The Merlin Chronicles: Box Set (All Three Novels)

by Daniel Diehl

  Chapter Nine

  The thick, stagnant, recycled air on the eight hour plane ride to Addis Ababa made Jason grumpy and caused his mind to become just fuzzy enough that he found it hard to keep his thoughts running in a straight line. His wandering brain kept returning to the fact that for the first time since Merlin insinuated himself into his life the previous autumn, Jason was now completely on his own. He hated to admit it, but he had become fond of the miserable old wizard and without his help and advice Jason would have become just another one of Morgana le Fay’s endless number of victims on more than one occasion. The fact that Merlin was continuing to keep a constant watch on Morgana did provide some feeling of security, but without the old man’s magic and innate knowledge of the best ways to counter each of Morgana’s moves, Jason felt a bit like a rudderless ship condemned to float aimlessly in the midst of a convoy of nameless, often invisible enemies. Jason would have felt a lot more comfortable if he could just communicate effectively with the people in Ethiopia; at least when they went to Mongolia Merlin had stuffed the Mongol language into his head while he was sleeping. Now he was about to land in one of the largest desert countries on earth and he had absolutely no idea of what to do next or even how to ask directions.

  To Jason’s utter amazement, as the plane taxied across the runway toward Addis Ababa’s Bole International Airport, he was confronted by a massive ultra-modern complex that made both Heathrow and JFK look primitive by comparison. The air in the retractable catwalk that snuggled up against the plane was refreshing and even the international arrivals area with its endless passport control lines was attractive and clean. Most amazing of all, when Jason’s turn came to hand his passport and customs declaration card to the uniformed man behind the glass screen the guard smiled and said “Good morning, sir. Welcome to Ethiopia.”

  “Oh. You speak English.”

  “Your plane did arrive from Heathrow, did it not, sir?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Then it only makes sense to provide you with security personnel who speak your language; doesn’t it?” Jason closed his eyes and nodded, feeling distinctly like an idiot. “And how long will you be staying in Ethiopia?”

  Jason had no idea how long he might be here searching for the Ark of the Covenant, and the keys to the dragon gate which it might or might not contain, but he knew he had to give a specific time limit so he put on his most confident smile and said, “About two weeks.”

  “And are you here on business or pleasure?”

  I’m here to find the Ark of the Covenant and steal two stones inside it so I can save the world ran through Jason’s head but somehow it didn’t seem like an acceptable answer. “I’m an archaeology student and I’m doing some research.”

  Smacking the passport with a big blue rubber stamp, the man smiled and handed it back to Jason. “That’s probably work to you, but we can call it pleasure. Enjoy your stay in Ethiopia.”

  Jason stuffed the passport into his pocket and was about to walk into the main terminal but checked himself. Turning back to the guard he leaned into the glass screen, smiled and said “Excuse me but what’s the quickest way into Addis Ababa?”

  “Follow the signs to the main entrance and just wait outside. Shuttle busses come along about every fifteen minutes.”

  Jason smiled again, nodded, thanked the man and walked through the sprawling, over-crowded terminal until he stepped out through the massive, glass front doors and into a wall of heat unlike anything he had ever experienced in his entire life.

  Sandwiched between the Sahara Desert to the north and the equator to the south, Ethiopia was about as different from England’s perpetually moist and mild climate as an oven is different from a gentle spring breeze. Heat waves shimmered upward toward a cloudless sky from virtually every object. The road, the sandy ground, every vehicle in the parking area, every building and even the planes taxiing across the black runways emitted rippling waves that danced upward in the heat. It was like seeing the whole world through an aquarium - identifiable but constantly shifting and distorted. Jason could feel the water being pulled out through the pores of his body but it evaporated so fast that his shirt never got wet. Within minutes of taking his place in the line waiting for the shuttle bus he was so dehydrated that his knees felt like they were turning to liquid, and he started becoming lightheaded and woozy. Long before the shuttle arrived, Jason knew exactly what a turkey felt like when it was roasting in its own grease.

