Literary Underground: Unearthed
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SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Literary Underground
Literary Underground: Unearthed
Copyright © 2012 Literary Underground
COVER ART BY:
Steven Novak
Copyright © 2012 Steven Novak
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
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Acknowledgments:
Literary Underground would like to acknowledge the efforts of the following people who helped to make Unearthed a reality:
Mary Ann Bernal and Maggie Secara for their time, effort, and patience editing the works contained within.
Steven Novak for creating the masterpiece that is the cover art.
All of the authors who contributed to the pages within this anthology. You are all very creative and talented storytellers!
All of the members and friends/fans of Literary Underground. Without your encouragement none of this would be possible.
Last, but certainly not least, MJ Heiser and Steven Novak. For without these two individuals there is no Literary Underground.
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Forward by Ryan ONeil
Born out of frustration and desire (and maybe with a pinch of anger), Literary Underground (LitU) is the brainchild of Steven Novak and MJ Heiser. In a situation during which they, and a handful of other authors, could have possibly seen their spirits and dreams crushed, the two sparked an idea to gather the assorted pieces, pool their talents, and create an atmosphere of cooperative literary production: In plain terms, friends helping friends achieve their literary dreams.
January 2012 marks the first anniversary of LitU's existence. In that time the group has not only grown in numbers, but also in terms of accomplishments.
LitU numbers:
16 Literary Underground-associated authors
28 Literary Underground-associated literary publications
23 Lit-Pods: The Official Podcasts of the Literary Underground
Countless associates, friends, and fans
From a personal perspective, LitU has made the frustrations from the past a distant memory for me. The people I have met have been there to help me when I was walking through the steps of publishing my first book. Since then I have paid that forward, and have shared my experiences and knowledge with all of LitU in hopes of making their publishing journey a little less scary. To me, that is the basis of the group: to learn and share as a team. I'm happy to say that I have made several good friends while associated with LitU. I love exchanging ideas and thoughts with the group and look forward to many more years of being a part of the LitU party!
The Unearthed anthology has been a labor of love. In the beginning we knew that we wanted to create some sort of collective piece that would highlight the talents of not only the members of the LitU community, but other authors that are in the self-publication boat as well. We tossed around several ideas before coming to the conclusion that the project should be an anthology. By sheer luck, the release of Unearthed coincides with the one year anniversary of LitU. There is much to celebrate and it is now that we recognize the efforts and accomplishments of all those involved.
I invite you to sit back and relax as you take in the work presented to you within this anthology. Each piece is a work of art specially crafted for your enjoyment!
Cheers!
~Ryan O’Neil
Forward by MJ Heiser
One year ago, I found myself at a crossroads. I was in a bitter dispute with what had been sold to me as the “traditional” publishing process. After querying dozens of agents with lukewarm-to-absent results, I had submitted my work to a small press. An editor had read my first book, Corona, and liked it. The book was put out in e-book format and in print. It sold briskly and garnered a lot of heartwarming praise. Then – that “publisher” disappeared.
I had a choice to make. I could continue to put my trust in a process that had disappointed me repeatedly, or I could strike out on my own and go down the much-ridiculed road of the Self-Published Author.
The only problem with that was: How? There’s a reason that self-published books are ridiculed and reviled. For the most part, the authors refused to try the traditional method because they couldn’t bear the thought of exposing their precious work to ridicule. This leaves a glut of unpolished, underprepared, and frankly awful work clogging up the virtual presses. I am not afraid of constructive criticism; in fact, I’ve often been called a masochist. But who will give me that criticism? Who will do my cover art so it doesn’t look like the stick-figure drawings that represent the limit of my artistic talent? Who will give me hints on how to best promote my book? Who will post my book on a polished website and transmit the news of my successes?
After an enlightening conversation with another super-talented writer who had endured what I had, I discovered that we had our answer. We knew people, all orphans of the traditional publishing process, and each of our colleagues had talents that could resolve everyone else’s needs. We were our own solution. There was strength, talent, and resilience in our numbers.
Over the past year, I have come to not only respect the talents of my fellow Underground dwellers, but I have also come to appreciate their sense of humor, their determination, and their willingness to lend a helping hand. Because of our team spirit, we have a constantly-growing list of finished, polished, professional novels, and more coming all the time. Our ranks are growing. In the best way, the Literary Underground represents the change that is coming to the literary world.
I hope you read that spirit of innovation, courage, and strength between the lines in this anthology. And, more than that, I hope you enjoy it.
MJ Heiser
January 2012
Forward by Steven Novak
The best ideas often spring from the worst personal circumstances.
Born in the wake of a frustrating situation with an unscrupulous publisher, The Literary Underground set out to give a home to any author in need of one and create a place where writers interested in self-publishing could connect, share ideas, and find others willing to help them produce and release the highest quality work possible.
A year into the creation of the group and I couldn’t be happier.
Has it been perfect? Of course not. What is?
I mean, besides Rosario Dawson in that leathery, strappy, buckle crazy get-up from Sin City, of course.
For the most part, LitU is exactly what LitU was intended to be, and things will only improve as we move into the new year. Our members are amazing, our books are top-notch, our presentation is professional, and our numbers are growing. The landscape of the publishing industry is rapidly changing and it’s exciting to be able to witness that change first hand.
On a personal level, I just want to say that I’m both honored and humbled to have met and been given the opportunity to work alongside such talented people. It’s been fun and frustrating, and interesting and annoying, and an incredible learning experience to boot. The Literary Underground was exactly what I needed at exactly the right time. It was a band-aid and it was a gentle nudge forward. It was a slap in the face when a slap in the face was exactly what the situation called for.
Steven Novak
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Forever Lost
by
Mary Ann Bernal
Massive waves broke upon the deserted beach, the pounding surf crashing against the jagged rocks beneath the massive cliff that dominated the landscape. Soft silver moonlight illuminated the darkened night, and a gentle sea breeze moved inland, cooling the stagnant air.
