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Overview
The twelve most important business people in the world are having their annual meeting. But one by one they’re being murdered. The first agent sent to investigate has also been killed. So now it’s down to Ishmael Jones and his partner in crimes Penny Belcourt to get to the bottom of things. Of course, it doesn’t help that this is all taking place at a hotel near Loch Ness.
Praise for Very Important Corpses:
“Ishmael is a wonderful character, an extraterrestrial living among humans, and the series (this is the third installment) is a clever mixture of thriller and SF-horror genres. Green is best known for the Deathstalker space operas, but give this one a few more installments to develop, and it could well become Green’s masterwork.” —Booklist, starred review
“I recommend VERY IMPORTANT CORPSES if you are looking for a fun, scary, and entertaining read before bedtime.” —Fantasy Book Review?
Praise for Dead Man Walking:
“Not to be taken too seriously, this meld of SF and traditional hard-boiled spy fiction hints at plenty of further adventures.” —Publishers Weekly
“This sequel to the wonderful THE DARK SIDE OF THE ROAD takes the basic structure of a traditional English country house mystery and mixes it with a bit of supernatural horror and suspense. Richard Kadrey and E.E. Knight fans will particularly relish Green’s genre-blending novel.” —Library Journal
“It’s the kind of novel that reads easily, and that just as easily holds your attention from the first page to the last, making you regret the story is over and making you long for the next adventure of the characters you’ve come to love over the course of this tale . . . Fun, quirky and most importantly: slightly different from what you would traditionally expect in the genre.” —The Gatehouse
“I’m not sure how Simon Green manages to be hilarious yet grotesquely gruesome at the same time, yet he pulls it off magnificently! The fast-moving, twisting plot kept me gripped throughout—and I wholeheartedly recommend to anyone who enjoys an intriguing mystery enlivened by a dash of the supernatural, a hint of the macabre and a liberal sprinkling of humour.” —Severn House
“DEAD MAN WALKING is a very, very good book; atmospheric, funny, intense and a bit gory!” —Bookaholic Swede
Praise for The Dark Side of the Road:
“[A] brisk, breezy first in a new mystery series . . . With convincing supernatural twists [and] witty chapter titles . . . readers will be anxious for a sequel.” —Publishers Weekly
“Genre-blending author Green introduces another wisecracking protagonist, Ishmael Jones . . . Fans of the British TV series Torchwood will enjoy the irreverent, otherworldly protagonist.” —Booklist
“A new book from Green is always a treat for SF and urban fantasy fans, because they know that in his fictional worlds things are never quite what they seem until it’s too late. His first foray into more traditional crime fiction (albeit with an otherworldy flavor) will delight mystery readers, especially those who relish a bit of genre blending.” —Library Journal
“Pure horrific fun.” —Audio File Magazine
“Without a doubt, this is one of the best books the author has ever penned down.” —The Gatehouse
“I really enjoyed the book. If anything it was over too soon. The author captures the English Country Manor Murder Mystery feel very well, as he sets up pretty much everybody as a suspect . . . I look forward to finding out more in future volumes.” —British Fantasy Society
“The first book in the Ishmael Jones’ series had a great set of mysteries that left you dying to know what was going on.” —Creature From The Book Lagoon
Praise for Jekyll & Hyde Inc.:
“This book is hard to put down. It is exciting from start to finish, with thrills and monsters waiting behind every dark corner.” —San Francisco Book Review
“Green transforms Robert Lewis Stevenson’s classic horror novel into the launch pad for an exciting adventure. He takes readers through a romp involving multiple horror classics, updated to the twenty-first century in an amusing and entertaining read.” —Ricochet
“There’s something about Green’s dark humor that sucks me into many of his books. And, as violent and gory as this book is, it’s really about a good man striving to stay good in the worst circumstances.” —Lesa's Book Critiques
“It has all the grim and all the dark of many of the author’s previous series.” —Reading Reality
Praise for the Deathstalker series:
“Green moves his plot at top speed, and his characters are alive and his background solid.” —Asimov's SF Magazine
“A huge SF novel of sweeping scope, told with a strong sense of legend . . . some old-fashioned heroes and a theme of honor—and for the most part, it works.” —Locus
“Green writes great space opera, with blasters and swords and heroes that kick butt around the galaxy.” —SF Site
“An over-the-top masterpiece that veers between brutal comedy and touching riffs on love, loyalty and betrayal . . . bloody funny and extremely bloody.” —The Guardian
