-:| The Book of Davoth|:-
By Martyn Stanley
Version 9.0 (Edited)
Martyn Stanley October 2020
None of this material may be reproduced in any way, in part or in full without the express written permission of Martyn Stanley.
Also by Martyn Stanley:-
The Deathsworn Arc Series
- The Isharian Hoard*
- Lady Death**
- The Last Dragon Slayer
- The Verkreath Horror
- The Blood Queen
- Rise of the Archmage
- The Temple of the Mad God
-
The Lambton Worm Series
- The Lambton Worm*
- Return of the Wormslayer*
* Short Story
** Novella
Enjoy this book? For news on forthcoming Martyn Stanley titles and occasional free giveaways, sign up to the Martyn Stanley Newsletter at http://martynstanley.com/subscribe-to-newsletter/
Special thanks to Jack Pedley for reading a very rough first draft of this novel, Rachael Stanley for the hours spent editing and proof-reading it, my Romanian friend Nicoleta Mocanu for her suggestions for Romanian names, modern and historical, and my German friend Frank Ertel for checking over the German in the WW2 telegram.
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Though this work contains references to real historical events, as well as well-known individuals, both living and dead, many of the details surrounding these individuals and historic events are entirely fictional.
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If you like the book, please leave me a review! It doesn’t have to be an essay, just a paragraph saying why you liked it is fine! This really helps authors out, doesn’t cost a penny and takes less than five minutes.
Chapters:-
Chapter 1 - Coming to England
Chapter 2 - A Car Crash
Chapter 3 - A Night in Hospital
Chapter 4 - Social Workers and Police
Chapter 5 - Harper House
Chapter 6 - The Others
Chapter 7 - A Restless Night
Chapter 8 - Weston Bank Academy
Chapter 9 - Dental Nightmare
Chapter 10 - A Funeral
Chapter 11 - Tempest House
Chapter 12 - The Doctor’s Cure
Chapter 13 - A Night Feed
Chapter 14 - A Day Feed
Chapter 15 - Return to Tempest House
Chapter 16 - Leaving Harper House
Chapter 17 - The Great Fire
Chapter 18 - The Ultimatum
Chapter 19 - The Mystery of the Blood
Chapter 20 - A Visit to Julia Sterling
Chapter 21 - The Result
Chapter 22 - The Truth
Chapter 23 - The Future
Chapter 24 - The Secret Cellar
Chapter 25 - The Nazis come to Dealul Negru
Chapter 26 - Victor’s Return
Chapter 27 - The Refusal
Chapter 28 - Missing
Chapter 29 - The Discussion
Chapter 30 - The Raid
Chapter 31 - Ofelia
Chapter 32 - The Accident
Chapter 33 - Bercow, Moore & Partners
Chapter 34 - Turning Julia
Chapter 35 - Homecoming
Chapter 36 - The Ritual
Chapter 37 - Resolution
Chapter 38 - Epilogue
Free sample of Deathsworn Arc 4: Rise of the Archmage | Chapter 1 - Waiting
Chapter 1 - Coming to England
‘Ofelia, treseşte-te! Este timpul sa mergem.’
Ofelia opened her eyes and glared at the man leaning over her. ‘Stefan, I told you. While we are in England - only English.’ She closed her eyes in defiance and made a mocking, pretend ‘snoring’ noise.
Stefan sighed. ‘Ofelia, wake up. Time to go.’
Ofelia opened her eyes again and smiled. ‘Good. Pack up my things. I need to get ready.’
Throwing the white, ship’s issue duvet aside, she swung her legs over the bunk and stood. Stefan watched her grab her retro, gingham dress off its hanger and take it into the en-suite. As he heard the door lock snap into place, Stefan began clearing the cabin. They were travelling light, so there wasn’t much to pack. Already dressed, he gathered the rest of their things and bundled them into a worn leather holdall. He binned the previous night’s empty crisp packet and beer bottle, then sat patiently on the bed. When Ofelia exited the en-suite, she was ready. The dress looked almost childish, even for a girl who appeared to be barely of high school age. Her raven hair was immaculate, but the short bob, with a low fringe, looked dated and decidedly uncool. Now she took a bottle off the bathroom shelf and squirted a glob of creamy goo onto her right palm. After carefully applying the cream to every part of her exposed skin - she handed the bottle to Stefan. He squinted as he held the label up to the light. ‘Factor 50. Do you really think you need so much? They say it rains all the time in England, even in the summer.’
