PROTECTOR
SIAM STORM 4
Robert A Webster
Copyright © 2017 Robert A Webster : All rights reserved.
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Prologue
He sinks his fang deep into her vein and the blood oozes over the back wall. “Grrr,” he said letting out an evil growel as the woman gurgled and...
“What are you doing buggerlugs?” asked Spock leaning over Stu’s shoulder and reading his computer screen.
Stu spun around and looking perturbed, asked. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Not long... Why, what are you doing?” asked Spock grinning.
Stu furrowed his brow. “If you must know, I’m writing a novel.”
Spock smirked, looked at the screen, chuckled and asked. “Since when have you been able to write?”
Stu glared at him and sounding irritated said, “I am the one with CSE’s; Mr Peter… I didn’t-even-spell-my-name-right on the exam… Harris.”
“Yeah, a CSE grade 4 in pottery,” said Spock smirking.
Spock and Stu’s schooldays weren’t educational, with them both leaving school with no qualifications, and knowing making a clay ashtray wouldn't get them into the NASA space rocket programme, they were useless.
“It was ceramics actually,” said Stu correcting him, “and I read a book about writing novels and showing emotions.”
Spock puckered his brow. “Well, that’s easy… just take a dump and photograph it,” he said looking bewildered.
Stu cocked his head to one side and looking confused, asked. “What?”
“Go dump and take a picture of it,” said Spock who shrugged, sighed and, said, “although I can’t see what that has to do with writing a book.”
Stu frowned until he then realised what the big lad prattled on about and said. “Emotion, dopey bollocks… not A Motion.”
*In Appendix.
— Chapter One —
The year was 486 BC.
With clear blue skies, a cool breeze circulated through the rift valley near a small village on the outskirts of *Lubini, where hundreds of monks stood and paid homage to their dead prophet.
The thin white hessian cloth-wrapped body of Prince *Kshatriva Gautama, now known as *Siddhartha Gautama, lay on top of a wooden funeral pyre.
The disciple monks who made this pilgrimage wore kashaya saffron cassocks, and stood around the pyre chanting the *Four Noble Truths, taught to them by their enlightened prophet.
Unbeknownst to the gathered mourners, the teachings of Siddhartha Gautama would transcend this lifetime, with his words living in the souls and hearts of human beings for generations and beyond.
There was no pomp or ceremony for the dead Prince, having relinquished his royal position and wealth decades ago.
The funeral pyre was set up on the village outskirts in front of a mound with a small hole dug out that led to a small underground stupa in the mound to house the ashes of the Buddha.
The four monk disciples who brought Siddhartha’s body from Luo Beach to his final resting place stood in front of the pyre with flaming wooden torches.
Standing alongside the monks was a middle-aged woman along with two young girls who looked out of place wearing white sarees. They remained silent as monks chanted mantras and once finished, the monks lit small clumps of tinder that ignited, and, as the flames flickered, the monks stood back.
Orange and yellow flames from the larger sticks of wood then ignited, lapping around Siddhartha’s body.
As the flames intensified, the still air filled with white smoke and the crackling of burning timber. Scorched flesh filled their nostrils as the hessian slowly burned.
Another sound abruptly disturbed the mourners who looked around when they heard the thundering of chariots and men roaring from behind a hillock a short distance away.
The terrified mourners panicked as the sound drew closer and the first chariot appeared, followed by several others along with hordes of sword wielding warriors.
The monks and Siddhartha’s family looked terrified at one another as arrows flew towards them.
Panicking, they screamed as arrows struck several of the mourners as the chariots rumbled closer.
A monk shouted, “Quickly,” and pointed to the nearby village. “Run to the village, we can find shelter there.”
Although they all knew the villagers were defenceless against the hordes now descending upon them, they knew they stood more chance in the village where they could get Siddhartha’s family to safety.
Terrified, three disciple monks shielded the woman and her daughters from the oncoming arrows as they ran to the village.
One monk said, “follow me,” and led them inside his small homestead along with the two other monks.
The trembling villagers stood outside their stone and straw dwellings holding spears and slings. They all knew their crude homemade weapons were no match for the bronze swords wielded by the oncoming invaders.
They gave the first few monks that came any spare weapons as the remainder flooded into the small village picking up rocks on the way.
With fear etched across their faces, they crowded in the small village centre awaiting the war chariots.
While the woman and her daughters caught their breath, a monk went over to a large stiff resin and hemp woven cover on the floor as the chariots roared into the village.
The screams of villagers and monks being slaughtered outside drowned out the sound of the girls screaming as the monk lifted the panel to reveal a square pit.
The monk beckoned the family over and told them to go with his brothers.
With the terrified girl’s hearts pounding, they, along with the two monks, jumped into the pit with a hole dug at the side.
The monk smiled and handed them down a cloth bag of food and gourds containing water. He smiled at the trembling woman. “Don’t be afraid, you and your daughters go with my brother monks, they will take care of you,” he said in a soothing voice, “you will be safe, and you must live.”
