Liz sent me some chocolates in return for penning this piece, and I have to say that they’re so tasty, I’m wondering if I shouldn’t have a chocolate clause written into all my book contracts in future.  In addition to, not in lieu of, payment, of course.

Speaking of which, I’ve just signed a two-book deal with Solaris, which I’m naturally delighted about.  Working titles for the two books are Redlaw and Dust, and I can’t wait to get cracking on them both.  There’s still The Age Of Odin to finish first, mind.

Stars of the event were the six boys who were consultant editors on the series.  Their day was spent listening to me rabbit on about the books, interviewing me for a school podcast, and receiving certificates and signed copies in recognition of the sterling work they’d done.  So well done to Billy, James, Nathan, Richard, Sean and Thomas.  It was a pleasure meeting you.

Meanwhile I’m cracking on with The Age Of Odin.  Nearly 40,000 words in the bag, and I’m having a terrific time with a first-person narrator who’s hopelessly politically incorrect, swears like a trooper (because he used to be one), takes nothing seriously, and is very handy indeed in a fight.  Just like me, in fact, except for the handy in a fight part.

Not a lot I can add to that, really.

Finally the monster was at bay.

          It had been flushed out of the forest.  It had been hounded downhill, bullets smacking at its heels and whanging into the trunks of oaks and other mountain broadleafs on either side of it.  It had been shepherded by gunfire into the village and driven along the streets.  At last it had been corralled in a cul-de-sac with high, ancient walls on either side.

          Cornered, panting, torso lathered in sweat, the monster turned.

          Two of its pursuers were approaching from the open end of the cul-de-sac.  Above, in the upper storeys of the stone-built houses, shutters opened a crack and villagers peeped out.  Their faces were fearful but hopeful.  The monster had been terrorising the Corsican interior for months, killing at random.  Now it itself was the one being terrorised.  The villagers were eager to see the monster get its comeuppance.  It was long overdue.

          But the monster was still dangerous.  Just because it was trapped, that didn’t mean it was helpless.  It was, after all, the Minotaur – seven feet tall and 400lbs of hyperdeveloped muscle and skin-straining sinew, with the strength of several oxen.  Lowering its head, the Minotaur fixed its blood-red eyes on its foes and pawed the ground with one foot.  Breath snorted from its nostrils in short, thick gusts.

          “Tethys, Hyperion.  What is your status?”

          Sam did not take her gaze off the Minotaur – specifically, not off the pair of huge horns that were now pointing towards her like two ivory spears.

          “Hyperion, Tethys.  Mnemosyne and I are in range of target.  It’s about to charge.”

          “Do you have line of sight?”

          “Roger.”

          “Do you have a clear shot?”

          “Roger.”

          “Then what are you dicking about for?  Take it.”

          Sam raised her recoilless .45mm submachine gun.  It was boxy and lightweight, a skeletal weapon.  Blisteringly effective nonetheless.

          The Minotaur saw it, understood its purpose.  It was familiar with guns.  It knew what they did.

          In those red eyes Sam saw the flash of comprehension, and something else.  She couldn’t be sure, but she thought it looked like resignation.

          Which was impossible.  The Minotaur was an unthinking creature, a mindless force of destruction.  There was nothing in that bull head but malevolence and the basic animal cunning needed to survive.

          Or so she’d been given to believe.

          The Minotaur couldn’t know that it was about to die.

          Could it?

          “Tethys?”  Hyperion’s voice.  “Do you copy?  I said take the shot.”

          Sam’s finger curled round the trigger.

          The Minotaur bent low, tensing.  It would charge, for all the good that would do.  These armour-clad enemies were like nothing it had come up against before.  It knew it was outclassed.  For the first time in its life the Minotaur was staring defeat in the eye, and defeat’s shadow, death.  But it would not give in meekly.  That was not in the nature of this beast.

