Kill the Dead by Tanith Lee (beach read book txt) 📕

a little, inside the legitimatebounds of Blake’s Seven, I would not have dreamed of trying to reproduce him elsewhere. So,it is Paul Darrow the actor, who is acting Dro in thesepages. A man damaged both physically and mentally by his bizarre and torturedtrade, a man who, frankly would have, I think, earned both Avon’s contempt, andAvon’s complete horror. And in addition, to be quite fair, even Paul Darrow’shandsome appearance and manner of interpreting character underwent, during thebook, endless changes. That usually happens. I think actually only VivienLeigh, Elizabeth Taylor, and Jacqueline Pearce remained exactly physically likethemselves throughout those several Lee novels they have adorned.

Meanwhile,I did write aplay for Paul Darrow–my fourth for BBC–The Silver Sky. I evengot my photo in the RadioTimes for that one! The other part was for lovely ElizabethBell. Again, I was enormously lucky that they both agreed to do it. Theirperformances are gems, especially Elizabeth’s blend of courageous and sexy,tender femaleness, and Paul’s faultless rendition of that last, very demanding,monologue. (As ever, there was a great supporting cast, and gloriousdirector—Kay Patrick.)

Incidentally,when I later told Paul Darrow (at a Blake’sSeven party) that I had had the sauce to recruit him to actParl Dro, he was very nice about it, and laughed with some amusement. The fewactors I have told have never been unkind. They laugh, or even seem interested.

The lastmisunderstanding that has added itself to Kill the Dead is thatMichael Keating (Vila in Blake’s Seven) plays the part of Myal Lemyal. Sorry, he doesn’t. I believe that mix-upcame about because I also wrote a play for Michael–Darkness, whichthe BBC didn’t want. It is a good play, and with more of the sort of imputproducers and actors have always given me, it could, maybe, have been very good,but there. Meanwhile, I had compared Kill theDead’s Myal to myself. Again, a clue is in the name –my all,etc: A talented idiot.

That thenis the Truth about KTD’s relation to Blake’sSeven. I do myself think that something of the style–wisecracks,put-downs, even long areas of dialogue–that I used in the show, also inform thebook. And I do think too that Paul’s ‘performance’ in the character of Dro,even if changing into a real and separate being–as all my characters seem todo, to me, in that parallel universe I am blessed to have access to–addedimmeasurably to the novel.

Ifcurious enough, one might also look up another book of mine, Sung in Shadow. It is awild re-telling, in a parallel Renascence, of Romeo and Juliet. He has asecondary starring role in that, one of the non-teenage figures. It’s a meatypart. He more than did it justice.

A handfulof years back I wrote a monologue specifically for Jacqueline, and later onefor Paul, as part of MJTV’s CD series The ActorSpeaks. The disks are highly intriguing and entertaining,both for their frank interviews and their other examples of terrific dramawritten by actor-producer Mark Thompson. While for me, it’s particularlymagical to hear both JP’s and PD’s (musical) voices rendering my words–at thetouch of a button.

Writingis my life. It is among the best of all the best things for me. But those timeswhen I’ve been fortunate enough to be interpreted by so many actors of suchgolden calibre, on radio, CD, TV, and film, I consider some of the most radiantevents in my career.

Tanith Lee 2010

CHAPTER ONE

“Cilny—weare in danger.”

Theshadows did not answer.

The onlyway down from the mountain was by a steep, tortuous steel-blue road. About tenmiles below the pass the road levelled grudgingly and curled itself aroundtoward an upland valley where trees and a village were growing together. Half amile before it reached the village, it swerved by the wall of a curious leaninghouse.

Therewere trees growing by the house, too. Their roots had gone in under thefoundations, seeking the water course that was otherwise evident in the stonewell just inside the ironwork gate. Gradually, the roots of the trees werelevering the house over. Extravagant cracks ran up the walls, and a dark-greenclimbing plant had fastened on these. Over on the north side, however, thehouse itself had at some time put out a strong supporting growth: a three-storystone tower.

The towerwas probably defensive in origin. Its three narrow windows looked northwest towardthe mountain, over the smoky tops of the trees.

The sunwas down. At this hour the mountain seemed to take on exactly the twilightcolor of the sky behind it, and might almost have been made of a slightlyswarthy and imperfect glass. Modestly, other more distant heights had retreatedinto soft charcoal strokes sketched over the horizon.

From theuppermost window of the tower, it was possible to see the mountain road veryclearly, even in the dusk. And better still after stars, as if ignited bytapers, burst into white dots of brilliance overhead, and a pale quarter moonfloated up in the east.

A figurewas coming down the road from the pass. It was wrapped up in a black hoodedmantle, but its general shape and mode of walking showed it to be masculine.Showed, too, that it was lame. At each stride, for strides they still were,there came a measured hesitation on the left side.

When theblack-mantled lame man striding down the road was some seventy paces from thehouse, the girl at the tower window drew back swiftly into the room. Turning tothe shadows there, she repeated her whisper with a restrained desperation.

“Cilny—we’rein danger—terrible danger. Can you hear me? Are you there? Oh Cilny, answerme.”

This timethere was a response. The shadows, at their very thickest in one of the tower’sdeep corners, seemed to part. Pale as the quarter moon, a shape slipped frombetween them.

“I’mhere,” said a voice less a whisper than the rustle of a leaf on one of thetrees outside. “What is it?”

“DarlingCilny, my only and best sister,” said the girl who had watched at the window,“there’s a man walking along the road. He’s lame in the left leg, and dressedin black. I may be mistaken, but I think I know him.”

The palemoon shadow laughed gently, a leaf laughing. “When didyou ever meet such a man, Ciddey?”

“Notmeet. Never met. Never to meet, I hope and I pray. But I’ve heard talk