Fiction

At the Pomegranate

“Only four of you this time?” Bruttia said as she put down her cup and wiped muslum from her mouth. “Your boss is either getting soft or running out of men.”

The four gangers paused and looked at one another, frowning. Then they looked at the assembled mass of drunks, whores and ne’er-do-wells that constituted the Pomegranate’s clientele. Maybe now, thought Bruttia, as they stand in one of the Subura’s most infamous tavernas whilst surrounded by the worst scum and villainy Rome has to offer, they realise they’ve bitten off more than they chew.

Underworld, Part Two: The City of the Dead, by Chris Bone and Paul L. Mathews

The horses whinnied and pulled up, eyes widening. A huge figure stood in the middle of the road, barring their progress. The moon reflected on the figure’s pale, gaping mask. Stasius and Linus glanced at one another, reaching for their weapons. They knew this man; everybody did. Everyone knew Faustus the Colossus…

Underworld, Part One: The Sons of Orcus, by Chris Bone and Paul L. Mathews

At the end of the street of booksellers and cobblers known as the Argiletum there lurked a courtyard, and that courtyard seemed unnaturally dark whatever the hour, whatever the season. At its centre stood a shrine to Orcus, Lord of the Underworld, and the darkness of the Stygian depths seemed to pour from its gaping mouth. A doorway into a condemned insula stood behind the shrine. A curtain of black hessian stirred in the evening breeze as it hung over that doorway.

Fiction

At the Pomegranate

Underworld, Part Two: The City of the Dead, by Chris Bone and Paul L. Mathews

Underworld, Part One: The Sons of Orcus, by Chris Bone and Paul L. Mathews

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