Max Quick: The Bane of the Bondsman (Max Quick Series Book 3) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Untitled

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places

  Dedication

  Dedication

  Map of Camp Griswold

  Map

  Table of Contents

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue: The Good Man

  Opening

  Patchwork Boy

  Reunion

  The Shell Hotel

  A COMMOTION woke Max from his slumber several hours

  The Lost Legion

  With Siren

  Jane Willow

  The Pool, etc.

  And I Saw Someone Who Looked Like You Today

  City

  Iron Valley

  Hospital for the Blind

  A Centurion's Tale

  Seven: A Centurion’s Tale

  Snake Island

  The Resistance

  The Heist

  Robbing

  Raffle's Pass

  Scene

  Doctor Bogenbroom

  Eleven: Doctor Bogenbroom

  The Bondsman Rally

  The Rally

  And Introducing Johnny Siren

  Text

  White Cadillac

  Max Wakes Up

  BattleThrones

  Battlethrones

  The City-State of the World Emperor

  City State (Full)

  Imperial City

  New York

  Stitch Point

  Island

  The Bondsman

  ThroneRoom

  Epilogue

  Epilogue: Through The Arch

  About The Author

  About

  More Info on Max Quick

  More Info on MQ3

  MAX QUICK

  THE BANE OF THE BONDSMAN

  Mark Jeffrey

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 Mark Jeffrey

  ISBN-10: 0985884568

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9858845-6-7

  All Rights Reserved. Published in the United States by Mark Jeffrey

  Follow Mark Jeffrey on Twitter: @markjeffrey

  More information: http://markjeffrey.net

  Listen to the song “Modern Lament” by Planet Furious here: http://soundcloud.com/markjeffrey/modern-lament or purchase it on iTunes for .99 cents!

  First Edition

  Also by Mark Jeffrey:

  Max Quick: The Pocket and the Pendant (Harper Collins, 2011)

  Max Quick: The Two Travelers (2012)

  Armand Ptolemy and the Golden Aleph (2011)

  Age of Aether (2012)

  For Heather Mason

  Who is my inspiration, my love, and the better part of me always by far

  And for Peter Johnson, Morgan Keating and Glenn Butler

  Who are the real Planet Furious

  “And I saw someone who looked like you today …”

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue: The Good Man

  One: Patchwork Boy

  Two: The Shell Hotel

  Three: The Lost Legion

  Four: Jane Willow

  Five: “And I saw someone who looked like you today”

  Six: Iron Valley

  Seven: A Centurion’s Tale

  Eight: Snake Island

  Nine: The Heist

  Ten: Raffle’s Pass

  Eleven: Doctor Bogenbroom

  Twelve: The Bondsman Rally

  Thirteen: And Introducing Johnny Siren

  Fourteen: White Cadillac

  Fifteen: BattleThrones

  Sixteen: The City-State of the World Emperor

  Seventeen: Imperial City

  Eighteen: Stitch Point

  Nineteen: The Bondsman

  Epilogue: Through The Arch

  Prologue: The Good Man

  HE WAS a handsome man.

  You might even call him a dandy.

  His broad, easy grin threw jangling joy at everyone he passed. Adoring eyes hung on him with child-like wonder. Love beamed from every face as his tall, lanky form snapped by.

  And why not? This was his village, after all.

  The world was a smile.

  In his wake, children danced with squeals of delight. Women stole sly glances. They admired the smooth perfection of his dark olive skin, his thick ink-black hair, and his strong, sharp-chiseled features.

  He was a lucky man. He was one of those people who glided through life with a snappy dash. Yet he was not off-putting, and this was an important point: You didn’t hate this man.

  You loved him. You cheered for him. You couldn’t help it.

  Because he genuinely wanted to help you. He wanted everyone else to be just as lucky as he was.

  He really did!

  His village here in the year 1503, was much like him. It was situated on the Italian coast, and was straight out of a picture book. Tangled trees snuggled thatched roofs. Cobblestone paths wound like meandering thoughts. And for miles around, hills of healthy crops swished happily under a blue slate sky.

  There was only one thing wrong. Only one mote of imperfection soiled the serenity. When the man saw it, his nose crinkled with annoyance. A twinge of anger bloomed in his bosom.

  A broken boy lay in the street.

  His street.

  The man frowned. His face actually hurt from the act: he didn’t frown often. But the plight of this boy was an abomination. Such things did not happen here, not in his ancestral home! This man cared for all in his village, and made certain no one fell upon such hard times.

  The man stooped for a better look. The boy was not Italian. That much was obvious immediately. Smiling that radiant smile of his, the man pulled the red-and-purple cloak from his shoulder and covered the shivering boy with it.

  “Hello,” the man said in Italian. “Can you understand me?”

  Weakly, the boy nodded.

  “Ah. You speak Italian. That is good. Are you hungry?” the man asked. “Thirsty?”

  Again, a nod, but this time with a glint of hope.