Ofelia shrugged. ‘I do not know. But I will take no risks.’
Their eastern European accents would betray their origins the moment either of them spoke. Ofelia’s, ghostly pale skin would be another cause of confusion - it made her look Icelandic or even from a colder clime.
As she checked herself in the cabin’s full-length mirror, she spoke sternly to Stefan. ‘Now, as soon as we leave the ferry, we find service station. There, we buy map. Maybe we find hotel and rest for the night. It is three days until the new moon, but I would like to visit the site and plan how to sneak in first’.
Stefan nodded, then picked up two maroon coloured booklets, each adorned with an eagle on the front. He thumbed through them until they were on the photo page, then held one up to Ofelia. ‘You are sure these will work? I don’t want to-’
‘Enough!’ Ofelia cut in. ‘They will work. If they don’t - we drive through the barrier and race to the new forest, west of here. Then, once we’re out of sight, you drop me off and give yourself up.’
Stefan reached into the holdall and pulled out a clear zip-lock bag with a yellowed piece of parchment covered in archaic looking writing and symbols. ‘Maybe you should keep this on you?’
Ofelia shook her head. ‘No! Keep it hidden at the bottom of the bag. The passports will work. Trust me.’
Stefan didn’t look reassured by Ofelia’s confidence. He tucked the plastic wallet back into the bag then turned back to her. ‘Do you need to feed?’
‘No. I will wait until tonight. Let’s get off this boat and get going.’
Stefan hauled the bag onto his shoulder and double-checked the cabin. Satisfied, he pushed the cabin door open and waited. Ofelia pulled on her cardigan and leather shoulder bag. As she left the cabin, she pulled a pair of dark sunglasses from her bag and slotted the arms behind her ears, resting the blackened lenses on her forehead.
The ship was alive with the hustle and bustle of travellers hurrying to their cars. Most of the passengers towered above Ofelia and she found herself jostled and bumped from every direction, almost becoming separated from Stefan. Reluctantly she held out a hand, and he reached out and took it. Soon, they were beyond the narrow corridor and queuing in the stairwell to get to their car. The boat still rocked and swayed rhythmically, as the waves lapped against the side of the hull. The air in the cramped stairwell was filled with the stench of stale sweat and a nautical aroma of industry, diesel fumes, and salt water. When the doors opened, Stefan and Ofelia were carried along by a wave of suitcase wielding tourists, all chattering excitedly and vying for position in a bid to get to their car first. The orange-clothed deck crew were still unfastening the last few cars and packing the straps away as Ofelia and Stefan began to navigate t
he maze of parked cars. Eventually, they made it to their battered Dacia Nova. Stefan opened the boot and slung the bag in. Before he could shut it though, Ofelia stepped forwards. ‘Stop. It goes in the back with me.’
As she pulled the bag out with surprising ease, Stefan opened the back door of the car and beckoned her in. When he shut the door she was shrouded in darkness. The side and rear windows of the car had a severe tint to them, making them almost impossible to see through. Ofelia leaned back on the bench seat and draped her right arm protectively over the leather holdall. Stefan dropped into the driver’s seat and slammed the door after him.
An anxious wait followed. Stefan and Ofelia sat in silence, watching the sea of people wash around their car as tourists made their way to their vehicles. In time, engines were starting and daylight spilled onto the deck as the doors opened. This was Ofelia’s prompt. She reached up and slipped her dark glasses down over her eyes. A minute later and the ancient saloon car smoked and rumbled its way towards the exit ramp.
