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The World of Eldaterra, Volume One: The Dragon Conspiracy
By P. Moredun HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
Copyright © 2005 P. Moredun
All right reserved. ISBN: 0060766646
Chapter One
The Sea Arch, May 1910
James Kinghorn had escaped!
He had escaped, if only for half term, from the school where last September he had arrived for the first time, a reluctant fourteen-year-old sent to honor a family tradition. Every gener- ation of Kinghorns since Waterloo had dispatched a son to Drinkett College (the "Eton of the North"), and James was not about to let down the family name.
He stood amid the sand dunes that lined the barren coast of Northumberland in northern England. Wisps of cloud traced across the brilliant blue sky. A crab scuttled into the surf, its claws raised in defiance of marauding seagulls. James spied a small, wretched boat left stranded above the high-water line- its hull planking staved in, a casualty of a winter gale-and he trudged through the sand to investigate. Inspecting the broken vessel, he imagined himself shipwrecked and alone, on some great adventure.
His father, Sir Philip Kinghorn, worked in the War Office- in what capacity James was not quite sure, but he was pretty certain it was an important job. Sir Philip had arranged for James to spend the weekend with him and his mother, Lady Jennifer, while Sir Philip attended a naval gunnery demonstration held off the Fame Islands, just up the coast. Today was the day of the demonstration and James, let loose to explore the desolate coastline, was intent on having an adventure of one sort or another.
The distant rumble of gunfire was carried on the sea breeze, and James turned in the direction of the sound, half expecting to see giant dreadnoughts and battleships on the horizon, sheathed in flames and smoke. Instead he was amazed to see an enormous stone arch only a dozen yards from where he stood. As he looked at the arch, it appeared to shimmer and become translucent, like a mirage, before finally solidifying into stone. The arch was colossal, towering over him like a leviathan. Set into the archway was a pair of enormous iron gates, chained and padlocked. The lock was so large James's fist could easily fit into the keyhole. He couldn't understand how he had failed to notice the arch earlier-it was so grand and imposing-and he could see from his footprints that he had already passed close by. There was something very peculiar about it.
James walked around the arch and studied it more closely. It was made of great blocks of white marble, smooth to the touch. Across the top, just visible from below, he could make out the words "Sea Arch" carved faintly into the stone.
What on earth is it here to commemorate? he wondered. The distant boom of gunfire had faded away now and, except for the gentle rolling of the sea, all was quiet and still. Suddenly, with a machine-gun stutter, the chain snaked off the gates and fell with a thump to the sand. James jumped in surprise. At the foot of the gates, the big, lumpy padlock lay sprung. The chain links, each one as big as a man's fist, had cascaded into a haphazard pile that sank into the sand under its own weight. Only seconds before when he had looked at the padlock, it was secured, the chain tightly wrapped about the central rails of the gates. Now the gates stood ajar. James shivered as he looked down at the chain and padlock and saw how clean and rust-free they were. He took a step closer, feeling the temptation of the open gates. Then he slipped between them and was gone!
1895
The gamekeeper broke open his double-barreled shotgun; checked the cartridges and, hanging the fowling piece in the crook of his arm, waited patiently for the approaching figures. Constable Tauning, the only officer of the law for ten miles in any direction, marched up the drive. Next to the constable, the parish vicar kept pace. Behind them, wheeling his cycle, was young Finnigan, the lad who had raised the alarm.
"Good day to you," called the vicar. The gamekeeper nodded solemnly in reply.
"I understand there's a body," said the constable as he removed his helmet and mopped his brow.
"It were me and the lad who found it. This here be the estate." The gamekeeper swung his arm in a gesture that took in the full sweep of surrounding countryside. "And that" -- he jerked a gnarled and weathered hand over his shoulder -- "that be what's left of Purbeck Hall." He paused before adding, "I've hunted and fished most things, but in all my life I've never seen anything like what's in there." Leaving the gamekeeper and the boy standing on the gravel drive, Constable Tauning and the vicar climbed the stone steps leading to the once-grand front entrance. The constable shouldered open the double doors. Light flooded into the cavernous hallway, and dust swirled at the men's feet like marsh mist. Ahead a broad staircase climbed up and around in a grand sweep, the dark mahogany banister like a snake coiling the stone steps. A grimy stained-glass window filled the wall above the stairs, framed with heavy, worn, crimson drapes. Neither man took any notice of the surroundings. They stood in shock, gazing at the strange bloodied object that lay in the center of the hall.
The vicar fell trembling to his knees, his hands clasped white as he quavered through the Lord's Prayer. The constable stepped up and gripped the man's shoulder, shaking him to his senses.
"Reverend, please go at once and send the lad to the nearest railway halt. We must get word to headquarters in Cambridge. Tell him to say -- " But there was no point in continuing. The vicar had scrambled to his feet and ran from the building as if Satan were at his heels.
Continues...
Excerpted from The World of Eldaterra, Volume One: The Dragon Conspiracy by P. Moredun Copyright © 2005 by P. Moredun.
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