PLUS
All Things Sten
*****
What if the Cold War never ended -- but continued for a thousand years? Best-selling authors Allan Cole (an American) and Nick Perumov (a Russian) spin a mesmerizing "what if?" tale set a thousand years in the future, as an American and a Russian super-soldier -- together with a beautiful American detective working for the United Worlds Police -- must combine forces to defeat a secret cabal ... and prevent a galactic disaster! This is the first - and only - collaboration between American and Russian novelists. Narrated by John Hough. Click the title links below for the trade paperback and kindle editions. (Also available at iTunes.)
*****
CHAPTER NINE
DIANA JAMESON FINISHED itemizing exactly what was wrong with New Kent, her master, life, and being fifteen at about the same time the Black Lamb's last window was spotless. Another silly task—it would rain in a few moments, and then tomorrow Rhoda would have her out cleaning them all over again.
She can have me cleaning them twice a day until Midsummer's Eve and I still will not call the bitch Mrs. Hatch. Rhoda was eighteen, Nate Hatch's recently married fourth wife, and determined she would get respect due her from any bondswoman.
Rain spattered down. Diana saw the militia break formation and scurry into the meeting house. Three men mounted horses and galloped for the Black Lamb. One of them would be Saul Hatch.
Saul—Nate's youngest son and a widower—had begun looking for a second wife. Another baby producer and cook was what it would be. Saul, ten years older than Diana, had cordially ignored the bonded child. But now Diana was beddable and Saul was available. With spring his courting had begun. So far it had consisted of little more than Saul loudly bragging on how prosperous the gristmill was, how important he would be, and the fine things he'd fetch his new wife from England once the damnable war was over. For New Kent the wedding was as good as announced. Diana thought otherwise. However, she wasn't sure how to implement her plan. But implemented it would be, she thought. If not tomorrow, then very soon after.
The horsemen reined up in front of the inn: Saul, "Captain" Beebe—selectman and commander of the militia—and Mister Marsh. Once a minister, Marsh had found being justice of the peace more to his liking. He didn't despise the increased profits either. In his most landed-gentry manner, Saul tossed his horse's reins to Diana. "Stable these out of the wet, would you, love."
Love. Diana burned. "Yes, milord Hatch, sir." Diana curtsied deeply and blinked her blue eyes at him.
Saul's smile—which Diana thought resembled a hog awaiting his slops—fed her sarcasm. He went into the Black Lamb. Captain Beebe laughed, nudged Marsh, and they trooped into the inn. Diana collected reins and started for the stable. Nate—Mister Hatch—would no doubt have something to say about her behavior. But not for very much longer.
She returned to see a solitary traveler coming toward her. He approached the porch, swept his battered hat off, bowed and smiled broadly. "I have a complaint about your town, milady. Your skies appear to leak."
Diana found a smile on her face. There'd been few of those of late. "Come out of the rain and don't waste the miladies," she said. "My master and his wife set the rates."
Emmett stepped onto the porch and shook off the wet. He eyed the girl standing next to him. Red hair. Very red. A small thing, she was. Under five feet. Freckles. Pretty, Emmett thought. In a few years, there'll be many sparking around her even if she is the scullery maid.
Diana eyed him skeptically. Maybe a soldier, maybe just a wandering freeman. Not as poor as most that come by, she thought, looking at the travel-battered but still expensive-looking cloak, and at Emmett's rifle.
"The Black Lamb's a fine name for an inn," Emmett offered.
Diana, for some unknown reason, decided to warn him. Most likely he'd go inside, report what she'd said to Nate, and she'd be for a harsh scolding and .added work. "You might be thinking about what happens to lambs when they grow," she said.
"They make a fine stew."
"They also are sheared."
"Ah."
"I won't say there's better taverns in New Kent," Diana said. "But at least either of the other two will pour a more honest measure. And have feathers in the mattresses no more than a year or two old."
"No, milady," Emmett disagreed. "From the first moment I saw that fine sign, this sturdy building, and your smile, I knew this place was for me."
"Nobody cautions a fool but once," she said.
"Ah," Emmett said. "But am I fool or flash?" Smiling, he walked into the Black Lamb.
* * * *
Emmett closed the door behind him and let his eyes adjust. There were four men. Behind the bar, the host; blubber-butted, with a tallowy, drooping complexion fringed by a gray brush around his chops. The other three wore uniforms: glossy black shoes with shiny brass buckles, pure white leggings, breeches and smallcoat; blue coats with bright red facings, gold shoulder knots and buttons. Their tricorner hats, set atop the bar, were red-edged and fitted with enormous drooping feathers. The silver-mounted smallswords were carried on shoulder belts with silver buckles. As grand, Emmett thought, as the last time he'd seen General George himself at a review.