The woman took the bags, smiled, and nodded.
One monk crawled into the hole at the side and said. “Follow me. It is dark so stay close.”
The monk disappeared, and the woman crawled in behind him followed by her daughters with the other monk behind them.
They crawled along a small, hot, dark, claustrophobic tunnel, as the monk in the lead reassured them and reminded them to stay close.
Remaining topside and seeing them all leave, the monk replaced the cover and scattered dried earth over the hemp to disguise the narrow tunnel entrance pit.
The monk shuddered, picked up a wooden torch and, dipping the cloth wick into the embers of a cooking fire, he stretched up and lit the low straw roof of the dwelling.
Looking concerned, the monk glanced at the covered pit. He hoped that when the ceiling collapsed, the smoke from the fire would not permeate into the tunnel before the family and his brothers were far enough away to escape.
He and his brother monks had dug this tunnel long ago for just such an event. Knowing the tunnel came out between mounds of rocks wher
e they could hide until it was safe, he smiled.
‘Once it is safe, my brothers can take the Buddha’s family to Lubini. Although it’s a three day walk, they have better defences there,’ he thought and looked up.
Seeing the roof now ablaze, he took a large stone mortar from a pestle, went to the doorway, and peered outside. He felt enraged when he saw the dead or dying piled up and lying in pools of blood with severed heads and torso’s strewn around the arid muddy red street.
Although he saw the few remaining monks and villagers still fighting, the monk knew this would be futile against the larger stronger adversary who cut them down like animals.
The monk saw several invaders setting fire to the other dwellings roofs. He frowned and hoped his ploy would work and make them believe that they had already searched and destroyed his home.
Smoke now filled his small dwelling and billowed out around him as he stood in the doorway. He coughed and looked in the distance to where Siddhartha’s body should be ablaze.
His eyes widened and he stood with his mouth agape when he saw Siddhartha’s smouldering corpse loaded onto a large wooden chariot.
Feeling helpless and terrified, but trembling with rage, he held up his primitive stone pestle, snarled, yelled, and charged outside.
— Chapter Two —
Stu frowned, turned off his computer screen, and looked at Spock.
“What do you want? And why are you sneaking around my house?” he asked.
“I wasn’t sneaking, but as usual you left your door wide open. You can’t blame me because you are too tight-fisted to put on the air-conditioner. You must have been too engrossed in your epic novel to hear me come in,” said Spock and sniggered.
Stu, feeling perturbed, saw Spock wearing his daft fishing hat, and said. “I thought you were going fishing.”
Spock nodded. “Yes, I was going fishing, but Shithead called me and said that your phone’s switched off and he has been trying to get hold of you.”
Stu furrowed his brow. “Oh, is he okay? What does he want?”
Spock shrugged. “I don’t know, but he sounded anxious and said it was urgent that he spoke with us both.” He rubbed his chin and said. “I told him that I would come here and then call him back.”
“Oh, okay,” said Stu, walking to the coffee table to get his phone.
He turned it on and called Pon.
“Huh,” said Stu, number busy. He tapped his lips together. “Okay, I will make us a mug of tea and then call him.”
“Good idea matey,” said Spock as Stu walked into the kitchen.
Spock smirked, turned on the computer screen, and read what little Stu had written of his book.
Spock shrugged and shouted. “What’s it about?”
Stu grumbled, walked back into the living room, turned off the screen, and said. “If you must know, it is about a one-toothed vampire.”
Spock looked gobsmacked before bursting out laughing.
Stu, unimpressed by his friend’s disbelief in his literary prowess, stormed back into the kitchen grumbling.
Spock, with a titter in his voice, called out. “What are you calling it...Gums or Woneater?” he sniggered and said. “Watch out Bram Stoker… here comes Wilson.”
Stu mumbled as he heard Spock’s condescending laughter before the kettle clicked off.
“Very funny,” said Stu, walking back into the living room with two mugs of tea and placed them on the coffee table.
He sat on the sofa and said. “Stop taking the piss and come here while I call Pon.”
Still tittering, Spock sat next to Stu while he called Pon again.
“Ah, it’s ringing now,” he said, and put his phone on speaker when Pon answered.
“Hi mate what’s up?” asked Stu.
“Hi Stu, is Spock with you?” said Pon sounding concerned.
“Yes matey, I’m sitting here with Agatha Wilson,” said Spock chuckling.
“My friends, I have a problem, and I need your help,” said Pon sounding wistful.
“Why, did you trap your tail in the door again?” asked Spock and tittered.
“Or did Kim think it was a hairy snake and chop it off by mistake?” said Stu chortling.
With the sound of his two English friends laughing, Pon tutted, ignored their attempts at wit, and sounding serious, said. “I can’t explain over the phone, but can you come to the Imperial Palace?”
