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Something is stirring in London's dark, stamping out its territory in brickdust and blood. Something has murdered Saul Garamond's father, and left Saul to pay for the crime.
But a shadow from the urban waste breaks into Saul's prison cell and leads him to freedom. A shadow called King Rat, who reveals Saul's royal heritage, a heritage that opens a new world to Saul, the world below London's streets--a heritage that also drags Saul into King Rat's plan for revenge against his ancient enemy,. With drum 'n' bass pounding the backstreets, Saul must confront the forces that would use him, the forces that would destroy him, and the forces that shape his own bizarre identity.
China Mieville's King Rat was nominated for both the International Horror Guild and Bram Stoker Awards for best first novel.
unbelievahlel What the fuck am I doing up here?' He swivelled his head to stare at King Rat, who again stood regarding him with those imprecise eyes. King Rat gestured briefly over the chimney's bulk, and Saul turned, realizing that those eyes had not been fixed on him at all. The side of the tower block beyond was studded with lights. 'Look at them,' King Rat said. 'In the windows.' Saul looked and saw, here and there, minuscule figures bustling past, each reduced to a snatch of colour and
King Rat disappeared suddenly, cutting sharply left down a smaller tunnel where the water pressure was greater, swirling insistently around Saul's legs. He pulled his legs up out of the stream. King Rat turned his head for a second, a flash of pale flesh. He crouched as he ran and pulled to a sudden halt. He waited briefly while Saul caught him up, then ducked into a claustrophobic shaft barely three feet high. Saul did not hesitate, but dove in after him. Saul's breath and the sound of his flesh
him slipping, and he fell in a heap to the dust. He was still wrapped tight in his own rope swaddling. The fat man picked him up and carried him in his arms like a bride. Saul caught a glimpse of the newcomer: thin and very pale, with red hair, a sharp hawkish nose and wide eyes. Saul was borne towards his destination, a huge steel container like a vast skip ten feet high, over which loomed a yellow structure something like a crane. His eyes flitted about as he was carried, he saw the cars all
this. I can hear wails and keens as bodies are swept downriver, and still my goddamn fucking legs keep moving. I pull back 161 file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/China%20Mieville%20-%20King%20Rat.txt (166 of 422) [10/15/2004 2:24:57 PM] file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/China%20Mieville%20-%20King%20Rat.txt through the ranks, trying to turn round, going a little slower than the others, feeling them pass me, and the squire on the bridge looks at me, that infernal flute still
Deep love and thanks to Emma, of course, for everything. My heartfelt thanks to Max Schaefer, who gave me invaluable criticisms, hours of word-processing help, and great friendship during a generally rubbish year. I can never thank Mic Cheetham enough. I am incredibly lucky to have her on my side. And thanks to all at Macmillan, particularly my editor Peter Lavery. I owe too many writers and artists to mention, but respect is especially due to Two Fingers and James The. Kirk for their novel