Lions, Tigers and Bears, Oh My! 22
**Lions, Tigers and Bears. Oh My!
Part 22
**
Usual disclaimers apply. The following can contains male-to-male sex.
If you are under age or such reading is illegal in your country,
please go elsewhere. Otherwise, please enjoy.
Comments and Critiques are welcomed at Kindar11@Yahoo.ca
A Special thank you to Brett for his editing work
March 7th 2011
Dennis ended up staying with me until my flight, for which I was grateful. He was a nice guy in the end. and fun in bed.
on the flight, I went through my notes. I'd copied the sections of the journal that seemed to be relevant to my search, as well as some other, I wasn't sure of. as far as I could tell the man Sir Richard had met was Sergious Eleutherios, another explorer, for whom he had a good deal of respect. Sir Richard hadn't written many details about what he had found. The man had indicated it involved 'the Wolves of the Gods', but there was no indication as to what ‘it’ might have been.
I was surprised that I'd never heard about the man before, by the amount of respect Sir Richard showed him in his writings. All I was able to do was find out he was Greek. I was hoping that Scholars in Greece would have more information about him, hopefully some of his journals.
* * * * *
“Excuse me?” I asked the woman behind the counter. This was the seventh library I’d been to, in three days. I’d started on the day I’d arrived in Athens, with the national library. The only books I’d found by a ‘Sergious Eleutherios’ were in the fiction section. The period they had been written in matched when the man I was looking for had lived, but he had been an explorer, not a fiction writer. I’d gone to other libraries, with the same result. The last Library I had been too had directed me to this one. It was in one of the oldest neighborhoods in Athens, and they suggested that if any place would have the works I was looking for, it would be this one.
“Yes, how may I help you?” she said, looking up from the computer.
“Do you have any non fiction books by Sergious Eleutherios?” I knew I was mangling his last name. As good as my Greek was, there were nuances of it I’d never get.
“How do you spell his last name?” I spelled it for her, and she typed it in her computer. “It doesn’t look like it. Oh, actually, we do have one.” She wrote the Dewey code on a slip of paper. “There you go.”
“Thank you,” I said, trying to restrain my excitement.
I quickly found the row where it was and followed the numbers, nodding to an older man seated at a table, at the back of the row, who looked up from his book as I walked toward him. My fingers slid along the spines of the books, until I reached the empty space where my number should have been.
“Of course,” I said to myself. It would have been checked out. I went back to the counter to try and get the information on who had taken the book.
“According to my system, the book hasn’t been checked out.”
“Then why isn’t it on the shelf?”
She looked among the few books, on a trolley, that needed to be put back on the shelves. “It isn’t here. Someone must be reading it.”
I looked around at the empty library. There was no one else here, only the two of us, and the old man . . . reading a book.
I did the best I could not to run back, walking very fast, instead. The man looked up from his book again. I slowed down as I got close to him. “Can I ask which book you are reading?”
The man looked at me, and then at the book he was holding. “It is a treatise on one of the native tribes of west Africa, by Sergious Eleutherios. It is an interesting . . .”
“Can I take a look at it?” I interrupted him. It was all I could do not to just take the book out of his hands.
“Certainly.” He handed it to me, and I started looking through it. I was fighting between reading it thoroughly and just glancing through it, so I could give it back to him. I settled for looking for the words ‘wolf’, ‘werewolf’ or variations on them.
“Are you a fan of Sergious’ work? ” the man asked, as I was going through the twentieth page or so. The only mention of wolves at this point had been as part of describing the hunting practice of the tribe’s hunters.
“I’ve only come across the name recently. Sir Francis Burton mentioned him in one of his journals and I decided to look into him.”
“You seem rather determined for someone who just ‘decided to look into him’.
The tone of his voice made me stop and look at him. He smelled like he looked; utterly calm. I forced myself to close the book and hand it back to him. “I’m sorry. I tend to get rather passionate when a subject takes my interest.”
“There’s no need to worry. I remember my youth and all the energy I poured into whatever I did.” He stood and grabbed the cane that had been propped against the wall. “If you are interested, I have more of his books at home. I am something of an aficionado of Sergious Eleutherios.”
