Curse of the Coins Read online

  CURSE OF THE COINS

  An adventure novel

  by

  K.T. TOMB

  Acclaim for K.T. Tomb:

  “Epic and awesome!”

  —J.T. Cross, bestselling author of Beneath the Deep

  “Now this is what I call adventure. The Lost Garden will leave you breathless!”

  —Summer Lee, bestselling author of Angel Heart

  “The best adventure novel I’ve read in a long time. I can’t wait to read the sequel. Count me a fan. A big fan.”

  —P.J. Day, bestselling author of The Sunset Prophecy

  “K.T. Tomb is a wonderful new voice in adventure fiction. I was enthralled by The Lost Garden...and you will be, too.”

  —Aiden James, bestselling author of Plague of Coins

  OTHER BOOKS BY K.T. TOMB

  STANDALONE ADVENTURES

  The Last Crusade

  The Kraken

  The Adventurers

  The Swashbucklers

  The Tempest

  Sasquatch

  Ghosts of the Titanic

  The Honeymooners

  Curse of the Coins

  Drums Along the Hudson

  THE CHYNA STONE ADVENTURES

  The Minoan Mask

  The Mummy Codex

  The Phoenician Falcon

  The Babylonian Basilisk

  The Aquitaine Armor

  THE EVAN KNIGHT ADVENTURES

  The Lost Garden

  Keepers of the Lost Garden

  Destroyers of the Lost Garden

  THE PHOENIX QUEST ADVENTURES

  The Hammer of Thor

  The Spear of Destiny

  The Lair of Beowulf

  THE CASH CASSIDY ADVENTURES

  The Holy Grail

  The Lost Continent

  The Lost City of Gold

  THE ALPHA ADVENTURES

  “A” is for Amethyst

  “B” is for Bullion

  “C” is for Crystal

  Curse of the Coins

  Published by K.T. Tomb

  Copyright © 2014 by K.T. Tomb

  All rights reserved.

  Ebook Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedication

  The author wishes to dedicate this book to the late

  Jerry Hicks.

  Curse of the Coins

  Prologue

  “As they sat there in the synagogue that afternoon before Jesus began to speak, there was just one great mystery, just one supreme question, in the minds of all. Both his friends and his foes pondered just one thought, and that was: ‘Why did he himself so deliberately and effectively turn back the tide of popular enthusiasm?’ And it was immediately before and immediately after this sermon that the doubts and disappointments of his disgruntled adherents grew into unconscious opposition and eventually turned into actual hatred. It was after this sermon in the synagogue that Judas Iscariot entertained his first conscious thought of deserting. But he did, for the time being, effectively master all such inclinations.” –The Urantia Book 153:1.5

  Professor Jonathan Grindlay pushed aside a half-charred two by four that the cleaning crew had left behind. He glanced around at the rubble, most of it having been cleared out already, but a few bones of the structure, a shadow of what had once been, still remained. It was a shame, really. It had been a beautiful church, over three hundred years old, and a landmark in the neighborhood. Other churches, larger and more ornate than this one, had been erected over the years, some of them bearing over the squat building, but none had the history and the worth that this one had had. He was saddened by thoughts of the fire that had ravaged through, but smiled a bit, subconsciously, at the prospect of the treasures that had been hidden and forgotten within the walls.

  Everything within the walls above ground had been lost in the flame, save a few artifacts that refused to melt down without temperatures much higher than what had been produced here. They required fires that had to be coerced and force fed, and a simple structure fire just wasn’t going to cut it. He was hoping that the same could be said for the contents below the surface. The kids – in his mind, they would always be kids, no matter their age – followed closely behind. Most had done excavations with him before. This was Boston and old structure fires were relatively common.

  However, this excavation was a first for Julie who, unlike the others who had graduated the year before, had been unable to attend previously. But this year, alongside her fiancé, Piers, she was just as ready and willing as the rest of them, if not more.

  For them, this was an adventure. Lost treasures and untold stories. Pirates, kings and queens, legends and relics, this was why they were all here. All save Grindlay, who was out for much more than just the adventure. After so many years, he’d lost count of just how many; the adventure was no longer there. Now it was just disappointment after disappointment, and his only crew was always students or, rather, fresh out of grad school, who didn’t have a clue of what they were doing or what they were looking for. Still, they could work in his favor, too, given the right circumstances.

  Grindlay shoved a long, stray gray hair behind his ear. He’d pulled most of it back and secured it with a rubber band, but most times it was an unruly bunch and he often felt the annoying tickle of strands escaping and obscuring his view. The students watched him anxiously, awaiting his direction as he scoured the burn site; stepping lightly here, moving quickly there, avoiding this plank altogether while balancing precariously on that one. The entire group was a bit weary as they stepped onto the blackened ground, the crucifix shape of the church forever burned into the soil along the perimeter of the colonial building. Julie felt chilled suddenly, as if ghosts still lingered, their fingers brushing across her skin.

