Firstly,
happy New Year to one and all! If you’re anything like me, your midriff will
still be in a sorry state of calorie overspill. Don’t think I have ever eaten
so much, though woe is me, never could I resist pleasurably produced, good old-fashioned
Christmas fare. End of. No more. Not for another twelve months. I promise. At
least I think so. Well, maybe…
Secondly,
my sincere apologies for lack of blog content, it’s been a tough few months
finishing off my second book; Empress Gold. My editor and proof-reader is
halfway through and the finished article should be up and running on Amazon
Kindle, Kobo and hopefully, Apple iBook by the end of April, so lots to look
forward to. Have stuck an excerpt on here for you; more
of a thriller/adventure novel, some of the characters you will recognise from
Sons of Africa. It sort of follows on, but will definitely work as a
standalone. Anyway, read the excerpt and have a gander at the superb cover artwork.
My graphic design expert, Lon Chan has done me proud: a man of masterly touch
and great imagination.
My best
for 2013 and your occasional popping in to read my ramblings will be much
looked forward to. I value your
interest; would be kind of lost without you.
*
Excerpt from Empress Gold:
‘What about recompense? Financial
compensation for lost interests.’
‘You’re alive, Mister Goddard.’
Pasviri’s eyes narrowed. ‘In our new Zimbabwe, most men would regard that fact
as recompense enough.’ He nodded to his entourage. ‘Leave us. I will join you
shortly.’
In the quiet, two men, both of
different origins stood just metres apart. Had it been a hundred years
previous, rather than the surroundings of a plush office there would have been
thick forest and the discomfort of cold guti
rain to contend with. Their dress, as decreed by historical circumstance would
have been for Pasviri, fashioned from the skins of jackal and leopard and for Lee,
a uniform of roughly woven calico, topped with slouch hat; across his chest
would hang a soldier’s bandoliers, loaded with British South Africa Company’s,
.44 calibre, Boxer-Henry ammunition.
‘In our grandfathers’ day,’ said Pasviri, ‘forgive me for quoting the Bible, but kaffirs, as we were referred to were tolerated only under sufferance, the proverbial hewers of wood and carriers of water.’ He took his time lighting another cigarette. ‘Not any more, comrade. Along with your infamous Mister Rhodes, the heady days of white supremacy are well and truly buried – forever.’
*
