Nicholaus & Co

A Creature Most Foul By Kevin Rayfield McGill

~ Excerpt #1 Macchu Picchu ~

CHAPTER 1

The mountains of central Peru

Sometime in the near future.

Tink. Tink.

Hollow…metal? The Peruvian man squeezed the shovel.

Tink. Tink. Tink.

He threw the shovel aside. The Peruvian knew what to do next. First,

he was to report to the project leader, then begin the tedious work of

gently removing the dirt away with a soft brush for the next three days.

He did neither.

The Peruvian clawed the dirt. Bits of rock shoved under nails until he

bled. Dirt flew into nose, teeth and all other available orifices.

They gave up on the western dig. Thought I was an idiot. The Peruvian

laughed. Yes, yes. Cigar shaped...self-emanating alloy. Just as he told me....and

there it is. The oldest artifact on the planet. Come to papa.

The Peruvian could make out an engraving.

„L?' The Peruvian blew. Yes. That is an English 'L'? But in Peru? He

glanced around. Only the ruins of Macchu Picchu leered over his dig.

“Ha!” he congratulated himself. English? Chinese? It makes no difference.

Oldest artifact in the history of archeology and I made the find. That project leader

said it would be worth more money than these beady Peruvian eyes had ever seen.

The idea swelled before he could stop it.

I could slip it into my pocket. Sneak out after nightfall. And I know just the

buyer…

He loosened his pocket as the object parted from its earthly grave. A

shadow passed over. He squinted at the project leader with straw white

hair and a yellow trench coat.

“I-I think we‟ve found it, Mr. Steward Lyons,” The Peruvian man

yielded.

“Have you? Bring it here. Quickly now,” The project leader barked in

near an Irish accent.

The Peruvian obeyed. He tapped the UP symbol on the auto-lift.

Electromagnetic thrusters raised him twenty feet and eye level to the

project leader. But the Peruvian didn‟t make eye contact with him,

couldn‟t make eye contact with him.

The project leader frightened him.

No other way to put it. He was abnormally tall, with the beard of a

wild man and a temper to match. And he used big words like forsooth

and malcontent.

The Peruvian sighed and surrendered the oldest artifact on the planet

into a hand marinated in dirt.

Idiot. Weak, stupid, idiot.

The project leader withdrew a monocle, "There it is. The greatest

archeological find of our times if I‟m not mistaken.”

The Peruvian smiled.

The project leader joined in the smile, raised his chest and spit.

“Ugh!” the Peruvian covered his mouth.

He rubbed the article, raking it with blackened nails.

The Peruvian dug through his back pocket and offered up the entire

bottle of hand sanitizer. The project leader pretended not to notice.

“Very good Ludwig," said the project leader, "very good. Couldn't

have made the clue more difficult to find. You and your puzzles."

“It — it is quite strange — this artifact. It could not be Incan.”

The project leader's face rounded on the object, “And why should it

be? Laid here when Peru was nothing more than an ice sheet.”

A twig cracked in the distance. In one motion, the project leader

shoved the artifact into his pocket, reached behind his neck and

unsheathed a battle axe.

“Woah, What? What!”

The project leader traced a figure eight with the battle axe.

The forest responded in silence.

The axe was mysteriously hidden again.

“Wh — why do you have an axe at the dig? At all?” The Peruvian

cocked his head. “And where do you keep that thing?”

The project leader curled both fists around the artifact.

Snap.

“Are you crazy!”

The artifact broke in two, releasing yellow dust. A mountain breeze

swept most of the dust away, leaving only a trace. The remaining dust

began congealing into letters.

“I, um, I…”, the Peruvian couldn‟t manage words worth speaking.

“It‟s merely stardust. Now be quiet.”

Steward Nicholaus Lyons I, Mauius 12th of the 5th Epoch

I pray the clues were not too severe, and this letter fell into true hands. The trackers are

not dead, as I’m sure you’ve suspected. While they have run you off to another time in

history, a greater crisis has emerged in our own. My informants tell me that the Merrows of

Eynhallow will be attacked within the month. As they are guardians of all Beltara’s wealth,

Huron is vulnerable to unthinkable ruin. Your city needs her steward. Please return to your

time. Who knows? Could it be that time and space fend off the trackers once and for all? Do

not delay.

Your friend,

Ludwig, Master Toymaker

“The Merrows attacked…” the project leader swiped the words into

an unreadable cloud. “I should return. I must return...but the trackers.

You might be right Ludwig. Returning may kill two birds with one

stone. Save Huron and be rid of the trackers.” The project leader

squeezed his palms. “Oh Huron, what is the way, what is the way?

Confound it all! Why is the city quiet?” The project leader locked eyes

with the Peruvian. “Why will the woman not speak to me?”

“Not surprised. I can never get a call back. I leave an instant

message. I leave an email. Even a voicemail. Work, home, nothing.”

The project leader‟s eyes searched the Peruvian‟s. “Aagh,” He waved

him off and twisted to the archaeological team. “Have tarried long

enough. Must find the steward now. Good day to you.”