Rina stood at the water’s edge, devoid of emotion as she stared at faint flashes of lightning on the horizon, while glimmering frothy waves caressed her bare feet and a sea mist sprayed her face, its salty taste lingering on her lips. A strong wind whipped her tattered clothing around her slender body, her shoulder-length hair lashing her tear-stained cheeks while droplets of blood fell upon the wet sand.
Rina shivered when the cold water covered her feet as she walked slowly into the beckoning sea. She heard the soundless words whispered by wind-swept waves, calling to her, offering an end to her torment and the agonizing pain of his betrayal, offering her unabated solace within the confines of the deep and dark ocean. She kept her arms around her waist, moving ever so slowly through the multiple breakers while a forceful undercurrent threatened to pull her under, plunging her into a welcoming abyss of oblivion.
Rina stretched out her arms in supplication, and closed her tear-filled eyes just as a collapsing wave enveloped her, causing her to sink into the murky depths of an angry sea, water filling her lungs as she courageously embraced death.
Threatening storm clouds ruptured suddenly over the landscape, icy rain pellets stinging the shoreline while forceful winds whipped the threatening surf. Ribbon lightning streaked across the heavens and booming thunder rocked the earth as Adrian galloped across the treacherous beach, silently praying that he would be in time. He shouted her name but his words were muffled by the thunderous roar of nature’s fury as the tempest unleashed its vengeance upon a Godless world. Blinding rain limited his vision as he searched the raging sea, hoping against hope that she had not been foolish, but as he rapidly approached the base of the cliff, and Rina was nowhere to be seen, Adrian feared he was too late. The chestnut stallion neighed and stood on its hind legs when a bolt of lightning struck the beach, throwing Adrian onto the muddy sand before running aimlessly back towards the nearby trees. Adrian was grateful that his only injury was a bruised ego as he got to his feet and headed towards the rolling waves, searching the rough waters while praying for a miracle.
Adrian walked the length of the beach, thankful for the lightning that illuminated the darkened night. He stumbled on driftwood that had washed up onto the shore, falling to his knees as foaming waves pooled around him, swirling bubbles spitting remnants of the ocean floor. The undercurrent was strong as the waves returned to the sea, pulling him forward as he tried to get to his feet, powerful wind gusts pushing him into a breaking wave. He held his breath as he tumbled under the rushing water, kicking and flailing frantically to reach the surface. He felt the weight of her body just as he opened his eyes, scooping her into his arms before a massive wave tossed the two of them onto the beach. Adrian pulled her away from the threatening surf, dragging her body through the muddy ground, not giving in to his exhausted state until he reached the shoreline.
Adrian brushed aside
her matted hair and gazed into her lifeless eyes, gently kissing her
lips as tears intermingled with droplets of rain gushed down his
cheeks. He held her in his arms, rocking back and forth to the
tune of the angry wind, protecting her in death while admonishing
himself
for failing to protect her in life.
Adrian’s thoughts returned to the day when...
...Rina was in his father’s gardens, tending to the flower beds that encircled the spouting fountains. Rina was unlike any of the women in his known world, where status and privileged made a difference, where a life was planned out before one was born. She was sweet and innocent, the trappings of her life had no bearing on the way she viewed the world. Rina saw a beautiful land, filled with love and honor, and justice, where wrongs were righted and the strong protected the weak. She was always treated kindly and with respect, and never feared her master like some of the slaves she had befriended when she visited the market. Rina had been born a slave but had been given her freedom upon the death of her mother. Because she had no knowledge of the world, she feared leaving the only home she had ever known, but Gaius, Adrian’s father, quickly relieved her anxiety and had offered her a position in his household, and also paid her wages for her service. She saved her coins, knowing she would need a dowry if she were ever to wed.
Rina praised the gods for her good fortune, and went about her daily tasks with a smile on her face and a lively gait. When she finished her chores, she would help anyone who had fallen behind so as not to incur the overseer’s wrath. She visited the slave quarters even after she had been given a private chamber in the main house, preferring their company than just her own, since she was shunned by the freeborn staff.
While Rina was enjoying her newfound freedom, Adrian was returning home from Rome. She had never seen Adrian, having worked in the piggery when she was enslaved, but she had heard the young women speak of his fine looks and charming ways, and wondered if his head had been turned by their blatant admiration, and if any one woman held his heart.
Rina had been kneeling in the dirt when Adrian came upon her in the flower bed. There was a smile on his face as he watched her pulling out unwanted weeds before she planted a row of daisies. Her white dress hung loosely over her curvaceous body, her shoulder length hair blowing freely in the soft breeze. She hummed a joyful tune as she deftly worked the garden, her delicate hands tackling the dirt with gusto while beads of sweat formed on her forehead. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, brushed wind-blown strands of hair away from her face, tossed the trowel into the grass-filled basket, but lost her balance as she tried to stand.
Adrian managed to catch the embarrassed young woman before she fell into the thorny bushes, his strong arms gently lifting her to her feet, his laughter alleviating her fears. Her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks burned red as she thanked him for his assistance. He was amused by her discomfiture when he tapped her dirt-smudged nose with the tip of his finger, and held his breath as he kissed her lips. Adrian was startled when she slapped his face, not used to having his advances rejected. He held her wrist firmly to keep her from fleeing, and saw her bewilderment through moist eyes. He muttered an apology while releasing his grip, placed the basket in her hand, and left her standing beneath the midday sun, her beauty etched in his brain.