“Of course, I’d love to,” I said, and then added, “but I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“Nonsense. It isn’t often that I come across someone as young as you who has an interest in the old adventurers.” He headed out, using the cane for show, rather than as a walking aid.
“Have a good day mister Barlas,” the librarian said as we left, and he waved at her.
We talked as I followed him, he of Sergious and me of Sir Burton. After a few minutes he took out a phone.
“Fillipos, yes, I’m on my way home, and I’m bringing a guest. Make sure everything is presentable.” He listened to the reply, frowning. “You did the right thing. I’ll deal with my grandson the next time I see him.”
“Family problem?” I asked.
“My grandson is young, younger than you. The youth today think they can have everything handed to them.”
I nodded. I couldn’t entirely disagree with him.
The neighborhood he led me too was older than the one where the library had been. The houses were close together, their facades cracked and tarnished, but I could also see that they were well maintained.
His house was narrow, pressed between two others. I wasn’t familiar with Greek architecture so I couldn’t date it, but it showed the same type of wear, and care, as the other houses.
The inside proved to be a surprise. What the facade showed to be three houses turned out to be only one; a large, and modern, one. I felt a pang of disappointment, I would have loved to see how it would have been historically furnished.
He nodded to what had to be two men as we entered his study. They had to be servants, or employees, by the deference they showed him, but they weren’t dressed how I would expect, wearing jeans and shirts over a wife beater. They also had a thuggish feel about them.
They followed us in, and grabbed me, as the old man sat behind a glass desk.
“What’s going on?” I asked. The men were on either side of me, holding me by the arms, and forcing me to the center of the room. I could easily break their hold, but I wanted to know what this was about before I did anything.
“Why don’t you tell me what your real interest in Sergious Eleutherios is.”
“I already told you. I’m just curious about him from a mention in one of Sir Burton’s journals.”
“Somehow I find that hard to believe. You looked like you were ready to rip the book out of my hands, and devour it. You were most certainly looking for something.”
“Alright, yeah. I was. In the journal he mentions something called ‘the Wolves of the Gods’ I’m trying to find more information about that.”
“So you are also looking for the Temple of Lycaon.”
“Ahh, no. This is the first time I’ve heard about it.”
“Don’t lie to me. The temple’s treasure is the only thing that Eleutherios ever found that’s of any worth. You’re going to tell me what you . . .”
The door opened. “Grand father, I . . . .” The young man that was in the process of entering took in the scene and turned around. “ . . . Will come back later.” He closed the door behind him.
The old man frowned with disapproval at the closed door. “Now, tell me what you know about the treasure.” He fixed me with his gaze.
“I don’t know anything about a treasure, or the temple you mentioned.” Although with it being dedicated to Lycaon, the mythological father to werewolves, I now wanted to know more about it myself. “I’m a history professor, and amateur archaeologist. I’ve been studying Sir Richard Francis Burton, and Mr. Eleutherios’s was in a journal, so I am looking into him.”
“I was really hoping you would be more cooperative, but it seems you prefer more forceful methods. I’ll be happy to oblige.”
The man on my right took a large knife out of a sheath. I tensed, preparing myself for a fight.
“Not here,” the old man said, rolling his eyes. “Take him to the warehouse.”
I relaxed. I hadn’t seen anything on my way here to could pass for a warehouse, and the roads were too narrow for cars, so we’d have to walk. I would just wait for a better place to get rid of my escorts.
We left the house, and my escorts tightened their hold on me. The people we passed glanced in our direction, and then quickly looked away, and hurried off. I kept an eye out for a good place to break out of their hold and run off. I didn’t want anyone around, I didn’t know if either of them carried a gun, and I didn’t want to risk anyone being hurt.
Because I was already looking around, I noticed a man’s shadow as we approached a corner. When we were close I saw the man lift something, and then a two by four was being swung at us. I jumped to my left, pushing that escort out of the way. I quickly turned and struck his throat. Not hard enough to break anything, but it would be a few minutes before he’d be able to breathe properly.
I spun around and prepared to defend myself, and watched as the young man who walked in on us in the study hit my other escort in the stomach, and then across the head, sending him down.
“We’d better get out of here before either of them can get back up,” he said.
Please send Comments and Critiques to Kindar11@Yahoo.ca