away. God, I miss ‘em.”
Alyah studied his face. “Khan Ali?” she said.
“What?” Connolly asked.
“You are Khan Ali?”
Connolly let out a laugh. “That’s what my men called me. Closest they could get to ‘Connolly.’ How’d you know that?”
“I think you met my father.”
“Age is a hell of a thing.” He shook his head. “Was he one of my cutthroats?”
“One of the cutthroats on the other side,” she said with a wide grin. “I think you have him to thank for that scar.”
“Really?” drawled MacGregor. “That’s a tale, now.”
“I did get that from some brigand with a tulwar,” said Connolly, rubbing a scar above his right eyebrow. “That bastard was your father?”
“He always bragged he struck down the great Khan Ali,” Alyah replied. “Now I know his boast has some substance.”
“He didn’t strike me down. We crossed swords, and he got the better of it. I killed two of his fellows that day before he and I fought.”
“He credited you with ten,” she said. “Before he defeated you.”
“It was only two. And he didn’t defeat me, he cut me. And escaped. I’d have caught him if it wasn’t for the blood running into my eyes.”
“It seems the young lady takes after her father,” said the engineer.
“If he’d been half as good as she is, I’d be dead,” said Connolly.
“So your father was an Afghan brigand?” asked Emelia, turning her curiosity on the other woman.
“Could be worse,” said MacGregor. “Could have been a Tory MP or a railroad baron.”
Patrick LeClerc makes good use of his history degree by working as a paramedic for an ever- changing parade of ambulance companies in the Northern suburbs of Boston. When not writing he enjoys cooking, fencing and making witty, insightful remarks with career-limiting candor.
In the lulls between runs on the ambulance --and sometimes the lulls between employment at various ambulance companies-- he writes fiction.
His work can be found at inkandbourbon.com, and quantummuse.com
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