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Seven Stones to Stand or Fall

A Collection of Outlander Fiction

Diana Gabaldon

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NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER - A magnificent collection of Outlander short fiction-including two never-before-published novellas-featuring Jamie Fraser, Lord John Grey, Master Raymond, and many more, from Diana Gabaldon

Among the seven spellbinding pieces there is "The Custom of the Army," which begins with Lord John Grey being shocked by an electric eel and ends at the Battle of Quebec. Then comes "The Space Between," where it is revealed that the Comte St. Germain is not dead, Master Raymond appears, and a widowed young wine dealer escorts a would-be novice to a convent in Paris. In "A Plague of Zombies," Lord John unexpectedly becomes military governor of Jamaica when the original governor is gnawed by what probably wasn't a giant rat. "A Leaf on the Wind of All Hallows" is the moving story of Roger MacKenzie's parents during World War II. In "Virgins," Jamie Fraser, aged nineteen, and Ian Murray, aged twenty, become mercenaries in France, no matter that neither has yet bedded a lass or killed a man. But they're trying. . . . "A Fugitive Green" is the story of Lord John's elder brother, Hal, and a seventeen-year-old rare book dealer with a sideline in theft, forgery, and blackmail. And finally, in "Besieged," Lord John learns that his mother is in Havana-and that the British Navy is on their way to lay siege to the city.

Filling in mesmerizing chapters in the lives of characters readers have followed over the course of thousands of pages, Gabaldon's genius is on full display throughout this must-have collection.

"Gabaldon is in fine form . . . weaving together characters' lives, connecting plot points, and showing tantalizing glimpses of the larger Outlander world, of which this reader can never get enough."-Historical Novels Review

"[Diana] Gabaldon is in fine form . . . weaving together characters' lives, connecting plot points, and showing tantalizing glimpses of the larger Outlander world, of which this reader can never get enough."-Historical Novels Review

Diana Gabaldon is the #1
New York Times bestselling author of the wildly popular Outlander novels—
Outlander, Dragonfly in Amber, Voyager, Drums of Autumn, The Fiery Cross, A Breath of Snow and Ashes (for which she won a Quill Award and the Corine International Book Prize),
An Echo in the Bone, and
Written in My Own Heart’s Blood—as well as the related Lord John Grey books
Lord John and the Private Matter, Lord John and the Brotherhood of the Blade, Lord John and the Hand of Devils, and
The Scottish Prisoner; two works of nonfiction,
The Outlandish Companion, Volumes 1 and
2; and the Outlander graphic novel,
The Exile. She lives in Scottsdale, Arizona, with her husband.


Einband Taschenbuch
Seitenzahl 560
Erscheinungsdatum 07.08.2018
Sprache Englisch
ISBN 978-0-399-59343-7
Reihe Outlander
Verlag Random House LCC US
Maße (L/B/H) 23,1/15,4/3,2 cm
Gewicht 565 g


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  • Jamaica

    Early May 1762

    Lord John Grey dipped a finger gingerly into the little stone pot, withdrew it, glistening, and sniffed cautiously.


    "Yes, me lord. That's what I said." His valet, Tom Byrd, face carefully averted, put the lid back on the pot. "Was you to rub yourself with that stuff, you'd be drawing flies in their hundreds, same as if you were summat that was dead. Long dead," he added, and muffled the pot in a napkin for additional protection.
    "Well, in justice," Grey said dubiously, "I suppose the whale is long dead." He looked at the far wall of his office. There were a number of flies resting along the wainscoting, as usual, fat and black as currants against the white plaster. Sure enough, a couple of them had already risen into the air, circling lazily toward the pot of whale oil. "Where did you get that stuff?"
    "The owner of the Moor's Head keeps a keg of it; he burns it in his lamps-cheaper nor even tallow candles, he says, let alone proper wax ones."

    "Ah. I daresay." Given the usual smell of the Moor's Head on a busy night, nobody would notice the stink of whale oil above the symphony of other reeks.

    "Easier to come by on Jamaica than bear grease, I reckon," Tom remarked, picking up the pot. "D'you want me to try it with the mint, me lord? It might help," he added, with a dubious wrinkle of the nose.
    Tom had automatically picked up the oily rag that lived on the corner of Grey's desk and, with a dexterous flick, snapped a fat fly out of the air and into oblivion.

    "Dead whale garnished with mint? That should cause my blood to be especially attractive to the more discriminating biting insects in Charles Town-to say nothing of Canada." Jamaican flies were a nuisance but seldom carnivorous, and the sea breeze and muslin window screening kept most mosquitoes at bay. The swamps of coastal America, though . . . and the deep Canadian woods, his ultimate destination . . .

    "No," Grey said reluctantly, scratching his neck at the mere thought of Canadian deer flies. "I can't attend Mr. Mullryne's celebration of his new plantation house basted in whale oil. Perhaps we can get bear grease in South Carolina. Meanwhile . . . sweet oil, perhaps?"

    Tom shook his head decidedly.

    "No, me lord. Azeel says sweet oil draws spiders. They come and lick it off your skin whilst you're asleep."

    Lord John and his valet shuddered simultaneously, recollecting last week's experience with a banana spider-a creature with a leg span the size of a child's hand-that had burst unexpectedly out of a ripe banana, followed by what appeared at the time to be several hundred small offspring, at a garden party given by Grey to mark his departure from the island and to welcome the Honorable Mr. Houghton Braythwaite, his successor as governor.

    "I thought he'd have an apoplexy on the spot," Grey said, lips twitching.

    "Likely wishes he had."

    Grey looked at Tom, Tom at Grey, and they burst into suffocated snorts of laughter at the memory of the Honorable Mr. Braythwaite's face on this occasion.

    "Come, come," Lord John said, getting himself under control. "This will never do. Have you-"

    The rumble of a carriage coming up the gravel drive of King's House interrupted him.

    "Oh, God, is that him now?" Grey glanced guiltily round at the disarray of his office: A gaping half-packed portmanteau lolled in the corner, and the desk was strewn with scattered documents and the remnants of lunch, in no condition to be viewed by the man who would inherit it tomorrow. "Run out and distract him, will you, Tom? Take him to the receiving room and pour rum into him. I'll come and fetch him as soon as I've done . . . something . . . about this." He waved a hand at the debris, and Tom obligingly vanished.

    Grey picked up the oiled rag and disposed of an unwary fly, then seized a plate scattered with bread crusts, blobs of cu