The Green Lama: Unbound (The Green Lama Legacy Book 3) (3 page)

The Green Lama tilted his head and considered Caraway. “No,” he said after a moment. “Not if we stop it.”

Ken took a sip of his coffee. “There’s a non-committal answer if I ever heard one.”

Caraway ran his hand over his face. “If you were another man, Lama, I would tell you to shove it where the sun don’t shine.”

The Green Lama gave him a small nod and smiled. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“And where will this apocalypse be going down? New Jersey?” Caraway asked.

The Green Lama hesitated before simply saying, “Greece.”

As if on cue, Caraway heard the roar of a propeller engine approaching. Looking out over the cityscape, he saw a massive dirigible heading toward the Empire State Building. It had been years since anyone attempted to use the building as a mooring mast, but leave it to the Green Lama to disregard safety and logic.

“I have arranged transport for you,” the Green Lama said over the wind and motors. “Mr. Masters is an excellent pilot and he will ensure you arrive quickly and safely.”

“You’re not goin’ with us?” Caraway hollered as a mechanized gangway extended from the dirigible.

“I have business to attend to here before I can make the journey. Our mutual acquaintance Jethro Dumont will accompany you in my stead.”

Caraway spun around to face the Green Lama. “You roped
Jethro
into this? Shouldn’t he be sipping cocktails at the Stork Club?”

“You have got to be kidding me!” Ken shouted, exasperated. “You know, I am the lead in
On Your Toes
, and while I can’t speak for the Lieutenant here, I can’t just go gallivanting around country-to-country like some whip cracking pulp hero! I helped you out during that whole to-do with the golem ’cause of Jean and only ’cause of her. Go halfway across the world on your own time, Tulku. I’m sitting this one out.” The Green Lama locked eyes with Ken. “This is because of Jean.” Ken rolled his eyes. “Aw, great. What has she gotten herself into now?”

“Wait,” Caraway exclaimed in disbelief. “This is about a girl?”

C
HAPTER 2

THE LONG WAY DOWN

Tsarong tapped his nails against the wooden table as he re-read the prophecy. The parchments were so ancient even the dust that coated the fragile scroll seemed to crack at the edges. Had it really been over thirty years since he had read over these ancient omens, these dark promises of the world to come?

“Tulku, do you really believe he is the Scion?” Magga, the
Khenpo
of the temple, asked from the shadows of the small stone chamber. She had been Tsarong’s council ever since taking up the Jade Tablet centuries ago, though he had never seen her true face.

Tsarong waved the suggestion away. “We cannot be certain of anything. As with all prophecies, it is open to interpretation.”

“But, the Jade Tablet…”

“Yes, I saw what happened,” Tsarong said sharply as he further unrolled the document. He noticed a dull ache in his fingers; time was finally catching up with him, another reminder he was once again bound to the change and decay in the illusory, phenomenal world. “We need not restate it.”

“He has been trying to remove it,” Magga said, seemingly amused.

Tsarong nodded. “As I have heard, to no avail. That is to be expected, it was nearly a decade before I abandoned my own efforts to remove it.”

“There was quite a bit of blood.”

“The Tablet’s inner fibers run under the skin,” Tsarong said, stealing a glance at the scars on his own finger. “Is he in any discomfort?”

“Just scared,” Magga sighed. “Will you tell him?”

Tsarong shook his head. “He must never know. To know one’s destiny is to void it.”

“You knew yours.”

“I knew I was only a vessel, the last ring bearer before the Scion,” Tsarong retorted. “I will guide him through his journey, show him the path, but I will never reveal to him his destination. That he must find on his own, if he is truly destined to…” he trailed off as he turned to an image of a lone hooded figure standing before a horrific squid-faced chimera. Tsarong shivered as he regarded the long asleep creature.

“If we are blessed, he will be this age’s savior,” Magga said. “Its
Bodhisattva.”

“And if we are not?” Tsarong asked.

“Then darkness will fall.”

• • •

“Good morning,” Aïas said as he noisily spooned soup out of a wooden bowl.

Jean’s eyes struggled to open, the sunlight blinding. She was lying on a rock-hard cot, a thin, coarse blanket wrapped tightly around her body. “God, what time is it?”

Aïas squinted as he glanced out the window. “Maybe two or three in the afternoon. There is no clock here. But you…You have slept like the dead.”

“I feel like someone took a steam shovel to my head,” she grumbled, rubbing her temple with the heels of her hand as she sat up. “How long have I been out?”

“Two days.”

Jean pulled off the blanket and found her right leg wrapped in a neat bandage. There were small spots of deep crimson on either end despite binding. She flexed her foot, feeling the muscles throb in sync with her head. “Two days?” she reiterated.

“You slept like a rock,” he said while he ate, gesticulating with his spoon, yet never meeting her gaze. “Do not worry about your leg. It should heal well, I think, though it might scar. Lucky for you the police here are terrible shots. If this was Athens you would be dead. Sparta is worse. They shoot to kill. You should see what they did to me down by Olympus.”

Jean pushed herself off her bed, testing her leg, grimacing at the sharp pain that shot up to her lower back. She moaned through gritted teeth as she limped over to the table and eased herself into the chair.

“See?” he said. “Back on your feet already.”

Jean cocked a skeptical eyebrow at him. “What are you eating?”

“Chicken soup… Well, chicken in hot water. There were a few wandering around outside. Still have plenty more if you are hungry,” Aïas said, sliding over a small wooden bowl and spoon.

Jean grabbed the bowl and hobbled to the small stove in the corner of the room. She ladled a few scoops of grey liquid from the old dented pot into her bowl and tried not to grimace at the smell. “Mm,” she said. “Definitely not a cook, huh?”

