The Osiris Ritual E-Book

George Mann

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

Death stalks London and the newspapers proclaim that a mummy's curse has been unleashed. Sir Maurice Newbury is drawn into a web of occult intrigue as he attempts to solve the murders. And he soon finds himself on the trail of a rogue agent - a man who died to be reborn as a living weapon. Meanwhile, Newbury's able assistant, Miss Veronica Hobbes, has her own mystery to unravel. Young women are going missing...

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Also by George Mann

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also Available from Titan Books

Coming Soon from Titan Books

Also by George Mann and available from Titan Books

The Affinity Bridge: A Newbury & Hobbes Investigation

The Immorality Engine: A Newbury & Hobbes Investigation (March 2016)

The Executioner’s Heart: A Newbury & Hobbes Investigation

The Revenant Express: A Newbury & Hobbes Investigation (August 2016)

The Albion Initiative: A Newbury & Hobbes Investigation (August 2017)

The Casebook of Newbury & Hobbes

Sherlock Holmes: The Will of the Dead

Sherlock Holmes: The Spirit Box

Encounters of Sherlock Holmes

Further Encounters of Sherlock Holmes

Ghosts of Manhattan

Ghosts of War

Ghosts of Karnak (May 2016)

Ghosts of Empire (October 2017)

THE OSIRIS RITUAL: A NEWBURY & HOBBES INVESTIGATIONPrint edition ISBN: 9781783298259E-book edition ISBN: 9781783298266

Published byTitan BooksA division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd144 Southwark StreetLondonSE1 0UP

First Titan edition: November 201510 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Names, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.

George Mann asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Copyright © 2009, 2015 George Mann.

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No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

FOR EMILY MAY IRENE MANN

CHAPTER 1

LONDON, FEBRUARY 1902

George Purefoy was running late.

The young reporter hurtled down the street, his notebook clutched tightly in his hand. He dodged the other pedestrians, who eyed him warily as he raced by like some crazed animal pursued by an invisible pack of hounds. His sand-coloured hair stung his eyes where it whipped across his face in the driving wind. His dinner suit was crumpled, and now, to top things off, it had started to rain. The biggest assignment of his career to date, and things had already started to go terribly wrong.

Purefoy skipped around a red post box, narrowly missed colliding with an elderly gentleman in a top hat, and finally flung himself around a bend in the road. There, in the distance, was Albion House, the home of Lord Henry Winthrop. The street outside the house was bathed in bright yellow light from the windows, and even from here, a good hundred feet away, the noise of the party spilled out, a cacophony of chatter in the otherwise quiet London evening.

Purefoy, catching his breath, slowed his pace to a steady walk. He tried to regain his composure, smoothing his jacket and straightening his tie. Rain pattered lightly on his face. Other guests were still arriving at the big house, and whilst he was most definitely late, it didn’t look to Purefoy like he had missed the main event. At least he hoped not; his career as a reporter depended on it.

Purefoy had made his way here, across town from the office, for the society event of the year: to cover the return of the explorer and philanthropist Lord Henry Winthrop from his expedition to Egypt. It would also be the grand unveiling of Lord Winthrop’s greatest find: the mummified remains of an ancient Theban king. There had been a great deal of fanfare about the success of the expedition over the last few weeks, accompanied by wild claims from Winthrop that the mummy was a unique specimen. Found still wrapped in its finery, it was said to bear strange markings that were unfamiliar to any of the experts he had consulted at the British Museum. It was the talk of London, and tonight, Winthrop planned to unwrap the bindings of the long-dead king before a select audience.

Much to the chagrin of his fellow reporters, Purefoy had been assigned to cover the event for The Times, following the success of his recent piece about the revenant plague—a disease from India that had terrorised the slums since before Christmas—and the government conspiracy to hide the fact that it was still spreading unchecked through the London slums. He’d set off in plenty of time, of course, first picking out his best suit and selecting a brand-new notebook from his pile. But then the ground train he was on had shuddered to a halt a few streets away, and word had spread throughout the carriages that a spooked horse had caused a cart to overturn, spilling its cargo of rags and bones across the tracks up ahead. Knowing that he didn’t have much further to go, and sure that waiting for the engineers to clear the tracks would cause him to miss the party, Purefoy had taken matters into his own hands and set out on foot. Now, uncomfortable, damp, and late, he was starting to wonder whether the assignment was more of a curse than the blessing it had at first appeared to be.