Rina said nothing of her encounter with the stranger whose identity was not known to her, and thought nothing more of it until she saw him talking with his father as she carried refreshments into the room, and realized this man was Gaius’ son. She kept her eyes lowered as she placed the tray upon the table, and waited to be dismissed, but the command was not immediately forthcoming. She tried not to fidget when she noticed Adrian’s eyes upon her, and felt her heart beating rapidly when he winked mischievously in her direction. Rina was able to return to the kitchens once Adrian and his father entered the enclosed courtyard, but she had difficulty controlling her thoughts. She wanted to be in his company without trembling, she wanted to know more about him, and of his studies in Rome. She was truly smitten, but quickly admonished herself for believing that this aristocrat would ever consider loving a woman of her class, and made it a point to avoid Gaius’ son.
Adrian was intrigued by this rare woman, whose naiveté was not feigned. Her trusting nature made her easy prey for predators that lurked in the shadows, evil men who cared only to satisfy their selfish desires at the expense of the innocent. He wanted to protect her, and keep her away from the patricians that governed the empire, where slaves and freed servants were mere chattel, to do with as one saw fit, where lustful encounters were a pleasant respite from the treachery and deception that ruled the privileged class.
Rina was alone in her bedchamber when she heard footsteps along the corridor. She remained silent when she heard the slight tap, and prayed that the person would just go away. But Adrian was persistent and when she failed to open the door, he let himself into the sunlit room. He had never seen such beauty, yet had never seen such fear, so he kept his distance while speaking of nonsensical things as he tried to gain her trust.
Adrian carefully pursued Rina, and encouraged her to speak her mind. They would walk in the nearby forest and on the deserted beach, safe from prying eyes and malicious tongues.
Adrian was attentive when Rina spoke of her childhood, and understood her desire to learn the identity of her father, but siring children with slaves was quite common, and acknowledging a bastard child was indeed quite rare. Adrian refused to speculate but had his suspicions because of her sheltered upbringing, assuming the overseer to be her father.
Rina was overjoyed when Adrian started to confide in her. At first it was simple things, such as being frustrated when his opinions were taken lightly, but as time went on Adrian revealed his innermost thoughts, sharing with the woman he had fallen in love with every aspect of his being. She cherished their time together yet feared discovery, believing she would be cast out into the streets, and forced into prostitution, but also believed true love was invincible and quickly cast aside her fears.
Adrian and Rina professed their love beneath a star-studded sky, within the confines of a secluded garden. Adrian longed to possess her but refrained from satisfying his passion, not wanting to betray her trust. He would speak to his father, and take for her his wife. Marrying a commoner was not unheard of; in fact it was a frequent occurrence in the far reaches of the empire. Rina could not believe her eyes when Adrian presented her with a promise ring, and agreed to wear it beneath her clothing until their betrothal was made known.
Time stood still on that magical night, when the love they shared blossomed and the bond between them cemented their spiritual union. What passed between them was timeless, two lives made one throughout eternity. Rina did not want the moment to end as she gazed upon the familiar constellations. She pointed excitedly to Andromeda and Perseus, identifying with the mythical lovers. Rina fell asleep beneath the stars, content to be in the arms of the man she called husband. Rina was unsettled when she awakened at first light in her bed, and assumed Adrian had carried her to her chambers so that her absence would not be noticed. She held her promise ring tightly in her hand, reliving each precious moment in her thoughts. She was exceptionally cheerful as she went about her tasks, and patiently waited to be called before Adrian’s father. But Rina’s joy soon faded as the midday sun began its descent and Adrian was nowhere to be found. She hurried to the kitchens where preparations were being made for the evening meal, only to discover that the family had returned to their apartments in Rome earlier in the day.
Rina could hardly contain her tears as she ran back to her bedchamber, waiting until she was safely in her room before she succumbed to her fears. She realized that Gaius would need time to sanction the marriage of his son to a former slave, and believed in her heart that this absence, though painful, would only strengthen Adrian’s resolve to fulfill his promise.
Rina was preoccupied on the day that Adrian returned with his father, unaware that a new member had been welcomed into the patriarchal family, and was replacing the cushions on an elongated couch when Delphina and Adrian entered the room. She glanced quizzically at Adrian who avoided her gaze while Delphina commanded that she return with refreshments. Rina held her head high as she left the room and headed towards the kitchens, but her knees became weak when she discovered that Delphina was Adrian’s wife. It was said that the marriage had been arranged, that a union between wealthy and powerful families was inevitable, and that the husband and wife was not given any choice.
Rina was disheartened as she performed the rest of her duties, and was grateful when the sun finally set so she might return to her room. She retrieved the ring she kept hidden in a jar, holding it against her heart, believing that somehow things might be set right, that Adrian would return to her, and their love would be fulfilled.
Rina stood before the open window, watching storm clouds gathering over the horizon while storm clouds threatened her very being. Tears flowed gently down her face while occasional flashes of lightning lit up the evening sky. She was lost in her own thoughts and did not hear the door open nor hear his footsteps until he embraced her and kissed the nape of her neck. She turned slowly, afraid of her emotional state, afraid of saying hurtful words that could never be recanted once they were said.
Rina listened quietly as Adrian recounted the meeting between him and his father on the morning he expressed his intentions that they be wed, and how Gaius would have none of it. Adrian’s father refused to let him out of his sight as he made preparations to return immediately to Rome, and had also forbidden him to seek her out until he was safely wed to someone more suitable. Adrian’s father told him he had no problem with keeping Rina in the household to satisfy his lust, but the meetings would be discreet, so as not to disgrace the family name.
