The Vagrant
The Vagrant is his name. He has no other.Years have passed since humanity’s destruction emerged from the Breach.Friendless and alone he walks across a desolate, war-torn landscape.As each day passes the world tumbles further into depravity, bent and twisted by the new order, corrupted by the Usurper, the enemy, and his infernal horde.His purpose is to reach the Shining City, last bastion of the human race, and deliver the only weapon that may make a difference in the ongoing war.What little hope remains is dying. Abandoned by its leader, The Seven, and its heroes, The Seraph Knights, the last defences of a once great civilisation are crumbling into dust.But the Shining City is far away and the world is a very dangerous place.
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HarperVoyager
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London, SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperVoyager 2015
Copyright © Peter Newman 2015
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Jacket illustration © Jaime Jones
Peter Newman asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007593071
Ebook Edition © April 2015 ISBN: 9780007593101
Version: 2016-03-08
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Eight Years Ago
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Eight Years Ago
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Eight Years Ago
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Eight Years Ago
Chapter Fourteen
Eight Years Ago
Chapter Fifteen
Eight Years Ago
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Seven Years Ago
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Seven Years Ago
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Three Years Ago
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Three Years Ago
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Three Years Ago
Chapter Twenty-Eight
One Year Ago
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
One Year Ago
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Acknowledgments
Read an extract of The Malice
About the Author
About the Publisher
Starlight gives way to bolder neon. Signs muscle in on all sides, brightly welcoming each arrival to New Horizon.
The Vagrant does not notice; his gaze fixes on the ground ahead.
People litter the streets like living waste, their eyes as hollow as their laughter. Voices beg and hands grasp, needy, aggressive.
The Vagrant does not notice and walks on, clasping his coat tightly at the neck.
Excited shouts draw a crowd ahead. A mixture of half-bloods and pimps, dealers and spectators gather in force. Platforms rise up in the street, unsteady on legs of salvaged metal. Wire cages sit on top. Within, shivering forms squat, waiting to be sold. For some of the assembled, the flesh auction provides new slaves, for others, fresh meat.
Unnoticed in the commotion, the Vagrant travels on.
The centre of New Horizon is dominated by a vast scrap yard dubbed âThe Iron Mountainâ, a legacy from the war. At its heart is the gutted corpse of a fallen sky-ship; its cargo of tanks and fighters has spilled out in the crash, forming a skirt of scattered metal at the mountainâs base.
Always opportunistic, the inhabitants of New Horizon have tunnelled out its insides to create living spaces and shops, selling on the sky-shipâs treasures. Scavenged lamps hang, colouring the shadows.
One tunnel is illuminated by a glowing hoop, off-white and erratic. In the pale light, the low ceiling is the colour of curdled milk.
Awkwardly, the Vagrant enters, bending his legs and bowing his head, his back held straight.
Corrugated shelves line the walls, packed with bottles, tins and tubes. The owner of the rusting cave hunches on the floor, cleaning a syringe with a ragged cloth. He appraises the Vagrant with a bloodshot eye.
âA new customer?â
The Vagrant nods.
Syringe and cloth are swiftly tucked away and yellowing fingers rub together. âAh, welcome, welcome. I am Doctor Zero. I take it youâve heard of me?â
The Vagrant nods.
âOf course you have, thatâs why youâre here. Well, what can I get you? You look tired. I have the finest selection of uppers this side of the Breach, or perhaps something to escape with?â His eyes twinkle, sleazy, seductive.
One hand still on his collar, the Vagrantâs amber eyes roam the shelves. They alight on a small jar, its label faded to a uniform grey.
âAh, a discerning customer,â says Doctor Zero, impressed. âRare to have somebody who knows what theyâre looking for. Most of the rabble I get through here canât tell the difference between stardust and sawdust.â He picks up the jar, flicking something sticky from the lid. âI assume whoever sent you appreciates the scarcity of good medicine ⦠and the cost.â
