“Actually, the Guardian was hers,” Joe said. “He was there to protect the girl, but he got tangled up in a consultation as part of his cover story, and she died.”
“Who was she?” I asked.
“I never found out,” Joe said. “The Guardian killed the redcap, then gathered up the girl’s body and ran off into the night.”
“How did you find him again?” I asked.
“I went to his church the next day. There weren’t very many Filipino Catholic priests in Rock Hill, South Carolina, in the nineties, so I recognized him instantly. I showed up on his doorstep, and after I beat on his front and back doors for an hour, he let me in.”
“Yeah, I had that happen with a cheerleader once in college. She just stood there kicking and pounding on my dorm door for hours. Eventually I got up and let her out.” I looked around the table, but nobody was laughing. “I let her out, get it?” Nothing. “Because she…oh never mind. Y’all just don’t appreciate comedy.” I leaned back in my chair and motioned for Joe to go on with his story.
“There’s not much more. The Guardian was drunk, convinced that he had failed in his sacred duty. I was terrified, convinced that I had seen Satan himself on my college campus. So he let me in and told me about faeries while I tried to catch up to him in the drunk department. Then he told me about Hunters, and Guardians, and Liaisons, and that we were the modern-day Knights Templar, protecting the world from the evil on the other side of the veil. Then he made me swear a solemn vow not to tell anyone about any of what he’d told me, and passed out. I sat at his kitchen table trying to process everything I’d heard and seen in the last twelve hours and drank myself into oblivion. When we woke up the next morning, I had a Guardian to teach me the ways of the Templars and a hangover that made me swear off gin forever.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, holding up a hand. “You’re a Templar Knight?”
Joe shrugged a little, made a few noises like he didn’t really want to answer, but after a minute or so said, “Yes, I am a member of the Knights Templar. But it’s not something we talk about.”
“Like Fight Club,” I said.
“Only a lot older,” Joe added.
“And way more badass,” I said.
Skeeter laughed. We all turned to the TV and he said, “What? I just think it’s funny that your real title is Sir Uncle Father Joe.”
We all laughed at that, and a lot of the tension in the room dissipated. Joe looked at Becca and said, “So that’s why I vanished. I didn’t hear the call like most ministers. The call sought me out and tried to eat my liver. I never found out who the girl was or why she warranted a Guardian, but without her there to guard, he was reassigned, and as his student, I went with him. And I’ve been with the Order ever since. I’ve thought about you often, but never had…”
“The balls,” I muttered.
“A reason,” Joe corrected, “to find you. I thought you’d be better off without me opening old wounds, not to mention safer if my line of work was nowhere near your life.”
“Until the things that go bump in the night found me,” Becca said.
“Yeah, shit happens,” I said.
“What now?” Becca asked.
“Now we go back to normal,” Joe said.
“Are you kidding me? I don’t even know if I’ll recognize normal if I see it after this.”
“Good news,” I said. “You live in friggin’ Orlando. You ain’t real likely to run into a whole lot of normal around here.” Joe and Becca both shot me a dirty look, so I held up my hands and made little locking motions with my lips.
“Anyhow, I meant with us,” Becca said.
“Well, there might be certain vows you need to know about…” Skeeter said.
“Actually…” Joe said. “The Templars have always been exempt from the vows most priests take regarding chastity. It was long thought that we needed to breed true in order to continue the line of Guardians and Hunters.”
“So you can…date?” Becca asked.
“It’s actually encouraged,” Joe said. “There are a lot more monsters than there are Hunters and Guardians, so the more we…date, the better.”
“That sounds a lot like my cue to get the hell out of here and let y’all get reacquainted for a couple days,” I said, standing up from the table. “Skeet, our work here is done. Can you book Joe a rental car for a week and then a plane ticket back to Atlanta? I’m gonna go get my truck headed north and hope to get home by Friday so maybe I can spend the weekend with my girlfriend, leaving Skeeter as the only dateless one in the crowd, as usual.”
