Austerley & Kirgordon Adventures Box Set Read online

  G R Jordan

  Austerley & Kirkgordon Box Set

  Books 1-3 and Origins 1-3

  First published by Carpetless Publishing 2019

  Copyright © 2019 by G R Jordan

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  G R Jordan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  G R Jordan has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

  Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

  First edition

  ISBN: 978-1-912153-42-8

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  Contents

  Foreword

  I. CRESCENDO!

  Crescendo!

  Leaving The Asylum

  Austerley’s Musical Know-How

  In-Flight Entertainment

  Exit Stage Right

  Meeting an Old Friend

  Table for Two

  Street Knowledge

  Chilled Flesh

  Old Time Girl

  Russian Country Life

  Hangover Cures

  Internet Connections

  Girl Talk

  Bidding Frenzy

  The Government Agent

  An Island Welcome

  Elliot’s Bar

  A New Denomination

  The Way of the Frog

  The House in the Snow

  Plans

  Donaldina

  Saved by Innocence

  Dangling Choices

  How We See Things

  Back on the Old Job

  Captive Desires

  Stars From the Deep

  To Kill an Austerley

  Revenge of the Dragon

  Havers Holds it Together

  II. THE DARKNESS AT DILLINGHAM

  The Drakness at Dillingham

  Prologue

  Mind the Gap

  Care Home for an Austerley

  The Not-So-Honourable Captain Smith

  Tania

  Father Jonah

  The Offensive Side of Havers

  Delivery and Collections

  Observations

  Gibbet Point

  Escape

  Plans

  Should Have Read the Manual

  The Austerley Express

  Manhunt

  Museum Work

  Austerley Meets His Match

  An Old Friend Checks In

  The Redoubtable Miss Goodritch

  Back From The Dead

  Team Austerley

  A Spin Around Town

  Dangerous Streets

  Debate

  Only a Foot

  Consequences

  The Battle of Gibbet Point

  Care Home Chaos

  In The Dark

  Back in the USSR

  III. DAGON’S REVENGE

  Dagon’s Revenge

  The Homing Foot

  The Fog

  Blood Sprites

  The Cliff

  The City in the Shadow

  Kilon

  A Familiar Church

  Someone’s Baby

  Dagon’s Coming

  Stand!

  The Winged Beast

  Enter the Dragon

  Leaving Town

  The Girl from the Sky

  The Ice Maiden Returns

  Into the Temple

  Meeting the Missus

  Major Havers Fights Back

  Austerley has a Moment

  The Women

  Perfectly Viscous

  The Team Back Together

  The Platform

  Redemption

  Love Her or Leave Her

  So Long, Havers

  In Dagon’s Grasp

  The Boss

  Bonus: Prologue Book 4 Ship of Doom

  IV. AUSTERLEY & KIRKGORDON ORIGINS 1

  Footsteps

  Prologue

  Meeting the Professor

  Miskatonic University

  A Little Night Excursion

  Scrabbling in the Dark

  Battling Blind

  Something’s Coming up the Stairs

  Epilogue

  V. AUSTERLEY & KIRKGORDON ORIGINS 2

  Cally

  Prologue

  Ferrean

  Leaving

  The Village

  Proposals

  Seeking Help

  The Witch in the Tree

  Returning

  The Mother of All Storms

  Epilogue

  VI. AUSTERLEY & KIRKGORDON ORIGINS 3

  The People in the Pool

  The Woman Who Felt No Cold

  The Memory of His Mother

  Body of Ice

  An Agent’s Mother

  Into the Pool

  The Wrong Person’s Home

  Breaking Out

  Those Left Behind

  The Shadow of a Shoggoth

  About the Author

  Also by G R Jordan

  Foreword

  I am often asked what is the correct order to read the Austerley & Kirkgordon books. Now that depends if you want the books to read through chronologically or if you want the story revealed in its most dramatic way. So I provide below two seperate lists but I would recommend the second for the best story reveal.

  A. Chronological Order of Books

  Cally

  The People in the Pool

  Foosteps

  Crescendo!

  The Darkness at dillingham

  Dagon’s Revenge

  B. Best Reading Order of Books

  Crescendo!

  Footsteps

  The Darkness at Dillingham

  Cally

  Dagon’s Revenge

  The People in the Pool

  These stories have all been published in standalone formats but have now been brought together in one volume. Please not that “Crescendo!”, “The Darkness at Dillingham” and “Dagon’s Revenge” are all full length novels. The remaining three books are from an origin series and are novelettes in the range of 10,000 words.

  Enjoy the ride,

  G R Jordan

  I

  Crescendo!

  Crescendo!

