The Skin of the Gods

By Phil Armstrong

From the - 2 Promises series - book 2 of 2.

The ancient Egyptians worshipped the oldest of Gods leaving a legacy of their relationship with the underworld. In modern times, dangerously rich businessmen plot to unravel this knowledge to rule the world. Beth Martindale is reluctantly drawn into a sinister plot to secure powerful ancient artifacts. This gripping story weaves a plot that moves through ancient Egypt, medieval England, the canals of Amsterdam, and alleys of Cologne effortlessly. Beth is compelled to stop this evil plot by challenging a sinister secret society that has existed for thousands of years. A gripping story of faith, trust and betrayal, this intelligently written, fast paced novel, concludes the 2 Promises series in heart thumping fashion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Phil Armstrong
• Release date: Dec 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9780987728401

Phil Armstrong

Phil Armstrong is a busy technology executive who is pleased to bring you these books free of charge.

Book preview

The Skin of the Gods

A 2Promises novel book 2 of 2

By

Phil Armstrong

Published by

2Promises Publishing House

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Title and Copyright Page

The Skin of the Gods

Phil Armstrong

Published by Phil Armstrong at Smashwords

Thank you for downloading this free eBook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form, with the exception of quotes used in reviews. Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Thank you for downloading this free eBook.

Copyright 2012 Phil Armstrong. Discover other titles by Phil Armstrong at www.2promises.com

The 2 Promises Book Series consists of two books:

Book 1: 2 Promises (ISBN 978-0-557-23126-3) and

Book 2: The Skin of the Gods (ISBN 978-0-9877284-0-1)

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The Skin of the Gods

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I dedicate this book to my Wife and my Family.

A kiss is a lovely trick, designed by nature, to stop words when speech becomes superfluous.

Ingrid Bergman

Chapter 1: The Rose and Crown

City of York, England, 1890.

In late August Harold Armitage walked along the Shambles in the heart of the City of York. It had been a productive day and he was pleased. He allowed a smile to ease across his usually stern face. A tricky business transaction causing him concern for weeks had concluded in a more than satisfactory manner. His business dealings of late seemed to be a struggle. Finally a deal had closed in a smooth and acceptable manner. Tonight was a night to relax and have a few drinks. The day was drawing to an end with evening approaching. The sun had been strong and proud today warming the air and fusing it with the smells of the city. The summer’s air was now starting to cool as the light began to fade.

He approached the door of the Rose and Crown public house. The City of York was a thriving vibrant place situated in North Yorkshire, England. He paused before entering. Organized by local business dignitaries, tonight was an annual celebration of a fruitful year. If he were honest he would rather have stayed at home reading a good book. Many of the attendees were crass money hungry deviants. They portrayed themselves as fine upstanding gentlemen, pillars of the community. In reality they would not think twice about stealing their Grandfather’s pocket watch if they thought they could make a profit from the venture.

The raucous roar of laughter snapped his attention back to the entrance. He took a deep breath and pulled open the heavy wooden door. Pub doors always opened towards the street. He inquired once and was told it was easier to throw out drunken patrons if the door swung outwards. Harold entered the pub and was immediately recognized. It was busy with a cross section of the city’s inhabitants. A quick glance registered old, young, regulars, wealthy, poor and working girls.

Harold! Over here, come and join us, shouted a portly red headed man. Benjamin Crossley was a true friend. He was a little overweight sporting a shock of red hair and a full bushy beard. His face was always a fiery red accented with flushed cheeks. He had married a beautiful woman who loved him dearly. Human nature shows its traits in interesting ways. It was obvious to those who knew Carol that she was wildly, madly and deeply in love with Benjamin.

She was a fierce defender of his reputation and his public image. She was stunningly beautiful and many did not approve of their pairing. Many felt she deserved a handsome, more desirable gentleman. Why is it that people always think they know better than the individuals involved? Harold could not imagine a happier couple. Benjamin sat at the end of a long wooden table. He was tucked away to one side of the pub in a private nook area. The long table had small wooden stools, which would accommodate a group of twenty. The nook was full with loud, boisterous, happy men. Benjamin had known Harold for years; he owned a chain of butcher shops. He was well fed and exceptionally strong from carrying large sides of beef and other animal carcasses.