“One of the few writers still using the galactic empire as a theme, and he does it to good effect. At times the stories have some of the feel of a fantasy epic, but they’re undeniably sf, rip roaring space operas with dastardly villains, exciting battles, nefarious plots, and strong willed heroes. Take this as an antidote after one too many serious and relevant stories about the human condition.” —Science Fiction Chronicle
“A great facility with action scenes [and] dialogue . . . Terrific new characters.” —SFX Magazine
“I would recommend this book if you like your plots sweeping, your characters big and your stories bold.” —SFcrowsnest
“Space opera at its action best. The novel is populated with heroic figures reminiscent of Lancelot and Arthur and villains that make Darth Vader seem like a nice person . . . Once again, Simon R. Green has written a work that will appeal to Star War fans.” —Midwest Book Review
“Space opera at its finest . . . The motley band of rebels plays off each other with the sharp wit and endearing affection found in the best buddy comedies, and Lewis, with his wry humor, is an engaging galactic Indiana Jones.” —RT Book Reviews
“Space opera on a grand scale done with great talent and a sense of adventure.” —Science Fiction Chronicle
“A guaranteed blood-and-thunder romp, shot-through with broad swathes of fashion parody, a sustained piss-take on ‘lives of the Rich and Famous’ and the occasional lance of satire. This last is refreshing stuff. It’s mostly aimed at Dictatorship, Fascism, Established Religion, the Toadying Media and so-forth–and it’s nice to find an author who knows that laughter is the most destructive weapon to aim at a repressive establishment. In short, very violent, very funny, very good.” —Infinity Plus
“Action, characterization, and ethical dilemmas all balanced and mingled in a way to keep readers turning pages.” —Booklist
“Green’s ingenuity and sarcastic prose style keep readers from getting grossed out by the bloodshed or bored by tired space opera theatrics.” —Publishers Weekly
“An epic crescendo in this final installment. Green uses every trick in his extensive repertoire in constructing this ultimate Deathstalker adventure. Highly recommended.” —SFRevu
Praise for Simon R. Green:
“Simon R. Green is a great favorite of mine. It’s almost impossible to find a writer with a more fertile imagination than Simon. He’s a writer who seems endlessly inventive.” —Charlaine Harris
“A macabre and thoroughly entertaining world.” —Jim Butcher on the Nightside series
“Nobody delivers sharp, crackling dialogue better than Green, and no one whisks readers away to more terrifying adventures or more bewildering locales.” —Black Gate Magazine
“As quintessentially British as fish and chips!” —SF Site
“Simon R Green is one hell of a consistent writer—if you like your Fantasy /SF served with lashings of pulp mayhem, dollops of snarky characters and big piles of extreme gore, violence and horror. Mmm tasty.” —Fantasy Book Review UK
“Simon R. Green is one of my all-time favorite writers and I haven’t read a book of his that I haven’t devoured. I hope he has many more years of writing left in him and suggest that if you need a fix, pick up his Ishmael Jones books.” —Crooked Reviews
“A splendid riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma, conveyed with trademark wisecracking humor, and carried out with maximum bloodshed and mayhem. In a word, irresistible.” —Kirkus on Night Fall, starred review
“[F]or those who want a fantasy-genre mash-up that doesn’t slow down.” —Booklist on From a Drood to a Kill
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781982192730 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Baen |
| Publication date: | 08/01/2023 |
| Series: | Ishmael Jones Series , #3 |
| Pages: | 256 |
| Sales rank: | 507,893 |
| Product dimensions: | 6.12(w) x 9.25(h) x 0.70(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Very Important Corpses
An Ishmael Jones Mystery
By Simon R. Green
Severn House Publishers Limited
Copyright © 2016 Simon R. GreenAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7278-8671-2
CHAPTER 1
Someone Has Already Died
Most people have at least heard of Loch Ness and its monster. What most people don't know is that monsters can be real, and in the hidden world there are all kinds of monsters.
The hired car's engine roared enthusiastically as I sent it racing along the narrow road that skirted Loch Ness. The dark waters were placid and calm, untroubled by boats or people or wildlife; or anything even a little bit monstrous. But then, Penny and I were probably the only people who'd come to the loch in that late-autumn evening who weren't interested in its famous creature. The Organization had something else in mind for us.
They hadn't told me what, as yet. Just instructed me to get from London to Loch Ness as fast as possible because something bad had happened. And when the Organization says that, it means something really bad has hit the fan; and all sane people should be heading in the opposite direction.
