by K. T. Tomb
“How did you find me?” Travis demanded to know. “Have you’ve been following us?”
“Oh, I most certainly did,” responded Mickey, “and I have to say kudos to you an’ ya friends. Ya did an amazing job o’ coverin’ ya tracks. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Gunnar’s business card in the trash at the Kotka house, we’d have never found ya.”
“Godammit Fiona!,” Travis cursed.
Mickey laughed loudly at his outburst and holstered the gun he had been waving around.
“Tha’ damn blond was a pain in yer arse from day one!” he jeered. “I told ya to leave her in London to me but ya didn’t listen, did ya?”
“I’ll get down to business, Travis; someone in your line of work should appreciate that. I’m done chasing after yous and running up and down all over tha’ E.U. So in exchange for your life, you’re gonna hand over that fabulous black card of yours and get that blond bird down ‘ere so we can put all o’ dis mess to rest.”
Suddenly, a beer bottle exploded on the back of Mickey’s head. Adam had snuck up behind Mickey at some point, and dealt the blow with the bottle. Quickly, he picked up two more from the bar and sailed them quite accurately at John and Ken hitting each man on the forehead and bowling them over. Travis grabbed the revolver from Mickey’s holster and turned it on him while Adam picked up John’s and Ken’s guns.
“Call the cops,” Travis yelled at the bartender, who scurried to the phone
Then Mickey rallied and grabbed the barrel of the gun, swiftly turning it up to the ceiling. They struggled for a little before Mickey pushed into Travis’ bandaged shoulder with the palm of his hand and he collapsed to the floor in pain. Even from the floor, he wasn’t wasting time, grabbing Mickey’s ankles and tackling him to the ground. The gun fell from his grasp and one of the patrons kicked it out of his reach. Before he could get the better of the fight with Travis, several of the old man’s drinking partners came around the bar and accosted him, dragging him off Travis and to his feet. One of them took off the necktie he wore and used it as a make shift handcuff, tying both of Mickey’s hands behind his back. Two other men assisted Adam in doing the same to John and Ken.
They placed the three men to sitting on the floor in the middle of the bar and waiting for the police to arrive.
***
“So now do you understand why I disappeared after returning to the States? I couldn’t function in normal society after all that we had been through. I’d never experienced anything like that before.”
“I understand fully, Mr. Monnahan, I’m just really grateful that you finally decided to tell your side of the story. The versions that have been hitting the airwaves have been superfluous, to say the least.”
“I know,” he said. “The news reports are what freaked me out the most. Some of those accusations were criminal. I kept waiting to hear a knock on my door from the police. F.B.I., anybody. Luckily, it never came to that.
“I sequestered myself to allow my body the time it needed to heal but in the solitude of it I realized that my mind needed time to heal as well. I didn’t run away because I had anything to hide, but as the news reports started to come out I realized that people just aren’t used to someone running away from the spotlight, shunning fame, choosing anonymity over celebrity. The media expects us to crave that fifteen minutes of fame and when I walked away from it, they didn’t know what to think.
“That’s why I keep this black credit card; it’s an example of how stereotypical norms really dictate our daily lives but, most importantly, it’s my reminder that I don’t ever need to conform to them. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a friend who’s been waiting three months for me to return her calls.”
The End
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THE
KRAKEN
An adventure novel
by
K.T. TOMB
The Kraken
Published by K.T. Tomb
Copyright © 2014 by K.T. Tomb
All rights reserved.
Ebook Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedication
The author wishes to dedicate this book to the late
J. R. Hargrove.
The Kraken
Prologue
In all the years that Aineias and Pyrrhus had sailed the Inner Seas together, they had never found themselves faced with a more unsure and futile journey.
It was true that the world beyond the Pillars of Hercules had been mapped, but it was also widely known that there weren’t actually that many people who had traveled there. Most of the geographers and map makers just copied from the work of others, and who knew if what they were copying was fact or the figment of a drunken sailor’s imagination. There just wasn’t any certain way of knowing whether the island of Priteni actually existed. It seemed like folly to try to get there when they weren’t certain of its existence; whether it was a possible site for a new colony, or not.
But their mission had been clearly stated by the High Councilmen; find the island and confirm if the rumors of its exemplary beauty and fertile lands had any truth to them. He would report back to the council and they in turn would send a second expedition with enough ships and men to found the new colony for Corinth and for the Achaean League.
Aineias had accepted the challenge readily; his mate Pyrrhus was not as enthusiastic.
But Aineias knew well enough that this was how every great adventure ever started, how the epic sagas were written; how the fabulous tales of gods and monsters came into being. They started with a simple desire, a need, or a necessity to find something, find somewhere or find one’s self.
Sometimes, as in the case of our hero Aineias, it was to find all three of these.