Rina shook her head in disbelief as her virtue and honor were so easily cast aside, and was disappointed that Adrian had capitulated to his father’s wishes so easily. She ignored his pleas when he begged for her forgiveness, and pushed him away when he tried to kiss her. But Adrian could no longer control his pent up passion as he picked Rina up and threw her upon the bed. She struggled beneath him as he kissed her, tearing at her clothes like a crazed animal. She pushed him off her, rolled onto the floor, and reached for a dagger on a nearby table. Adrian suddenly realized the full extent of his betrayal when Rina threatened to take her own life. He approached her slowly, begging her to give him the knife, but Rina pointed the blade at him as she backed away, inching towards the door. Adrian was almost upon her, the dagger within his reach. He whispered soothing words, professing his undying love while promising to annul his marriage. Rina wanted to believe him, to trust his words, but Adrian would never defy his father, and because of his submission, her fate was sealed.
Rina kept the blade at her side when she kissed Adrian tenderly on the lips. He flinched when he saw the pain her eyes depicted as she fled through the window just as peals of thunder shook the ground. Adrian had to find her, he had to set things right, he had to find the courage to confront his father...
...when he remembered why.
Adrian buried his head against Rina’s neck and shoulder as the tempest peaked, and the raging waters threatened the shoreline. If he had not been such a coward, if he had taken a stand against his father, Rina would be alive within his loving arms. But his tortured soul could not forget her pain when his betrayal was made known, nor could he live with himself knowing she believed his love was feigned.
Suddenly lightning crackled and the ground quaked as retreating waves returned to the sea. Adrian embraced Rina tightly when he saw a massive wall of water racing towards him, knowing he could never outrun its destructive power. As Adrian waited for the inevitable, he heard the soundless words calling to him, offering a release from his torment, offering him solace within the confines of the deep and dark ocean. Gaius may have kept them apart, but he failed to stifle the love that burned in their hearts. Rina and Adrian would be together for eternity, creating their own constellations amongst the brightest stars, their love shining through the universe throughout time.
Adrian kissed Rina one last time as the massive wave enveloped them, destroying everything in its path before retreating back to the sea. The devastation was quick and merciless, crushing the lives of man and beast alike, but Gaius was fortunate, and his villa survived the storm unscathed, having been built atop the crest of a hill.
Gaius waited until the sky was once again blue and the sun was at its midday peak before he ventured out of the compound, searching for his missing son. But it was when the children walked the beach that Adrian and Rina’s bodies were discovered in a loving embrace amongst the displaced rocks.
Each year, on the anniversary of their death, a lone daisy sprouts from the sand, on the exact spot where the sea claimed them for its own, a tribute to lives forever lost.
Hell Hath no Writer’s Block Like a Kitten Bored
by
Lael Gardner-Stalnaker
Wilson turned away from his computer to stare into the depths of the darkened room. The glow from his laptop monitor backlit his wavy mane of hair and outlined the profile of his rugged face. Tiny crinkles showed between his eyebrows as he frowned. He hated being interrupted midstream with his journaling. His eyes scanned the far end, searching for the cause of his distraction. Just as he began to turn back to his half-finished entry, the wailing began again.
Grumbling to himself, Wilson got up from his chair. This time he was fairly certain the noise was coming from the closet on the opposite end of his study. Feeling the need to bleed off some discontent, he stomped as he marched over and yanked aside the hanging mirrored door. His eyes swept over the closet floor without revealing the sonic miscreant.
The frown deepened. There wasn’t anything there. The floor was empty and the coats hanging there were a good two feet off the ground. He began sliding the door shut once he was satisfied that it truly empty. As he reached the half-way point, the wailing began again, right in front of his nose. Well, actually, above his nose. Wilson’s eyes trailed upward and locked on the culprit.
Powder blue eyes stared into his. The wailing grated on his inner ear with all the fierce piercing quality of an unhappy baby’s cry. Which, technically, it was: a baby. Wilson stared back but the frown began to unclench from his features. The ball of white and tan was crouched on the closet shelf and wailing its heart out. It made sense.
“What’s wrong, Thai Boi? You get yourself stuck?” Wilson asked the Siamese kitten.
The answer was another wail. Wilson watched the tiny mouth open, revealing pink gums and miniature hypodermic needles masquerading as teeth. The kitten had plainly jumped upon a coat, climbed it and then jumped from the hanger to the closet shelf. Once there, he had finally realized that getting down again was beyond his ability. Lonely and a bit afraid, the kitten yelled for help.
“Come here, trouble maker!” Wilson gently picked up the kitten and carefully placed it on his shoulder. The meowing stopped and the kitten immediately crept around Wilson’s neck and went to the other shoulder. Wilson almost laughed as tiny whiskers swept across the back of his neck as Thai Boi moved. Wilson slid the closet door shut, this time making sure it didn’t bounce back open from slamming it closed too hard or quickly.
“You’re just lucky you spoke up before I went to bed, silly kitten! You’da been stuck there all night! Now behave yourself for five minutes so I can finish this, will ya?” Wilson admonished the kitten.
Thai Boi dug his claws in for balance as Wilson walked back to his computer and sat down. The kitten’s eyes watched as fingers flew over the keyboard. Content with his situation, Thai Boi draped himself on Wilson’s shoulder and neck while he kept watching. Wilson half smiled as a petit, almost subsonic, purr vibrated against his neck. The little paws began kneading Wilson’s shirt while the keys clicked and words marched across the screen.
Bored with his perch, Thai Boi got to his stubby legs and semi-wobbled. Wilson ignored him and kept typing. Hunching with his butt in the air and tail stretched out, the kitten watched the moving hands below him. The tail twitched once, then twice. On the third swish, the kitten launched from Wilson’s shoulder and landed, legs splayed, on the keyboard with a thud. Wilson watched in horror as the Delete macro somehow activated and the Select All highlighting dumped the entire hour’s writing. Part of the kitten’s body covered his left hand and again blue eyes stared into his own. The tiny mouth parted and meowed in a squeaky voice. Wilson sat stunned.
“Oh… my… god!” groaned Wilson.