But those smallswords, Emmett thought—best divest yourselves of them, lads, because if you ever run across the lobsterbacks, the blades will get in your way and trip you when you flee. Which, being militia, you will. Not that this far from the war you'll ever have to worry about the British.
The three men were near the window, looking at something the oldest man was holding to the light. Of the three, Emmett decided one must be related to the innkeeper; the other was red-faced and wore enough braid to be an officer; and the third reminded him of a justice who'd once warned him out of a village.
Emmett was puzzling how he could maintain his yet-to-be-mounted role without having to spend any money when he caught a bit of conversation. "A coiner's work, certain," the older man said. "The ink is smeared. And the fool who made the plates didn't have enough sense to spell Philadelphia as it is."
Emmett laughed. Loudly enough for the four to turn. Now the entrance, he thought. Holding his rifle so the light reflected the brass working on his lock, he tossed back his cloak and strode forward. "Good afternoon, gentle sirs."
The tapster: "Not all that good, I'm afraid."
"Ah, but it is," Emmett corrected. "Once you're inside with a fire and a tankard of flip in the prospect. Soldiers such as ourselves need little more."
Emmett waited for a response. It came from the reddest-faced man, who puzzled, then noted the pistol in Emmett's belt and stepped forward, holding out his hand. "Captain Beebe, Lieutenant."
Lieutenant? Hell, Emmett thought he was distinguished enough for a captaincy. But better a green cockade than none at all. "Shannon," Emmett said. "With Captain McLane's company."
"Your glory," the younger version of the innkeeper said, looking at Emmett critically, "shines more brightly than your uniform."
"When you're scouting in front of the whole army," Emmett said, "sometimes it don't pay to look all that much like a soldier." He was pleased his tongue had not lost its glibness.
"Plus m'damned horse shied on me ten miles back," he went on, "and I rolled off, and the poor beast went on over a cliff face. Horse trader who sold me the animal claimed she was direct line from Old Snip. But he was from Jersey and probably lyin'. Anyway, lost my saddlebags and everything except what I had tucked in this knapsack I took off a lobsterback after Trenton."
"So you're looking for a remount?"
"Eventually. After I give you people a hand. And after we toast General Washington, the Continental Congress, and damnation to King George."
A mutter of approval and they all turned to the bar. Hatch shifted, edgy.
Emmett let the silence grow for a moment—just enough to get uncomfortable. Behind him he heard Diana walk into the taproom. Then: "I may be afoot and dressed like a tramp," he said heartily. "But I can still hold my place."
He dug into the bottom of the teamster's pouch, took out the oilskin packet and drew out a handful of those beautiful forgeries. "Keeper, a quart of your best whisk—" From the corner of his eye, Emmett saw Diana shake her head in warning. Emmett caught himself. ". . . rum. Rum's the drink for a day such as this."
Toasts and introductions followed. Emmett was pleased he'd called all four of the men with fair accuracy. He leaned back in his chair. It was enough so he could see the girl, who was busying herself with the inside of the windows and staying within earshot. She definitely will break some hearts when she comes of age, he thought.
"You said something a few moments ago about coming to the assistance of New Kent, Lieutenant Shannon?" asked Mister Marsh in a slightly inquisitorial tone.
"Can't see what we need," Beebe added. "Town's on its course. Any problems we could have, the militia'll clean 'em up faster'n we burn out a squatter." He laughed.
"It's not just New Kent, Captain," Shannon said. "It's this whole county. There's trouble coming." Appropriate menace: "The British are coming."
The reaction was all Emmett could have hoped for. Saul looked out the window, Marsh and Beebe half rose, and Nate Hatch glanced down and to the side. Were I a thief, Emmett thought, I would now know where his cash box is.
"But we're a long way from Philadelphia," Marsh said.
"That you are. Also a long way from New York. But then, Kingston was quite a distance from General Clinton's bailiwick." Silence. Kingston, third biggest city in New York, had been burnt to ashes the previous fall. It lay on the Hudson River only a few days from New Kent.
Panic: "When? How many?"
"Calm yourselves, gentlemen. Our spies say they're still readying their forces. Gen'ral Washington himself told Captain McLane to send out his best scouts. Warn the people. Captain McLane gave us additional orders that if we saw fit, we could stay on for a few weeks if we found a town that might need the talents of a scout."
"Well, we certainly could use someone like you."
Believed you might, Emmett thought. Fancy folk don't like to be running around in the bushes where nobody's going to admire you. Those fancy whites get dirty out in the forest. This was why Emmett had frequently been able to pay his keep acting as a ranger for villages like New Kent.
Across the room Diana had her head turned. The British? How could these people believe this cheapjack's patter? He was no better than a tinker. She thought,—and then thought again. Why should she care?
