Sam Enthoven

A preview extract, with exclusive art by Malcolm Harrison

words (c) Sam Enthoven / visuals (c) Malcolm Harrison 2010. All rights reserved.

Part 1

LONDON. The financial district, aka the City. Deep underground. 6:16pm

In the dark pit that had been my prison for almost three hundred and fifty years, Steadman’s latest victim was regaining consciousness.


‘Mr Miller?’ said Steadman’s voice from the pit’s wall-mounted speakers. ‘Mr Miller? Can you hear me?’

There was a groan. ‘Wh . . . what?’ The voice was that of a young man, not much more than a teenager. ‘Where am I? What . . . what happened?’

‘I imagine,’ said Steadman, ‘that the last thing you remember is lunch at my club. You spent most of the meal boasting about some trivial few million you made on the money markets this morning. For my part, I allowed you to imagine that the Corporation might be interested in you for a purpose other than your present one – and drugged your wine.’ He sighed. ‘Shocking way to treat a fine Margaux, I know. But then, so was wasting it on you.’

‘Mr Steadman,’ said his victim, trying for reason, ‘Lionel, I don’t-‘

‘Kindly shut up and let me tell you what you’re doing there.’

-Click here for Part 2


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