Indie Book Spotlight: The Bowl Series, by R. R. Hutchinson

Series Blurb

Julius, a human, and Nothro, an Ananeptide, inhabit The Bowl – the only unfrozen part left of Earth – and are invited to Dralcea, the walled city with a caldera at its heart and multiple subterranean levels. All is not how it seems however, and their honouring by the Dralcea Guard takes a sour turn. Alongside others similarly invited and betrayed, they must escape Dralcea if they are to survive. A mysterious artefact is discovered along the way which aids their cause but raises many more questions.

Those lucky enough to make it through the city walls flee to survive as long as possible. A chance finding gives background to Jenker’s mysterious cutlass, and direction for them to head in which could save them all. However, the Dralcea Guard are not content to let them get away so easily and the group soon find themselves followed far beyond the reaches of the city not only by men, but also beasts and more sinister beings altogether…

Excerpt from Book 2: The Unit With No Name

‘Whilst the ambience in here is delightful, we probably should drink up and get going. Don’t you think? There are a group of trained killers chasing us down, after all. No offence, Janos.’

‘No need to apologise when it’s accurate,’ Skerrick said before Janos had chance to reply. He already sounded slightly inebriated. ‘They’re all the same.’

‘Watch your mouth, you,’ Janos growled, slamming his mug down and staring daggers at the far smaller, leaner man. ‘There’s a whole world of difference between me and them, and I’ll thank you to remember that. It’s not like you’re so harmless either.’

‘I’m more innocent than you’ll ever know,’ Skerrick said falteringly, seemingly embarrassed at his own words. ‘But you lot never do care too much for the truth, do you?’

Julius watched as Janos’s hands clenched into fists and trembled on the tabletop with barely controlled rage. ‘Hey now, keep it calm, everyone,’ Cronto said before Julius could say anything himself.

‘Easy to declaim those who would bring you in for your misdeeds when you get caught, isn’t it?’ Janos snarled in Skerrick’s direction. ‘Very easy. What you don’t know is that I’ve only ever done the right thing. Some of those in the Dralcea Guard, yeah, I’ll admit – bastards through and through. A handful of them would just as happily chuck you into the caldera as take you in for questioning, all to save themselves the bother. Not me, though, I’ve only ever done what was right.’

‘I’ll bet that extends to beating up anyone in your way to subdue them?’ Skerrick responded.

‘Sometimes you have to enter a fight to end a fight,’ Janos said, leaning forward in his accuser’s direction. ‘And occasionally intervening and kicking arse is the only option – it’s not always nice, but it can often cause less harm to everyone in the long run. Sorting out a brawler in the street when they won’t stop swinging is one thing – seeking them out with the end of your spear in mind is entirely another. The latter is not something I was ever prepared to do. Not me.’

‘Are you saying that there were guards you knew who would go to those lengths?’ Fyrir asked. ‘I’ve known you – we’ve known you,’ he said, looking at Skula ‘– long enough to know when you’re telling the truth about these things.’

‘Thank you, and yes – there are at least a handful willing to go so far,’ Janos said. ‘The bad news is that it would seem that at least one of them is currently following us, probably more. I don’t think I need remind you how bad a proposition that is.’

‘Bollocks. You’re in on this with them – you’re leading us to them, aren’t you? Admit it!’ Zhin demanded.

‘You’re awfully quick to forget me saving your skin back in the forest. That beast had you chosen for dinner until I clattered it,’ Janos growled.

Julius laughed at Zhin’s remark. ‘Leading us to them – by making great haste in the opposite direction?’

‘Just what would be the point of me coming all this way, fighting to protect you and risking my own skin with the horrors out here like those mangy grem-mlems, only to turn around and betray you? That would be a bloody stupid plan by anybody’s standards if it were true,’ Janos said. ‘I might not be the smartest person around, far from it, but I know that to be true. If you’re looking to pin down a secret evil genius among us, well, sorry, but that’s definitely not me.’

‘I wouldn’t put anything past you crafty bastards,’ Skerrick said haughtily, before taking another sip of his malodorous drink.

‘Enough!’ Janos shouted, slamming his hand down onto the tabletop and making the vessels resting there jump up and back down with a clatter. In response, Skerrick pushed his rickety stool back with a loud scrape as he stood up hastily.

‘The last thing we need are divisions – or perhaps drawing undue attention,’ Rundup said quietly but firmly in his grand, authoritative manner.

‘That’s rich coming from someone who couldn’t blend in less with the locals,’ Zhin retorted. ‘Your jacket is like a ruddy beacon screaming “look at me!”’

‘And I suppose your formal wear is just like what everybody here wears? None of us dressed up to come specifically here,’ said Rundup. ‘You might recall that sham of an award ceremony where they tried to end us all.’

Cronto half-stood to gain the group’s attention. ‘Stop, everyone! Bickering won’t get us anywhere. It may have only been a few days but we’ve come so far and survived where many others wouldn’t have – and some didn’t. If we tear ourselves apart now, then we’re doing the work of those hunters for them.’

The world around them exploded with noise, wood splinters and galumph droplets as several of the mugs on the tabletop erupted, spraying and startling them all half out of their skin.

‘They’re here!’ Julius instinctively yelled. The noose had suddenly tightened around them.

About the Author

R. R. Hutchinson works in the higher education sector and lives in Leicestershire, England with his wife and two border collies. He has always loved reading and wrote a couple of children's books whilst at school, although those are limited to just the individual hand-written and hand-drawn copies he still has, on a bookshelf somewhere.