Lifting his left hand, he dumped the kitten into his right and moved the fur ball to his lap. The paws dragged across the keys leaving a trail of nonsense letters over the top of the now slightly less blank page. Thai Boi circled in Wilson's lap and then curled up in a ball with his head upside down. The cuteness neutralized Wilson’s irritation with losing his work. He shook his head as he found that the Undo function didn’t recover the lost words. The purring from his lap helped him keep his temper and sense of perspective.
Sighing deeply, Wilson set about recapturing the lost ideas. He knew they would never be the same as the first run through but maybe he could get the gist of it and go from there. He typed for another hour before trouble again reared its tiny head. Wilson felt the kitten yawn and then stretch. The stretch became so pronounced the kitten rolled right off his lap and onto the floor. Wilson looked down and found those blue eyes wide and staring again.
Wilson flinched as the kitten calmly stood on his back legs, reached up as far as the little forearms could reach and proceeded to dig in his claws. In a mad scramble, Thai Boi scampered up Wilson’s leg. Wilson howled since he was wearing shorts rather than his usual jeans. The kitten launched from his leg and landed on the printer. The printer beeped loudly, startling the kitten into a spin which planted his paws on the buttons. Paper began feeding through the printer and landing in the tray. The paper-feed button was stuck.
Picking up the kitten, Wilson plopped him onto the desk and began trying to pop up the button. After a few minutes, he finally got it to release and come up again. The paper was long finished sliding into the done tray. Sheets were spilling out onto the floor and hanging half over the edge. Wilson knelt and retrieved them and returned them all to the feed tray. Sitting back down, he turned back to his laptop. Thai Boi was now sprawled on the keyboard on his back, legs in the air and totally out cold. Wilson gritted his teeth and carefully moved the kitten onto the desktop. Thai Boi blinked and fell right back to sleep.
Looking at the open document, Wilson was hardly surprised to see that everything was gone again and another random splash of characters made a couple of solid lines at the top. His eyes darted to the little word thief sleeping on the desk and then back to the page. His eyes did this a few times before a grinding noise came to his attention. Once Wilson realized it was his teeth, he unclenched his jaw and decided to try again to get his word count objective for the day done.
He typed for a couple of hours before realizing he was thirsty. Looking at the deeply sleeping kitten, he thought about moving him to his cat bed before leaving the room. Shaking his head, he decided to let sleeping kittens lie and went to get a diet soda from the fridge. Returning, half in dread at what he would find, he sighed in relief that the kitten was still sound asleep and the words right where he left them on the screen. Satisfied, he set his glass down on the desk and resumed typing.
Thai Boi woke up and looked up at Wilson. The little mouth opened and mewed in his adorable way. Wilson stroked Thai Boi’s head with a finger and kept typing. The kitten stood up and stretched. His back legs hit the glass, knocking it over. Wilson grabbed wildly for the tumbling container but missed entirely. All of the liquid poured directly onto the keyboard and quickly soaked down into the drive. To his horror, Wilson heard a fizzing pop, then a crackle and then the screen went black.
He quickly yanked the cord out and scooped up the laptop. Running into his bathroom, he tilted the laptop on its side in the bathtub. Diet coke flooded out. Wilson set it on end and left it to drain completely. He was beginning to get upset but then stopped himself. It was his own fault for setting the glass down on the same side as the kitten. It wasn’t as if Thai Boi had done it on purpose. Cats nearly always stretched when waking up. Sighing again, Wilson went back to his study and swept up the kitten. Nuzzling him on the neck, Wilson smiled slightly as the kitten began purring against his lips. Setting Thai Boi down in his cat bed, Wilson decided to try writing out his journal entry by hand. Hell or high water, the entry for the day was going to be done.
Plopping onto the couch in the study, Wilson began the laborious task of rewriting, yet again, his thoughts. He barely noticed when Thai Boi began clawing his way up onto the couch with him. Flipping the page, Wilson kept at it. A blur caught his eye as pain wrapped its pointed claws and teeth around his wrist. Thai Boi was clinging like a constrictor to Wilson’s wrist on the hand holding the pen. Gnawing on Wilson’s wrist bone, Thai Boi began pumping his back legs. Wilson yelped as scratches began breaking the skin and thin beads of blood popped up in their wake.
Dropping the paper pad, Wilson began carefully pried the playful kitten from his pain-skewered wrist. Thai Boi eagerly clung to the new hand and Wilson found himself trying to juggle the kitten between his hands without hurting him. The little fellow wanted to play and play rough. Wilson finally had to catch the nape of the kitten’s neck and lift him up. The paws flailed in midair seeking purchase. Wilson got up, allowing the pad to fall to the floor as he carried the kitten back to its cat bed and set him in it. Then he went to wash out the scratches and bandage them.
Returning to his study, his eyes widened in horror. The paper pad was in the process of being shredded to confetti by sharp little teeth and claws. Shreds of paper, bite-sized, littered the floor in a ring of destruction around the pad. Several layers of paper had various amounts of damage and Wilson was amazed at how much the kitten had done is such a short time. Scooping the kitten up, Wilson put him in the hall and shut the door. Enough was far and away more than enough.
Wilson knelt on the floor and began gathering up loose bits of paper. He quickly realized there weren’t enough big pieces to make it worth trying to puzzle them back together again. He grunted his annoyance and dumped the pile into the waste-can. Looking at what was left of the pad, he found that there weren’t enough undamaged pages to work with left on it. He dropped that in too. Then he finally noticed the noise. Scratching, clawing noises from the door. Also a high pitched mewing that was becoming louder and more pitiful by the moment.
Looking over at the hall door, he saw flailing paws reaching under the door. As far as the arms could reach, in they came and clawed at the carpet. Already bits of fluff were accumulating. Wilson walked to the door and bent over. As the paw came out, he tapped it with his forefinger. It yanked back and the other one came. He tapped that one too. Thai Boi withdrew it and shoved the other back. On and on this went. Wilson was surprised that the kitten did not give up. Exasperated, Wilson finally carefully opened the door. In ran Thai Boi, mewing loudly.