  Climbing unsteadily up the steps of the bus and heaving his duffle onto the shelf behind the driver, Jason’s thoughts wandered aimlessly back in time one month. Then he had been freezing his butt off in Mongolia and now he was going to fry in Africa. Plopping down onto the sticky plastic seat he decided it wasn’t the danger that he minded so much, he just hoped that the next time he had to save the world he could do it in someplace with a nice climate – like maybe Italy or Virginia.

  The bus ride from Bole Airport to downtown Addis Ababa revealed a lot more about the country than all of his online research had done. Mile after mile of drought-stricken farmland was divided into pathetically small fields that clustered around what passed for villages. Groups of tiny mud-brick huts huddled together like lost children slowly gave way to the dense clutter of urban slums which the government tried, unsuccessfully, to hide by installing endless miles of tall concrete barriers. Here, on the edge of Ethiopia’s capital city, undernourished children and scrawny livestock wandered in and out of corrugated sheet-metal shacks that sweltered under the equatorial sun. At least in Mongolia the people had looked happy even if they were poor; here they looked too drained of life even to be sad. The websites had shown the center of Addis Ababa with its strikingly modernistic buildings and clean streets but this tragic squalor was obviously the real Ethiopia – the one far enough away from the glitz and glamor of parliamentary procedure and embassy receptions to make any difference to officials dressed in Armani suits. Jason wondered how something like the Ark of the Covenant had ever wound up in such a sad, neglected corner of the world.

  After the shuttle pulled into the bus station Jason found his way to the tourist information window and asked for directions to the central railway station. God only knew why anybody would come here as a tourist but Jason Carpenter had no intention of spending any more time in perpetually sunny Addis Ababa than absolutely necessary, and that made it essential to get a seat on the very next train to Axum and his final destination. The lady behind the information desk smiled, handed him an English language street map of Addis Ababa and told him to go to the west side of the building and wait for a number 14 bus; it would drop him off directly across the street from the main entrance to La Gare Railway Station. After pointing out the bus station on the map, she told Jason that if he wanted to see where he would be going, he would find the train station toward the bottom of the map on Ras Mekonin Avenue. Glancing up at the clock she said the next number 14 should be along in about ten minutes.

  Just as he had been told, the bus pulled to a halt directly across Ras Mekonin Avenue from a rambling, two story, yellow brick holdover from the early twentieth century days of Italian colonialism. Deep, arched verandas and overhanging rooflines made the building look solid, old fashioned and inviting, but it was the empty, decaying parking lot, graffiti covered walls and acres of abandoned, wrecked and vandalized rail cars around the building that left Jason with a sick, sinking feeling in his stomach. Letting his duffle bag drop to the sidewalk, he pulled it along behind him limply, bumping over tufts of dry, brown grass that struggled up through the broken macadam of the parking lot.

  When he finally reached the shade of the long porch that spanned the front of the building he let go of the strap on his duffle and started working his way from one window to the next. Rubbing away years of collected grime and peering into the concourse, all he could see were walls cloaked in dirt and graffiti. Nowhere was there any sign of human occupation. Rubbing his head and stepping back to lean against the shady side
of a yellow brick column, he stared blankly at a particularly immense and garishly spray-painted scrawl written in an indecipherable language.

  “It says the government sucks camel dick.”

  Jason rolled himself away from the cool pillar and raised one hand to shade his eyes from the glaring African sun. About twenty feet behind him, standing in the middle of the ruined car park, was a skinny black kid in his middle teens. He was dressed in ancient blue jeans, a striped T shirt and a windbreaker emblazoned with the name and crossed-swords emblem of the University of Virginia.

  “Thank you for that. At least now I know that some things are pretty much the same no matter where you go. Could you also tell me why the hell the railroad station is abandoned and where I can go to get a train out of this place?”

  “You need a time machine for that one. They closed down the railroad in 2010.”

  Jason leaned his head back against the pillar and rolled it from side to side. “Oh, fuck.” Then, more to himself than the boy, he shouted “How the fuck do I get out of here?”

