By David Liss
Benjamin Weaver, the quick-witted pugilist grew to become deepest investigator, returns in David Liss's sequel to the Edgar Award--winning novel, A Conspiracy of Paper.
Moments after his conviction for a homicide he didn't devote, at a tribulation presided over by way of a pass judgement on decided to discover him to blame, Benjamin Weaver is accosted through a stranger who cunningly slips a lockpick and a dossier into his arms. straight away he is familiar with issues: somebody had long past to loads of hassle to work out him condemned to hang--and one other both mysterious agent is set to determine him free.
So starts A Spectacle of Corruption, which heralds the go back of Benjamin Weaver, the hero of A Conspiracy of Paper. After a bold break out from eighteenth-century London's so much infamous legal, Weaver needs to face one other problem: the best way to turn out himself blameless of a criminal offense whilst the corrupt courts have already proven they wish basically to work out him hold. to find the reality and transparent his identify, he'll need to comprehend the motivations at the back of a mystery scheme to extort a clergyman, discover double-dealings within the unrest between London's dockworkers, and divulge the conspiracy that hyperlinks the plot opposed to him to the looming nationwide election--an election with the aptitude to spark a revolution and topple the monarchy.
Unable to teach his face in public, Weaver pursues his inquiry within the guise of a filthy rich service provider who seeks to contain himself within the political scene. yet he quickly reveals that the realm of well mannered society and politics is full of schemers and plotters, males who pursue riches and power--and those that search to come back the son of the deposed king to the throne. Desperately navigating a labyrinth of politicians, crime lords, assassins, and spies, Weaver learns that, in an election 12 months, little is what it kind of feels and the reality comes at a staggeringly excessive cost.
Once back, acclaimed writer David Liss combines old erudition with secret, complicated characterization, and a charming humorousness. A Spectacle of Corruption offers perception into our personal global of political scheming, and it firmly establishes David Liss as the best writers of highbrow suspense at paintings today.
From the Hardcover edition.
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Additional info for A Spectacle of Corruption (Benjamin Weaver, Book 2)
Kill him! Kill him! When the man had had enough of beating me, he loaded me onto a wheelbarrow, carted me down to the river, and dumped me into the reeds, swearing such terrible things as I would have wished never to hear. Some kind of animal drew near me. I turned over with a moan. The animal didn’t budge. I stretched out my arm to touch it and felt an icy hand: I was lying next to a dead soldier. My bones ached, but I made an effort to overcome the pain and attempted to roll farther down the bank.
They drank straight from the bottle. The black-haired guy wiped his mouth and asked: Did Isabel cry much? Shut up. She must have cried a lot. Shut up. I didn’t think 56 WAR, SO MUCH WAR you could possibly leave her . . I don’t want to marry without an arm. I returned the postcard with the pomegranate. The one with the black hair said, when the war’s over we’ll look for a lame fellow who can play the guitar and we’ll sing about her as we make the rounds of the villages. We’ll tell people we laughed at the bullets and the bombs.
Three doors gave onto the landing. I chose the middle one. The room seemed to have been built for giants, with a hearth for giants. Another room followed with a table in the middle in the shape of a counter; some thirty iron soldiers armed with lances were positioned between the huge windows and on either side of the doors. Another room, resembling a corridor, had twelve windows facing the sea; the opposite wall was covered with bits of broken mirror. As I was studying the wall that shattered me to pieces as though I were merely a composite of shards, I noticed the scent for the first time: the smell of the yellow roses from our rosebush at home that climbed all the way up to the railing on the rooftop terrace.