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The GRASP of
HUANG ZHOU
Huang Zhou's final schemes to bring the world under his dominion!
Huang Zhou hopes to bring the Czar and Czarina under his control.
What happens when he discovers they are already under the control of Grigori Rasputin?
Can even Huang Zhou resist the hypnotic powers of the mad monk?
Huang Zhou sends his son, Chung, to expedite the construction of the Panama Canal.
As it turns out, Chung is happy to bribe officials, assassinate presidents, and enslave workers to bring about his plans.
And only his sister stands in his way.
Huang Zhou and his young daughter, Nu, journey to the great Amazon Basin, hacking their way through hundreds of miles of the thickest jungles on Earth, in search of a fabled lost city.
What happens when an even greater treasure is lost?
Huang Zhou sends his daughter into Yian-Ho, the fabled City of the Sorcerers, hidden in the most remote mountains on Earth.
Her mission is to find the arcane secret of the elixir vitae, which even he could not secure.
If he failed, what chance does this teenage girl have?
When the activities of Huang Zhou lead to the creation of the British Secret Service, a team of English adventurers, including the Harker family, the crew of the airship Vigilance, the Monster of Frankenstein, and the mysterious master of the occult, Doctor Silence, assemble and swear to stop him and his schemes!
Who will triumph?
Who will survive?
(The Monster of Frankenstein, the two captains, the Harker family, and Doctor Silence. Note: young Quincy Harker does NOT wear a skirt. Stupid AI slop.)
Huang Zhou's grasp shall embrace the world!
Is he the villain they claim he is... or the world’s last salvation?
And check out the final volume of his adventures:
The GRASP of
HUANG ZHOU
In this, the third of volume of the Forbidden Chronicles, Huang Zhou seeks out the greatest minds of the Turn of the Century, hoping to assemble devices that will enable him to control the destinies of nations!
He manipulates empresses, presidents, and czars, spreading his unseen power over the world!
Huang Zhou raises his daughter to be his most subtle and seductive agent. But will she be able to achieve the vaunted goals of her father?
In time, Huang Zhou's conspiracies come to the attention of the fledgling British Secret Service. But can even they stop him?
Read THE GRASP OF HUANG ZHOU today!
EXCERPT:
Beyond the brazen gate, Nu saw that the interior was, in fact, a city within a small valley, surrounded by both jagged mountains and walls of black stone. Immediately beyond the gates, she found herself viewing a courtyard which opened onto some dozens of other doors and archways. These appeared to be temples, possibly tombs. Yet she knew from her father’s tales, that the true heart of the city lay beyond these doors, protected not only from invaders and enemies, but from the elements.
Huang Zhou stopped and bowed reverently to the clerics, and Nu mimicked his gesture of respect. They stayed bowed until spoken to, a moment later.
“Welcome, Fang,” said the elder archimandrite, Wuo-tu. “Your presence graces our hearth once more, I see.”
Huang Zhou rose, slowly. The days of riding, the hours of climbing in the snow, and the minutes of remaining in a bowed position threatened to freeze his seventy-nine-year-old back into that shape forever. Only his willpower prevented this.
“Honorable and wise masters,” Huang Zhou said upon rising, “I am now known as Huang Zhou. I have come to present my child, Nu, that she might be educated as was I, in the ancient teachings of the Kuen-Yuin.”
The Kuen-Yuin, also known as the Green Lamas, had formed a part of the Council of the Seven for uncountable centuries. Indeed, they were the oldest branch of the oldest organization on Earth. While the White Peacock were thought of as the mind and brain of the Seven, and the others—currently the Thuggees, the Phansigars, the Dacoits, the Hashashim, and the virtually extinct Khurramites—were considered the arms, the Kuen-Yuin were considered the soul and heart of the Council.
The assembled masters of the citadel remained silent, staring without expression. Huang Zhou expressed the identical emotion. Nu, having learned such stoicism from her father, remained as expressionless as any. Yet she found her eyes looking from one to the others, wondering what decision might be made regarding her fate.
What would be this fate, Nu wondered. Were they now asking themselves how Nu could do better than her father?
At last, the archimandrite spoke. “We thank you for your offering, Fang. Nu shall accompany our High Priestess to a cell. Please accept these gifts of dried fruits and meats, sorghum beans, and fresh water, that you might make your return journey without starving.”
“I thank you, Archimandrite,” Huang Zhou said, then bowed once more.
The gatekeepers began moving the great doors. Huang Zhou quickly picked up the sacks of food and water and stepped through them once more.
“Farewell, my daughter,” he said, over his shoulder.
“Farewell, Father,” she replied, hoping he heard no tremble in her voice.
Once Huang Zhou stood outside the gate, the great doors were once more bolted and sealed. Inside, Nu looked about, seeing all these people staring at her.
They all appeared Asian, though she would not venture to place their features in any particular nation. Rather, she surmised, the denizens were primarily a mixture of Chinese and Tibetan, with some elements of Uiger, Siberian, and now and again a touch of Persian or Russian. They might be called commoners, but no one in the hidden citadel of Yian-Ho could ever be called common.
Along their journey, Huang Zhou had tutored Nu in the language of Yian-Ho, and he claimed it to be the archetype of all Turkic and Altaic languages. By the time they arrived, she could speak it as well as he, though she would find herself learning even more in the days to come. It mattered little, though, for the inhabitants spoke many dozens of different Asiatic languages and some of Europe and Africa as well.
“Come,” said Mistress Yingli, who then turned to follow a street that led behind a row of small houses. Nu fell in behind her, noting the air within the citadel, though hardly balmy, a seemed warmer than the mountainscape outside. This seemed to defy the laws of physics of which Nu was familiar.
The city seemed clustered with spired temples, verdant parks, towers, several bridges over a small river, and many stone houses which hugged the sides of this valley. As often as not, these buildings connected and formed a great citadel.
Once they skirted the last of these houses, Nu found herself in a city as impressive and chaotic as her father had said. Temples, towers, and fountains clustered in their multitudes on either side of a beautiful river, across which spanned a dozen small bridges. Her attention was drawn to a soft ringing of silver chimes hanging on strings between houses. The sound of human voices was all but absent.
Farther along, in the center of the great city stood the greatest of all the temples, the immense Fane of the Sleeper of the Kuen-Yuin, as much mountain as building, so far as Nu could tell. In all her travels, she never saw such a building. The closest analogy she had ever beheld would be the Potala of Lhasa in Tibet or the cyclopean walls of Tenochtitlan, but this temple complex was greater. Nu saw no windows and only a single entrance, but of great size.
Somehow, for over seventy thousand years, the Fane of the Sleeper had been kept hidden from the outside world. She knew that no one, not even the occupants of the city, had ever entered this temple without prior approval. Obviously, Nu would not be allowed inside either.
Yet that was precisely the task that Huang Zhou had assigned to her.
Read more in THE GRASP OF HUANG ZHOU.