She grinned as she realized: of course, these fools like the Hatches, Marshes, and Beebes would believe him. Weren't they in their own way at least as crooked, with their liberty poles, but sending no one to fight; their fervent toasts to the Congress, but selling supplies to the British; or their whinings of poverty when anyone attempted to collect a tax? Good, she thought. I hope you find a way to get them. Down to their last shilling.
She looked again at Emmett. You can tell, she thought, that wherever he's from they know how to keep the Hatches and those like them in their place. Not like New Kent. Then: I wonder if his wife takes proper care of him.
* * * *
"If you're willing to stay a day or so," Captain Beebe was saying, "perhaps you'll do us the honor of reviewing the men."
"The honor'd be mine," Emmett said. "As I was coming into town I saw some glimpses of them in the square before the rain started. Fine-looking group you have, sir."
"Thank you. Tomorrow's Market Day. We planned a review. It'll be quite impressive for the farmers. Although I don't know if it'll be the same for you. Having been part of General Washington's army and all."
Yes. The raggedy-ass, barefoot, freezing, starving Continental Army. "Not at all, Major. I once heard General Washington himself say that he judges his soldiers by how they march, not how many of them there are."
"Damned fine words," Saul said, lifting his glass. "That's the spirit that won Trenton."
And lost Quebec, Long Island, and Paoli, Emmett thought. Market Day, hmm? Emmett saw the way clear. The militia would march up and down, the farmers would get drunk and cheer. Any contributions would be humbly accepted by Lieutenant Shannon. It wouldn't be much, Emmett thought. He knew tightfists like New Kent well. But any hard cash would be welcome. He'd also exchange as much of the counterfeit Continentals as he could before moving on. And, maybe when he did, he actually would have a horse.
The door swung open. Emmett, feeling pleased with the hand dealt, turned, about to offer the newcomer, whoever he was, a drink. His mouth closed. The woman hobbling toward the bar wore rags. A filthy shawl covered her head. She passed by a window—and Emmett's stomach turned. Her left cheek was burnt deep with a scar—made by a white-hot poker. The scar roughly scribed the letter R. The woman did not speak, but went behind the bar, lifted the trap, and went down into the cellar.
Emmett breathed deeply and drank rum. He was doing his best to control himself. "You still brand your runaways?" his voice most neutral.
"Haven't had to since Runner Mary," Beebe said, motioning toward the cellar. "The other servants learned from what happened."
"It was intolerable," Marsh added. "She would run, and we would find her and bring her back. Nothing seemed to convince her. Whippings. Adding to her time of service. As soon as her mistress turned her back, she would run once more. This was our last hope. Fortunately, it worked satisfactorily. Now she's free. Makes soap, such as it is. I believe she lives somewhere outside the town. Among the squatters."
"Almost a pity," Beebe said. "She was quite a respectable-looking woman before that."
"She was," Saul agreed. "I remember looking at her when I was . . . oh, Diana's age. She would've been five years up on me. And thinking thoughts that, pardon me, Justice Marsh, I wouldn't mention if you were still in the pulpit."
"You still should not," Marsh said. "When I renounced the cloth, I did not give up my convictions."
Emmett turned and looked as the woman came back up from the cellar carrying a basket of ashes. He would have thought her to be in her fifties. Nate Hatch's age. Instead . . . maybe thirty? Sweet Holy Jesus, Emmett thought, turning away. I would trade ten years more in Purgatory if the damned British were on their way with flame and bayonet.
Diana saw Emmett's face and the look of black rage. His eyes met hers for just one breath, and from the flicker, she realized the same emotions must be at play on her own face.
She found herself measuring the man a bit differently than before.
NEXT: A FATEFUL MEETING
*****
S.O.S. ALLAN'S NEW NOVEL
Between February and May of 1942, German U-boats operated with impunity off the Florida coast, sinking scores of freighters from Cape Canaveral to Key West and killing nearly five thousand people. Residents were horrified witnesses of the attacks—the night skies were aflame and in the morning the beaches were covered with oil and tar, ship parts and charred corpses. The Germans even landed teams of saboteurs charged with disrupting war efforts in the factories of the North. This novel is based on those events. For my own purposes, I set the tale in the fictitious town of Juno Beach on the banks of the equally fictitious Seminole River—all in the very real Palm Beach County, a veritable wilderness in those long ago days. Among the witnesses were my grandfather and grandmother, who operated an orchard and ranch in the area.
*****
A DAUGHTER OF LIBERTY
The year is 1778 and the Revolutionary War has young America trapped in the crossfire of hatred and fear. Diana, an indentured servant, escapes her abusive master with the help of Emmett Shannon, a deserter from the desperate army at Valley Forge. They fall in love and marry, but their happiness is shattered and Diana Shannon must learn to survive on her own. From that moment on she will become a true woman of her times, blazing a path from lawless lands in the grips of the Revolution, to plague-stricken Philadelphia, to the burning of Washington in the War Of 1812.
