The ministry of time a novel

Chapter I I Perhaps he'll die this time. He finds this doesn't worry him. Maybe because he's so cold he has a drunkard's grip on his mind. When thoughts come, they're translucent, free-swimming medusae. As the Arctic wind bites at his hands and feet, his thoughts slop against his skull. They'll be the last thing to freeze over. He knows he is walking, though he can no longer feel it. The ice in front of him bounces and retreats, so he must be moving forward. He has a gun across his back, a bag across his front. Their weight is both meaningless and Sisyphean. He is in a good mood. If his lips were not beyond sensation, he would whistle. In the distance, he hears the boom of cannon fire. Three in a row, like a sneeze. The ship is signaling. Excerpted from The Ministry of Time: A Novel by Kaliane Bradley All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.