  “That depends a lot on where you want to go, doesn’t it?” The boy stuck his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and walked confidently toward Jason. “Mister, what you need is a guide. Somebody who knows everything there is to know about Addis Ababa. I know every street and landmark. I speak French and five of Ethiopia’s ninety languages. You already know my English is perfect. I can get you anything you want and take you to wherever you need to go.” Almost as though he had forgotten the most important part of a well-rehearsed speech he quickly added “And I can do it cheaper than anybody else in the city.”

  “Can you tell me how to get to Axum?”

  The boy held out his hand and waggled his fingers. “One buck. US. I don’t want any Ethiopian birr, they’re not worth shit.”

  “I don’t have any American money.”

  “Come on. Don’t try to con me mister, you’re as American as they come. I could tell from clear across the street.”

  Jason tried to cover the grin with one hand. “Yeah, I am an American but I live in England. Will you take a pound coin?”

  His eyes lighting up, the boy flashed an immense grin. “Hell, yes. A pound’s worth a lot more than a dollar.”

  Jason fished through the contents of his pocket until he found the round brass coin. Stepping forward he handed it to the boy. “Ok. Now give. How do I get to Axum?”

  “You only got two choices, mister. You can take a bus, but its five hundred and fifty kilometers to Axum – that’s about four hundred miles - and the bus makes two stops on the way; Bahar Dar and Gondor. It’ll take you two and a half days.” Looking up slyly he added. “And the bus isn’t air conditioned.”

  “Oh, goody. And my other choice?”

  “Fly.”

  “Wrong. I tried to fly directly into Axum and couldn’t do it.”

  The boy shook his head. “Nope. Axum only has a little airport so its local flights only.”

  “You mean like commuter flights?”

  “Yep. Really crappy little planes. Unpressurized. Make you want to barf.”

  “God. I really don’t want to do that.”

  “It’ll save you two days and the airline has an office right down town.”

  Squinting down on the boy with one eye, Jason let out a long sigh. “So how much do you want to get me to the airline office and then help me find a decent, cheap hotel for the night?”

  Stepping around Jason and grabbing his duffle bag and briefcase, he answered “Five bucks a day plus room and board. One Lady Gaga CD is good for two days work.” The boy winked at Jason and snickered. “They’re worth a fortune on the black market since the government outlawed her stuff after she wore that dress made out of meat.”

  As the smiling boy stepped back around him and into the parking lot, Jason snatched back the briefcase containing the Gnostic book. “I’m sorry to bust your bubble, kid, but I don’t have any Lady Gaga CDs and I only need you for today. Tomorrow I’m flying to Axum.”

  “Tell you what, mister; another two pounds and you let me take a shower and sleep on the floor of your room tonight and you got a deal.”

  “What, don’t you have any place to live?”

  Grinning like a Cheshire cat, the boy hoisted the duffle bag across his scrawny back and started walking toward Ras Mekonin Avenue and the bus shelter, calling back over his shoulder “I do tonight.”

  Despite its hopeful name the Hotel New York was a tired looking edifice built from concrete bricks in a style that had 1960s written all over it. The threadbare decor and the fact that the desk clerk only spoke several variations of Ethiopian made it clear that this was a local hotel catering primarily to guest workers and transients. Jason felt slightly uneasy at not seeing at least one other non-black face in the lobby but his newly acquired tour guide negotiated a good price for a room which came with an ancient air conditioning unit chugging away in the window, the desk clerk’s promise that the water in the shower would be warm, and wallpaper spangled with flowers that had long ago wilted and died. Jason stood in the doorway surveying the cramped, worn and severely faded room with a slightly dismayed look on his face.

  “Is this what hotels in New York really look like?” The boy obviously saw the shabby room from a perspective entirely different than Jason’s. Rushing to the window, Jason’s guide threw open the sagging drapes and stared down at the street below with a look on his face that screamed ‘I’M KING OF THE WORLD’.

  Laying his briefcase on a small, worn-out table, Jason mumbled “Do you think this place has cockroaches?”

  “Sure. Everyplace has cockroaches.”