Gnarled twisted trees crowded together on the opposite side of the road, as though desperate for comfort in the cold, bleak setting. They stood firm and tall, like so many watchmen standing a guard that would never end, keeping a stern eye on whatever lurked in the depths of the loch. No leaves, or colour, or any other sign of life: just a dark heavy presence. The road was thankfully free of other traffic this late in the tourist season. I hadn't seen another car go by in ages. It was starting to feel like driving through an area that had been evacuated because of some unnatural disaster. I glanced at the loch, half expecting to find something staring back at me, and kept a wary eye on the cloudless iron-grey skies. The weather forecast said serious snow was on its way, and I really hoped I would be done with my business and gone before the storm started. When snow falls in Scotland, it does so with a vengeance. As if to remind people they only live there at the weather's sufferance.
I'd booked our passage to Scotland on a sleeper train, all the way up the spine of the country. Several hours crammed into a tiny compartment with Penny; which wasn't nearly as much fun as you might think. So neither of us was in the best of moods when we picked up the hired car waiting for us at Inverness. A deathtrap on four mismatched tyres, with frankly suspicious mileage on the clock and far more character than was good for it; but it was all I could arrange at such short notice. The accelerator liked to stick, the brakes only responded to brute force, and you had to catch the gears by surprise. The best you could say about the car was that it wasn't actually trying to crash; it just encouraged you to drive in such a way that some kind of disaster was inevitable. I was having a great time. I like a car that likes to be driven. I goosed the accelerator again, just for the hell of it, and the car jumped forward like I'd found another gear.
I laughed out loud, and Penny smiled dazzlingly at me from the passenger seat. Resplendent in a cute black dress and broad-brimmed hat, she seemed entirely unperturbed by the car or my driving. I was always happy to see her smiling. The hidden world may contain wonders and marvels as well as threats and terrors, but it's not the kind of place where you stop to smell the daisies. They might bite. Penny was a bright young thing with dramatic features, lots of dark hair and a fine figure, and enough nervous energy to scare off any man with an interest in a quiet life. She beat a happy tattoo on the dashboard with both hands as the car took a bend in the road with more enthusiasm than control, and then shot me a frankly sceptical look.
'You are sure of where you're going, aren't you, sweetie? Only I can't help noticing this car doesn't come with satnav ... or a heater that works ... And you haven't so much as glanced at a map since you got behind the wheel. Have you been this way before?'
'No,' I said. 'I memorized a map of the area before we left London.'
'What? All of it?'
'Of course,' I said.
'Alien!' Penny said cheerfully. She looked out over the loch. 'You know everything there is to know about the weird and the wonderful. Does something ancient and frightfully monstrous live in Loch Ness?'
'I don't know everything,' I said. 'I've just been around for a while and talked with a lot of people experienced in the kind of things most people have the good sense to avoid. I know the original legend, of how a monster rose up in the loch to face off against St Columba, back in AD 565. And I know that modern sightings only started in the 1930s, when the first main road was built alongside the loch. But apart from that, your guess is as good as mine.'
'I like to think there's a monster,' said Penny. 'Just because it pleases my romantic soul to believe such things exist. Of course, if there is a creature in the loch, it's probably better off staying a legend. If it ever stuck its head above the surface during a live television broadcast, how long do you think it would be before hunters started turning up from all over the world, just so they could be the first to kill it and enjoy a lifetime's bragging rights?'
'Wouldn't surprise me,' I said. 'Back in the twenties a London museum offered a really good price for the creature's carcass, just so they could stuff it and put it on display. Until they were shamed into withdrawing the offer.'
'You see, you do know everything! And if it wasn't hunters it would probably be businessmen, looking to put it in a theme park so they could charge people to see it. No, you stay out of sight, Nessie dear, and stay safe.'
'I know the feeling,' I said.
When we finally reached our destination the last of the light was dropping out of the evening, as if someone had hit a dimmer switch. I eased the car through a series of unlit narrow lanes until a sudden side turning brought us at last to the Purple Heather inn, a squat stone structure with weather-stained walls and an unevenly tiled roof, and a battered satellite dish hanging from the gutter. The inn perched precariously on a promontory looking out over the loch, bright lights shining from its windows and loud music blasting out of the open door. The car park was only half full now the tourist season was almost over, and I brought the hired car to a juddering halt with a definite feeling of relief. Riding a headstrong stallion can be fun, but you know the end result is always going to be a pain in the arse.
I got out of the car and closed the door carefully, because I had a feeling slamming it could have unfortunate consequences. And I'd had to put down one hell of a deposit before they'd even let me have the damned thing. Penny came bustling round the car to join me, one hand holding her big hat in place despite the determined attentions of the gusting wind. She studied the Purple Heather inn and then gave me a look that clearly said 'Is that it?'.