***
Aineias came up with the plan about a year before while he was looking at some maps drawn by one of Alexandria’s great writers. He had sought funding for his expedition assiduously, but found that none of the rich men of the city were willing to pay. But now, with the seemingly inexhaustible wealth of the Emperor backing the expansion of Rome, the legions of the Holy Roman Empire were steadily taking control of every city and country between Greece and the Pillars of Hercules. Finally, the leaders of Corinth decided something had to be done. So, with their blessing and funding, Aineias was finally being sent on his way.
He had known from the start it would not be easy, so the first thing they had to agree on was the best route to take. During trade voyages to the Western Mediterranean, they would stop at Syracuse, an ancient ally of Corinth. The great port city had been originally founded by Corinthians and throughout the ages the two groups of citizens had considered each other as brothers. But Syracuse had been a Roman city for years now, and Aineias knew that his mission had to be completed behind Roman backs.
In the weeks prior, Roman troops had taken control of Macedon, which inevitably meant war was coming. Not one of those little skirmishes that often broke out with other cities; a war was coming to their country the likes of which hadn’t been seen since Corinth had defeated Sparta. The Romans were ruthless barbarians. They thought of themselves as Greek, even told a story about being descended from a man with the same name as Aineias, but they were most decidedly not Greek.
The second problem Aineias and Pyrrhus faced was the matter of manning their magnificent new galley. She required rowers, which were almost always slaves and neither man had ever owned a slave in his life. Pyrrhus was his trusted steersman and friend, Aineias wouldn’t have dreamed of taking a journey to sea without him. Some of their usual crew had stayed with him but when they learned of the intended destination, a dozen crewmen had excused themselves from the voyage. One of the older sailors told red them that he had once been on a ship that sailed beyond the Pillars of Hercules; even under a calm wind they had found the sea so rough that he had sworn he would never sail the
re again. He told Aineias and Pyrrhus of a monster he had seen there; a creature with giant tentacles that took hold of ships and pulled them into the deep. They saw such an astonishing fear in the man’s eyes as he spoke that they waved him away and pardoned him from their employ without a second thought.
The process was tedious but in the end they had managed to find enough brave or wretched souls to join their quest and after a week or so, their ship had sufficient crew to sail. The men were far from ideal but it was numbers that counted the most so they were happy to have them. As for the rowers, there were seventy-one of them; Thracian slaves, bought from a Roman slaver.
Chapter One
Aineias learned in the marketplace that the men had been captured during a battle between their tribe and a Roman legion. They were warriors, all of them, and it showed; the bulging muscles, the tattoos, the keen eyes and most of all, the haughty attitudes. It had been hard to get them to work. They refused to do anything they were told, they even refused to eat or drink. Pyrrhus had wanted to flog them into submission, but Aineias had forbidden it. Instead he had observed them for a while, singling out the man he thought was their leader and offering to set him and his men free after the expedition. They had happily agreed and had since been pulling the oars with all the strength they could muster.
Yet the ship still didn’t go at the pace Aineias and Pyrrhus wanted it to. It went fast enough under the sails, but the Thracians were novices to the art of rowing. After a few days at sea, they began to keep a good rhythm and pull well, but they still hadn’t learned how to keep their blades from clashing, or how to chop into the water instead of using the long sweeps used to propel a vessel on a lake or river. Their leader, Daizus, had tried to learn from the few experienced crew members so that he could teach them, but after a day or so, he had given up. He shrugged his shoulders and told Pyrrhus that they would learn in time, when their bodies had grown used to the oars and the waves. To help the process he took up position as keleustes and in the absence of a drum, he walked up and down the deck between the benches shouting, ‘Stroke, stroke, stroke!’ to help them keep the rhythm. Indeed, they were going faster than they had on the first day, but it was nowhere near the speed that would have pleased Pyrrhus the most, let alone the speed Aineias needed.
Pyrrhus was restless at the rudder. He knew they would have to make Syracuse before the Romans caught on to their plan. What was more though, they had to execute their mission before the Romans decided Corinth was a place they would like to plunder. The steersman loved finding new places, new waters, and new coastlines. He loved the spray of the sea and the way the wind and the waves carried the boat across the water. To him, it was almost magical. There was true joy to be had in a good ship, and this galley was a great ship. It had been built by Phoenicians in the dry docks at Tyre, her cedar planks were light but strong. She had cost Aineias quite a bit of gold, but she was worth every piece of it.
Tenderly, Pyrrhus stroked the railing. The Athenians thought they were the masters at building ships, he mused, but their skills were infantile compared to the Phoenicians. In Athens, the shipwrights had perfected the art of building heavy warships; large three-decked vessels that needed a hundred and seven oars to propel it, but this ship was something completely different. The sleek design and superior steering was something they had never been able to reproduce.
Pyrrhus looked around, scanning the sea and the coast. He knew the country well and smiled at the prospect of what lay around the headland when they passed it. It had been decades now since Corinth and their allies had defeated a weakened Sparta, but the crumbling harbor of Gytheio, Lakonia’s main port, was still a majestic sight to behold. The Spartans had never been a sophisticated people; they had never made much advancement towards architecture or sculpture, or even philosophy or mathematics. They to play to their strengths and concentrate their time and effort on building incredible military might. Still, the city of Gytheio was majestic, even if it was unsophisticated. Their buildings were plain but grand, and the statues and temples that stood there spoke of their proven abilities, not what they wished to be.
