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George Martin - Wild Cards

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Название:
Wild Cards
Автор:
George Raymond Richard Martin
Жанр:
unrecognised / на английском языке
Год:
неизвестен
ISBN:
нет данных
Рейтинг книги:
5 / 5. Голосов: 1
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Wild Cards: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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The return of the famous shared-world superhero books created and edited by George R.R. Martin, author of A Song of Ice and FireFor decades, George R.R. Martin – bestselling author of A Song of Ice and Fire – has collaborated with an ever-shifting ensemble of science fiction and fantasy icons to create the amazing Wild Cards universe.In the aftermath of World War II, the Earth’s population was devastated by a terrifying alien virus. Those who survived were changed for ever. Some, known as Jokers, were cursed with bizarre mental and physical deformities; others, granted superhuman abilities, are known as Aces.Wild Cards tells the stories of this world.

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a variant of seven-card stud poker

wherein the high hand splits the pot

with the low spade in the hole

A Long Night at the Palmer House Contents Cover Title Page Copyright Dedication Copyright Acknowledgments Copyright Acknowledgments Copyright © 2018 by George R.R. Martin and the Wild Cards Trust ‘A Long Night at the Palmer House’ copyright © 2018 by John Jos. Miller ‘Down the Rabbit Hole’ copyright © 2018 by Kevin Andrew Murphy ‘The Motherfucking Apotheosis of Todd Motherfucking Taszycki’ copyright © 2018 by Christopher Rowe ‘A Bit of a Dinosaur’ copyright © 2018 by Paul Cornell ‘Stripes’ copyright © 2018 by Marko Kloos ‘The Sister in the Streets’ copyright © 2018 by Lumina Enterprises ‘A Beautiful Façade’ copyright © 2018 by Mary Anne Mohanraj ‘Meathooks on Ice’ copyright © 2018 by Saladin Ahmed Low Chicago Low Chicago a variant of seven-card stud poker wherein the high hand splits the pot with the low spade in the hole A Long Night at the Palmer House by John Jos. Miller: Part 1 Down the Rabbit Hole by Kevin Andrew Murphy A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 2 The Motherfucking Apotheosis of Todd Motherfucking Taszycki By Christopher Rowe A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 3 A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 4 A Bit of a Dinosaur by Paul Cornell A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 5 Stripes by Marko Kloos A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 6 The Sister in the Streets by Melinda M. Snodgrass A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 7 A Beautiful Façade by Mary Anne Mohanraj A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 8 Meathooks on Ice by Saladin Ahmed A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 9 A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 10 A Long Night at the Palmer House: Epilogue The Wild Cards Universe About the Publisher

by John Jos. Miller Contents Cover Title Page Copyright Dedication Copyright Acknowledgments Copyright Acknowledgments Copyright © 2018 by George R.R. Martin and the Wild Cards Trust ‘A Long Night at the Palmer House’ copyright © 2018 by John Jos. Miller ‘Down the Rabbit Hole’ copyright © 2018 by Kevin Andrew Murphy ‘The Motherfucking Apotheosis of Todd Motherfucking Taszycki’ copyright © 2018 by Christopher Rowe ‘A Bit of a Dinosaur’ copyright © 2018 by Paul Cornell ‘Stripes’ copyright © 2018 by Marko Kloos ‘The Sister in the Streets’ copyright © 2018 by Lumina Enterprises ‘A Beautiful Façade’ copyright © 2018 by Mary Anne Mohanraj ‘Meathooks on Ice’ copyright © 2018 by Saladin Ahmed Low Chicago Low Chicago a variant of seven-card stud poker wherein the high hand splits the pot with the low spade in the hole A Long Night at the Palmer House by John Jos. Miller: Part 1 Down the Rabbit Hole by Kevin Andrew Murphy A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 2 The Motherfucking Apotheosis of Todd Motherfucking Taszycki By Christopher Rowe A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 3 A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 4 A Bit of a Dinosaur by Paul Cornell A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 5 Stripes by Marko Kloos A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 6 The Sister in the Streets by Melinda M. Snodgrass A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 7 A Beautiful Façade by Mary Anne Mohanraj A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 8 Meathooks on Ice by Saladin Ahmed A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 9 A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 10 A Long Night at the Palmer House: Epilogue The Wild Cards Universe About the Publisher

