A Bed of Earth (The Secret Books of Venus, Book 3) by Tanith Lee

By Tanith Lee

"A mattress of Earth" is a haunting trip to a parallel model of sixteenth-century Venice, the place a fierce territorial contention among noble households finds a supernatural strength from underneath the placid floor of the canals and rotting understructure of town.

The fight among the 2 households for area at the Isle of the lifeless, the overcrowded burial floor for generations of Venetian the Aristocracy, boils over and a fourteen-year-old lady is pressured to pay the final word rate. because the years go on, events complicit in her disappearance start to undergo the results in a sequence of surprising deaths. A humble apprentice gravedigger is left to deal with the mysteries and subdue the traditional terror that threatens to smash the whole republic.

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Additional resources for A Bed of Earth (The Secret Books of Venus, Book 3)

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The equipage rocked and lurched like a small ornate ship on stony seas. Above, the clockwork dragon supervised. How much of Oz those dull eyes had taken in. Oz rehearsing itself, rearranging itself decade after decade. Whimsy and fate, destiny and accident. The fall of the house of Ozma, the dirty years of the Wizard, the rise of impeccable Shell, holy Emperor of Oz. Fortunes, in any case: changeable fortunes converted into the changeless facts of biography by every passing tick of its mechanisms.

Am I hallucinating all this? Kill me or save me, as you wish, but for the love of the Unnamed God, do it soon. 舡 It was this last remark that moved the Lion to pity, or pity of a sort. He knew about being alone. The weather was always cold there. He padded forward and put his big head down on the man舗s chest. The man swooned in fear or disbelief, whereupon the scattershot snare in his chest slowed to a more stately thud. The Lion considered creeping off. The whole thing was so embarrassing. 舡 He didn舗t want to be rude and leave without the correct valediction.

He rubbed the cat舗s arthritic spine, and a net of hairs came off on the pad of his paw. He held them out. Each hair looked like nothing so much as a thread of glass. 舠Revolting,舡 said Sister Hospitality, charitably enough. 舠Look, it hardly has a shadow,舡 said Brrr, and this was almost true; the morning light of the vestibule slanted through where the cat stood, stretching arthritically on the flagstones. 舡 said the Lion. 舡 舠If it舗s as fragile as glass, it will be pleased to learn that our own mousers have recently fled,舡 said Sister Hospitality.

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