Kill the Dead, Tanith Lee [a court of thorns and roses ebook free .TXT] 📗

Kill the Dead

Tanith Lee

ToValentine

Killthe Dead

ByTanith Lee

©1980

Kindleedition 2013

Thisis a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book arefictitious, and any resemblance to real people, or events, is purely coincidental.

Allrights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portionsthereof, in any form.

Theright of Tanith Lee to be identified as the author of this work has beenasserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988.

CoverIllustration, ‘A Crooked Mile’, by John Kaiine

AnImmanion Press Edition published through Kindle

http://www.immanion-press.com

info@immanion-press.com

Ghostslayer

Parl Dro tore up the plank andhis fingers thrust through the soft rot beneath and touched the single boneembedded there. It belonged to the ghost, when the ghost had been a man.Through the concrete essence of that bone, the ghost, unwilling to depart, hadkept its hideous link with the condition of life. A hundred persons had sincedied because of it. It had exulted in their screams of terror and agony. Itwould have killed the rest of the world if it could.

Even as Dro raised the bonetowards the jaws of his vice, the ghost was on him. Made corporeal by its longpseudo-existence, it had the energy to drag him down and fling him over.

The dead who lived, like themirror image, right hand in reverse, tended to attack leftward or sinister. Itoccurred to Dro quite abruptly that the ghost had fastened its teeth and nailsinto the calf of his left leg, ripping and gnawing at him.

Introduction

Thisbook, which is partly at least about deceptions (both of others and oneself)has, perhaps not illogically, itself incurred a kind of deceptive myth. Forwhat it’s worth, then, I shall try to set the record straight.

In the summer of 1977, a radio play of mine, thefirst of four bought by the BBC, was recorded and broadcast. For me this reallywas Heaven-on-wheels. I loved every moment of seeing/hearing it come to life,through the voices of such wonderful actors as Jill Balcon, Stephen Thorne,Elizabeth Bell, and Sean Barrett, not to mention incredible music composed byChristos Pittas, and gleaming direction by Richard Wortley. And needless toadd, I loved every one of the subsequent productions, too. However, on theheels of the first play I received an invitation to write a TV script, for theby-then cult SF series Blake’sSeven. Mydelight at this–Ihad watched the show from its first episode–was not unmixed with fright.Where I had felt at home with the medium of radio from the start, TV was quiteanother country. Though my radio plays were far from unflawed, I’d had no fearof being unable to evoke the actual mental furniture required for theirpresentation, even placing my music cues with confidence. But, of course, I’dbeen avidly listening to radio drama from the age of six upward, while myfamily–pooras underpaid church mice–never even had access to a TVuntil I was twelve. And, despite the fact in those days TV was rich inmarvellous drama–Chekhov,Shakespeare, Ibsen, Pinter were regularly staged, not to mention amazing thingsfrom Jack Rosenthal and, later, Alan Ayckbourn–I still felt I knew very littleabout the modus operandi of a novice TV writer’s task.

Having met the production people, however, who wereboth helpful and inspiring, and some of the actors–ditto–I accepted the commission andduly wrote Sarcophagus. And I have to say, once I got over my initialtimidity, the script flowed, and indeed very little was altered for production.My intention from the start was to attempt to focus, in turn, on each of thecharacters (a possibility of my doing more scripts was mooted quite early). Iaimed, at least slightly, to unravel two of the main characters in that firststory: Cally, the telepath widowed of her people, and the devilish, clearlyalso messed-up Avon. I wanted to open them both out on the screen, and morethan aided by the powerful acting of the cast, I think I managed it somewhat.(My second episode, Sand, took on Servalan–a damaged psychopathic fiend held in an exquisite form–formy money Jacqueline Pearce was and is one of the most beautiful women in theworld. Long before Servalan, I had seen her act in classical roles, as well asthe extraordinary (again cult) horror films TheReptile and Plague of the Zombies. I believe she is one of ourgreat actors, mysteriously recently underused. It goes without saying she alsobrought the second script to vivid life.)

Actors are probably the people that I am mostfascinated by, and certainly rank high for me among those I respect. Having metthe cast of Blake’s Seven, then seen them at work, and gotto know some of them at least a little (Jacqueline remains, I am honoured toreport, a friend), it was perhaps inevitable that at least one or two of themmight get into future writing of mine.

I have to say, both before and since, I have often ‘employed’,as it were, actors in roles in my novels and short stories. To name but a few:Vivien Leigh (many, many times), Elizabeth Taylor, Gillian Anderson, RutgerHauer, Oliver Cotton, and Dennis Franz. How lucky I am to see (for when I writeI do see everything very clearly) these glamorous andbrilliant people acting the roles I have visualized them into. Unpaid as well.But then I suppose they didn’t have to learn the lines, or travel to thefrequently remote and/or perilous places they inhabit, while the book is inprogress. My gratitude for the truly sublime, and sometimes electrifyingmotivation they have unknowingly given me, aside from my utter joy whenwatching them act out in the so-called Real world, is far beyond thanks. But Ido thank them all, so much.

Paul Darrow then, unwitting at the time, steppedinto the role of the main male character in Kill theDead. Adescription of Parl Dro (a clue, too, is in the invented name—this isoccasionally also obvious with other actors I have ‘written in’) reveals Mr.Darrow at the stage and era he then occupied. But here I must stress, for thisis the erroneous myth which somehow attached itself to this novel, it is notAvon I am writing about. Indeed, to have done that would have been not only aninfringement of strict copyright, but also a bloody cheek. AlthoughI had much enjoyed examining Avon’s character