Part 1 Contents Cover Title Page Copyright Dedication Copyright Acknowledgments Copyright Acknowledgments Copyright © 2018 by George R.R. Martin and the Wild Cards Trust ‘A Long Night at the Palmer House’ copyright © 2018 by John Jos. Miller ‘Down the Rabbit Hole’ copyright © 2018 by Kevin Andrew Murphy ‘The Motherfucking Apotheosis of Todd Motherfucking Taszycki’ copyright © 2018 by Christopher Rowe ‘A Bit of a Dinosaur’ copyright © 2018 by Paul Cornell ‘Stripes’ copyright © 2018 by Marko Kloos ‘The Sister in the Streets’ copyright © 2018 by Lumina Enterprises ‘A Beautiful Façade’ copyright © 2018 by Mary Anne Mohanraj ‘Meathooks on Ice’ copyright © 2018 by Saladin Ahmed Low Chicago Low Chicago a variant of seven-card stud poker wherein the high hand splits the pot with the low spade in the hole A Long Night at the Palmer House by John Jos. Miller: Part 1 Down the Rabbit Hole by Kevin Andrew Murphy A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 2 The Motherfucking Apotheosis of Todd Motherfucking Taszycki By Christopher Rowe A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 3 A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 4 A Bit of a Dinosaur by Paul Cornell A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 5 Stripes by Marko Kloos A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 6 The Sister in the Streets by Melinda M. Snodgrass A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 7 A Beautiful Façade by Mary Anne Mohanraj A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 8 Meathooks on Ice by Saladin Ahmed A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 9 A Long Night at the Palmer House: Part 10 A Long Night at the Palmer House: Epilogue The Wild Cards Universe About the Publisher

IT HAD BEEN ONEhundred and forty-two years since John Nighthawk had been inside the Palmer House, and then it had been the earlier incarnation of the luxurious Chicago hotel, known simply as the Palmer.

Nighthawk’s age was not apparent in his appearance. He was a smallish black man in a dark pin-striped suit with a discreet kidskin glove on his left hand. He looked to be in his thirties. He sighed as he gazed at the entrance to the hotel. Perhaps, he thought, it’s finally time to lay old ghosts. He hurried across the street, dodging early morning traffic with the ease of the longtime urbanite, and entered the hotel’s lobby.

Inside he paused momentarily, suddenly almost overwhelmed as one of his visions washed over him. They were part of the powers he’d gained on that first Wild Card Day in 1946 and usually came as warnings of great danger lurking in the near future. This one was more incoherent than usual, chaotic scenes of fire and ice, of great beasts and shifting landscapes, of quick flashes of the past he’d once seen and an even vaster past he’d never imagined.

He stood for a moment catching his breath, then went on to the elevator bank and up to the seventh floor, wondering what was in store for him this time around.

The door to room 777 opened at Nighthawk’s light knock, and he found himself looking down into the large, expressive eyes of a man even shorter and slighter than himself, no more than five four and maybe a hundred and ten pounds. The crown of his head was totally bald and there were baggy wrinkles under his soulful eyes. He looked as if he were in his fifties.

It took Nighthawk a moment to place his face. He was the spitting image of the actor Donald Meek. Nighthawk had loved him in Stagecoach, the original version with John Wayne. He’d seen it at the Theatre back in 1939 when it’d first come out.

“You must be John Nighthawk.” The man’s voice was high and flighty, fussy sounding.

“I am.”

“Come in, come in, and meet the client.”

Nighthawk entered the suite’s siting room. It was luxuriously appointed, as one would expect in the Palmer House, with period furniture that was a little too heavy and ornate for Nighthawk’s taste. Death himself stood in the doorway between the sitting room and one of the two bedrooms.

Death was tall, well over six feet, and cadaverously lean. He wore a black suit of old-fashioned cut and fabric. Rubies the size of walnuts gleamed in his silver cuff links. His face and head were skeletal, fleshless, mere yellowish skin stretched tightly over bone. His teeth, white and perfect, were exposed by a lipless grin.