Every Corinthian knew about the defeat of Sparta; old men told the stories to children in the streets and in the taverns at night. Having succumbed to the armies of Corinth, once mighty Sparta was now nothing more than a backwater, yet still the crew crammed together at the railing when they passed the headland to get a glimpse of the city. An old sailor called Jason took out a lyre from his sea chest and began playing a song. It was a ballad all Corinthians knew, describing in detail the battle that had taken place here; a battle they had won. Jason sang the names of the heroes that had won the day, he sang of the viciousness of the fight and the might of both armies. Finally, he sang of the end of Sparta and the victory Corinth had over her. The crew cheered at the mention of each name; even the Thracians got carried away with the song and hummed along as they pulled steadily at the oars.
Aineias joined his steersman aft. “I wish you’d stop singing and actually pay attention to what you’re doing.”
Pyrrhus ignored him and continued singing.
“What do you make of that sail there? Just come over the horizon west, southwest of us.” Aineias was looking straight ahead.
Pyrrhus peered in the same direction, but could see nothing. “Can’t see it.”
“Keep an eye on it, will you?”
Pyrrhus nodded and continued singing, but his heart was not in it anymore. He watched the horizon as intently as he could without ignoring the impending dangers of the coastline. There were rocks under the water here which made it dangerous to maneuver a ship of their size. It had also grown increasingly common for desperate villagers to shift the rocks, or place stakes and other traps in the water to scuttle vessels. The Romans had brought hard times with them and there wasn’t a lot else they could do to sustain themselves, Pyrrhus understood that well enough. With that thought in his mind, he glanced at the coast and immediately saw what looked like a group of men watching their ship from a hill. Instinctively, he scanned the water around them carefully. It didn’t take long for him to see what he was looking for. Just below the water’s surface was a glint of steel.
There was no time to hesitate and Pyrrhus roared a quick series of commands to the rowers, urging them to back water with the larboard oars and to pull hard as they could with the starboard ones. He pulled hard on the rudder to help her along. The ship turned as if she was standing still in the water and he grinned with pride. Even with her inexperienced rowers, she handled it beautifully.
“Well done, well done!” He laughed at them, relieved at their narrow escape.
To the further disappointment of the goons watching from the hill, Pyrrhus continued to steer the ship a little further out to sea. Aineias was standing at the vessel’s bow, watching the action and marveling at the speedy turn the ship had made.
“Well done,” he called out, waving at Pyrrhus, but the skipper was still staring to the west. “She’s still there.”
Pyrrhus saw her now as well; not more than a smudge of sail in the west, moving swiftly on the wind.
“Traders, perhaps?” He suggested. “On the way to Athens?”
Pyrrhus kept looking at the approaching ship; he couldn’t help but notice how fast the image of her grew on the horizon.
“Perhaps, but I think she’s much too fast, for a regular trader at least.”
“You’re probably right, it’s best to prepare for the worst.”
Aineias nodded and walked down to the first bench, where Daizus was standing calling the stroke to his men. He looked up at the fierce man with the dark tattoos on his face and hesitated. He still didn’t know if he could trust the man, let alone the other Thracians.
“Master Aineias?” Daizus acknowledged, respectfully.
“We might have some trouble coming.” Aineias said, hesitating again. “If I give your men access to my weapons, will they help fight off any trouble or would they take the ship? I did promise
to set you all free at the end of our mission.”
Daizus stood up straight, leveling out his massive shoulders and turned to face his men seated in the rowing benches and shouted something at them in their barbaric Thracian dialect. One by one the men voiced their agreement, without so much as a moment’s hesitation.
“They will fight for you if you need them to and they will not rebel. You have been fair to us so far, as we will be fair to you as long as you continue to treat us as such. We are honorable men and we are obliged to your good regard for our well-being.”
“How can I trust that is what they just said? How can I trust you when you say you just asked them to help me? For all I know you just asked them to take the ship the moment I give them a weapon.”
Daizus broke out in a laugh. His laughter boomed over the water and startled some nearby gulls. He was not mocking or condescending; it was the genuine and infectious laugh of a man who knew his position was a vulnerable one. Aineias found himself laughing as well.
“You can’t know that for sure, Master!” he replied, when his laughter had subsided. Then he tilted his head towards the approaching ship and continued, “But you have few choices in the matter now; either you will trust us in the event that things take a bad turn or we will all perish. All of us!”
Aineias thought about what he said for a moment. He knew what the Thracian said was right. If it went badly they would all share the same fate, slave and free alike.
“If we take your ship and the Romans catch us, then we will be seen as pirates. Crucifixion. If we remain true and carry out this mission, you will set us free. All the choices are risky, but at least one ends with us Thracians in control of our own destinies again.”