“Not at all,” Aïas shrugged. “Been in and out of jail for most of my life. This is the best you are going to get from me.”

“Career criminal, huh?”

“Just petty thievery. I am kind of like, what is it you call him? Robs from the rich, gives to the poor?”

“Robin Hood,” Jean said, trying not to gag as she forced down some of the stew.

Aïas, however, had no trouble swallowing another spoonful. “Right. Him.” He leaned back and gazed up at the ceiling. “You, though, are far more impressive,” Aïas said. “Killing the mayor is not something to sneeze at. That is the saying, yes?”

Jean pushed her bowl away, unable to finish. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but the only thing I had to do with Mayor Astrapios was turning down his idea of a ‘private party.’ So, despite what they might have said, I didn’t kill him.”

Aïas chuckled and shrugged. “And I did not steal his most precious possession. See? We are both innocent.”

Jean cocked an eyebrow, unconsciously recalling the large cracked crystal egg in Astrapios’s bedroom. “So, that’s what you were in for? Stole the mayor’s ‘most precious possession’?”

Aïas gave her a quizzical look. “I am pretty certain I just said that I
did not
.”

Jean laughed. She wasn’t certain if she liked this guy or wanted to kill him. Either way, he was no Green Lama. “So… what’s the plan, Stan?”

“Run. Hide.” He shrugged, returning to his stew. “Do not get caught.”

“Where are we going?”

“We?” He squinted his eyebrows. “That is a little… what is the word? Presumptuous. I stayed around to make sure you did not die. Owed you that much. Now you are on your own.”

Jean shrugged. “Fine by me, buddy. Much as I appreciate the bandages, you are totally useless in a fight. Guy your size should be throwing people around, not running away.”

“They had guns.”

“Please. What kind of criminal are you?”

Aïas thumped his chest. “The living kind.”

Jean leaned forward, proudly indicating herself with her thumb. “I ran into a room full of heavily armed mobsters with only a pistol and a guy who likes to dress up in green robes. I didn’t blink.”

“You Americans have such strange interests.”

“We’re a unique breed.” Jean shrugged. “Speaking of breeds, where’s that accent from? Based on the way you don’t use contractions, English is definitely not your first language.”

Aïas smiled. “It is a very old accent.” He lifted up his bowl and slurped up the last of his soup. “You say you are innocent of killing Astrapios, yes?”

Jean raised an impatient eyebrow in reply.

“I will make you a deal,” he said, tapping the table. “There is an item I have hidden. It is very dear to me and now that I am free I would very much like to have it again. But I cannot get to it alone. If you were to, say, help me retrieve it, I would help you find Astrapios’s killer.”

Jean pursed her lips. “As long as you promise it wasn’t you,” she said, crossing her arms. It had already occurred to her that there was a chance that Aïas was involved in Astrapios’s murder, and while she didn’t trust him, she knew if it weren’t for him she would be at the gallows by now.

Aïas shrugged. “Even if I did, would you believe me?”

The corner of Jean’s lips curled. He had a point. “Probably not.”

Aïas stared at her for a moment before he reached into his pocket and placed the policeman’s pistol on the table. “Then there is no debate, is it not so?” he asked, sliding the gun over to her.

Jean easily caught the pistol, her forefinger instinctually slipping next to the trigger. She glanced down at the chamber and saw five bullets remaining. Her eyebrows cocked. “Guess not. It’s not like I have many options at this point, do I?”

“It will not be easy,” he warned.

“Never is, but if you can clear my name, I’ll take the chance.” She extended a hand. “Partners?”

Aïas gave her a broad smile and shook her hand. “Partners.”

• • •

Jethro walked through the airship. Outside the wind howled, an unearthly tone that sounded like whispers, the floor moving ever so slightly with each step. Caraway had found the swaying relaxing, a reminder of the days when he flew against the Kaiser, while Ken had locked himself in the bathroom for most of the flight. And though his mind was elsewhere, Jethro had taken the opportunity to spend some time talking with Caraway, whom he had considered a friend long before he became the Green Lama. But there was still a distance, an unspoken demarcation, between them. As the Green Lama, he and Caraway had shared many adventures and had gained a tremendous amount of mutual respect. But Caraway would always look at Jethro with a suspicious eye, a distrust that pervaded every conversation, as if Caraway were waiting for Jethro to confess a truth they both knew was sitting right in front of them.

That was perhaps the hardest part about the path Jethro had chosen. No matter how close Jethro felt to his companions—especially Jean—he could never truly be himself around any of them. He would always be set apart, an island in the ocean.

Which was why he decided make this visit to the pilot’s cabin.

“Hello, Rick,” he said as he entered.

Rick Masters half-turned back to face Jethro, but didn’t take his focus off the airship controls. Rick was a well-built man in his late thirties, only now beginning to go soft. The slight bump in his gut hinted an increasing reliance on alcohol, and the half bottle of whiskey stashed below the controls confirmed it. “Hey, Jethro. If that’s what you’re callin’ yourself today.”

Jethro had met Rick before his return to America, shortly before he had decided to keep his identity as the Green Lama a secret, making him one of the very few people to know the truth.

“Just Jethro today.”

Rick nodded as he worked the controls. “We should be in Kamariotissa soon. Have to admit, buddy, wasn’t really expecting to hear from you ever again. It’s been what… five years since that whole mess in Tibet?”

“Six,” Jethro said as he sat down in the co-pilot chair.

“You mind tellin’ me what your plans are all the way out on this side of the pond? Not that it’s really any of my concern, mind you, but based on the last time you used my services—”

“To help a friend,” Jethro said, refusing to elaborate.

Rick grunted in understanding. “Good thing you don’t have to deal with that psychopath…” Rick searched for the name in the recesses of his memory before it finally made its way to his tongue, “Hayden ever again.”