“Actually, Bubba…” Skeeter said with a shy grin. “You remember that new choir director for the Methodist Church? Well, we’re going to see Deadpool Sunday evening if you and Amy want to double-date?”
“Sure,” I said. “I hear it’s pretty good, even with Ryan Reynolds in it. Y’all behave yourselves, and I’ll see you back at home, Joe.” I turned away from where Joe and Becca were doing a whole lot of talking without any saying words and walked out of the museum to where my F-250 waited for me. I flipped down the sun visor, spent a minute looking at my favorite picture of Agent Amy, in full tactical gear holding an MP-5 with a barrel-mounted flashlight, and pointed that big blue pickup toward home.
For information on appearances, signings, autographed copies, etc. please visit
http://www.johnhartness.com
@johnhartness on Twitter
Copyright 2016 by John G. Hartness
Night at the Museum by John G. Hartness is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
About the Author
John G. Hartness is a teller of tales, a righter of wrong, defender of ladies’ virtues, and some people call him Maurice, for he speaks of the pompatus of love. He is also the best-selling author of the EPIC-Award-winning series The Black Knight Chronicles from Bell Bridge Books, a comedic urban fantasy series that answers the eternal question “Why aren’t there more fat vampires?”
A graduate of Winthrop University, John lives in Charlotte with his wife Suzy and a very demanding cat. In other lives, he has been an actor, lighting designer, theatre consultant, salesman, electronics technician, and arts administrator. He put his theatre performance degree to good use in the early 2000s, when he served as Managing Director of the Off-Tryon Theatre Company and President of both the Metrolina Theatre Association and the North Carolina Theatre Conference.
Since turning from stage to page, John has published over 20 short stories, half a dozen novels, a good fistful of novellas, and several anthologies. John is the author of the Bubba the Monster Hunter series of comic shorts, the Quincy Harker, Demon Hunter novella series, and the creator and co-editor of the Big Bad anthology series, among other projects.
In 2016, John teamed up with a pair of other publishing industry ne’er-do-wells and founded Falstaff Books, a publishing conglomerate dedicated to pushing the boundaries of literature and entertainment.
In his copious free time John enjoys long walks on the beach, rescuing kittens from trees and recording new episodes of his ridiculous podcast Literate Liquors, where he pairs book reviews and alcoholic drinks in new and ludicrous ways. John is also a contributor to the Magical Words group blog. An avid Magic: the Gathering player, John is strong in his nerd-fu and has sometimes been referred to as “the Kevin Smith of Charlotte, NC.” And not just for his girth.
Website – http://johnhartness.com
Podcast - http://literateliquors.libsyn.com/
Patreon – http://www.patreon.com/johnhartness
Facebook – http://www.facebook.com/johnghartness
Magical Words – http://magicalwords.net
Twitter - @johnhartness
Also by John G. Hartness
Bubba the Monster Hunter Stories
Voodoo Children
Ballet of Blood
Ho-Ho-Homicide
Tassels of Terror
Monsters Beware - Bubba the Mon
ster Hunter Vol. 1
Cat Scratch Fever
Love Stinks
Hall & Goats
Footloose
Monsters Mashed - Bubba the Monster Hunter Vol. 2
Sixteen Tons
Family Tradition - A Bubba the Monster Hunter Prequel
Final Countdown
Monsters Everywhere - Bubba the Monster Hunter Vol. 3
Scattered, Smothered and Chunked - The Complete Bubba the Monster Hunter Season 1
UnHoly Night - A Skeeter the Monster Hunter Short Story
Love Hurts
Dead Man’s Hand
She’s Got Legs
Dead Man’s Party - Bubba the Monster Hunter Vol. 4
Fire on the Mountain - A Beauregard the Monster Hunter Story
Howl
Double Trouble
Elf off the Shelf
Casket Case
