Don't Go Alone: Story collaborations with Charlaine Harris Mike Mignola Amber Benson James A. Moore Tim Lebbon & Thomas E. Sniegoski by Golden Christopher

Author:Golden, Christopher [Golden, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Haverhill House Publishing
Published: 2017-11-15T16:00:00+00:00

IN THEIR PRESENCE

by Christopher Golden and James A. Moore

Harrington said it was Jacques Cousteau’s fault.

Three years earlier, the explorer had found a wrecked Greek ship and pulled up treasures from the depths of the sea. Harrington said the thing about blaming Cousteau like it was a joke, but Professor Jacoby wasn’t convinced. He’d dealt with men like Harrington before—wealthy men who cultivated an air of sophistication in certain company, but whose only true goal was the acquisition of more wealth. Some of them, again like Harrington, also sought fame.

Jacoby cared little for money or fame unless they could be pressed into service as part of his own true goal, which was the acquisition of knowledge. The professor had made a life out of unraveling mysteries and mapping the unexplored fringes of history and folklore.

Thus, as little as they enjoyed each other’s company, Jacoby and Harrington enjoyed a certain symbiosis, each feeding off the other’s interests and pursuits. Even so, neither had imagined that those pursuits would land them in the middle of the Arctic Ocean aboard a small vessel called the Burleson, with a quiet, weathered, stiff-backed old whaler named John Wilson in the captain’s chair, and a crew of New England sailors whose good humor had been swiftly bleeding out of them as the voyage went on and as the nights grew longer and colder.

Professor Edgar Jacoby and Mr. Samuel Harrington agreed on very little, and on less with each passing day, but on this single thing they were in accord: neither gave a tinker’s damn about the happiness of the crew. The boat belonged to Harrington, which meant every man from the captain on down was in his employ. They were being paid for their work and their time, and if the voyage bore fruit, they would each reap a share of the eventual rewards. Harrington, of course, would get the lion’s share, but such it had always been and such would it forever be.

“Benson!” a voice shouted. “Gimme a hand here! The boys are up!”

Crewmen thundered across the deck. The shout had come from Doug Trumbull, the first mate, and Jacoby also rushed aft in response. The frigid Arctic wind lashed at him, stinging what little of his skin was exposed, but he felt flushed with the heat of anticipation.

The divers came up fast, dragged onto the deck, their suits rimed with ice. The men came out of the depths with chattering teeth and nearly uncontrollable shakes. The things men would do for the promise of riches were almost as fascinating as the places they would go to find them. Jacoby rushed from man-to-man as they tore off their masks. When he identified the dive master, Toby Hobbs, he hovered.

“Mr. Hobbs!” he called, as the crew got the divers to their feet and started them toward the hatch that led belowdecks.

Toby gave Jacoby a nod, and the professor felt a fresh rush of exultation. He turned toward Benson and Trumbull.

“Raise the net, and be careful about it!

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