  Leaving The Asylum

  His eyes fixed on the metal gate ahead and the bile caught in his throat at the sight of the man lumbering toward it. Never had Kirkgordon entertained the thought of seeing this broken figure again, let alone agreeing to babysit this most curious of cats. Too much had gone before. Too much had been lost. The light that had lit up his life for the previous twenty years had been all but extinguished. It was the price that he had paid
for following this shambling hulk into the very gates of hell. Contemplating this moment on the banks of the Miskatonic that morning, Kirkgordon had not foreseen the sheer hatred which now welled up inside. His wife had left him, his kids saw Dad now only one week out of four and his friends had abandoned him, all because of the episodes that now plagued his existence. Only the deepest depths of faith had kept him sane enough not to be locked up alongside the figure approaching him, a resident of Arkham’s finest secure facility for the mentally compromised. His fists were clenched tight, his chest fought for breath and his blood coursed wildly. He muttered the most bitter of welcomes to the hated demon emerging from the sanatorium.

  “Austerley, we got work to do.”

  A large, black, clearly governmental saloon was waiting at the sanatorium gates with five men in attendance. The first was Kirkgordon, dressed in black jeans, black ankle cowboy boots, a greyish T-shirt and a black leather jacket. He was nearing forty and it showed on his hair, or rather what was left of it. Greyness had taken over much of it, due to the incident he said, not age. Kirkgordon was stocky but not particularly tall. While not out of shape, he didn’t have the looks of Adonis. Yet, of the men there, he was surprisingly the most dangerous.

  Beside him stood Lord Farthington of Her Majesty’s most secret of services. A tall English gent adorned in the customary Savile Row suit, with a bowler hat and umbrella “just to keep the yanks honest”. He sported a most stunningly twirled set of whiskers and an accent that spoke of nobility even when it swore. Looking like the finest of British fools, he was there to keep things in order. Kirkgordon had been introduced to Farthington through an old, long-forgotten contact. His own research had drawn a blank but his contact had filled in the detail.

  Unseen mastermind of many conflicts and coups, Farthington was a man who liked to keep his hands from the dirtier side of life. Like a chess grandmaster, he enjoyed manipulating and coercing others by means fair or foul but distinctly non-physical. Now in his later years, he headed up one of the government’s more covert organizations, one which looked into the strange and unusual but definitely alarming.

  The other men were employees of the FBI: one senior field agent and two strongmen, apparently there to control any hotness that the situation induced. They were dressed in black suits, possibly for Lord Farthington’s benefit, and the firepower they each carried was immaculately concealed by the loose-hanging jackets. The FBI men moved to flank the releasee as he approached the car. Farthington stepped forward to greet Austerley while Kirkgordon turned from them all to take his place on the passenger side at the front of the car.

  Austerley was not small in stature, measuring some six foot, and was carrying some bulk despite his incarceration. Hiking boots went well with the combat trousers he wore but then his garb broke out into a confused mélange of Christmas reindeer jumper and green and white bobble hat. His hands were chunky and somewhat hairy, while his face looked harried to the point of abuse, jowls dropping like those of a dog.

  Farthington thrust a cigarette toward Austerley, apologizing that they were “American”, before brandishing a silver lighter. Austerley dipped awkwardly to light the gratefully received stick of tobacco. As he drew in his first taste of fumes, Kirkgordon uttered in guttural fashion that Austerley should get his “worthless arse” in the car. Jumping to Austerley’s side, the Americans tried to encourage him into the car but he just turned around, leaned back on the car, and smoked slowly, deeply and passionately on his first cigarette in five years. Kirkgordon glowered. The fact that Austerley had positioned himself clearly in his line of sight via the wing mirror hadn’t helped.

  Farthington agreed that Austerley’s posterior should position itself into the car sooner rather than later. At the agent’s urging, the car was cruising away from the sanatorium a mere three minutes later. Silence dominated, unnerving the Americans, who would occasionally touch their firearms through their jackets as if some weapon-stealing gremlin was afoot. At first this went unnoticed by Austerley and the reverential quiet continued. But then the newly freed man caught a glimpse of the Americans’ guns. The agitation slowly built up through a shaking leg, then involuntary movements in the shoulders, before a sudden cascade of manic shouts sent the saloon’s occupants into a frenzy.

  “Dammit! NO! Don’t shoot! Them not me. They’ll come. Shuggoth. Darkness!”

  The driver spun off the road on seeing Austerley’s flailing arms in the rear-view mirror. The beast was stirring. Farthington’s cool exterior lost its calm and a worried frown crept across his face. Both of the Americans in the back leapt onto Austerley, trying to suppress him, as a wild strength born from fear surged through his body. The drawing of the driver’s gun sent Austerley into even wilder hysterics.