Wilson scooped up the kitten and held him to his chest. Thai Boi immediately began purring. Stroking him, Wilson went back to the couch. Obviously, writing was not going to happen at this point. He held the kitten up, supporting his rear and stared into his eyes.
“If I didn’t know better, I could swear you were determined to sabotage me tonight, you little punk!” Wilson said to Thai Boi.
Wide blue eyes stared into his. Mew! Wilson sighed again and brought the kitten back into his chest. The purring began again as Wilson leaned back into the couch and let his body just relax. Soon he fell asleep with the kitten curled up under his chin. Both began snoring gently.
Stealing the Stone
by
James Staples
- Westminster Abbey, Christmas Morning, 1950 –
Before the Children of Danu, when Cu Chullain was King, Ireland, Scotland, England and Wales were, briefly, one land. This happened again in the Sixth Century, when Arthur was King of the Britons. It is on the verge of happening again. The question is: Who will wear the crown?
Kay was especially nervous. The driver of the getaway car usually is. When you are caught up in the crime, but have no responsibility for the mistakes that occur, when you know that you can go to jail with all your cohorts, even though you did not do the actual deed, you find yourself obsessing even more than the rest of them. They leap in and do it. You sit outside and hope and pray that they get it right.
“Look,” she said, trying to be rational. “Tell me again, why do we have to do it this way?”
“It’s
perfectly simple!” said a very impatient Gavin. “Ian was
hiding in the Abbey, overnight. He was going the take the
Stone. He got caught. He talked his way out of it and now
we
have to go to ‘Plan B’.”
“Ach, great!” Kay blurted in exasperation. “That’s simple, is it? …And this is ‘Plan B’, is it?”
“Kay,” said Ian, in the strong, easy tone that would make him a respected Queen’s Counselor in a few years. “It really is alright.”
Kay immediately felt herself relaxing. If Ian Hamilton says it is alright, it is alright. “The only reason I was caught was that I was so knackered. I was hiding in the Abbey since bloody Wednesday! It’s a miracle I talked the guard into letting me go.”
“It’s no miracle, Ian,” said Gavin. “You’re a born politician.” He chuckled, and Kay felt herself calming even further down. “You could convince anyone of anything.”
“Well,” muttered Ian, in an attempt to shrug off this left-handed complement, “the main thing is, the museum guard let me go, and now, here we are. We’re at ‘Plan B’ and we have to make it work or we’re done for. Scotland’s done for. We’ll just be a bloody province of England forever.”
“I’m just worried that this is, like, a last-minute, desperate attempt to make good!” Kay blurted. She had hung so much of her hope on Ian and Vernon getting the Stone out of Westminster. It had not worked, and now they were here, in the Abbey parking lot, on a very chilly Christmas morning, and she was not at all sure ‘Plan B’ had been rehearsed… or thought out… or even actually planned. “Do you three actually know how you’re going to get that big thing out of there and into this car?”
“Of course,” said Gavin, the engineering wizard, although he glanced at Ian and the ever-tacit Alan for reassurance on this point. “It weighs twenty-four stone. The floors are smooth level. The three of us can carry it… no problem.”
“Yeah, but what about alarms?” Kay asked suddenly, sounding on the verge of panic. “What about locks and security guards and all that?”
“Relax,” Gavin admonished her. “Ian worked all that out when he was trying ‘Plan A’. Isn’t that right, Ian?”
“Oh, yes,” Ian assured them, and he was surprisingly convincing. “Yes, I saw to it that the doors are all ready for us. There is only one guard in the Abbey, and most everyone is at home for the holiday. We won’t be able to get away with this on any day other than today, but we can damn well do it today!”
“Let’s just go.” Alan spoke for the first time in over an hour. Of all of them, he was the least sure why he was here, trying to liberate Lia Fail, the Stone of Destiny, from the English and return it to its “rightful” place in Scotland. He had no sophisticated political position, like Hamilton. He was not doing it for love, like Ms. Matheson. He didn’t even have Gavin Vernon’s passion for attacking England, just because it was “The Establishment.” All Alan knew was: he was a Stuart, and he was tired of the fact that being a Stuart did not mean anything to anyone. Besides, he thought with bad grace, we needed two cars and I have one. “This whole plan is stupid, and we’re going to get caught, but if we don’t do it now, we won’t do it at all. We have two cars, so we’ll be able to split up. We have about twenty minutes to act before people notice. Let’s just go.”
“Right,” said Ian and Gavin simultaneously, and as the three men lurched at the Anglia’s door-handles, Kay tightened her hands on the steering wheel.
Disaster did not strike immediately, but it struck.
Their way into Westminster Abbey was surprisingly easy. They made their way in through the “Poet’s Corner” entrance to the chapel shrine of Edward the Confessor, or, as Gavin called him, “Edward the Possessor,” and easily pulled away the barrier that stood between the Throne and the Viewing Public. The Stone of Destiny was there, in all its ancient, sandstone glory, sandwiched neatly between the lacquered wood of the throne and the floor. Alan and Gavin smiled and nodded at each other and took hold of the Stone. They pulled it out, completely underestimated its bulk, and both gasped as it dropped ingloriously to the floor…
…and broke into two pieces.
This is, classically, the sort of situation in which everyone involved freezes into complete, immobile, mortified silence. Indeed, that is exactly what happened. When people devote their time, energy and their very safety to the accomplishment of a project, and then they stand by and watch as that project goes horribly wrong in front of them, there is very little that can be said. The ancient Stone of Kings, the Lia Fail, the Coronation Stone, Jacob’s Pillow, the Stone of Destiny…had just fallen to the floor and smashed into two pieces. Emotions run high on occasions such as this, but words tend to fail the witnesses.
