Today I’m taking part in the blog tour for Water Street. I’m sharing an extract from the book with thanks to Anne Cater for inviting me on the tour and to the author for providing the extract.

Blurb:

Liverpool 1863.

The American Civil War comes to the British Empire’s second city and the world’s richest port.

Confederate Commander Banastre X. Dunwoody has a plan to turn the conflict by securing advanced warships, but the U.S. Government is one step ahead of him. It seeks to sabotage his efforts through its covert agent – Harriet Dunwoody – Banastre’s pregnant wife.

Alongside her undercover partner Conté, Harriet discovers that Banastre has plans to do more than building ships; he has a scheme that could very well draw Britain into the war.

As Gettysburg looms an ocean away, there’s another battle to be won and lost. The fate of the USA and the City of Liverpool rests upon it.

Extract:

Late in the evening, June 2^nd 1863 

Nib on paper, scratching out an exquisite cursive hand, the first words of The African Leviathan, a novel by Mr Payton Ake. 

‘Bah.’ 

Alas. He screws the folio up and tosses it into the fire. The problem? It is too quiet in here tonight. Too quiet to read or write. Too quiet to do anything but expect trouble. 

Mr Ake runs the busiest bridewell gaol in the entire city. This is on account of the proximity to the docks and Landing Stage, where all manner of seafarers, warehousemen, thieves, prostitutes and racketeers ply their trade in an endless cycle of victims and perpetrators, playing out nightly hard luck stories. The worst offenders are usually corralled into this dense, red brick pen, prior to court, prison, the rope or going back on the streets. Never is there a dearth of customers, day or night. 

The Campbell Square Bridewell is a small but impregnable bastion of correction, the vital first staging post of crime and punishment and the West African leviathan that is Ake values that principle like no other. He has known the fear of death in battle, on the high seas, in thick, corroded iron chains, in the dark alleys between warehouses. He knows where he prefers to be, for the future of his children, if not so much for his own sake. To be on the right side. 

Law is protection.
Law is certainty.
Mr Ake is the law.
What else is there to do? Mop the floor? Wash the walls? The sweet aroma of his sandalwood and ether solution clings to everything, sanitising and masking. He only coated the place minutes ago, and it isn’t even dry yet. So what else? Write a novel? Tried it. The problem with having too much to say is where to start. 

Some evenings, when he gets too much time to think, he doubts all of his high principles and attempts to better himself, this being one of those particular nights. Because it is quiet. Damn it. Damn that quiet. It is a cacophony. It is an echo chamber of madness. 

That’s good. He should write that down. He picks up his quill. 

The iron door reverberates with the clanging groan of the knocker. Is this the devil come to claim him? Has Old Nick stopped time and arranged for this still evening, just so he can feast on Payton Ake’s rich, delicious Igbo soul without interruption or distraction? If so, at least it is salvation from this dreadful inertia. 

He unbolts the door and pulls it open. 

‘Captain Frank?’ he says. ‘This is highly unusual for you to come here…’ 

A gloved finger is pressed to a trimmed and moustachioed lip. It belongs to a diminutive man in an immaculate cape and top hat ensemble. He is Captain John Frank, Commander and Chief Constable of the Liverpool Watch and Mr Ake is quite correct. He never comes here, or goes anywhere in this city, these days. So then, why tonight? Mr Ake quickly gathers that the empty gaol really is no coincidence. Captain Frank remains on horseback in the shadows of the narrow yard, keeping at eye level with his old, old friend. 

‘Payton,’ he rasps. His eyes are bloodshot, his manner shaken, discombobulated. Something is very wrong. Mr Ake knows this man like no other. 

‘John? What is the matter?’
‘I can count on you. Can I not?’
‘Always and forever.’
This relieves just a pinch of his troubled temper. ‘That is all I wanted to know.’
‘John, what vexes you so?’
‘Awful trouble, Payton. A disturbance to this fair city like we have never seen before. A rift in the ranks, a deep and sudden schism. I must warn you, but I must also count upon you.’ 

‘John, please tell me what…’

***

Water Street is available from Amazon.

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