They’d taken the Caen to Portsmouth overnight crossing. It was early morning now, and the sky was grey and overcast. The Dacia rolled down ramps and into a queuing lane for passport control while a hundred seagulls squawked overhead. The wait for their turn was tense. Eventually, Stefan drew the car up to the little window, wound the passenger window down and leaned over. A stern looking lady in a black uniform greeted him with a frown. ‘Passports.’
Stefan stretched and handed over the two little booklets, struggling to calm his shaking hand. The passport control officer took them, opened them at the identification pages and studied first, Stefan, before peering into the back. Her eyes lingered on Ofelia. Unsure, she leaned closer. ‘You’re Stefan Arbore and Ofelia is your…?’
Stefan forced a smile, shuddering at her inept pronunciation of his surname. ‘My little sister.’
The officer shifted her attention to the gloomy rear of the car. ‘Could you lean forwards and remove your glasses love.’
It was the first sign of friendliness from the officer. It perhaps betrayed a subtle concern that Stefan might be a trafficker. Ofelia leaned forward and took off her sunglasses. The officer’s eyes darted from the passport to her face again and back again. Then she smiled, apparently satisfied. ‘Bit dull for sunglasses isn’t it?’
Stefan bit his lip and shot a glance at Ofelia. Then he reached out to take the passports back. ‘My sister, she has medical condition. She’s sensitive to sunlight.’
The officer nodded recognition and handed the passports back. ‘Oh I’ve heard of that - sounds terrible. Well, you should have a good time in England. We haven’t seen the sun for a week here! Enjoy your stay.’
Stefan smiled back and took the passports as the barrier lifted. ‘Thank you.’
The car rolled on and the tension in the air evaporated. Ofelia sagged back into the grimy grey bench seat. She smiled though. ‘We’re through.’
Stefan allowed himself a wry smile too as he followed the line of traffic out of the port, throwing the passports onto the passenger seat. Sitting on the wrong side of the car was novel, but inconvenient. The rest of Europe had unified to drive on the right and made all their cars left hand-drive. Typical of the British to stubbornly insist on ‘being different’. As they pulled onto the main road, Stefan called to the back. ‘Have you been to England before?’
‘Not for a long time. Keep a lookout for a petrol station. We need fuel and a map. I think Stonehenge is about an hour away from here, but I’d rather we found a hotel and studied the ritual, then visit the site tomorrow morning.’
Stefan nodded and continued following the traffic. Soon he saw signs for the M27 and started to follow them.
***
Ofelia leaned back in her seat, watching the traffic whizz by as Stefan piloted the car along the motorway. A light drizzle started up, smearing the windows with rain and hindering visibility. The motorway was riddled with road works and temporary speed limits. Fearful of drawing attention to himself, Stefan obeyed each limit, kept a safe distance behind the car in front, and drove with as much care and attention as he could muster. Driving on the left side of the road for the first time didn’t make this any easier. It was nearly an hour before they turned off to roll into Rownhams Services. As they trundled along the slip road, Ofelia pointed. ‘There! Premier Inn. We can stay here. Park up and check us in.’
Stefan pulled into the car park, then backed into a space. Instead of getting out he turned to Ofelia. ‘Are you sure? It’s still early. The online maps said Stonehenge is north of Salisbury. Maybe we should go check it out today? We get some breakfast, get some fuel, then drive straight there?’
Ofelia glared at him, her brow furrowing. For a moment it looked as though she was about to scold him, then her face sagged. ‘You are right. We eat, get fuel, and map, then drive straight there.’