'When you work for the Organization, it's first class all the way,' I said blithely.
'That's a laugh!' said Penny.
Once we got inside, the bar was crowded and no one paid us any undue attention. The noise level was painfully high, with a whole bunch of shouted conversations trying to make themselves heard over the music (mostly popular Scottish songs written by people who had never lived there). I approved of the general hubbub. A noisy crowd is always the best place to hold a private meeting when you don't want to be overheard. I elbowed my way to the bar to get the drinks, while Penny laid claim to one of the few remaining empty tables at the back of the bar.
As the barman sorted out my large brandy and Penny's g & t, I took in the many monster-themed drinks on offer. Including the Nessie cocktail ('It's big and green with one hell of a bite!') and Nessie Whisky ('Made with our loch's very own peat-rich waters. Guaranteed to have almost no distressing side effects!'), neither of which appealed to me. Neither did the Nessie burger ('For those with a monstrous appetite!') or the Nessie Vegetarian Surprise (the surprise in question almost certainly being that it didn't contain anything a vegetarian would want to eat). I paid the barman rather more than I'd expected, and carried the drinks over to the table Penny had bagged. A middle-aged couple tried to sit down with us, complaining loudly about how packed the place was, only to change their mind when I gave them a cold stare. I do a good cold stare. Not far away, some local youths were playing an electronic game that seemed to involve many different ways of catching and killing the monster. Penny gave me a significant look, and took a solid gulp of her g & t.
'Have you seen the overpriced rubbish they're trying to palm off on the tourists?' she said. 'Fluffy Nessie toys and cartoony T-shirts, mugs with the legend WORLD'S BEST MONSTER, and sealed cans claiming to contain fresh air from the loch ... They're selling people empty cans!'
'Like all souvenirs, it's not what you buy it's where you buy it,' I said wisely. 'It's just memories, like postcards.'
Penny sniffed, and looked disdainfully around the crowded bar, as though just by being there she was lowering her standards to a dangerous level. 'No sign of our contact. Why do you always come running when the Colonel calls?'
'Because that's the deal I made with the Organization,' I said. 'The Colonel is our only point of contact, and both sides prefer it that way. I take care of business for them, and they help me remain invisible. And of course both of us think we're getting the better end of the deal.'
'They do work you hard, Ishmael.'
'It's work that needs doing,' I said. 'Which comes as something of a relief after some of the things I've had to do down the years.'
She considered me thoughtfully, then put her drink down so she could place one gentle hand on mine. 'You don't like to talk about the other groups you've worked for.'
'No,' I said. 'The price of my survival has sometimes been higher than I'm comfortable remembering.'
'How does the Organization stand up, compared with the other groups you've worked for?'
'More consistent than most,' I said. 'And they've never asked me to do anything that troubled my conscience. So far ...'
'You think they might?'
'Secret organizations often have good reasons for being secretive.'
'You don't trust anyone, do you, Ishmael?'
'No. Apart from you, of course.'
'Nice save, darling. I barely had time to raise an eyebrow. How many secret groups are there?'
'I've at least heard of most of them,' I said carefully. 'The subterranean societies and the ancient conspiracies, all with their own special areas of interest. The secret agents and the private contractors, the shadow people and the press-ganged heroes. Trading in under-the-counter information, obscure objects of power and second-hand souls. All of them a bit tainted, a bit shopworn, but still valuable merchandise. It's not always about good and evil. Or at least not as often as it should be. Whoever we work for, we all go our own way; and our various patrons are careful not to look too closely at how we get things done. Just like you with Nessie, there are things I choose to believe in and others I hope are just legends. Down the years I have bumped into odd individuals – some of them very odd – who have told me things ... But people in my line of work lie like they breathe. It's part of the job.'
'You don't talk much about your past,' said Penny. Not making any particular point, just letting the comment lie there in plain sight. 'I know you used to work for Black Heir, cleaning up after alien contacts and salvaging whatever tech they left behind. But I only know about them because my family was involved.'
'A lot of my past I don't care to remember,' I said. 'Sometimes ... a man on the run doesn't have much choice when it comes to finding shelter.'
And then I looked round sharply as the Colonel came striding through the crowd to join us. A tall, upright figure with an ex-military bearing and a general air of disdain, shoulders back to show off his classic tweed suit. The crowd seemed to naturally part before him without even realizing it was doing so, responding unconsciously to his air of innate authority. It made me feel like throwing things at him. The Colonel was handsome enough in an inbred aristocratic sort of way. The second son who goes into the army because he knows he's never going to inherit, and ends up in security because the army hasn't given him enough opportunities to be ruthless and underhanded. He slammed to a halt before our table, nodded briefly to Penny and just barely to me. Up close, I could smell the Turkish tobacco he'd been smoking earlier, the aftershave that isn't nearly as distinctive as he likes to think it is, and traces of the urine the crofters had used to fix the colours in his tweeds. He sat down opposite me without waiting to be asked.