  “Put the guns down. Gentlemen, holster your weapons.” Kirkgordon sounded calm but extremely pissed-off. When the driver failed to react he found his gun taken from his hands and watched the chamber and ammunition fall to the floor as separate entities. One of the other Americans responded by putting his gun in Kirkgordon’s face. He would wake up ten minutes later to find caked blood around his nose and his weapon missing. The third American was a quick learner and while holding Austerley with one hand, dropped his weapon to the ground with the other. The car had stopped at Hill Street close to Hangman’s Brook. Stepping out of the front seat, Kirkgordon reached in and extracted Austerley before leading him firmly but gently to a bench overlooking the brook.

  “What was that?” Farthington had recovered his dapper attitude. Standing aloof from Austerley, he looked deep into the dispassionate face of Kirkgordon. The Americans had been left in the saloon.

  “Guns. He hates guns.” Kirkgordon spat on the ground.

  “Guns. That’s all. Just guns?” Farthington’s eyebrows stood up like the orchestra at the end of a concert.

  “Yes, he hates guns.” Kirkgordon did everything but say Farthington was dumb. Too long in the tooth, the agent didn’t take the bait.

  “Okay, when you’re ready.”

  “Leave him with me. It’s safer. I understand him.” Kirkgordon felt Farthington staring into the windows of his soul. Protocol was being weighed up against practicality.

  “Fine. He’s your responsibility. No fuss. No nonsense. Nothing in the papers. And no diversions. And I want him breathing when he comes back to me.”

  “If I wanted him dead, he’d be dead. But you’ve made that calculation already. So, let’s have it. What do you want with a mental case and a washed-up former player?”

  “It’ll have to be in front of Austerley too. You both need to hear.”

  Austerley’s Musical Know-How

  Austerley stared at the slow-running water in Hangman’s Brook. Sitting on a small wooden bench with pursed hands, he looked like he was throwing invisible bread to non-existent ducks when the occasional fits and starts from the incident hit him. Kirkgordon sat down beside him but could only stare off into the fields, barely acknowledging the nervous man beside him. Farthington was an old pro and produced a collapsible seat which he placed directly in front of the bench, imposing himself into the view of both men. The British agent, ready to deliver his orders, was keen that neither man misunderstand or ignore them. A curt cough focused their attention on him, and Farthington set off on an explanation devoid of humour or warmth. Luckily for him, the subject matter was enough to entrance the listening pair.

  “Recently, gentlemen, it has come to my department’s notice…”

  “Which department is that?” interrupted a serious-faced Austerley.

  “The one I work for, Mr Austerley. Now, recently we have come to notice a certain individual’s preoccupation with trying to obtain particular manuscripts for some unknown purpose. Normally these proceedings would not cause undue alarm, but one of our sources believes that this individual is looking to pick up such manuscripts from a specific location which is normally not accessible to the general public. Our man trailed the individual and overheard certain details o
f the location. One detail was the place. The other detail was when the place would be there. Said place being in Moscow; specifically, Улица на пороге.”

  Austerley became agitated, looking all around him while not fixing on anything in particular. If his mind had had a steam whistle, it would have been calling all to clear the tracks ahead.

  “Zahn! It’s Zahn.” Austerley beamed into the confused faces of his companions. The smile was short-lived and, aware of their total incomprehension of his revelation, he started to rebuke their petty minds. “Imbeciles, stuck out in this world, totally ignorant of all that goes on. And they lock me up, oh, dumb, mad old Austerley. One wonders how this place goes on. Intelligence services. Dressed-up clowns who can’t do their job…”

  “Austerley, shut it or I’ll put you back down that hole personally!” Kirkgordon had taken particular offence at being lumped in with the “clowns”.

  “Yes, Mr Austerley, a degree of decorum, if you please. And also kindly elaborate on this Zahn fellow. Most intriguing.” Farthington always cut through any nonsense to get to his answer. He was the money, the man who could pull the strings.

  Austerley breathed deeply and prepared to speak slowly and simply to the children. “Eric Zahn. German viol player of extreme talent. It was said that he played either with or against the night creatures that visited his apartment. Certainly, in the normal world he was a remarkable musician, but he was once visited by a gentleman who took great fright from that which came to them one night. Said gentleman described music written in bizarre patterns and played in tones and notes from somewhere else.”

  Austerley had his shoulders hunched up now and was in full flow. With every passing detail the excitement across his face grew and the previously tired jowls visibly reddened with life. Farthington kept nodding in anticipation of the pertinent exposé, but Kirkgordon was sombre, pondering every word.

  “One night he took fright from the apartment and was unable to find it again. Zahn was believed to have been either abducted or killed in the incident. Although a stunning musician, he was also a mute, so the true tales of what came to the apartment were never fully understood by anyone except Zahn himself.”