The Head and the Hand

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Bless you, Mike Moorcock, and thank you for New Worlds. This magazine, now being published as an original anthology, has been the consistent showplace of more new and better science fiction writers than any other in the last decade. Christopher Priest’s story appeared there, and very chilling and remarkable it is. Priest’s growing reputation centres round two novels, Indoctrinaire and Fugue for a Darkening Island, the latter being the first British novel to win a John W. Campbell Award.

On that morning at Racine House we were taking exercise in the grounds. There had been a frost overnight, and the grass lay white and brittle. The sky was unclouded, and the sun threw long blue shadows. Our breath cast clouds of vapour behind us. There was no sound, no wind, no movement. The park was ours, and we were alone.

Our walks in the mornings had a clearly defined route, and as we came to the eastern end of the path at the bottom of the long sloping lawn I prepared for the turn, pressing down hard on the controlling handles at the back of the carriage. I am a large man, and well-muscled, but the combined weight of the invalid carriage and the master was almost beyond the limit of my strength.

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