Bark at the Moon - Bubba the Monster Hunter Vol. 5
Stone Cold Crazy
High on that Mountain
Bad Moon Rising
Trouble in Mind - Bubba the Monster Hunter Vol. 6
Grits, Guns & Glory - The Complete Bubba the Monster Hunter Season 2
White Lightnin’ - A Beauregard the Monster Hunter Story
Moon Over Bourbon Street
The Black Knight Chronicles
Volume 1 - Hard Day’s Knight
Volume 2 - Back in Black
Volume 3 - Knight Moves
The Black Knight Chronicles Omnibus Edition
Volume 4 - Paint it Black
Volume 5 - In the Still of the Knight
Movie Knight - A Black Knight Short Story
Black Magic Woman - A Black Knight Short Story
Gone Daddy Gone - A Black Knight Short Story
Knight UnLife - Collected Black Knight Shorts
Quincy Harker, Demon Hunter
Raising Hell
Straight to Hell
Hell on Heels
Hell Freezes Over
Co-Edited with Emily Lavin Leverett
The Big Bad: An Anthology of Evil
The Big Bad 2
Other Work
Queen of Kats: Book I - Betrayal
From the Stone
Headshot
Balance - Tales of Alternate Reality
Genesis - Return to Eden Book 1
The Chosen
Returning the Favor and other slices of life
Red Dirt Boy
The Christmas Lights
Cinched: Imagination Unbound
Thief of Shadows
Manwe the Panther Stories
Volume I
By Jay Requard
Falstaff Books
2016
The Gem of Acitus
By Jay Requard
Manwe leapt for the upper balcony, his hand outstretched to catch the small length of rope he had tied to the platform’s façade the previous night. No longer than a foot, the hemp cord dug splinters into his palm, drawing a hiss of pain.
He dangled in the air. Muscles screamed in agony, braced on the point between snapped tendons and dislocated joints. Forcing himself not to let go, Manwe checked the gardens below him. Guards decked in iron breastplates and horsehair-crested helms roamed the edges of the hedgerows, unaware of the intruder to their master’s home. Their spears glinted in the light of the braziers set on a red clay patio, the only light save for the stars in a pitch sky.
Manwe slowly pulled himself up, one hand at a time until he found purchase on the balcony rail. He vaulted to the other side, his body beaded in sweat.
Through the arched doorway a lavish bedroom waited, its cool shadows calling him to leave the balmy warmth of the summer night. He slipped inside the house, crouched, and allowed his eyes to adjust to the deeper darkness.
A young woman slept naked on the wide bed, her white body swaddled in thin sheets of silk. Ringlets of black hair framed her supple breasts.
He paid her little attention as he passed by, drawing a small pick from the linen cloth tied around his wrist. Manwe squatted in front of a chest on the far wall, prodding the lock near its hinge. Two tumblers clicked in unison. Taking a small file, he inserted it into the key slot and slowly turned it. The lock opened with a sharp pop.
Manwe lifted the lid, and there it sat: The Gem of Acitus. An emerald worn by some of history’s greatest conquerors, its green facets sparkled with promise of wealth. Cushioned upon a large pillow of red satin, it was the only thing in the chest, the immediate sign of a trap.
He eyed a line of sharp iron running along the inside of the lid to a wire near the chest’s hinge that stretched down the side and underneath the pillow. If he lifted the gem, the lid would snap and take his hand.
“Is it worth it?”
Manwe spun to one of the room’s corners, where the darkness was the deepest.
The girl had sat up in her bed. A slight grin curved her pouty lips.
He slowly rose, taking his hand off the knife stuck in the rear band of his loincloth. “Why aren’t you calling the guard?”
“I’m curious.” She crawled forward on her feather mattress, the outline of her body revealed in the low light of the nighttime ambiance. “It’s not every day I meet a burglar.”
“Aren’t you frightened?”
“No.” She rolled onto her back, on full display. “So how are you going to do it? How do you get past the trap?”