  “Then it’s exactly like the hotels in New York. Does that make you happy?”

  “Wow. Who gets to use the shower first?”

  “Go ahead. I have a couple of phone calls I need to make.”

  With a cry of “cool” the boy raced into the bathroom but Jason called him back.

  “So what’s your name, anyway?”

  Pulling himself up as straight as his undernourished frame would allow, the boy raised his chin and proudly announced “Ras Araya Betul To’on Terie Melekot. What’s yours?”

  “You’re shitting me. All that’s your name? How about I just call you Short Round?”

  “Yeah right. You call me Short Round and I get to call the great white archaeologist Indiana Jones. No, no, better yet, I’ll call you Jar Jar Binks.” By now the boy had his fists planted defiantly on his hips as he glared at Jason who was already waving his hands in surrender.

  “Ok, ok. Sorry. I guess you already heard that one.”

  “This is Ethiopia, not the moon. Lucas and Spielberg are everywhere. Why don’t you just call me Ras like most of my clients do?”

  Jason stood up from the edge of the bed and walked across the room with his right hand out. “No offense, Ras. Your name is just kind of a mouthful.”

  Smiling the boy took his hand. “None taken. No problem. Now what’s yours?”

  “Jason Carpenter. You can call me Jason.”

  “Ok, Jason, you’re in the shower next after me.”

  While the boy showered Jason took advantage of the privacy to call Beverley and explain that he had arrived safely in Addis Ababa, that the trains no longer ran and that he had booked a flight on a local commuter airline that would take him to Axum late the next morning. Somehow he felt like he was confessing to his own inadequacy when he explained that he had hired a guide and translator who would be going with him to Axum, but when he described the kid to Beverley she thought it was a good idea and said it was really sad that the kid was apparently homeless. To keep his roaming charges from soaring, she promised to relay his progress to Merlin who was keeping a continual, close watch on Morgana.

  An hour later Ras led Jason to a small outdoor café frequented primarily by locals. The sun had just fallen beneath the edge of the city skyline and taken the worst of the heat with it. All in all, Jason felt better than he had since he boarded the
plane twenty hours earlier. Now, he stared into the murky depths of the miniscule cup of coffee the waiter had placed on the table in front of him.

  “Why did I get hot coffee rather than something to cool me down, again?”

  “It will cool you down. You never see people in Africa drink iced drinks to cool down. They drink hot coffee and tea and wear lots of layers of clothes. It makes it so you don’t notice the heat; sort of like a counterbalance between your body temperature and the air temperature or something.”

  Jason shrugged, raised one eyebrow apprehensively, took a sip and very nearly coughed the acrid liquid back into the cup. Ethiopian coffee, like most coffee served in the Middle East, was almost as thick as mud and so strong it could nearly climb out of the cup. Ras made no attempt to hide his mirth.

  “Damn. What do they put in this stuff, gasoline?”

  “Hey, man, ‘when in Rome’.”

  After wiping the coffee from his chin and ordering a cold beer, Jason settled back in his chair and stared at the boy for a long minute before saying anything.

  “So do you really know your way around Axum as well as you do around Addis Ababa?”

  “I know the location of every street and how to get to every important place. Anything I don’t know, I know how to find out in minutes. Trust me.”

  There was something in the way the boy phrased his answer that didn’t quite sit right. “And exactly how many times have you actually been to Axum?”

  “I, um…ahh…well, I…”

  “You’ve never been there, have you? You conned me into buying you a plane ticket and you’ve never been to Axum.”

  “Ok. I’ve never been there, but I wasn’t lying. Honest. I’ve memorized the location of every street in the city and I know where every important building is.” Ticking places off on his fingers, Ras started down a list. “I can take you right to the Queen of Sheba’s Bath, King Bazen’s Tomb, the Dungur Palaces, the Lioness of Gobedra painted rocks, the monasteries of Abba Liqanos and Abba Pentalewon, all of the main churches and both the archaeological and ethnographic museums.” Coming to the end of the list, he crossed his arms over his bony chest defensively and nodded his head once with finality.