  “Water!” the man snapped. Several villagers sprang into action. Within seconds, the boy was drinking cold mountain water from silver ladles, gulping it greedily down.

  “Now, then,” the man said smiling warmly. “That’s better. I see color returning to your cheeks already. You will come to my house, and dine with my family. You shall eat your fill! Then, you shall have a hot bath and sleep in a featherbed. And when you are yourself, then we shall have a talk, I think. You and I. To see what is to be done with you, yes?”

  The boy nodded meekly. Utter disbelief at his sudden good fortune was plain in his hazy gaze. The man laughed uproariously. His clean, pure joy was the purest music in the world.

  The boy dredged his voice to life. The man had to lean in close to catch his words.

  “Who … who are you, sire?” the boy asked.

  The man sprang upright and bowed as a servant might. The boy noticed the luster and sheen of the man’s dark complexion. It was impossibly clean and smooth, and radiated almost unheard-of health, especially for Renaissance Italy in 1503.

  With a rich twinkle in his eye, the man answered, “I am Giovanni di Cyranus, young master. And I am very pleased to meet you!”

  And that was how Max Quick first met Johnny Siren.

  One: Patchwork Boy

  ON THE SHORE of a windy wo
rld that had been shattered and shorn stood the lone figure of Max Quick.

  His memory was returning.

  Not all at once. It came in jabs and flashes. This latest bit where he’d recalled Siren’s face (before it had become horribly disfigured) peering down into his own was only the latest example.

  His cryptomnesia had been designed to mute his power. But Max had found a way to unleash that power anyway. His fist clenched involuntarily as he recalled tearing the Machine apart …

  The Niburian memory block had never been designed to contain a mind filled with such power. The cryptomnesia was melting away in chunks, like glaciers calving off into the ocean.

  Faces, names, and places from lifetimes spanning millennia were pouring into Max’s consciousness. Even different personalities, different versions of himself, were intruding on his thoughts. It was overwhelming and impossible even to focus.

  He knew that at some point, he would remember absolutely everything.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  The voice had come from behind him. Back in 1912, he’d wished many times to hear it. But even so, he couldn’t yet bear to face its owner.

  “I can go back,” Casey said. “I mean, if you want to be alone. I can wait.”

  There was a long awkward pause. Max’s mouth simply would not open. It was emotionally wired shut. After another lingering, fumbling second, Max heard her retreat over the crunching sand.

  “I just remembered meeting your father for the first time,” Max heard himself blurt out.

  Her steps stopped.

  “He helped me,” Max continued. “I was starving, and he helped me. It was before … before whatever happened to him.”

  Casey seemed to gulp. “Do you remember …”

  “No,” Max said, turning around now. “No. Not that part. Not yet, anyway. He was young and healthy when we met. But I will.” Max’s eyes fell to the weapons Casey wore on her hips now. “Where’d you get those?”

  “Arturo Gyp,” Casey replied. “It’s where Sasha and I went.”

  Max cocked an eyebrow. “I thought … I thought you didn’t actually go anywhere. That the Arch malfunctioned or something. You were unconscious in the Pyramid of the Arches.”

  Casey nodded slightly. “We were. And we went to Arturo Gyp. Both are true.” Max looked more confused. “It’s complicated.”

  Max nodded. “You’ll have to explain it to me later. Can I see one of those?”

  Casey smiled. This was a good sign: Max seemed to be pulling himself back together. She extricated one of the Red Roses from its holster. The golden weapon sparkled in the dappled sunlight. Max reached out to take it, but Casey gently pulled it back. “It’ll zap you,” she explained. “I’m the only one that can touch it.”

  “Really. Why’s that?” Max asked.

  “Logan White-Cloud – he’s our Indian friend from the Gyp – he gave them to me. Sasha too. He said someone made them for us, like, specifically. But he wouldn’t say who.”

  Max blinked. “Well. That’s interesting. I wonder if –”

  But at that moment, he doubled over in pain, wincing.

  “What is it?” Casey asked, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

  Max held up a hand. “It’s been happening ever since we left the Pyramid of the Arches. My brain again. It’s … sort of adjusting. This’ll pass in a second.” After a few more moments, Max relaxed and stood up straight “Every time I had my memory erased by Mr. E, I started a brand new life. And so now, I have hundreds of these lifetimes rattling around in my head. They used to be all compartmentalized. Like a patchwork quilt. And now they’re colliding, mixing together. My brain is being stretched apart.”

  Casey cocked an eyebrow. “So you’re telling me you pulled your brain?”

  Max managed to snort up a laugh. Their eyes met for the first time.

  “I met somebody,” Casey said before actually realizing what she was saying. A flicker of sadness at Cody Chance’s death fluttered in her eyes.

  Max nodded slowly, holding her gaze. “So did I.” Max hadn’t directly witnessed Michelle LeVeux’s vicious battle with Carlos Gustav and Sambhava, but Ian had told him about it. “Didn’t work out, though.”