“How indeed…” Manwe looked around the room and spotted a strange wooden pole near the door. Three pieces of ivory tusk stuck out from the top like a crown, and on one of these horns hung a delicate cloak of green silk. “What’s that?”
“That? Some odd ornament some tribal elder gave my father in tribute. We didn’t know what to do with it until I hung a cloak on it one day. They’re now the craze in Gypus.”
“A waste of good tusks.” He retrieved the strange piece of furniture. Rolling its heavy weight in both hands, he walked back to the chest. “A waste of good ebony, too.”
“Why is that?” she asked.
“You’ll see.” Manwe propped the stand on the edge of the chest. The girl gasped as he thrust his right hand into the box and lifted the gem from the pillow. The wire warped as it broke, the lid snapping down. The sharp edge chopped into the dark wood of the stand, levering its entire length off the floor.
Manwe slipped his hand out. He held the gem up to show her, his smile wide.
She giggled, clapping her hands. “So you must be The Panther. Tolivius’ best thief has come to my home.”
“Correction. The greatest thief has come to your house. And you’ve been a wonderful audience.” He dipped for a slight bow and headed for the balcony.
“Wait,” she called after him.
Manwe stopped in the doorway.
The tip of her tongue probed the edge of her lips, and dark eyes gleamed in lust. “Is that all you’re going to take?” she asked. “There are still treasures in this room.”
“And yet I only came for this one.” He laughed at her wounded expression as he left.
*****
Manwe sat on the wide branch of the jackalberry tree, his back pressed against its massive gray trunk. He swung his feet as the morning sun emerged on the horizon. Orange light bled into the sky to banish darkness from the earth’s face, revealing the endless grassland dotted with forests of scrub trees. Umbrella-thorns waved at the sunrise as the wind moved their bright green boughs.
The way the trees swayed, the brush of the air against his bare chest, the song of the birds—the savannah was his piece of the goddess, a treasure beyond anything he could ever steal. The outline of Tolivius, the city the Gypians had built long ago when they conquered his people, also sat on that same horizon. The only piece of civilization for miles, the sight of the metropolis was the lone damper of his joy.
He looked down at the gem in his lap. One day, one bauble at a time, that city wouldn’t be there.
Out of the corner of his eye rose a line of dust in the
distance, a rider charging through on route to Manwe’s tree. Tall and handsome, his linen tunic buffeted against his wiry frame as he dug his heels into the sides of his dappled mare. Drawing up to the jackalberry, he slid off the saddle and let the beast carry off into the grass.
“Do you have it?” the man called from the ground, his eyes brown and bright.
“What’s the passphrase?”
“Oh come, Manwe,” the rider said, hands on his hips. “You know me.”
“And you know we are supposed to say a passphrase before the start of all business.”
“Fine, fine. ‘Hippo’.”
Manwe gave him a wink. “Get up here, Toba. I have it.”
“You have actually Acitus’ emerald?” Toba scurried up the tree, finding the natural handholds in the ridges and bark. He climbed onto the same branch as Manwe and sat in front of him. “Let me see!”
Manwe held up the gem to let the sunlight glitter in its facets, refracting verdant beams that dappled the space between them.
Toba gaped in amazement. “May I?”
“Of course.” Manwe placed it in the center of his palm. “You’re going to fence it, after all.”
“And the gold I shall get,” he said, mesmerized. He closed his fingers around the gem. “Did you run into any trouble?”
“Nothing worth mentioning.”
“And there were no other problems?”
“Nothing.” Manwe eyed him warily. “Why? What have you heard?”
Toba shook his head and tucked the gem into his shirt. “Nothing at all. I just imagined this job would be harder than it was.”
“So how much gold do you think you can get?”
“For the Gem of Acitus?” Toba grinned and glanced toward Tolivius, now gleaming white as the morning struck its high walls and thin towers. “I can probably get five thousand drachi for it. I’m sure that the Gypian you stole it from will have his men out looking for it, but the buyer was adamant.”
Night at the Museum - A Bubba the Monster Hunter Novella Page 10
