Ghosts by Gaslight - Jack Dann [39]
Then darkness in darkness.
And the screaming.
Afterword to “The Shaddowwes Box”
As so often happens, “The Shaddowwes Box” came from a blending of things. First there was a lifelong interest in Egyptology, and more specifically in the circumstances surrounding the fate of Unknown Man E in the 1881 Maspero cache and how it must have been for the poor wretch whose burial it was.
I already had the opening line from earlier in 2010 and fancied doing a mummy story at last, but where to take it? The invitation from the editors brought the Maspero connection to mind and some even earlier reading on the mind’s effects on the material world. If we can allow that the properties of water and ice crystals can be changed by the human observer, why not other things?
Completing the inspiration package were Shakespeare’s spelling of shadow as “shaddowwe” and the Italian word for tomb robbers: tombaroli.
—TERRY DOWLING
Garth Nix
Garth Nix was born in 1963 in Melbourne, Australia. A full-time writer since 2001, he has previously worked as a literary agent, marketing consultant, book editor, book publicist, book sales representative, bookseller, and part-time soldier in the Australian Army Reserve. Garth’s novels include the award-winning fantasies Sabriel, Lirael, and Abhorsen and the YA SF novel Shade’s Children. His fantasy books for children include The Ragwitch; the six books of The Seventh Tower sequence; and the seven books of The Keys to the Kingdom series. His books have appeared on the bestseller lists of the New York Times, Publishers Weekly, the Guardian, the Sunday Times, and the Australian, and his work has been translated into thirty-eight languages. He lives in a Sydney beach suburb with his wife and two children.
GARTH NIX
The Curious Case of the
Moondawn Daffodils Murder
As Experienced by Sir Magnus Holmes and Almost-Doctor Susan Shrike
HOLMES IS HERE, Inspector,” announced the sergeant, peering around the door of Inspector Lestrade’s office, which was currently occupied by the newly promoted Inspector McIntyre, as Lestrade was on his holiday. “In a manner of speaking, that is.”
McIntyre, aware of the susceptibility of those risen from the ranks to pranks from those less fortunate, chose to play a straight bat.
“What do you mean, in a manner of speaking?” he asked calmly, placing the file he had been reading slowly down upon Lestrade’s desk. “Is he or is he not present in the antechamber?”
“Well, he is present,” said the sergeant. His name was Cumber and his intellect was not particularly finely honed. “Only it isn’t Mr. Sherlock Holmes, as you invited.”
McIntyre set both his hands flat on the table, as they trembled with visible tension.
“You don’t mean to say that Mr. Mycroft Holmes has come to see me!”
McIntyre was well aware of Mr. Mycroft Holmes’s importance within the government, and the range and power of his influence. He also knew that the elder Holmes never left his club, and he could not even begin to consider just how much more serious the case before him must be if Mycroft Holmes himself had come to consult upon it. Why, it was more than the mountain going to Mahomet, it was unprecedented, it was—
The sergeant broke into McIntyre’s slightly panicked thoughts.
“No, it isn’t Mr. Mycroft Holmes. It’s a Sir Magnus Holmes.”
“Sir Magnus Holmes . . .” muttered the inspector. “I don’t believe I’ve even heard of the fellow.”
“He has a woman with him,” said the sergeant darkly. “One of them modern women.”
“What!?” exploded McIntyre. “If this is all some sort of joke, Cumber, it’s gone too far.”
“Not a joke,” said Cumber. He paused for a moment to reflect, then added, “Least, not that I know of. Shall I send them in?”
“No!” roared McIntyre. He thumped his fist on the desk, making the file jump and his half-empty