You’re late. Most of us have had a skin full already.

I’m sorry Ben, I had a few things to attend to but I’m here now.

You always have to make a dramatic entrance don’t you Harry, sniped Paul Smith. Paul always called him Harry knowing that it grated. Paul never liked Harold Armitage; he didn’t like a single thing about him. Harold was tall, slim and handsome. He dressed impeccably and was charmingly funny. He seemed to have ample means and looked ten years younger than his real age of thirty-four.

Paul hated him. Hate is a strong word that should seldom be used but Paul truly hated him. Paul was shorter, fatter, plain looking and spoke with a slight stutter. He came from a rich family but had not made his mark on the social scene like Harold. Paul had failed to impress the ladies. It was not important until he met Claire. Claire was the daughter of Judge Brown. She was perfect in every way. Men could only dream of taking her hand. Claire was besotted with Harold for many years since she first met him on her fourteenth birthday. Paul failed to make a positive impression and was constantly rebuked. Harold had a string of eligible suitors vying for his attention and he seemed to be favoring Charlotte Parker an attractive woman with straw colored hair. Harold was always polite to Claire but clearly not interested. It made Paul angry how Claire acted differently when around Harold. Why could she not see through this charade? It was obvious that he was the one for her and not Harry. Why were his feelings not reciprocated?

Sit down and ignore him, said Ben pulling up a small stool.

The barmaid arrived and flashed a smile broader than the group had seen all evening. She clearly liked what she saw as she took Harold’s order for a pint of ale. She headed for the bar expertly avoiding the drunken hands lunging for her as she skipped by. At that moment a man rose to make an announcement.

Gentlemen, gentlemen please if I may, his voice rose until the noise at the table subsided. "I will try to keep this address concise. As a group of distinguished businessmen we should give thanks for a very prosperous year.

Our businesses have grown and our investments in this community have been wise. Our alliances have helped all of our respective businesses and I ask you to raise your tankards to a good year."

Harold looked down at an empty space where his tankard would have been. He raised his imaginary tankard high in the air cupping his hands. A good year, he repeated.

The men sat and the conversations resumed. Paul glared at Harold from across the table as if trying to pick a fight. Harold ignored him making Paul’s temperature rise. The bar maid arrived with a handful of drinks. She placed a pewter tankard sporting a frothy white head of foam next to Harold’s right hand. He reached for the tankard and began to drink the cool strong tasting ale. Harold preferred whiskey but he drank ale when in public. It seemed to be more acceptable in the pub. This way he would not look like he was flaunting his wealth. For all of his caution one look at his clothing and people could assess his worth.

You’ve got some catching up to do! What was so pressing that you couldn’t join your fellow business associates on such a fine occasion as this? Paul spewed the words like a ferret lunging for its prey. Paul hoped to draw Harry into an exchange where he could make it uncomfortable.

Paul you wouldn’t understand and you don’t need to worry about my affairs. I’m sure you have enough to worry about in your own world? replied Harold in a firm but assured way.

What do you mean by that? stammered Paul looking wounded.

To infuriate Paul, Harold turned his face away and ignored the exchange. Harold set his pewter tankard down on the wooden table harder than he had intended. The frothy ale responded to the movement. As Harold withdrew his hand his ring caught the tankards handle making the dull clanging noise of metal on metal. Harold looked at his ring to make sure it was not damaged. The ring sat on his right hand, third finger from his thumb. It was a gold band with a setting supporting an unusual dark rounded stone. The stone was consistently colored with a dark grey polished look. The yellow band had strange markings raised in the gold. The ring was unusual and was clearly crafted with the finest quality. Harold stayed with the group laughing and drinking the night away.

Harold consumed three tankards of ale, well within his normal limit for these occasions. He had eaten a meal before he left for the pub knowing that an empty stomach and alcohol was not a good combination. He felt light headed, as if he had consumed twice the amount of ale. He felt happy and mellow but his senses were dull. His normally fast brain and articulate arguments were failing him during his most recent conversation. It was late and the pub had emptied considerably when he rose to leave.

Rising quickly his head began to swirl and the dark walls seemed to blend with the stone floor. He felt his knees buckle under his own weight. Harold fell quickly back into the refuge of his comfortable wooden stool. Not wanting to appear foolish he remained seated and tried to regain his composure. Only five men from the original business group remained at the table.