'Mister Jones, Miss Belcourt. On time, for once. I trust you had a pleasant journey.'
'Not really,' I said. 'But that's what happens when you're called from one end of the country to the other at a moment's notice. From your calm, relaxed and almost unbearably smug manner, I deduce the Organization flew you up here. Why do I always have to make my own way everywhere?'
'Because I'm the Colonel, and you're not,' he said crushingly. He bestowed a brief smile on Penny. 'Good to see you again, Miss Belcourt. I don't believe we've spoken since that unfortunate business at your old family home.'
'You mean when all my family were slaughtered,' she said unflinchingly. 'You did a good job of cleaning up afterwards. I heard there was a very convenient gas explosion to explain why no one got to see the state of the bodies.'
'The simplest cover stories are always the best,' said the Colonel.
'Can we talk about why we've had to come all this way in such a hurry?' I said. 'And why you couldn't even hint at what's happened until now.'
'And why we had to meet here,' said Penny. 'I've gone drinking in after-hours Soho lock-ins with a less distressing ambience.'
I looked at her. 'You have?'
'I've lived,' said Penny.
'If we could stick to the subject ...' said the Colonel.
'Is it something to do with the monster?' Penny said hopefully.
'No,' said the Colonel. 'You're here because this year the Baphomet Group are holding their annual meeting on the banks of the loch. At Coronach House.'
And having dropped that particular bombshell, he sat back and studied me carefully to see how I was taking it. I kept my face studiously calm, while I thought hard. Penny looked at both of us blankly.
'What's the Baphomet Group?' she said. 'I've never even heard of it.'
'Not many have,' I said. 'That's the point. Think of the Bilderburg Group, only more so. The Bilderburg and all the other famous big-name meetings are just distractions. Something to hold the public's attention while the really influential people get on with their own special meetings, tucked safely away in the background. So no one will ever know as they make the financial decisions that affect the fate of nations.'
'Exactly,' said the Colonel. 'The Baphomet Group hold their extremely secret gatherings in a different location every year. Just the knowledge that so many economic movers and shakers were all in one place, talking together, would do very unpleasant things to the world's financial markets. For reasons of their own, which are of course none of our concern, the Group decided to come here this year.'
'To Coronach House?' I said. 'With its reputation?'
'I might have known you'd have heard about it,' said the Colonel. 'Perhaps the Group chose the House in the hope its unhealthy reputation would keep people away. If so, their stratagem would appear to have backfired on them. We need you to go there and take over as Head of Security.'
'Why do they need someone like me?' I said. 'What's happened at Coronach House?'
'The first agent the Organization sent has been killed,' the Colonel said flatly. 'Jennifer Rifkin. A first-class operative, but not good enough. She'd barely been in the House twelve hours before she was found dead in her room.'
I sat back in my chair and frowned. Penny put a hand on my arm.
'Did you know her, Ishmael?'
'I've heard of her,' I said. 'I didn't know she was working for the Organization.'
'We don't talk about our agents,' said the Colonel. 'Even to other agents. You of all people should appreciate that, Mister Jones.'
I gave him my best cold glare. 'I'd work better if you weren't always keeping things from me.'
'I could say the same of you,' said the Colonel. 'Unless you're finally ready to tell me your true name and background?'
I kept looking at him until he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
'You could always ask your superiors about me, Colonel,' I said calmly.
'I have. Repeatedly. But apparently I don't need to know. You have no idea how much that irritates me.'
'Good,' I said. 'Now tell me how Jennifer Rifkin died.'
'Badly,' said the Colonel. 'And in a somewhat unusual manner. According to the reports, it seems some kind of creature was involved.'
'Did anyone see it?' I said.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Very Important Corpses by Simon R. Green. Copyright © 2016 Simon R. Green. Excerpted by permission of Severn House Publishers Limited.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
Cover,A Selection of Recent Titles by Simon R. Green,
Title Page,
Copyright,
Call me Ishmael ...,
One: Someone Has Already Died,
Two: House Rules,
Three: The Things People Tell You,
Four: Questionable Deaths,
Five: Dangerous Situations,
Six: Questions Without Answers,
Seven: Who's Really Who,
Eight: Reflections,