Fire in the Hole

 My current WIP is a bit noir, a bit mad, a rock and roller of a story that runs at breakneck speed. It's utterly different to anything I've done before, and it'll need a lot of editing once it's done. It's really fun to write though, I'm bursting with it, so I thought I'd share a sample with you.

 This is the opening of the story, in which we meet the MC Trist and his peculiar companion;


       The tall man stepped over a smouldering rug. Around him fires flickered and bodies lay on the carpet, in the chairs, one even half out of the window.

“Might have been a bit over the top,” he said.

“You do the sword, I do the fire.”

“Yes,” Trist said, looking around. “I just hadn’t expected quite that much fire.”

“They’re down, aren’t they?”

“The problem, Feng, is that not many of them are likely to get up again.”

He found a little blaze that was feeling its way towards the curtains, and stamped it out in a billow of sparks and ash. Next to it was the man in the window. Trist pulled him away. Glass crackled and fell to the floor. A shard six inches long was lodged in the man’s throat, and Trist grimaced.

Looking out, he saw the garden below was deserted. Well, not quite. A lone gardener fled for his life and vanished as Trist watched.

“Trouble?” Feng asked.

“There will be. The servants will go straight to the Watch. We’ll have company very soon.”

“We knew that would happen.”

He shrugged. “Maybe not so fast.”

“Lucky you’ve got me then,” Feng said.

Movement drew Trist’s eye. One of the slumped figures had begun to stir. A young man, hair singed and clothes sooty, his back turned. He pushed up on his hands and then froze as Trist’s blade kissed the skin under his throat.

“Had a nice rest?” Trist asked. “I’m so glad. Fresh minds find answers so quickly, don’t you think?”

The man was young, probably a few years short of twenty. A fold at the outside of his eyes, which swivelled around the room. When they fell on Feng he gave a little whimper.

“Let’s start with some easy questions,” Trist said. “What’s your name?”

“My – my name?”

“Don’t you have one?”

“Uh… Anterl.”

“Well, good evening, Anterl. I trust you’ve had a good day? Up until the last few minutes, anyway. No? Well, here’s another question. How do you like working for Margon Sleeth?”

“It’s all right,” the youth said.

“You like working for Sleeth,” Trist said. “The drug dealer. The man who brings waste and death to hundreds. You like it.”

No answer. The youth trembled.

 The scene goes on, but that's enough for now. The story seems to have more dialogue and less narrative than usual for me, which wasn't a conscious choice (well, not at first). It also has a proper anti-hero, and later a strange lot of characters, some human and some not so much. And it's really huge fun.

 Hope you liked the taster. If you see anything obviously wrong or clanky, please let me know. I reckon I can take it y'know. Come to that, let me know if you enjoyed it, the old ego could always use a stroke...