Still engaged in conversation were Ben, Paul, David Stark the tailor, Gareth Pymm the carpenter and William Enright the landlord of the Rose and Crown. The front door to the pub had been locked hours earlier. This boisterous group was now the private guests of the landlord. The bar maid tried to make herself scarce as the jokes became bawdier and the ale flowed. William and Harold entered into a long debate about social justice and current politics. After several hours of discussion and friendly debate they agreed to disagree. Throughout the night men had left to return home to their families. Benjamin had waved goodbye to Harold slapping him on his back as he left quite early. William and Paul remained with Harold. Harold’s head was fuzzy and he started to see double. It was not long before the room started to spin and he felt a warm force ebbing down his spine. He passed out and fell into a foggy haze.

Thanks Mary we can take it from here, said William sending his loyal bar maid home for the night.

Will he be alright? she inquired pointing to Harold’s sprawled body. Harold was motionless with white foam leaking from the sides of his mouth.

He’s just had too much to drink. We all have. Go on home now; Mr. Smith will make sure he gets home safe won’t you Paul?

Ay. Paul nodded as they both turned to look at his remarkably sober figure perched upright on a stool. William moved quickly to unlock the front door. His walk was unsure as he staggered forward. He unlatched the door and opened it enough to allow Mary passage into the misty dark night. Her shoes made noise on the cobbled street as she scurried away.

I’m going upstairs to bed. This never happened in my pub do you understand? said William slurring his words slightly.

Understood, said Paul sliding a brown leather pouch bulging with coins across the wooden table.

He better be alright. What did you put in his drink?

It’s a potion I got from a sailor. It’s made from herbs, strong herbs. When mixed with ale it makes you drowsy and forces you to tell the truth. He’ll wake up with a headache that’s all. I don’t like this man and I want to know what his intentions are. I’m going to ask him a few questions.

William grabbed the leather purse and glared down at Paul. Do what you need to do but go out the back door. Be sure to close it firmly and the latch will drop. Make sure you get him home safely. I’m not having any part of this if this is raised again, understand?

Yes.

Good night Mr. Smith.

Good night Mr. Enright.

William turned and disappeared into a dark stairwell staggering as he left. He heaved his huge frame up the creaking stairs and disappeared from view. Paul grabbed Harold’s prostrate body and propped him against the table. He slapped his face hard with the back of his hand and smiled. Harold let out a small noise to register the stinging blow. His eyes opened with heavy lids and he struggled to keep his head from falling forward.

I’ve been waiting a long time for this night. You’re going to tell me whatever I want to know. So let’s start. What are your intentions towards Claire? barked Paul enjoying this immensely. Paul shook Harold violently by the shoulders, Answer me you idiot.

I don’t, er, I don’t have any, stuttered Harold.

Then you’re not planning to marry her?

No, I’m not planning to, he said barely awake.

Which lady are you interested in? shouted Paul.

I don’t want to get married at this time, maybe later, said Harold barely in control of his actions.

You can’t marry Claire, do you understand?

Yes, it would be too dangerous.

What do you mean too dangerous?

Her Father’s a judge and she seems inquisitive.

So what’s that got to do with danger? Paul slapped Harold again jolting him into a response.

I can’t risk it being found. It needs to stay hidden.

Intrigued Paul grabbed Harold by the throat and lifted his chin upwards. Their eyes met, Tell me quickly or I swear I’ll kill you. What needs to stay hidden?

If she discovered the Amulet then I would have placed her in danger. Many people search for it. They’ll stop at nothing to have its powers.

What Amulet? What are you talking about? Paul slapped him again to make sure he did not dose off.

Harold recoiled from the blow but managed to spit out an answer. I have sworn to guard the precious Amulet. It’s been entrusted to my care; it’s very rare and precious. It’s a great burden. He started to dose again.

Wake up you moron. Why is this Amulet precious? asked Paul intrigued.

The Amulet has healing properties it keeps you young and in good health. It has the power to heal any ailment extending your life.

Do you have it with you?

No of course not, Harold’s chin slumped to one side hitting his collarbone.

How many people know of this Amulet?

Two.

