The Crimson Rooms [antikvár]

Chapter One May 1924, London I followed my brother across a plateau where a bitter wind howled and flashes filled the sky. A sudden glare revealed churned earth and a monstrous coil of metal. My brother marched ahead, immaculate in cap and pressed uniform. I tried to keep up but floundered thigh-deep in mud. Though I thrashed and scrabbled there was nothing to hold on to, neither root nor rock. At last I wrenched a foot free but James was now yards ahead, far beyond my reach. I clutched at my other thigh with both hands and hauled until it was released and I could crawl forward. The front of my nightgown was a sheet of freezing sludge. 'Jamie.' He trod lightly, springing from one dry patch to another. The sky flickered again and this time I saw a man fallen like a puppet on the wire, back arched, legs splayed. And in the next flash there was another boy, perhaps fifty yards ahead, waving. Tears made runnels down his filthy cheeks, his mouth gaped and the lower half of his body was a mash of blood and bone. I faltered again. 'James,' I cried through lips clogged with mud, 'come back,' but he didn't hear me. His arms were extended towards the boy. The sky roared. Above a shudder of gunfire came the ear-splitting whizz and crack of a shell. I yelled again, 'James,' but