  Piers pulled her close, giving a quick kiss to her cheek, as his eyes roamed the tiny area, imagining the box pews lining either side of the nave, noticing the area where the pulpit should have been was slightly brighter than the remainder of the site. He imagined the choir sitting just behind, waiting to burst into their hymns. He could almost hear the organ playing, could almost see the women with their dull-colored petticoats and the men with their white, powdered wigs. The church had been remodeled several times over the years, but the integrity of the church, the character that it had, had always remained. It was devastating to see such heritage lying in a pile of rubble and ash beneath their feet, but here it was nonetheless.

  It was an ominous site, but still it provided them with opportunity. Grindlay grunted as he attempted to pry a rotted board from the floor. He had found blueprints from previous construction work at the site during one of the remodels and there was an indication that here, somewhere amongst these old boards, there was a hidden cellar. During the last update, the floors had been replaced, and at the request of the church, the cellar door had been completely covered with the flooring, just as it had been to begin with.

  Grindlay’s hair had come completely loose, his face a mask of twisted, sweaty skin. It was still too early for the sun to bear down heavily on them, but everyone in the group, save for Julie, had seen him on these excavations before. The excitement of discovering the unknown always made his heart pump harder and the sweat run freely, even with minimal effort. Gerald and Piers, having released Julie from his hold, went to the professor’s aid, helping him to yank the floor board up, as well as a few surrounding ones. The boards snapped against the strain, nearly tossing the men off their feet, and revealed an ornate door beneath. This was what they had come for.

  The intricate iron weaved and waved over a thick, deep-red mahogany door that fit so snugly into its
frame, that it was hard to not believe it was one solid structure. The wrought iron overlay creaked and groaned, the thick wood beneath holding tightly to its jamb. The three tried lifting it from its molding, but it refused to give way. Robert walked over coolly, his toned arms flexing beneath his tight shirt, a lazy smile across his face. If anyone was going to get the door to budge, Robert was confident that it was going to be him. The group had never truly understood what Robert was doing with them or what his interest in history had been. They had all been more than convinced, at the beginning, that he was nothing more than a jock and that football and beer were the two main ingredients in his Friday night cocktails. Still, he was here willingly and had gone on so many of the excavations that no one doubted his interest any longer. Even so, he was still the brute of the group.

  Valery watched from a distance, eyes half hidden behind wire frames and glass. Her lanky brown hair pulled onto the top of her head in a neat little bun, but from the way her fingers fidgeted and twisted together, it was easy to see that playboy had her attention. The two were complete opposites in every way possible, so her friends found it difficult to understand her interest, but she’d had eyes only for Robert since she’d met him the year before. The problem was, he had no idea and never would.

  The door screeched and scraped as metal ground against metal, but slowly, it was lifted outwards. With one last great heave, the group, muscles strained and rippling, shoved the door back. The floor rattled under them unsteadily, waiting for just the right moment to give out from under their weary feet, but it held, for now. Through the opening a wooden staircase was revealed, only half exposed by the pale orange streams of the rising sun. Grindlay pulled his ragged book bag from his shoulder and laid it on the ground in front of him. His students had always thought he looked awkward with it, but it had its uses. His eyes were wild as he handed each of them a flashlight.

  “Careful, now.”

  He spoke through a crooked smile with yellow teeth, stained from his years of nervous chain-smoking.

  “There’s no telling the stability of these stairs.”

  He gave the same speech before every excavation and repeated his words often throughout. They were used to it by now so they each nodded in hopes to speed him along. But Grindlay was not satisfied unless he proved his point. So he stretched out a steel-toed boot and kicked at the top step. It didn’t give under the force, but it didn’t sound as if it would hold up to much abuse. Even so, Grindlay was pleased and was still smiling as he addressed the grad students.

  “Gloves at all times,” he instructed, again repeating the directions he’d given them before they’d arrived, “and everything gets bagged and tagged. No exceptions!”

  His eyes darted to Robert, almost mechanically. The man was still suspicious that the last excavation had been botched by Robert intentionally. Without proof, however, he couldn’t keep the hotheaded jock from joining them that day.

  “Judas' mind was in a disagreeable ferment because of the Master's rebuke the preceding day in connection with Mary's anointing at the feast in Simon's house. It was because of this rebuke, which he took as a personal reproof, that Judas Iscariot finally made up his mind to seek revenge for his hurt feelings. Many times had he entertained such ideas subconsciously, but now he dared to think such wicked thoughts in his open and conscious mind. The one absorbing thought of Judas was: What shall I do? Shall I go on with Jesus and my associates, or shall I withdraw? And if I am going to quit, how shall I break off? It was while listening to the Master's final indictment of the Jewish leaders and rulers that Judas finally and fully made up his mind to forsake the gospel movement and wash his hands of the whole enterprise.” –The Urantia Book 172:5.12

  The outside air had been cool, as was expected based on the weather reports; but as they descended the rickety stairs, the temperature began to drop rapidly and the damp settled against their skin like cloaks of death. The air became thick in their mouths as the group gulped and swallowed it down. The wooden planks, which had likely been forgotten for at least a hundred years or more, sagged under their weight as the team followed Grindlay into the basement. Soft, yellow light danced around the room as flashlights bobbed in unsteady hands. Some shivered from the cold, others shivered from the uncertainty of exploring the area; but the same uncertainties – of their find, of the stability of the site – were all part of the grandeur and excitement of the exploration. Grindlay may have been used to these conditions, but a handful of these explorations under their belts had made none of the grad students experts.