Alan spoke first, apparently, addressing Gavin.
“You! You… bastard!”
“Me?!” Gavin almost screamed, incredulity sloughing off of him like steam off dry ice.
“Wait,” said Ian, quietly, and therefore, unnoticed.
“Why did you fucking let go?!” This time, Gavin really did scream.
“Wait!” Ian said again, a little louder.
“I didn’t let go, you divvy!” Alan yelled at Gavin.
“You fucking did!” Gavin yelled.
To further represent this dialogue would present the author with problems, and the reader as well. There was a lot of talking at cross-purposes, and a lot of everyone talking at once. Suffice it to say, Gavin and Alan were expounding extensively on the theme of, “this is obviously your fault, not mine.” At the same time, Ian was trying to impress upon his colleagues that calm and quiet were urgently called for at this time. Each man was slightly aware of the fact that they were in a tenuous position, and all of them wished - deeply and sincerely - that the Stone of Destiny was not lying at their feet, broken into two unequal pieces.
“Shut up!” Ian imposed, and it finally worked.
The three men looked at their handiwork. The Stone was broken. They had to get it out, no matter what. Questions of fault and competence vanished after Ian had imposed the voice of calm. Urgency collided with logic, as each man tried to conceive the perfect solution while, at the same time, ignoring the internal voice that screamed, “We screwed up! We’re DOOMED!”
“Ian,” said Gavin, quietly, as if he was worried that his brilliant idea would go away if he called too much attention to it. “Take off your coat.”
“What?” Ian gasped, jerked from his near-panic into the now. “Oh. Yes, of course.”
They pulled the bigger piece of the Stone onto Ian’s coat. Each of them was privately wondering why no guards had come and arrested them. Each of them was trying to avoid the obvious conclusion: This was impossible. They would be caught and arrested. The whole caper was ill-conceived. This should not be working. But it was. It was as if the gods were blessing them. No matter how ill-conceived this is, you will succeed, because, damn it! You are right to be doing this. So, DO IT!
“Ian,” said Alan, in his once-in-a-lifetime expression of total selflessness. “Take the small bit. Take it out to Kay. Put it in the boot. Let Gavin and Me deal with this big bastard.”
“No!” Ian protested. “If you get caught, I can…”
“Sod that!” Gavin yelled. “You can carry the small bit! It’ll fit in the boot! Just go! We’ll be right behind you.”
Ian Hamilton stared at his two friends for a moment. The moment became a longer moment. Eventually, it became an intolerably long moment, and he capitulated. He squatted down, grabbed the smaller piece of the Stone, heaved at it with an unfit grunt and picked it up. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he called to them, and then added, “I’ll put this in Kay’s car. You get that one into the other car. You know where to meet us.”
Ian left, staggering slightly, with the smaller of the two pieces of the Stone of Destiny clutched to his chest. Alan and Gavin watched him go, standing, with the larger piece sitting hugely on Ian’s coat. He would never mention it. Ian would never once say anything about his coat. He just wanted this caper to go correctly. They both felt, tacitly, that they owed it to him to carry the rest of this plot out to a successful conclusion.
They did, although probability was heartily against them.
“What the hell is that?” Blurted Kay in the shrieked whisper of the very perplexed.
She had seen Ian staggering out of the Poet’s Corner door toward her in the wing-mirror of her car. Realizing that, whatever it was, she was going to have to do something about it before she could seriously expect a reply, she got out and hurried to the rear of the car, throwing up the boot-lid. Ian struggled up and flumped the chunk of rock into the boot, but not before momentarily letting it come to rest on several toes of Kay’s left foot. She staggered backward and leaned on the car as she forced her howl of pain to come out as a whispering gasp. Ian got the Stone into the Anglia and rushed to Kay’s aid, breathing out one hushed apology after another. She assured him that it had hurt like hell, but nothing was broken and she would survive.
“It broke,” gasped Ian self-evidently as Kay rubbed her hurt foot while shooing Ian away from her. “Gav and Alan have the other piece.”
“The other piece?” Kay nearly screamed, though the instinct to whisper was still just barely present. “You… How…? What happened, Ian?”
“Listen! We have to go! Get in the car. I’ll tell you later.”
For a few seconds, Kay stood there with her arms splayed and a look of total incredulity plastered across her face. Next, she let out the kind of sigh that is full of tension and exasperation, swiveled on her heels and limped back to the driver’s door. Ian was already climbing in the passenger side and looking back to see if there was anyone else in the parking lot. Seeing nothing, he let out the kind of sigh that regrets the last few minutes, and prays that the next few will pass more tranquilly. Alas, this was not to be.
Just as Kay was about to let out another burst of near-incoherent shock and wrath, a crunching of gravel and a strobing blue light told the pair that a police car was rolling cautiously into the Abbey’s parking lot. She looked helplessly at Ian, and for the first time since she had met him, she saw a look on his face that was just as helpless and desperate as her own. There was literally no explanation for their current situation. Even the truth would sound like an outrageous lie. They could not simply bolt because their companions were still in the building behind them. They had less than five seconds before the police car’s headlights would be upon them, and probably no more than a minute until they were confronting an officer.
As the predicted flood of light barged in, Ian grabbed Kay and kissed her. For all the times Kay had imagined a breathless encounter with Ian, she had never once pictured this. As panic ascended, she embraced his embrace and the pair found themselves locked in an impassioned tangle. In what seemed like a combination of thirty seconds and two hours, the impromptu couple heard the police car’s door open and close. She heard the footsteps pause, undoubtedly so the officer could look at the other car. After the few seconds required to determine that it was empty, the footsteps continued toward the Anglia. Even with her eyes closed, Kay perceived the flicker of an electric torch’s beam flashing into the cabin of the Anglia. There were a couple of crunching footsteps and a mute chuckle followed a moment later by a gloved knuckle tapping on the glass of the driver’s window.
