by Kim Newman
‘Immersive, claustrophobic and utterly wonderful.’ M.R. Carey, New York Times bestselling author of The Girl With All the Gifts
‘Thoroughly enjoyable, master storytelling.’ Lauren Beukes, bestselling author of Broken Monsters
‘Deserves to stand beside the great novels of the ghostly.’ Ramsey Campbell
‘An intoxicating read.’ Paul Cornell, bestselling author of London Falling
TITANBOOKS.COM
AFTER THE CURTAIN
HIS CELL WAS (ironically) called Box 5.
It was literally a box – with a corrugated iron lid, instead of a door. Tropic rain fell in through an open grille in the lid. Or else burning sun made his wet rags steam. They let him keep his mask so they wouldn’t have to look at him. If it ever occurred to them how susceptible his pale skin was to sunburn, it would be taken away.
The Governor would occasionally sit by Box 5, reading aloud from the Paris papers, which arrived in this harsh corner of the world six weeks after publication. Many shows had closed by the time he heard what the critics thought of them.
On this island, France kept its monsters.
Balaoo, the trusty who helped keep inmates in line, was a shambling ape with the rudimentary power of speech. He was crueller than the guards. To show he was a man, he had to be worse than any beast.
On his first escape attempt, he merely scouted out the compound, peeking into cells. He was curious about his fellow prisoners.
Some of the finest families in France packed their disgraces off to l’Île des Monstres. The Marquis de Coulteray, who drank blood, as if that were anything special… Reginald de Malveneur, who tore at the bars and howled when the full moon shone down.
One cell bore the name Maximus Leo. Inside was a severed hand, nailed to a board but still wriggling. Even he was minded to stay away from that.
Up to her neck in swamp-water, he found a claimant to the Throne of Atlantis.
He took no pleasure in that.
They caught him before dawn, as he expected.
Balaoo whipped him, but he was used to pain. He had lived with pain all his life.
Back in Box 5, he closed his eyes and willed the rattle of rain to sound like Idomeneo. Electra – Christine Daaé – singing ‘Tutte nel Cor vi Sento Furie del Cupo Averno’. ‘I Can Feel you All in My Heart, Furies of the Dark Hell’. In his mind, he explored the building he had made his home – had rarely left for forty years – summoning up the tiniest detail.
He heard the rustle of dresses. Smelled powder and rosin. Sensed the anticipation of an audience. The thunder of applause. His heart swelled. His skull rang with music.
A bucket of filth was tipped in on him. Gibbering laughter interrupted his reverie.
Still, he hoped for a deliverance. He trusted in Angels.
The occupant of Box 5 smiled. Without lips, he had no choice.