  Feet fell on firm dirt. Wooden planks lined the walls from ceiling to floor on each side of the room. As they edged around the room, trying to feel out the space, hands ran across the wood which had been overrun by moss and mildew that turned to slime under the touch. The cellar followed the length of the building, though it did not have the transepts coming off each side. Along the walls were several walnut chests that, at one time, had likely been beautiful. Their once supple surfaces, the luxurious details dramatically carved and sculpted, were devastating to see in such poor form. The doors hung slack on their frames, many of the structures leaned awkwardly, and it was a wonder that they did not topple to the side. Much of the detail of the doors and corners had been worn away by time and much of the surfaces were deteriorated by water damage or, just as likely, rodents. Decaying tapestries portraying scenes of the apostles, and scenes of the resurrection hung limply along much of the walls, their images barely recognizable beneath the buildup of soil and dust.

  Gloves snapped onto anxious hands before anyone was permitted to run fingers across the finds. They weren’t looking for anything in particular; still, these excavations always held possibility and that was more than enough to excite Grindlay and the young students. Sheila’s fingers grazed over the surface of the doors to the closest cabinet before she gently pulled them outwards. Inside, leather-bound books shriveled against one another, their pages yellowed with time. She pulled a book from the shelf carefully, allowing the pages to splay open in her hands. The words had long lost their readability and had become nothing but dirty, faded scrawls across the wilting pages. Valery moved beside her.

  “How sad. I’m sure they once held priceless knowledge.” Her words were soft and filled with longing.

  “I’d have loved to study them.”

  She began slipping the books into preservation bags, with the loving care of a mother with her child. Sheila followed, mimicking the caution that her friend used.

  Grindlay searched a cabinet, but found nothing but pottery; mostly wooden pieces, though some were of silver. They were not finely crafted, however, and had likely not been for ceremonial use. He shoved them into bags anyhow, because one could never be too sure about these things. Often the most priceless of finds were the things that one would not think to be worth anything to begin with. He heard Robert rummaging through something behind him and he cringed as he turned, dreading that he would find the ape destroying or corrupting something of value. By the time the professor’s eyes found Robert, the trunk he had been struggling with had swung open, the lid clapping against the soil dully. Grindlay could see from where he stood that it contained nothing of importance. Only decayed scraps of cloth and a few simple pieces of jewelry.

  Julie huddled closely to Piers, still unsure of what exactly she should be doing. He glanced at her occasionally, smiling at her uncertainty, as he inspected tapestries and the woodwork of the cabinets. He couldn’t help but admire the passion that could be seen in these ancient pieces. They walked to the back of the room, the ceiling noticeably dropping as they went, low enough that Piers had to hunch once they reached the final cabinet. He smacked his head into an unseen beam and Julie, trying to hold back a giggle, reached out to steady him.

  “Shit!” he yelled.

  His hand shot to his forehead, but came away dry. No blood, but there was certain to be a bruise. He resisted the urge to smack the beam back, but he wasn’t Robert. At least he had a
little control over his actions. Julie pulled him to her as she kissed his forehead.

  “Poor baby,” she cooed, somewhat mockingly.

  Piers wasn’t sure if he thought it cute, or annoying, but for that moment, he brushed it off. He reached out to the cabinet, wishing he could slip off the gloves and feel the softened wood on his fingertips. The doors barely clung to their hinges and the frame of the cabinet slouched dangerously to the right. He lifted the left of the doors, swinging it out gingerly just as Julie did the same with the right. Suddenly, his door snapped free of its restraints, the sudden release of strain jerking the cabinet even more to the right, and before either he or Julie could stabilize the hulking wood, it collapsed. The contents were sent sprawling across the floor and the wood splintered like shattered ice.

  Julie stumbled backwards, startled, and a gasp came from behind them, most likely from Valery. Flashlights bobbed across the walls, skimming across the fallen cabinet and then back and forth from Julie to Piers, who wasn’t just humiliated, but ashamed. He’d done a dozen of these to date, and he knew how to treat a site; destroying items was not on the agenda. Grindlay walked up to him; part in concern, part in frustration. He couldn’t handle another contaminated site, another excavation to come up empty-handed because of incompetence. Still, he tried not to let the kids see the look on his face. He brushed the back of his hand across his forehead, where sweat was still collecting, even in the coolness of being underground. He rolled his flashlight over the spilled contents, a few near-worthless artifacts. Nothing caught his eye, but still, ‘bag and tag’ was his instruction to them as he began to move back to what he had been inspecting. His light glared across the wall, but fell into nothing but emptiness. No wooden walls, no earth or mud. Just nothingness. He felt the corner of his mouth twitch as he moved closer.