Stefan nodded, then drove the car out of the hotel, around to the main service station. It wasn’t a large one, the only options for food were Road chef or McDonalds. Ofelia, opened the brown holdall and handed a light, waterproof jacket to Stefan, before pulling on her own. Huddled under her coat, she splashed across the flooded car park. Stefan lingered to lock up the car, then sprinted to catch up. By the time they were in the building, they were both dripping wet and cold. They headed straight to the McDonalds and Stefan ordered two sausage and egg McMuffins and coffees. The server eyed Stefan with a look of bemusement as he handed the piping hot coffee to an apparent eleven-year-old. Ofelia led the way to a table in the shadows - away from the windows. Once they’d sat, Ofelia opened up both little parcels, took the two sausage burgers off and put them on one wrapper and the muffins and egg on the other. Then slid the eggs and muffins to Stefan and began eating the meat, hungrily. As they breakfasted, the eyes of other customers fell upon them. Stefan didn’t appear unusual. If not for his accent and less than perfect English, he’d have been mistaken for a local. Ofelia though, drew inquisitive stares. A young girl, with milk-white skin sheltering behind midnight-black glasses and devouring two burger-shaped lumps of sausage meat, dripping with juices... That was unusual. If the short-lived stares bothered Ofelia or Stefan - they didn’t show it. Soon they’d finished eating and sat facing each other, slowly slurping their coffee. Stefan broke the silence. ‘Ofelia, how is it my family came to-’
She reached up and pressed a cold, white finger onto his lips. ‘Shhh, now is not the time or the place. If your father had been well enough - he would have accompanied me on this trip. If you were now the eldest of your family - you would have been told the secret. You know what I am, and you know to obey me without question. You deserve to know the truth though. Tonight, I will explain how I came to be and why the Arbores have kept my secret. For now, drink and rest. We should move soon.’
Stefan sighed, then took another sip of his coffee. The rain eased off, and by the time they left the cafe, the clouds were breaking. They got back into the car in silence and drove to the petrol station. Stefan filled up and paid in cash. When he got back into the car, he handed a newly bought road atlas to Ofelia. She lifted her dark glasses and peered at the map for a moment, folding the left-hand page back. ‘Stefan, you need to leave the services and follow this road to junction two. Then take the A36 north.’
He nodded, started the engine and pushed the car into gear. The rain had stopped falling, but the road was a river. Spray washed over the car every time another vehicle passed and Stefan didn’t dare take the fast lane given the poor visibility, particularly in a ‘wrong-hand-drive’ car. It didn’t matter though - they’d got here, they were close. Risking an accident now would be madness. The junction arrived in less than two kilometres. Once they were on the right road the clouds thinned even further and the road began to dry. Despite the early torrential downpour, it looked like turning into a warm day. Ofelia didn’t even have to consult the map again. Stonehenge was signposted from the roundabout at the end of the A36. Soon the signs directed them towards the Stonehenge visitor
centre car park. By now it was mid-morning and cars were already filling the spaces. Stefan parked the car, and they climbed out, Ofelia grabbing her plastic-enclosed piece of parchment on her way. She adjusted her dark glasses and pulled her coat tightly around her. The wind was getting up, so Stefan donned his jacket too, before locking the car.
It took over half an hour to trek up the path to the ancient Neolithic site. When they got there, to their dismay, but not surprise, the monument was cordoned off with a thin black rope. The path took them close, sweeping up the mound towards the ancient stones and past them. Ofelia stopped at the point where she was as close as she could get. Stefan stood behind her and cast his eyes left and right for officials who might try to stop them jumping the barrier. Reaching into her jacket, Ofelia pulled out and unrolled the mysterious page in its plastic wallet. In one corner of the page was a small hand-drawn map of the monument. She rotated it in her hands to orientate it as closely as she could to where they stood.
She stared at the little drawing, then at the stones. Then she gingerly lifted her glasses, using her palm to shield her eyes from direct sunlight. ‘Argh!’ she gasped and replaced her glasses.
‘What is the matter?’ Stefan asked her.
‘It’s not there.’
Before Stefan could ask her for clarification, she stepped over the knee-high barrier and strode up to the stone circle. A man in a high-visibility jacket spotted her and came running. ‘Hoi! You’re not allowed in there!’
She ignored him and passed into the centre of the circle. The stones were scattered about, their arrangement barely recognisable from the ancient map.
‘You! Get back behind the barrier!’
Ofelia glanced about the centre of the circle again, then at her map. Finally, she began the slow trudge back to Stefan. The official caught up just as she was stepping back over the barrier. ‘Kindly do NOT allow your daughter to step over the barrier,’ he gasped, ‘this is a protected site!’
Ofelia (The Book of Davoth 1) Page 1