Operation Congo (S-Squad Book 9) by William Meikle

Author:William Meikle [Meikle, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severed Press
Published: 2020-03-23T22:00:00+00:00

They were led along a series of corridors. The walls were gaudily painted in red ochre frescos and Banks was immediately reminded again of old ruins, Knossos in particular. His growing hunch appeared to be confirmed by one painting in particular which depicted an intricate labyrinth.

Banks was almost amused at the look on Wiggins’ face when they were shown to a long table to serve themselves from the local idea of a buffet. They couldn’t recognize any of the fruit or vegetables, the bread was dry and hard as stone, and the meat simmering in a cauldron of stew didn’t smell like anything they’d ever encountered.

“I’m no’ eating any of yon raptor meat, I’ll tell you that for nowt,” Wiggins said.

“Fear not,” the cultured voice they’d heard before said at their back. “This is a local pig. A bit gamier than pork, less so than boar. I assure you, it is quite delicious. And as for eating raptor—that is one of the things we must talk about, for it is the reason you are in your current predicament.”

They were left in silence to each fill a wooden platter with food, Wiggins less eagerly than Banks, and then were directed to an antechamber where the king sat in a large chair at the head of an otherwise empty table. Two men armed with short swords stood behind him. The leader saw Banks looking and laughed softly.

“No doubt the pair of you could take down the three of us here,” he said. “But I assure you there are four riders outside the main door and no other exit. You may as well enjoy your food, for you are not going anywhere until dawn.”

Wiggins, once he got started, took to the food with gusto, but Banks only picked at his.

“Ask questions if you have them. I will try to answer,” the king said.

Banks got the one at the front of his mind out of the way first.

“You’re Minoan, aren’t you?”

The king clapped his hands as if in glee.

“Give that man a cigar,” he said and much to Wiggins’ delight produced the captain’s cigarettes and lighter and passed them each a smoke. The king lit one for himself and sucked at it greedily. “A nasty habit and one I broke soon after leaving your country but one won’t hurt.”

“Aye, that’s what I said when I was sixteen,” Wiggins said. “Now I’m a walking chimney.”

The king ignored Wiggins and kept his attention on Banks.

“Yes, we are, or rather were, Minoan in some distant past. A seafaring people finding a great river and following it to a place of wonder where they stayed and were lost to history.”

The next question was the obvious one.

“So, if your people are lost to history, where did you learn English?”

That got them a laugh again.

“Marlborough, then London University,” he replied. “As I said, we are not savages. Several of my people have been to your places of learning, courtesy of a missionary outpost that first took an interest in us over a century ago.

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