The lads stopped joking, and while Stu took a slurp of his tea, Spock said. “Do we need to bring anything with us, a change of clothes or toothbrushes?” Then, fishing for clues, asked, “Should I bring my Adventure hat?”
Pon, not wanting to divulge information over the phone, said, “If you get here tomorrow morning, I can explain everything when I see you. You will need to stay for a few nights.”
“Oh, okay,” said Spock and looked at Stu who shrugged, nodded, and said. “Okay, we will leave here first thing and should be there around 10:00 am.”
“Thank you my friends. Oh, and Spock you better bring your Adventure hat,” said Pon and chuckled.
Stu groaned and then the pair looked at each other as Pon said. “Come straight to my quarters. You can bring the girls if you want, it will be great to see you all.”
“Okay Shithead, we’ll see you tomorrow,” said Stu, and after hanging up the phone, asked Spock, “what do you think mate, he sounded worried?”
Spock giggled and said. “He’s winding us up matey. He just wanted a night on the piss, that’s why he said to bring the girls, so he can fob Kim off with them.”
Stu rubbed his chin and looked puzzled. “I don’t think so Spock, they only came here a few weeks ago, and we went out then.”
Spock smirked. “Yep, but he got a bollocking from Kim for being out late.”
Stu chortled. “Yeah, and so did you.”
Spock took a drink of tea, recalling the major bollocking he received from Moo after coming home spannered with a tattoo. He frowned as he looked at his arm and picked dead skin off his recent tattoo. “Bastard,” he mumbled, “hurry up and heal.”
Stu sighed and said. “Well, we won’t find out anything until tomorrow and now you aren’t going fishing, shall we go for an afternoon libation?” He took a slurp of tea and said. “We can pop to the Butterfly bar, have a couple of beers, and get our todgers fondled. We can come home early, get the girls to pack, and then have an early night. Then we can leave in the morning and go see what Pon wanted.”
Spock pondered for a split second, smiled, nodded, and said, “Good idea matey.”
The pair walked outside into the hot afternoon sun and got into Stu’s Hilux, feeling excited about their plans for the afternoon and intrigued by Pon’s phone call.
“Take off that stupid hat,” said Stu, “you know what happened the last time you went to the Butterfly Bar wearing it.”
Spock grunted and took off his hat.
The memory of how his headpiece got swiped while he was having a quick shag went through his mind. He felt sure he left his hat on the bar, but when he returned from the short time rooms, his hat was nowhere in sight.
With everyone at the bar insisting they hadn’t seen it, Spock looked like Sherlock Holmes as he walked around the bar looking for his hat amongst the bins, shelves, and around the bench seats in the bar.
As he and the girls in the Butterfly Bar searched outside, Stu sat at the bar sniggering.
Spock found his lucky fishing hat floating in the hot tub set up in a dark recess in an area outside the bar.
Customers paid the bar to have the girls service them in the warm frothy water, and it’s commonly known as Pattaya’s Infamous Butterfly Bar Aqua Shag Pool.
Spock grimaced as he remembered his disgust at having to remove his treasured hat from the tub. Water and sticky blobs of gizm that floated on the water dripped from his soaked bonnet, with some sticking.
While putting his fishing hat in the glove box, Spock glanced at Stu smirking. He frowned and still felt convinced that he
had something to do with it, despite his denials. However, Spock wasn’t concerned at the time, as it seemed to have cheered his old mate up during his dark depressive period not so long ago.
Several minutes later, Spock saw Stu smiling while driving, and realising he was now thinking about his stupid book, said. “Oh, and by the way Hemmingway. Growel is spelt G-R-O-W-L. Blood spurted, not oozes from a vein, and I’m certain it’s sank, not sinks.”
— Chapter Three —
The following morning, Stu drove along highway 3 toward Bangkok and the Imperial Palace.
Spock and Stu took the girls with them to give them a few days break from their market stall. Dao and Moo could gossip with Kim while the lads found out what Pon wanted.
“I hope that bloody box hasn’t been stolen again,” said Stu furrowing his brow.
Spock nodded. “Me too; mind you it is a fake, so I wouldn’t think they’d mind too much if it was. But what else could it be to make Shithead sound so anxious.”
Stu shrugged and wondered what was so urgent.
During the two-hour journey, there wasn’t a lot said in the Hilux. Stu thought about his book while Dao thought about what to buy him for his upcoming birthday.
Spock smirked as he looked out of the window. He thought about his new tattoo and what additions to add to his dragon when he got it; and Moo wondered whether it was legal in Thailand to get a dopey foreign husband gelded.
****
Stu and Dao’s relationship was still uncertain after her indiscretion with Welsh John almost a year ago.
Stu felt empty after he booted Dao out of their home. She’d phone him many times but he ignored her, as he couldn’t get his mind off her lies and deceit.
Trying to drown his sorrows, he went on drinking and shagging binges alone that lasted days at a time. However, the short-time sex and being constantly drunk depressed him more.
Protector--The Final Adventure Page 1