By Jo Walton
In 1941 the eu struggle led to the Farthing Peace, a rapprochement among Britain and Nazi Germany. The balls and banquets of Britain's higher classification by no means faltered, whereas British ships ferried ?undesirables? around the Channel to board the livestock autos headed east. Peter Carmichael is commander of the Watch, Britain's exceedingly British mystery police. It's his task to warn the best Minister of treason, to arrest plotters, and to find Jews. The nighttime knock of a Watchman is the main dreaded sound within the realm. Now, in 1960, an international peace convention is convening in London, the place Britain, Germany, and Japan will oversee the ultimate partition of the realm. Hitler is once more on British soil. So is the lengthy exiled Duke of Windsor - and the emerging gangs of ?British energy? streetfighters, who think about the govt. ?soft,? could be the former king's bid to level a coup d'état. Amidst all this, of the main not likely folks within the realm will sign up for forces to oppose the fascists: a debutante whose maximum fear previously has been the place to discover the suitable string of pearls, and the Watch Commander himself.
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Extra info for Half a Crown (Small Change, Book 3)
It jutted up at a steep angle, piled on three beneath it. Like spilled matches. He jumped. The log split, and he frantically leaped off again. Desperately, he clutched for purchase. His fingers slipped; he fell back. He dug in wildly, trying to draw his body up on a flat surface. He made it. Gasping, panting for breath, Barton lay stretched out on the log, waves of relief flooding over him. Finally, he pulled himself to a sitting position. If he could go a little farther he should be able to catch hold of the truck itself.
I even made up a special golem with an extra-large brain, but it couldn’t tell me anything. Maybe you can help me with that. How are you on the clay? ” He came close to Barton and lowered his voice. “Nobody around here knows anything. There’s actual opposition. I have to work completely alone. If I had some help…” “Yeah,” Barton managed. Good Lord, what had he got himself into? “I’d like to trace one of the Wanderers,” Peter continued, with a rush of excitement. “See where they come from and how they do it.
He had almost fallen asleep over his dinner plate. His coffee had cooled to a scummy brown; the greasy potatoes were hardening fast. ” he muttered. The man sitting next to him pushed his chair back and wiped his mouth with his napkin. He was plump and well-dressed; a middle-aged man in a dark blue pin-striped suit and white shirt, attractive tie, heavy ring on his thick white finger. “My name’s Meade. Ernest Meade. ” He smiled a gold-toothed professional smile. “I’m a doctor. ” “Just tired,” Barton said.