  Out of nowhere, a buried memory slam-cut across Max’s vision, jarred his mind. Max shook his head. This sort of thing was happening all too often now. He knew there was no point in fighting it. He simply had to let it wash over him.

  Casey caught the shift in his gaze. “Another one, huh?”

  Max nodded. “Yeah.” He blinked at the sunlight. “But it’s more than that. This power in my mind. It’s changing me. I can see more of the world now. Like how Enki is always saying. Everything is sort of … deeper. Like how it was for all of us at the Isle of the Dreamtime. But for me now, it’s all the time. And … not everything is nice and pretty like it was there.”

  In fact, the whole world around him was denser with hatred and fear than it had been before. He could sense it. The Archons had remade the world to their liking. Because now Time could be altered. Because now history could be changed.

  Because he had fallen into their trap, destroyed the Machine.

  What had he done?

  More to the point, now, what had they done?

  Casey produced a pair of sunglasses from her red Starland High hoodie and handed them to Max. “Logan was always talking about seeing with his ‘strong eye’. I think that’s how you’re seeing now. I don’t know if regular sunglasses will help make it easier or not but …”

  Max took them, put them on. To his surprise, he found that they blunted the assault on his senses. He could deal better.

  “Thanks,” he said to Casey. “I’m not sure why, but they’re helping.”

  Casey head-nodded up the beach a bit. “You feel like re-entering society yet? Ian’s cooking … I’m not sure what it is. He says it’s a lobster, but … I’m not betting on it.”

  “And here I thought nobody English could cook,” Max replied with a wry smile.

  But his heart still hovered over his failure with the Machine.

  What had he done?

  THE WIND AND FOG snapped across the wet sand. It all but hid the sun. The vast expanse of beach seemed like an endless plain.

  But Max and Casey stumbled back anyway. Before long, the orange lick and crackle of a beach bonfire was visible through the swirling white curtains of mist.

  The company had slept on the beach. They had arrived from their various adventures in 1912 and Arturo Gyp only the previous evening. And as such, they were still exhausted deep in their souls — even more so than their bodies. Enki had provided blankets for them all, so at least they had been warm and snug and slept well the previous night. And Enki had stayed awake the entire time, keeping watch, insisting that he did not require sleep like they did. “Time on Nibiru is different,” he had said. “Therefore my sleep requirements are different.” But he did not seem inclined to explain further — even when Ian questioned about how that might be so. In fact Ian noticed that Enki grew rather angry rather quickly whenever that topic was brought up, so he deigned to stay away from it from now on.

  When Casey and Max approached, Ian looked up. A large pot of bubbling water sat before him, suspended by two iron tripods.

  “Well, hello Rock Star,” Ian said, noticing Max’s glasses. He stirred the contents of the pot before him. “Care for some lobster bisque?”

  “That thing isn’t a lobster,” Sasha said, crinkling her pug nose. “It’s crustacean. But the body’s all wrong.”

  “Really? It’s got little snappy hands, though,” Ian protested. “I still think it’s a lobster.”

  “As long as we can eat it, I don’t care what its phylum, species or genus may be,” said a booming voice.

  Mr. E. Enki.

  He was here with them, in the flesh.

  Max still wasn’t used to that idea.

  Even through his sunglasses, Max’s new eyes could see immense power coursing through Enki,
bunched in every fiber of his being. It was amazing how he cloaked it, kept it hidden. Max recalled his first impression of him: Angel eyes that could incinerate with a glance. That had not been far off.

  Enki’s suit was covered with sand. But somehow, he still seemed regal, unruffled.

  “Where’d you get that pot?” Max asked Ian.

  Ian looked up in surprise. “It speaks! What do you know?” Sasha threw an elbow in Ian’s ribs. “Ow! Ok. I admit, that was a little mean. Sorry, Max. To answer your question, I got this from our favorite Mr. Know-It-All in the three piece over there. Where else?”

  Enki nodded and produced a small Book from his breast pocket. “I have a supply closet of such things in here …”

  “But no tent,” Sasha moped.

  “But blankets!” Enki replied in his own defense. “I did have blankets, and I’m sure everyone was glad for that last night!”

  Max looked away, a bit embarrassed. He’d spent the night alone, wandering the beach. He hadn’t been able to sleep yet.

  “Next time, a tent might be a good idea, oh thousands-of-years-old superbeing,” Sasha replied. “What if it had rained?”

  “But it didn’t,” Enki replied smugly.

  “Where are we?” Max asked suddenly.

  Everyone grew silent. Casey and Sasha flicked nervous glances at each other. Max sounded a bit twitchy just now. Was he slipping back?

  Enki spoke first. “We have seen no planes or boats. That tells us something about where – or when – we are not. But not much about where we are.”

  Max folded his arms and looked at Enki. “Where were you?”

  “I’ve been here the whole time,” Enki replied, confused.

  “No. I mean the last six thousand years. Where were you?”

  “Ah,” Enki said, understanding now. “Nibiru.”

  “Really. And why didn’t you come back to Earth when the Pocket happened?”