With a slight reluctance that surprised both of them, Kay and Ian broke their clench and Kay turned a smudged smile to the policeman’s silhouette. She gave a tight, embarrassed laugh that was not affected in the least and cranked her window down.
“Good morning,” said the voice of authority stoically but with a trace of amusement.
“Er, good morning, officer,” murmured Ian.
“Merry Christmas,” added Kay.
The officer leaned in and peered at each of them in turn and smiled a tiny little bit.
“Yes,” he said, “apparently so.” He glanced around, as if making sure he was where he thought he was, and then leaned back in. “Do you know this is Westminster Abbey?”
Not knowing what else to do, the illicit couple let out a burst of that high-pitched, twittering laughter that has a little to do with mirth, and a lot to do with twanging nerves.
“Yes, officer,” said Ian, trying to sound casual. “Yes, of course.”
“I ask this question rhetorically, you see,” explained the constable. “I imagine you both knew where you were, but I was hoping you might tell me why you chose this particular spot for your little …Christmas party.”
Two minds raced furiously as throats were cleared and a little more nervous laughter bounced off the windshield. Just as Ian was about to make an attempt at an explanation, there was a deep, solid thud behind them, in the direction of the Abbey. Ian and Kay were tacitly and instantly aware that the source of this noise was connected to the fact that Alan and Gavin were hauling the larger piece of the Stone of Destiny to the Poet’s Corner entrance, and were just about to fling the door wide and drag the big thing out. Since this left him, once again, at a total loss, Ian simply began laughing. This time the laugh was loud and raucous, accompanied by a quick and frantic glance at Kay, who took the hint and began laughing along with him in a big and - to the policeman’s mind - unladylike guffaw.
“Here,” he said in bemusement. “What’s so bleedin’ funny?” Ian stole a quick glance past Kay and the policeman, just keen enough to see the Abbey’s door swinging quietly closed. He looked back up at the officer and continued to laugh, attempting to signal with waves of his arms that he would account for his jocularity in just a moment, only he had to catch his breath first. Kay kept laughing as well, although the sound was becoming forced, and she knew they would have to stop eventually. With wheezes and sighs, the pair did eventually let their outburst roll to a stop. It concluded with a number of sounds on the theme of, “Oh!” and “My goodness!” and “Whew!”
There followed a long pause. This pause was followed by a further pause. As a deputized authority figure, the policeman felt obliged to say something.
“Well?” He said, for lack of anything more apposite.
“Yes?” Ian inquired, with another little chortle.
“What were you two laughing about?”
“Ah!” Ian exclaimed. “What, indeed? Well may you ask.”
There was another pause, which broke along with the officer’s patience.
“I am asking!” He bellowed.
“Well,” Ian began lamely, “it was… er, we were just…”
“We just thought this must look awfully funny to someone in your position,” Kay blurted, and then giggled again, just to hammer home the point.
The pause made an encore appearance.
“Oh, you know how it is, officer,” Ian drawled, starting to regain some control.
“Do I?” Inquired the officer.
“Well, yes, of course,” said Ian with perhaps a bit more casualness than was absolutely called for. “Festive spirits, what? A bit of holiday fun …you know?”
“Hmm, yes,” muttered the policeman, on the tight-wire between suspicion and sympathy. He shined the torch back and forth between their two outrageously innocent-looking grins, and then straightened up. “Well, let’s be off, then. Mind how you go, now.”
“Yes, sir,” said Ian.
“Merry Christmas!” Kay chimed again as the policeman gave them one last glare and turned back to his patrol car. Kay rolled the window up and let out a sigh that was nearly a sob. Ian looked back to see whether the officer was going to his car or toward the Abbey. When he saw it was the former, his relieved whoosh of a sigh joined Kay’s. As the police car began to roll past them, Kay made a show of starting the Anglia’s motor and checking her mirrors. “I think,” she said shakily, “that qualifies as a Christmas miracle.”
“Yes,” Ian muttered. “Well, God bless us, every one. How’s your foot?”
“You mean has the throbbing pain suddenly vanished? No, Ian, it still hurts like the blazes!”
Ian apologized yet again and continued to peer through the early morning gloom at the Poet’s Corner entrance. Finally, the heavy, wooden door cracked open and Gavin’s head poked out. It zipped back in again and after another minute, the door swung open and the other two men stretcher-carried the big stone out. Ian ran to join them, and soon, the trio had muscled the big stone over to the other car and wrestled it inside.
After a brief consultation, they decided to split into different pairs. Gavin Vernon climbed into Kay’s car so she could take him to the train station. She had borrowed the Anglia from a friend of hers who lived in the Midlands. After dropping Gavin off, Kay would return the car to her friend, temporarily leaving the Stone in the boot, where no one would ever think to look for it. Ian joined Alan in his car, and together they drove the larger piece to Kent, where they hid it by the expedient of dropping it in the middle of an unfarmed field Alan had found a couple of weeks earlier. Thence, Alan took Ian to Edinburgh to find a stonemason named Robert Gray. Gray and Hamilton had known each other since Ian started in at university.
Because Gray was entirely sympathetic with the group’s ideology, he met Ian’s request to look at the broken Stone with great enthusiasm and fascination. As 1951 was just getting underway, and front pages across Britain were splashed with news of the “theft” (in England) and the “liberation” (in Scotland), Ian recovered the two pieces of the Stone and brought them to Gray under conditions of extremely delicate secrecy. The stonemason explained that, because the Stone was made of soft, porous sandstone, it would be fairly easy to repair, but would remain relatively fragile (relative, that is, to its bulk and considerable weight). That, Gray told Ian, was not a problem. It was the other matter that bothered him.
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