by Marc Lindsay
First published in Australia in 2015 by Murder of Crows Publishing
First published in Australia in 2015 by Murder of Crows Publishing
Copyright © 2015 Marc Lindsay
The moral right of the author has been asserted
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Murder of Crows Publishing
Townsville QLD 4814
The book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry
Lindsay, Marc, author.
Perigord / Marc Lindsay.
9780646937380 (paperback)
For young adults.
Great powers—Fiction. Suspense fiction. Young adult fiction.
A823.4
Printed and bound in Australia
Cover design by www.damonza.com
www.marc-lindsay.com
Contents
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgements
For me getting this book into your hands has been a Herculean undertaking, the least of which was actually writing it. So before you begin your journey through Perigord there are a number of people I would like to thank, I appreciate your patience.
My kids Connor, Dylan and Dana who have had to put up with the endless questions and story updates and despite the busy and secret lives that teenager’s dwell in, they were happy to indulge their father when required.
My mother who instilled in her three sons the love of reading and who has the unwavering belief that everything we do or are currently undertaking is sheer brilliance. Thank you for believing.
My wife Kate whom I was terrified to have read my first draft and was later relieved to find that she couldn’t put it down, has been the level head through every difficult step.
My editor Julie who has had to endure my poor grammar, in particular a lack of apostrophes and questions marks. All I can say is hopefully I’ve improved on book two.
Ryan, my baby brother, whose critique I was truly dreading, has never let me get away with poor logic and made me strive to adapt a better story.
James, the middle one. He was the first, the one who saw the gem and never, ever stopped pushing, emailing, texting, phone calls late at night and most importantly nurturing the final product you see before you.
They say it takes a village to raise a child but in the case of a story it takes just one person to believe in what you’re writing about, so to all the others who were involved in some way or another with this book ending up in your possession, thank you and for the uninitiated I hope you enjoy Perigord.
Prologue
He moved with a confidence and speed that belied his age and the fact that there was little to no light on the forest floor would have made the journey precarious for anyone. Plato Wyngard was dressed appropriately for his surroundings in warm hiking attire and carrying a well-worn leather satchel over his shoulder. Plato was probably the most famous or infamous figure in the valley, depending on who you talked to. People were always speculating on everything from his past, the interior of his home or most importantly what he currently did with his time.
For those that hadn’t met him before they would make the assumption that Plato was just a quiet but stern looking gentleman living peacefully in his twilight years. Yet despite his advancing age he kept himself physically and more importantly mentally fit and agile. What had him wandering the countryside in the middle of the night was a matter of grave urgency, a mission of sorts that he dared not entrust to another. He had been out here for the past twelve hours searching desperately for something that had been hidden in the forest years ago. Now in the darkness with his torch flicking over the trail, he was more than a little concerned that his efforts were going to amount to nothing. It was then that something caught his eye. A reflection from his torch that sparkled back at him like a wink in the night.
Plato stopped dead in his tracks and carefully retraced his flashlight to its point of origin. Nothing. He was just about to give up when he saw it flash again in the beam’s light, a small circle of pressed metal the size of a man’s palm embedded into the trunk of a tree. Plato moved forward cautiously, his torch trained onto the man-made object. As he approached he was now able to see an image engraved upon its surface. A large tree, a sequoia, which was native to the area. The engraving was amazing in its detail.
Plato was not only marvelling at his discovery but patting himself on the back as well, for now he knew he was on the right path. A bush rustled behind and Plato swung around. A figure cloaked in darkness stepped confidently forward. Plato was no stranger to confrontation. Without saying a word he raised the torch in an attempt to identify the mysterious individual. His eyes went wide.
“YOU!” Plato accused. His hand reached into his jacket in an attempt to free the glock pistol resting within. Despite his many years of training, his speed and reflexes were not able to protect him from the second and third figure who had moved up silently behind him. Before Plato could turn or react his world went black.
Chapter 1
The sign standing at the top of the hill read ‘Welcome to Perigord, population 3321, Home of the Black River Brewing Company’. The sky blue VW kombi sped past, its passengers studying the sign intently. The driver was an attractive woman in her late thirties. She wore her dark brown hair short, pixie style, which complimented her slender build. She had an anxious look on her face, but forced a smile toward her passenger, a teenage boy of sixteen years. His ash blonde hair worn short but ruffled from their trip, tall and lean with broad shoulders. He stared broodily from his window unsure of what awaited him at their destination.
