PR: The Quality of Mercy by G. L. McDorman
FRESH OFF THE PRESS! AVAILABLE FOR KINDLE NOW! Be the first to grab a copy of The Quality of Mercy by debut horror author, G.L. McDorman!
July 28, 2017| OWS Ink LLC
The Quality of Mercy by G.L. McDorman –
Known for his Lovecraftian style, McDorman now gives us eldritch horror!
Published by Catterfly Publishing, an OWS Ink LLC subsidiary
When a ruthless gangster threatens his old military friend, hardboiled detective Paul Henslowe intervenes… only to find himself working for a client on the wrong side of the law. When a series of cryptic blackmail letters plunges Henslowe into a decades-old murder, he follows a trail that leads him from a mysterious cult leader in the South Seas to a decaying lunatic asylum nestled among the City’s most powerful banks. Henslowe knows that if he doesn’t solve the case, his friend will die… but if he does, many others will die in his place.
The Quality of Mercy is an eldritch tale of madness and betrayal that asks whether kindness and mercy can survive in a world so corrupted by greed and violence. The novel releases on Friday, July 28, 2017, and there is a Facebook Release Party open to the public July 28th-29th.
Since growing up in the Chicago suburbs, G.L. McDorman has served as a soldier, a spy, and a scholar. Following a passion for dead languages and mysterious ruins, he is in the process of earning his doctorate in medieval history at Princeton University, where he spends an inordinate amount of time mulling things over in the gothic chapel designed by weird-fiction writer Ralph Adams Cram. When G.L. McDorman isn’t writing, you’ll find him climbing mountains or ambling across wastelands in search of adventure and glory.
“G.L. McDorman breathes new life into this forgotten story form. With a touch of noir and a whole lot of horror, you’ll not soon forget this one. The Quality of Mercy is a must read for any Lovecraft fan.”
~ Stephanie Ayers, author of Til Death Do Us Part
An excerpt from the book:
“We got bored after our second night, so we wandered away from the port. I don’t know what we were looking for – girls who were slightly more exotic, maybe, or better liquor, but what we found changed my life forever. We came upon some sort of church. There were a hundred people in an open square sprawled on the dirt in front of a tall man in a black robe. He wore a mask of shining ivory that covered his face all the way down to his mouth. Even his eyes were obscured, but he began to move through the crowd, never stepping on anyone, somehow able to see through the mask. He came right for us, seeming to stare at us the whole way. When he reached us, he said ‘Come,’ though I swear his mouth never opened.
“We followed him to a hut and went inside. There was a thick cloud of incense, and it was hard to see, but at the back of the hut there was a table atop which sat three chests: one of gold, one of silver, one of lead. I stepped toward them. As I did, a curtain was drawn sharply behind me, cutting me off from John and George. The man in the mask was there behind the table. ‘Choose,’ he said, and waved his hand over the chests. I saw then that they each had an inscription in a strange, squiggly alphabet. I couldn’t read the writing, but then, suddenly, I could, as if the signs had been switched when I blinked. They were rhymes, but the gist of it was that the gold chest contained what you wanted, the silver what you deserved, and the lead what you needed. It was a game, though I couldn’t make sense of it. I thought the masked man was some sort of priest, so I couldn’t imagine there was any danger, and I expected that this was just a way to get some funds to build a better church. I was curious about what was inside each of them, but in the end I chose the lead, more curious about what this priest thought I needed than what he thought I wanted.
“Inside, I found a drawing of a young woman, very beautiful with thoughtful eyes and a smile that suggested a happy wisdom. I started to put it back, but the priest told me to keep it. Behind him, a door opened, and he motioned for me to step outside. I expected to find a beggar there, or an altar where one was meant to leave a gift, but it was just an empty dirt alley. I waited there for George and John. A few minutes passed and George came out, silent, with a distant look in his eyes. I asked him which he had chosen, and he turned the question around to me. ‘I didn’t see a lead one,’ he said. That was the end of the conversation, because from inside the hut there came a piercing shriek followed by an agonizing moan. The door opened and John stumbled out and fell to the ground, whimpering and muttering something. When we asked if he was all right, he looked at us and grew completely silent. He seemed to collect himself – he stood and glanced around, but he didn’t say anything. We walked back to the ship in silence, and after that I never heard him make another sound.
“We left Tumasik the next morning. Everyone was quiet, because everyone was either hung over or still a little drunk from the night before, so John’s continued silence wasn’t alarming. But he kept to himself and refused to speak the next day, and the day after that. We entered blue water on that third day. The next morning, we found two crewmen suspended from the bulkhead near the galley, their wrists nailed into the wood. They were naked, gagged and blindfolded, with strange symbols carved into their chests and bellies. Beneath them was a pool of blood. John was kneeling in that pool, prostrate before the bodies as if in silent prayer.
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