Excellent Chapter One--Sequel to The Cellini Masterpiece Language School Prologue: Language School by RaymondJohn Those of you who have wondered if there is a sequel To The Cellini Masterpiece, this is the new beginning.

Category:  Mystery and Crime Fiction   Posted:  November 5, 2007      Views: 758 Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4...

RAYMONDJOHN  IN PRINT   ABOUT RAYMONDJOHN  Raymond John is a hopeless FanStory addict who has at times spent as many as twelve hours in a single day reading, reviewing and writing for the site. His three purposes are based on three "Es" which are Explain, Enlighten and Entertain. His greatest fear is to take himself too seriously. He may not always smile, but he always has a twinkle in his eye. Knock his socks off with a fantastic write and he'll be your best cheerleader and give you a banner award, to boot. He has written two novels and numerous short works. His first book, The Cellini Masterpiece, has sold nearly 3,000 copies and received an Honorable Mention in the 2006 IPPY awards. It is now available in a Kindle edition from Amazon.com. An audio version (ISBN 9780615268125) is now available read by the renown actor, James Cada. MP3 edition, downloadable for IPOD, is 14.95. Order at www.raymondjohnbooks.com. His second mystery, Mix and Match Murder, which was originally scheduled for release in September of 2008 is now in print and available from Amazon.com, barnesandnoble.com and North Star Press. A scholar born in the golden age of radio, Raymond always appreciates hearing a well-told story, especially one with action and believable dialogue in a historical setting. I have written and received many reviews. I have a thick skin, so if constructive criticism is forthcoming, bring it on. He has won several contests. The contest submission Mousie, Kittie and Booger was the first place winner in the contest Tales of the Weird.. Gold In Them Thar Words was the first place winner in the contest Tales of the Weird.. Lot 386 was the first place winner in the contest Tales of the Weird.. He is a top ranked author and is currently holding the #23 position. He is an accomplished novelist and is currently at the #83 spot on this years rankings. Portfolio | Become A Fan 11:30 AM Sunday, March 18 Maqluba, Qrendi, Malta A large bird hovered in the sky. Rick Olsen saw it and momentarily forgot his burden. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he watched it glide lower. "What do you suppose that is?" he asked. Ten feet ahead, Carmello Tanti, known more commonly by his English equivalent Charlie, barely paid any notice. "It looks like an avultun, a vulture. We see them around here every once in a while." Rick frowned. A vulture? What's a vulture doing out here? Certainly not looking for Charlie's Rustica. Carrion birds aren't interested in plants. The avian creature swooped back toward them. Maybe it's looking for water. A short distance away, what appeared to be a large pond glistened in the sunshine. Inviting as it might appear, it was a mirage, a thin plastic blanket used to protect plants from the cold and to retain the moisture in the soil. Above and beyond this stunning illusion lay the streets of the tiny village of Qrendi. Stillness hung like a blanket over everything. The bird stalled out directly over Rick's head. "I hope he isn't looking for us," he mumbled. As if hearing the words, the bird turned to make a last circle over the center of the chasm known as Maqluba before flying off into the late morning haze. "Forget about the bird," Charlie called. "We have work to do." "Easy enough for you to say," Rick moaned. "All you have to carry is a rope and a knapsack." "You volunteered to carry the box." True enough, but Rick groaned again as he rearranged the strap on the large wooden box he was carrying before taking another staggering step forward. Up ahead of them the third member of the group, a small white dog, joyfully pranced around them, thrusting his nose in the holes in the rock wall in hopes of locating an interesting critter. "How much farther?" Rick panted, his enthusiasm for the hunt fading with his strength. Since his gunshot injury six months ago he had become seriously out of shape, and the box seemed to be getting heavier by the second. "Just around the bend. We're almost there." As they made the turn, Rick saw the road starting up a rocky climb and let out a loud moan. "Shee-it!" "Relax," Charlie said. Without warning, he turned on to a rough path to the right. "This way, and watch your step." Rick did, tiptoeing past a discarded beer can and a slew of multi-colored shotgun shells. "Looks like the hunters come here," he mumbled. "Yes. But not this time of year. The season is closed and the European Union has been insisting on tighter controls on poaching." He stopped. "You can set the box down here." Rick happily complied. As they began to unload equipment from the box, the dog tore off toward the edge of the cliff. "Come back here," an alarmed Charlie called, slapping his hand against his trouser leg. The dog stopped abruptly. Tail between its legs, it backed away from the edge and returned, stiff-legged, to its master.  