Who’s the other person, tell me quickly!

My partner knows. He’s in London. Harold was looking sick; the blood from his face was draining.

I need a name damn it what’s his name?

The Soul Collector, said Harold wishing he had not heard his words.

Now you’re just rambling. You’re a stupid fool. Harold started to drift off to sleep. Wake up, shouted Paul shaking him violently. Where is this Amulet?

I’m not supposed to say.

Paul drew his fist back ready to strike and stared deep into his wide eyes. Tell me and tell me now.

It’s hidden, Harold leaned forward spewing foam, ale and food from his mouth onto the floor.

Let’s get out of here before William wakes up and gets mad at us. Paul lifted Harold to his feet and steered him to the back exit.

It was a fifteen-minute walk to Harold’s residence. He stumbled often and needed to rest slumped on the cold cobbles. During this walk Harold unwittingly told Paul more details of the Amulet and its strange healing properties. He mentioned the pact he had formed with the Soul Collector to protect the Amulet. He explained the Amulet was an ancient relic from Egypt, which contained other mystical properties. When asked about its location Harold would only repeat, It’s hidden.

When asked where it was hidden? He would fight the effects of the drug knowing that he should not tell. It took all of his will power and internal strength but he knew he had to fight. As the drug wore off he continued to fight. Every fiber in his being was fighting the effects of the drug knowing he had sworn to keep this secret. When pressed he would raise his finger to his lips making a shushing noise. It’s in a safe place.

Earlier when the drug was potent Harold had told Paul about the special powers the Amulet possessed. He described its origins, its journey, and how his family had protected it for generations. Paul required one missing piece of information. He needed to know where the precious Amulet was hidden. Paul knew if he had the Amulet it would make him powerful and irresistible. Claire would be fawning over him. He had to have it. He had to have her. He could see a more prosperous life ahead of him. He would do anything to get Claire. The very thought of them together spurred him onwards.

Heaving under the strain Harold dragged his feet along the cobbles. He could not support his weight and relied on Paul to sustain his forward motion. He hung on as best he could with his strong arms but his legs were numb. His head swirled and he felt sick again. Paul staggered forward trying to support Harold’s body weight and his own. They managed to ascend a steep incline with a couple of stops for rest. Drawing closer to Harold’s residence the moon broke through the thick cloud cover illuminating the narrow cobbled street ahead. The shadow of a large figure loomed through the hanging mist. At his side the outline of a dog could now be seen. As the pair staggered forward the looming figure approached. The dog raised its hind end and lowered its snout. The dog’s top lip curled upwards baring its teeth and snarling at the approaching pair. The snarl was accompanied by a low menacing growl. The fur on the dog’s neck had raised and he was in a combative stance.

Quiet Dusty, take it easy boy. The alert Beagle heeded his Master’s command but remained vigilant. His eyes focused on the emerging shapes stumbling closer through the mist. He sensed something was not right and he was not going to be caught off guard.

Is that you Master Harold? Jackson was the trusted head servant of Harold Armitage. His family had served the Armitage household for four generations. Jackson rushed forward to support Harold’s weight and looked at Paul with dark piercing eyes. Dusty stood guard ready to pounce when needed.

It was a good night; we all had way too much to drink. He fell in the pub and hit his face on the edge of a table, said Paul convincingly.

Thank you for bringing the Master home. We’re in your debt.

It was the least I could do for a dear friend.

You’re too kind Sir. We’ll take him to his quarters immediately. Thank you for your generosity. Jackson supported Harold’s weight effortlessly and carried him quickly into the house. Dusty sized up Paul before turning and following Jackson into the house. Paul turned and briskly walked away shielding his face throughout the brief exchange. Paul beat a hasty retreat but could not get the thought of the powerful Amulet out of his head.

Had the truth potion worked or had it made Harry delirious? Was the Amulet the ramblings of a drugged up drunken fool? If the Amulet was hidden how could he get that power? It would certainly help him win Claire’s affections. His other answers seemed truthful so why would the Amulet story be false? Paul could not recollect his journey home. His mind was so preoccupied with the powers of the Amulet. He needed to have it at all costs.