          “Tethys?” said Mnemosyne.  She had her coilgun aimed at the monster’s centre of body mass.  “Sam?  What are you waiting for?  This is our chance.”

          “Tethys!” barked Hyperion over the comms net.  “Why am I not hearing a kill-shot?”

          The Minotaur was ready, Sam could tell by its posture.  One last attack, a final act of defiance against the inevitable.

          “Mnemosyne,” she said, “I want to try and take it alive, if I can.”

          “What?” said Mnemosyne.

          “Wha-a-at!?” exclaimed Hyperion.  Sam’s GPS transponder sensor was registering his presence nearby, lower in the village, 200m southeast and closing.  She had to do this before he got here.  Hyperion – Ramsay – would have no qualms about making the kill.  This was not any kind of retrieval op.  This was supposed to be an execution.

          “I’ll use the stun-dusters,” she said to Mnemosyne.

          “You’re crazy.  Why?”

          Sam couldn’t say why.  She wasn’t totally sure herself.  “Trust me.  Please?”

          Mnemosyne left a moment of silence to convey doubt.  Then she said, “All right.  Go on.”  She firmed her grip on the coilgun.  “But I’m keeping this trained on it at all times.”

          “Cronus gave us nonlethal offensive capability for a reason,” Sam said, fitting a pair of ridged metal knuckledusters onto her gauntlets.

          “Let’s hope the reason wasn’t to kill ourselves,” Mnemosyne replied.

          Sam grunted.  Already, a little over a month after the commencement of operations, two Titans were dead.  Today at least one more could be about to join them, and this time it would be their own fault.  Her fault, to be exact.

          Abruptly, the Minotaur charged.

          Sam braced herself.  Mnemosyne, meanwhile, stepped back and took aim.

          Hyperion was yelling, “Don’t be stupid.  Kill-shot!  Motherfucking kill-shot!”

          The beast came fast – so fast – barrelling at them like a runaway goods van.

          Sam knew that if she fucked this up, it was all over.

          Then don’t fuck it up, she told herself, and ran to meet the monster.

Amazon UK:

• The Age Of Zeus [Solaris pbk, April 2010] – ISBN 978-1906735685

The first book isn’t out till February 26th but the site is the place to go if you want to find out what the fuss is all about, who the Five Lords actually are, what the publication schedule is for the series, and where and when I’ll be popping up to promote it.

Well, what are you waiting for?

I would myself, if I wasn’t (a) a cheapskate, too mean to splash out on an e-reader, and (b) a confirmed, paper-loving bibliophile.

Click here to read an extract, the prologue of the novel.

What isn’t clear on the mock-up as is, is that there’s a Greek temple atop the mountain peak.  At the moment it’s hidden beneath the Bookseller quote, but I’ve been assured that the typesetting will be sorted out so that the temple is there, clear for all to see, on the finished article.

Also, the title will be embossed, which is cool.

Great series style been developed for these Pantheon books.  Can’t wait to see what Marek comes up with for The Age Of Odin.

Busy year ahead, with no fewer than eight new books due out.  First up is the first volume of The 5 Lords Of Pain, which will appear in February.  Barrington Stoke are producing a microsite for the series, and I will be posting a link there as soon as it comes online.

To promote the books I am going to be doing several appearances at schools and libraries, most notably in mid-February at the  Bounce Into Books  festival in Yorkshire/Humberside. 

Then in April it’s The Age Of Zeus, and already I know I’m going to be recording a podcast for that with the fine folks at Rebellion/Solaris.  This book is a whopper, by the way.  700 pages of epic, myth-tinged mayhem.  I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: The Dirty Dozen, with gods and power armour.  What more could you want?

Around about the same time, PS Publishing will be putting out my second short story collection, Diversifications.  I’ve been in discussions with Pete Crowther about the jacket, and it’s going to look good.  I’ll post up an image soon as I have one.

There’s more to say, but this’ll have to do for now.  Vertigo’s setting in, and I don’t see any safety net below.