Rick overturned the box to reveal an assortment of trowels, folded shovels and other digging implements. One tool was a weighty hammer, and Rick gave it a disparaging look as he got to his feet. No wonder the damn box was so heavy. Even so, he scolded himself for getting so far out of shape as several large droplets of perspiration fell from his forehead. After gathering what he needed and strapping them to his utility belt, Charlie picked up the hammer and moved to edge of the cliff. Before dropping to his knees, he removed his backpack and set it on the ground. Kneeling beside it, he removed a heavy spike with a large ring at its top from his front pocket . Sharp blows echoed in the abyss as he drove it into place. The noise made the sinkhole seem even more desolate despite its deep verdure. Finished, Charlie ran a propylene-wrapped cable through his hands, attaching the clamp at its end.  It closed with a satisfying click. Finished, Charlie got to his feet and unhitched another object from his belt. "Here Chip," he called in English. The dog took two eager steps forward, then saw the sling in his master's hand and stopped short. "Get over here," Charlie demanded in a stern voice. The animal whined, stuck its tail between its legs and slowly moved forward. He vented a frightened yip as his owner gathered him up. Rick slid the last tool, a trowel, through a loop in his belt and wiped at his face. Despite the heat, he could barely wait to get below and begin the search. "I'm ready." Charlie maneuvered the dog's legs through the leather straps, then slipped the reins over the top of his own head and under his arms. "Time to get to work," he said. "Good old Maqluba, here we come." Good old Maqluba actually was a roughly rectangular sinkhole overgrown with brambles and dense vegetation. Compared to the barrenness of the rest of Malta, it was a Garden of Eden. Fortunately or unfortunately, there was only one way to get to it. By rope. The ancient stairway, which stood just below the chapel, had long ago become unusable except to the most adventurous rock climbers. After a tug at his belt to make sure it was secure, Charlie moved to the ledge and grabbed the cable. "See you down below." Three kicks and swings brought him to the bottom. Taking rope in hand, Rick turned around to stand with his back to the abyss. Then he closed his eyes and jumped back. For one glorious moment all earthly restraints disappeared. The moment ended in a cold rush as the rope caught him and he quickly opened his eyes before his feet struck rock. Kicking off, he made two quick arcs and ended up on terra firma a few feet away from Charlie. "Lead on." Charlie started off in the general direction of the base of the stairs, now visible some twenty yards away. "We'll go back to where I heard Chip barking," he said. "He was pretty excited and didn't come when I called him. I'm hoping he'll go back to the same place." Chip wasn't happy about the leash but waited patiently as Charlie hitched it to his harness. Then he dashed off into the brush as soon as his little feet hit the ground. The men took off on a run after him. "It looks like you may be right," Rick said. The dog rushed onward, leaping through the higher vegetation. As they followed, the heat became unbearable. "Do you suppose we could slow down?" Rick puffed. Chip answered the question. With an unexpected burst of energy he pulled the leash out of his master's hands. "Come back here," Charlie shouted. The dog ignored him and headed toward a small stand of stunted cypress trees. As they ran after him, Rick's eyes started to smart. Then his overworked lungs began to burn, too, as he noticed an unpleasant odor. "Jeez. What's that?" Charlie asked, covering his nose. "Something's rotten," Rick said. Pointing toward the trees, he shouted. "Look!" Four large black garden bags lay closely together some twenty meters ahead of them. Chip circled them, barking excitedly. As they came closer Rick could see that three were tightly sealed, the fourth partially open. The dog sniffed at the opening and leaped back. Rick knew why. The stench of decomposing flesh had become unmistakable. "I think we better call the police," he said. Recognized The book continues with Chapter 1-II. We will provide a link to it when you review this below. Share your own writing! - Information on our membership for writers. Author Notes First chapter in the sequel to The Cellini Masterpiece Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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