When Jackson, Harold and Dusty entered the house all was calm and the night staff had retired. Jackson had decided to wait up for the Master and of course what Jackson did Dusty followed. Carrying him into the servant’s kitchen Jackson gently placed the Master of the house onto a wooden chair. He lit a couple of oil lamps and placed them on the table. He looked at his Master’s swollen face covered in purple bruises. His right eye was starting to close from the swelling. His left cheekbone looked scratched and bruised. He was awake but obviously drunk. This was highly unusual. The Master never got drunk and would never throw his fate onto the charity of others.

Jackson looked down to his Master’s waist. A small gold chain attached to a gleaming pocket watch was still in place. He reached for his Master’s right hand and confirmed his gold ring was still intact. Jackson exhaled heavily; he was now content that his Master had not been robbed. The facial bruises did not make sense and heightened Jackson’s suspicions. Dusty lay on the floor watching the men. In his teenage years Jackson had relied upon his large frame and fast hands. He would earn some additional income from street boxing and bare-fist fighting. The bruises on his Master’s face resembled the injuries he would receive from being hit. It made no sense how he could receive this type of facial injury on both sides of his face from a fall into a table. Swelling could be seen around both eyes, cheeks, the nose, chin and neck. Something happened here and he was not being told the truth.

Jackson decided to get the Master to bed quickly and without much fuss. He did not want to alert the live in staff to his Master’s condition. He carried him to his quarters and helped him get ready for bed. Jackson winced as his Master rubbed against an open wound he had received. It was an accident earlier that day but it resulted in a small painful gash on his left forearm. The Master threw up again wrenching his stomach contents. They reeked of a foul musty odor. Jackson made sure the Master was settled and sleeping comfortably before he did the final rounds and secured the house for the night. The live in staff were settled for the night and the house returned to normal. He listened to his Master’s heavy breathing and decided to remain with him this evening. He threw a couple of large logs onto the bedroom hearth and watched the dancing yellow flames caress their new companions. He slumped into a deep armchair next to the bed and quickly realized he was shattered. It was not long before the fully dressed loyal servant was crumpled in deep sleep within the large chair.

Dusty watched the scene unfold still bright and alert. Satisfied any danger had passed he sniffed the air with his keen nose. He looked at the Master of the house breathing heavily in bed. He turned his gaze to his Master slumped and asleep in the chair. Dusty walked over to the stone fireplace and lay upon the thick woolen floor rug. Curled into a small ball, he soaked up the fire’s welcoming warmth. This was a treat. He was not normally allowed to sleep in this room. As he settled in for the night he could hear breathing and the steady rhythmic ticking of the mantelpiece clock. He could smell the fire but didn’t notice anything else unusual. His black eyelids became heavy as they started to close over his bright brown eyes. Morning would come soon enough for now it was time to sleep.

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Chapter 2: Another Nightmare

Haworth, West Yorkshire, England, Present day.

The hallway looked old with oil paintings adorned with golden frames hanging in the darkened passage. The baseboards were made of wood and were wide compared to modern standards. It’s the little details that you notice when things look odd. Above the wainscoting, the walls were covered in a material that looked like rough cloth. He could not see any power outlets, plugs or phone jacks, in any of the walls. This house was old, clearly built in a simpler age. An old-fashioned oil lamp hung from the wall.

He proceeded down the hallway. An overwhelming sense of stealth washed over him. He knew he must not disturb the remaining occupants. The sweat was running down his neck and he felt excited and hot. Every one of his senses seemed to be on edge. He felt like a powerful animal stalking its prey. As he crept through the house he started to hear a low droning noise. The faint murmur of a secretive conversation could be heard from the room at the end of the hallway. The conversation seemed lively but the men kept their voices deliberately low. You could hear two distinct voices but it was impossible to decipher meaning from the muffled sounds. The house was dark. The only light was emanating from an oil lamp hanging in the hallway. A soft light could be seen bleeding from a small room adjacent to the main reception corridor. The wooden floor creaked under foot immediately causing him to freeze and listen hard. Was he detected? Was there a break in the conversation? The soft murmurs of conversation continued in a steady pattern oblivious to the unwelcome noise. From the street outside the faint sounds of a horse drawn carriage could be heard passing over the cobbles.