*****
TWO NEW AUDIOBOOKS ONLY $4.95!
Tales Sometimes Tall, but always true, of Allan Cole's years in Hollywood with his late partner, Chris Bunch. How a naked lady almost became our first agent. How we survived La-La Land with only the loss of half our brain cells. How Bunch & Cole became the ultimate Fix-It
Boys. How an alleged Mafia Don was very, very good to us. The guy who cornered the market on movie rocks. Andy Warhol's Fire Extinguisher. The Real Stars Of Hollywood. Why they don't make million dollar movies. See The Seven Pi$$ing Dwarfs. Learn: how to kill a "difficult" actor… And much, much more.
THE TIMURA TRILOGY: When The Gods Slept, Wolves Of The Gods and The Gods Awaken. This best selling fantasy series now available as trade paperbacks, e-books (in all varieties) and as audiobooks. Visit The Timura Trilogy page for links to all the editions.
NEWLY REVISED KINDLE EDITIONS OF THE TIMURA TRILOGY NOW AVAILABLE. (1) When The Gods Slept;(2) Wolves Of The Gods; (3) The Gods Awaken.
*****
A NATION AT WAR WITH ITSELF: In Book Three Of The Shannon Trilogy, young Patrick Shannon is the heir-apparent to the Shannon fortune, but murder and betrayal at a family gathering send him fleeing into the American frontier, with only the last words of a wise old woman to arm him against what would come. And when the outbreak of the Civil War comes he finds himself fighting on the opposite side of those he loves the most. In The Wars Of The Shannons we see the conflict, both on the battlefield and the homefront, through the eyes of Patrick and the members of his extended Irish-American family as they struggle to survive the conflict that ripped the new nation apart, and yet, offered a dim beacon of hope.
*****
NEW: THE AUDIOBOOK VERSION OF
THE HATE PARALLAX
What if the Cold War never ended -- but continued for a thousand years? Best-selling authors Allan Cole (an American) and Nick Perumov (a Russian) spin a mesmerizing "what if?" tale set a thousand years in the future, as an American and a Russian super-soldier -- together with a beautiful American detective working for the United Worlds Police -- must combine forces to defeat a secret cabal ... and prevent a galactic disaster! This is the first - and only - collaboration between American and Russian novelists. Narrated by John Hough. Click the title links below for the trade paperback and kindle editions. (Also available at iTunes.)
*****
THE SPYMASTER'S DAUGHTER:
A novel by Allan and his daughter, Susan
After laboring as a Doctors Without Borders physician in the teaming refugee camps and minefields of South Asia, Dr. Ann Donovan thought she'd seen Hell as close up as you can get. And as a fifth generation CIA brat, she thought she knew all there was to know about corruption and betrayal. But then her father - a legendary spymaster - shows up, with a ten-year-old boy in tow. A brother she never knew existed. Then in a few violent hours, her whole world is shattered, her father killed and she and her kid brother are one the run with hell hounds on their heels. They finally corner her in a clinic in Hawaii and then all the lies and treachery are revealed on one terrible, bloody storm- ravaged night.
BASED ON THE CLASSIC STEN SERIES by Allan Cole & Chris Bunch: Fresh from their mission to pacify the Wolf Worlds, Sten and his Mantis Team encounter a mysterious ship that has been lost among the stars for thousands of years. At first, everyone aboard appears to be long dead. Then a strange Being beckons, pleading for help. More disturbing: the presence of AM2, a strategically vital fuel tightly controlled by their boss - The Eternal Emperor. They are ordered to retrieve the remaining AM2 "at all costs." But once Sten and his heavy worlder sidekick, Alex Kilgour, board the ship they must dare an out of control defense system that attacks without warning as they move through dark warrens filled with unimaginable horrors. When they reach their goal they find that in the midst of all that death are the "seeds" of a lost civilization.
*****
TALES OF THE BLUE MEANIE
NOW AN AUDIOBOOK!
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Venice Boardwalk Circa 1969
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In the depths of the Sixties and The Days Of Rage, a young newsman, accompanied by his pregnant wife and orphaned teenage brother, creates a Paradise of sorts in a sprawling Venice Beach community of apartments, populated by students, artists, budding scientists and engineers lifeguards, poets, bikers with a few junkies thrown in for good measure. The inhabitants come to call the place “Pepperland,” after the Beatles movie, “Yellow Submarine.” Threatening this paradise is "The Blue Meanie," a crazy giant of a man so frightening that he eventually even scares himself.