As the van breasted the top of the hill both, its occupants stared wide-eyed at the view before them a small rural town nestled within a valley, surrounded by the Grey Cloud National Park. The national park was made up of beech, spruce and assorted varieties of pine trees,
giving the forest a dark and mysterious aura. Beyond the town lay Greymeade Lake, the afternoon sun’s reflection on the water, giving the impression of a glittering jewel. The view was breathtaking.
The woman was the first to break the silence.
“The pictures don’t do it justice,” she said. The teenage boy was also clearly impressed.
“Yeah,” he replied simply. The woman observed him, happily.
“I don’t know about you but I’m getting good vibes about this move,” she said. The teenage boy didn’t answer as he took in the scenery. The pair drove on in silence as their van skirted along the winding road.
The trees on either side of the road created a thick canopy giving the forest a dark and eerie atmosphere with small patches of sunlight finding their way through. A large river separated the town from the valley entrance with a simple timber and stone bridge accessing the only road in or out. The van slowed as it crossed, both passengers peering out at the rushing water below. Trout could be seen jumping from the crystal clear water.
“It’s so beautiful,” the teenage boy whispered. The woman didn’t reply, but grinned to herself.
As they drove into the township they passed beautifully constructed homes made from timber and blue stone, and framed with white picket fences. The town’s business and infrastructure surrounded an enormous park littered with elm and cypress trees. Elegant white gazebos stood out from under their shaded branches. Bronze statues of leaders and historical figures from Perigord’s past could be seen amongst the thicket.
The blue kombi eventually found its way onto Main Street and after several minutes of navigating through the traffic, come to a halt outside a conservative looking shop front. Its black and white sign read ‘Black River Realty’. The woman turned to the teenaged boy.
“Let’s not keep Mrs Appleby waiting,” she said eagerly. The sound of a bell chimed as they opened the front door.
The interior of the office was quaint and cosy, a fireplace in the corner was roaring nicely. Tasteful antique furniture lay within, and paintings adorned the walls depicting views of the valley region. The waiting room was lit by brass lamps illuminating the room in a pleasant glow.
The front reception desk was empty so they waited for a moment before the teenage boy leaned over and rang the bell located on the desk.
“Be right there,” a pleasant female voice called out. Moments later, a plump woman in her mid-fifties appeared from one of the rear offices, her dark red hair arranged into an efficient looking bob. She was dressed neatly in a grey tailored suit, looking the epitome of professional.
The realtor smiled when she saw the younger woman and teenage boy. “You must be Doctor Page,” she exclaimed stepping forward and offering her hand. The younger woman took it and returned her smile.
“Mrs Appleby I presume,” Dr Page replied.
“Please call me Fiona.”
“I’m Helen and this is my son Jason,” Dr Page said. Her son gave the realtor a forced smile.
“Pleased to meet you ma’am,” he said formally.
“Pleased to meet you too. Would either of you both care for a refreshment?”
“Tea if you have it,” Helen replied.
“Of course, and would you care for a soft drink, Jason?” she asked. Jason shrugged.
“I hope diet is ok, I’m trying to watch my figure and it’s all I have at the moment,” she smiled sheepishly.
“Diet is fine,” Jason replied. Fiona pointed to the nearest sofa.
“Please, take a seat and I’ll be back with your drinks,” she said warmly.
Helen walked over to the sofa and slumped into it with a groan.
“Come and sit down it’s comfier than it looks,” Helen offered. Jason however was studying one of the paintings on the wall.
“No thanks,” he said, his interest piqued by the unusual art. Moving closer, his eyes roamed the painting intently, a forest scene, dark with subtle touches of light, a mist half shrouding a stone tablet of some description. Strange markings adorned its surface along with some other image Jason couldn’t quite make out.
Fiona entered the room carrying a tray of drinks, a smile spreading across her face when she saw Jason appraising her art.
“I see you like my paintings,” Fiona said proudly. Jason nodded in reply. “Yes, this one in particular. It’s beautiful but kind of disturbing at the same time,” he replied. Fiona placed the tray on the coffee table.
“It does have a rather unusual quality about it. The artist was also this town’s founding father, Heinrich Perigord,” she said, matter of factly. Helen sat up in her seat.
“How fascinating,” Helen said with genuine interest.
“Brilliant or mad, take your pick,” Fiona said candidly. Jason’s attention was now firmly on Fiona.
“How so?”
Fiona pulled up a chair opposite Helen, clearly enjoying the audience. She continued with her story.
