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Houlihan, John (ed.) - Dark Tales From the Secret War / Хулиэн, Джон (ред.) - Темные истории секретной войны [2015, EPUB, ENG]

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John Houlihan (ed.) - Dark Tales From the Secret War

Название: Dark Tales From the Secret War / Темные истории секретной войны
Год выпуска: 2015
Под редакцией: Houlihan, John / Хулиэн, Джон
Издательство: Modiphius Entertainment
ISBN: 978-1-910132-46-3
Формат: EPUB
Качество: eBook
Язык: английский

Описание:
Ктулху на Второй Мировой войне
SHADOW OF THE BLACK SUN David J Rodger
BLOODBORN IN SARANDE Patrick Garratt
DER ALBTRAUM JE Bryant
TERROR OF TRIBEC Martin Korda
IN THE SHADOWS OF THE 603RD Richard Dansky
THE KING IN WAITING Dan Griliopoulos
SERVANT OF THE DARK John Houlihan
THE HEART OF THE SEA Mick Gall
DANGER NAZI U.X.O. Will Salmon
IN THE FLESH Josh Vogt
AMID THE SANDS OF DEEPEST TIME Jason Brick
CONCERNING RUDOLF HESS, MR. BUCKLE AND THE BOOK Paul Cunliffe
THE CURSE OF CTHULHU Jake Webb
THE KING IN WAITING
By Dan Griliopoulos

A young lady stepped lightly down from a hansom cab in the new suburbs of Barnet, in far North London. She was slight, with bobbed brown hair, oval glasses, a round hat, and a two-piece tweed suit that made her look much older than her years. The only dissonant element was at her waist and at her wrists, where clusters of gewgaws, gimcracks and fetishes dangled and clashed as she moved.
The cab had deposited her in the middle of a building site and she looked around for a moment. She was standing at the end of a row of ugly new houses, where they faded into construction equipment. Up the road was a suburban scene, with topiary-heavy gardens and red-tiled roofs topped by small birds lazing in the summer sun. Here, rubble and cranes dominated, with a long Nissen hut acting as a site office. As she took it in, a suntanned man in overalls and a builder’s helmet jumped up from his desk in the hut and hurried over.
He smiled ingenuously. “Can I ‘elp you, Miss?” he said. “Do you need directions somewhere? This building work is rather dangerous.” He gestured widely around at the deserted dig site and made to escort her away.
“My name is Emily Confort, of the Met Office.” she said, pulling her elbow out of his grasp. “George is expecting me. He said to say ‘Chrome Yellow’.”
The man’s chummy demeanour changed to respectfully dour. “Oh! Oh.” He frowned and then turned back towards the site office. “You’d better come down.”
There was a moist warmth and sharp actinic smell inside the corrugated steel hut. A pair of huge ventilation shafts loomed over both the foreman’s cheap desk and a steep spiral staircase going down. He handed her a tin helmet. “You’d best wear this, miss.” Emily shook her head at the proffered helmet, and peered down into the banister-less depths. “Well then. Watch your head and your step. Come this way.”
. . .
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