A soft noise drew his attention downwards to his right hand. He gripped a large knife tightly within his clenched fist. Even in the limited light the steel of the blade shone brightly towards the handle. The tip of the blade was dark. The tip was stained with blood. It dripped steadily onto the floor making a soft patting noise as the droplets hit the hard wooden surface.

When the men stopped talking all he could hear was the thumping noise in his own chest. Some papers were rustled and the conversation resumed. He needed to get closer to hear the words. He needed to hear. A man was walking around in the small room. He could see a shadow on the wall ahead moving in relation to the light source. He inched closer to the door and withdrew quickly as he realized the man was just around the corner, the other side of the doorjamb.

The man was carrying a brass candleholder in his right hand. He placed it carefully on a table close to the door. He reached for a bound leather book from one of the library shelves. It was tightly packed between other books and he needed both hands to extract the book. The side of the man’s figure could be seen from the reflection in a small dark windowpane.

I think I have a rare book here somewhere on Upper Egypt and what the Greeks call Lycopolis, said the man standing in the library.

The man passed the book to his colleague. He turned his back and provided the perfect opportunity. Licking his forefinger and thumb he reached around the door. The younger man was sat at a small desk. He was distracted as he peered into the book. He strained to read the text in the dimly lit room. The older man was standing with his back to the door blocking the line of sight. He pinched the wick of the candle with his wet digits throwing the room into darkness. A small amount of light pierced the room through the uncovered window. The room remained uncomfortably dark. The man turned his head as the candle extinguished.

Within seconds he leapt forward and plunged the sharp blade deep into the back of the standing man. He grabbed the top of his victim’s shoulder with his left hand. He thrust the blade forward with pinpoint precision using his right hand. The flimsy material of a shirt offered no protection from the curved steel blade. The flesh carved easily as the knife entered his back. Warm blood seeped onto his hand as the weight of the man’s body pressed down upon the blade. He withdrew the blade quickly and the man fell instantly to the floor. He needed to deal with the other man. He needed to neutralize the last remaining threat.

He could feel the adrenaline pumping through him and he was completely committed to his task. It was as if his mind was going through a series of preprogrammed steps. Kill the other man quietly and quickly. He needed to be efficient. He stepped forward faster than he thought he could and hovered over the darkened figure. Still in shock and acting confused the younger man cowered. He flinched to his left to avoid the blow. The library was a small wood paneled room that doubled as a study. Books were housed neatly on shelves and piled methodically on the wooden floor. A woolen throw rug provided a base for an elaborately carved wooden desk. A smaller table sat to its side. The walls were adorned with five carved animal heads made from wood. These ornaments were hand crafted and of high quality. Each animal head separated a set of wall cabinets that housed several shelves of books. The carvings added some interest to a section of paneling that otherwise would have been quite plain. The room had a small fireplace that was not being used. The library had one small window and used the same narrow door to enter and exit.

The younger man seemed rooted to his chair acting confused and disoriented. He seemed partially paralyzed moving slowly. A downward blow was prepared to render the young man lifeless. He was trapped in an unfortunate position. At that angle the blow would inflict serious damage. He raised the blade to enter at the top of the man’s neck. He felt powerful with his eyes trained on the target area. The room seemed darker with the young man frozen in a state of panic. The blade was raised and ready to strike. The man turned his fear stricken face upwards as tears welled in his wide eyes. A strong force prevented him from delivering the fatal blow. A violent force gathered around his forearm. He suddenly felt searing pain. He could not say where the pain was coming from but it was enough to snap him back to reality.

Matt. Matt wake up! shouted Beth violently shaking her fiancée. Beth continued to shake his shoulders but this was a bad one. Matt was covered in sweat his hair tangled. He was lashing out with his arms, clearly upset. Wake up Matt. Please wake up; it’s just a dream. Matt it’s just a dream.

Matt sat upright in a movement resembling a spasm. He disconnected from his nightmare. Jesus Beth what the hell’s going on? Matt was scared, disoriented and confused. Beth reached for the light switch and glanced at the alarm clock. The digital readout announced it was only 3.30am on a Saturday morning.

Another nightmare, moaned Beth. What are we going to do with you Matt? We can’t seem to make it through the night these days.

I’m sorry love that was a bad one, said Matt rubbing the sweat from his face. Matt could still feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention.

Beth held his hands and stroked them in a