“Well Heinrich settled out this way in 1822, the minister of a small congregation, of what denomination no one really knows”. She paused to pour herself a cup of tea. Jason watched her tip four spoons of sugar into her cup, a smirk appearing on his face remembering her comment about the diet soft drink. She settled back into her chair, and continued with her story. “Where was I?” she questioned.
“You were talking about Heinrich’s church,” Jason cut in. Fiona brightened. “That’s right, Heinrich’s church, or as rumour had it, his cult.”
Fiona paused for dramatic effect, a naughty smile appearing on her face. “Heinrich was something of a pagan, the emblem of his faith a black tree, a rare black sequoia to be precise, one which can only be found in this valley.”
“Sounds so sinister,” Helen interrupted clearly intrigued.
“Oh it was,” Fiona replied, then looking back at Jason, “If you’re interested there are plenty of books on Perigord at the library.” Jason nodded thankfully, his curiosity clearly aroused.
Fiona straightened the creases of her pants with her hands.
“I’m sorry, I’ve been babbling on, you’re both probably tired from your drive,” she said, adopting a more professional manner. She passed some papers to Helen. “As you’re aware this isn’t a sale as the house was bequeathed to you in your uncle’s will. His solicitors left the transfer of his estate to my realty, making it an easier transition. These are your original copies, the last page is for you to sign saying that you have received the keys,” Fiona said enthusiastically.
Helen nodded, but continued to read through the documentation, finally looking up at Fiona.
“It all appears in order,” she said smiling, then retrieving a pen from her pocket, signed the last page of the document.
Fiona handed the keys to Helen.
“The phone and power were turned on earlier today, and I had a cleaner go through yesterday giving it a good once over. I hope you don’t mind but I also took the liberty of having your pantry and fridge stocked with some bare essentials,” Fiona said warmly.
“You’re too kind,” Helen replied.
“It’s just our way of welcoming you both to our little community. You’re both going to love it here.”
“I’m sure we will,” Helen replied giving Jason a wink.
Chapter 2
Jason stood on the gravel driveway, his hands covering his face.
“You can open your eyes now,” Helen said playfully. Dropping his hands to his sides, Jason’s face clearly showed his displeasure at this childish game, letting out a sigh as he opened his eyes. Immediately his face changed from annoyance to utter surprise.
“I’m blown away,” he said in awe. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet!” Helen replied as she planted a big kiss on his cheek. “Shall we have a closer look?”
The front driveway weaved its way through a vivid green landscape of lush grass and beautiful trees. At its centre an unusually large weeping willow standing close to eighty foot
in height, its branches reaching out creating a large umbrella of vegetation. Under the green canopy, mounted within the willow’s branches, as a magnificent treehouse made of sturdy timber, a multi-levelled structure complete with a roof, windows and a rudimentary lift with cables and pulleys. It was staggering in its attention to detail. Jason looked at his mother.
“I wish I were ten years old again,” Jason says wistfully. Helen laughed out loud.
“I’m serious mum, this is where I’m living?”
“How about we spend our first night in the house and go from there,” she replied.
“I guess,” Jason said reluctantly as they continued their way through the grounds towards the house.
Like most of the houses in the valley, their new home was built from stone and timber, a two storey highset structure. The house was surrounded by mature elm trees that provided both shade and privacy. Jason walked up the stone steps that connected to a wraparound porch. Helen remained a couple of steps behind, watching his reaction closely. Looking up and down the porch, Jason was clearly impressed with the craftsmanship of the house’s exterior, as well as its maintenance. Everything appeared to be freshly painted and in good repair. Approaching the front entrance was a large oak door beautifully engraved with runes and inlaid with iron strips, door handle and a wolf’s head door knocker.
“I can’t believe this is ours,” Jason said amazed.
“I haven’t been here since I was a little girl. It’s sad to think that I was the only relative left of Uncle Plato’s,” Helen replied. Stepping forward she unlocked the door. “You haven’t seen anything yet!”
Light filtered in through the dark house as the front door was cracked opened. Jason and Helen stepped hesitantly inside. What greeted them could only be described as amazing.
“Did I also mention the house came fully furnished?” Helen said proudly. Looking around the interior of the house Jason was stunned by the furniture arranged around the front lobby and sitting room. Drop sheets covered everything, including the paintings on the walls. Walking over to a large piece, Helen ripped the canvas cover revealing a beautifully carved writing desk.