“Wait,” the Peruvian moved between two team members flirting at

the water station, “You‟re going to do what — who? You are Steward

Lyons. For years you've demanded we call you Steward?”

The project leader looked at the Peruvian with his blazing green eyes,

making him feel six feet short of his five foot ten. “I was! Huron knows

that I was. Steward Nicholaus Lyons the first. But now I need to find

Steward Nicholaus Lyons the second. My grandson.”

The project leader heaved himself into a dilapidated hover truck. The

car door moaned shut. He clipped in a seat belt, nodded an empty

salutation to the Peruvian, and fired up the hover truck. The Peruvian

man stared at his own stunned reflection in the window, then looked

down to his empty hands. The artifact that would make him wildly rich,

currently sat in the passenger seat of a crazy project leader who needed

to find his grandson and save the merrows. The scene was fizzling away

like a bad radio signal.

“The artifact,” He lunged for the door handle and yanked it open.

“You have the artifact.”

The project leader returned the Peruvian‟s indignation, “I cannot be

bothered with such things. The Merrows, sir. The Merrows are in need

of salvation!”

“Merrows?” The Peruvian said.

“Merrows. Mermaids. Merfolk. Whatever you folks call „em. To keep

Huron from ruin, I must save the merrows. If I'm to save the merrows I

must have access to the voice of Huron. I may access the voice only

through my grandson. Henceforth, I must fetch Nicholaus and bring

him home. In conclusion, good day sir!”

The car door wrenched from the Peruvian. The beat-up hover truck

kicked a foot, and then twenty into the air.

“Hey...hey! The grant? What am I to tell the endowment crazy old

man!”

The hover truck stopped its ascent, and the driver window rolled

down. Two silvery objects spat out bouncing to the grass. The Peruvian

toddled after the artifact. The hover truck pointed its grill skyward and

puttered toward the lowly clouds. He watched the hover truck slip into

the clouds, the last to be seen were the incandescent letters: F O R D.

“Told you that guy is a nut,” A voice came from the onlookers.

A llama cried from the outer perimeter. It's mouth hung open as it

galloped past the Peruvian.

Cliiiiink, tiiiiink. Cliiiiiink, tiiiiink, came the sound of grinding chains.

Three images emerged from the forest, escorted by an canine growl.

“Heaven help us,” the Peruvian wobbled to his feet.

What the Peruvian saw next utterly convinced him that it was time to

retire from archaeology and accept his brother Felipe‟s open invitation

to start a line of small dog clothing apparel, specializing in leggings and

scarves. That is, if he could manage to survive the next five minutes.

Three monstrous animals lumbered across the site. Someone must have

taken the head of a hyena, stuck it on the neck of an ostrich and stapled

it to the body of a raptor.

One of the creatures stopped at the Peruvian's dig where he

discovered the artifact. Its long neck dropped to the ground but oily

eyes stayed on the archeological team. Two slits opened from the

bottomside of the neck.

Grung, grung, grung, grung, grung, grung. Guttural sniffs blew from the

slits, kicking dust into the air.

The Peruvian‟s lip curled. The monster's nostrils were not at the end

of its face, but the bottom side of its throat. Suddenly, the lead creature

raised up on its two hind legs, membrane skin whipped from its ears. Its

eyes moved around until they caught the gaze of the Peruvian.

“Reegh!”

The Peruvian scrambled toward the closest hover truck. Claws

forced him down. A dog mouth opened, revealing teeth for gutting set

in a jaw for tearing. The Peruvian heard his own machine gun breath.

The monster‟s neck slithered over until nostrils pressed into his face.

The neck flared, sniffed, growled, and then sniffed unsatisfied.

"Grrrrh..." The creature turned to his closed grip.

The Peruvian rolled his eyes. For the second time today his hand

opened to reveal the artifact.

Slurp. A snaky tongue combed his palm.

Into the belly of the creature went the oldest artifact in the history of

archaeology.

Membrane fan folded back into its head. The monster turned to the

other two who were currently investigating their own career-changing

team members.

“Schreeg-gah!” It commanded.

And just like that, they left.

The Peruvian rolled over. He watched the tip of the monster's tail

disappear into the forest and in the direction of the project leader.

Project leader leaves babbling about his grandson saving some mermaids? Says he

needs to “fetch him” and bring him to his true home? Monsters attack the site?

Attack me? Swallows oldest artifact on the planet and my future in archeology with

it? The only way for me to get it back is to hunt that monster down and gut the

artifact from its stomach. I would have to be a…what did Uncle Guido used to

say…a hero?

The Peruvian knew just what to do.

He tapped the inside of his ear drum. A tinny voice answered.

“Communication One. How may I connect you?”

“Felipe Sanchez, please.”

“Connecting…”

“Bueno?”

“Felipe…”

Uncle Guido always said: Don't be a hero. You'll just get someone killed,

probably yourself.

The Peruvian retired from archeology and became the producer of

the finest line of leggings for poodles and toy terriers.

Want to know more?

Sign up for the newsletter today and be kept up-to-date on publishing dates, win

prizes and much more!

Nicholaus & Co. Newsletter

~

Also meet the author, read more excerpts and check out the synopsis.

NicholausLyons.com