The Icarian Path

By Selmoore Codfish

What is the special assignment that calls away Neal Harris? When he finds out, is it too late to get away? Will his reactions hurt himself or others?
At the same time, Neal’s wife puts demands upon him that forces him to make choices. How will he react? Will it put him in danger? The Icarian Path is the sixth book in the Neal Harris—Faith-Based Insurance Investigator Series.
Neal’s work sends him on a last minute trip. He doesn’t know what he’ll have to do until it is too late. Then, there is no escape from it. How he reacts will impact many people. He’ll have to make life and death decisions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Selmoore Codfish
• Release date: Jul 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301259083

Selmoore Codfish

Selmoore Codfish is not really a fish, but a chicken. He’s hiding because celebrity would show that he is not actually funny, just faking it. If the public knew Mr. Codfish’s identity, they would demand that he be funny all of the time. However, he would prefer to remain a dour, grumpy person. Funny people don’t get respect but are thought of as special or different. His friends and associates appreciate his dry seriousness and they shouldn’t be let down by humor.

Book preview

The Icarian Path

By Selmoore Codfish

Copyright 2013 Selmoore Codfish

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Table of Contents

The Icarian Path

About the Author and preview of next novel

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Chapter 1

At every street corner, I got dirty looks. Some men standing there threw their arms out at me in disgust.

I was glad that I was locked inside the limo and that Johan knew very well where we were going. However, it was the car’s fault that I was treated harshly.

I was in one of the High Sire’s fleet cars on the way from the airport to the Holy Recluse which was the throne from which he ruled the world’s largest religion. I didn’t know why I was headed there, who I would see, or why people on the street in the Holy City would hate him so vehemently.

I was lucky that I still remembered my name after the long tiring journey. I was confused about what time it was, or even what day. I had adjusted my watch once or twice on layovers, so it no longer represented the time at home or my destination. All I knew was that it was light outside.

I had slept an hour or so on the first flight, but not since then. With a three month old baby at home I had already been sleep deprived. My wife Angela took care of the feedings because she breastfed, but I still woke every time the baby cried. When I got the fax at work that I had been summoned to the Holy Recluse, one thought in the back of my mind was that I could use a vacation. I should have felt guilty for leaving Angela alone with the baby.

I was to go immediately to the Holy City. The message said that a ticket was waiting for me at the airport.

The letter had Archfont Dimwitz’s name on it. The Archfont was one of the High Sire’s advisors and was in charge of business operations for the worldwide organization. Essentially, he was my boss, so I jumped when he said to do so. However, I doubted that he even knew that I existed. The letter was probably from a lower level administrator who acted in the Archfont’s interests.

After I called the airline to confirm the ticket was there and to find the next flight time, I rushed home and told Angela of the summons. She was still on maternity leave from her job at the seminary.

Then I threw some clothes in a suitcase and grabbed my passport. I kissed her and Melanie and drove to the airport. If I had known the trouble that I’d find, I would have lost the fax and played dumb. I thought that after I was safely inside the Recluse gates that I’d be safe from the jeers.

With my insurance background, I figured they needed my help with claims. Recently, the news had reported stories about disturbances in the Holy City, but I hadn’t paid attention to the details. At a stoplight a man knocked on the window and yelled something at me. It was muffled through the glass and in an unknown language.

As we pulled forward, I saw that we were into the older part of town near the city center and that fewer people stood on the corners. I hoped that I could soon forget my ride and dive into a relaxing pool of insurance math. Numbers didn’t knock on windows and yell at me.

After a few minutes, we approached several buildings that I recognized from religious photos. We had arrived at the Holy Recluse. All of the buildings looked old. Probably even the accountants like me worked in millennium-old buildings.

Johan stopped the vehicle at the side door to one of the buildings, then got out. I looked for yelling gawkers but saw none. Relieved, I followed him.

I hadn’t tried to make conversation with Johan. I knew Romanesco, the native language of the Holy City, but I felt that in my dazed state, I would probably speak in nonsense. I had taken two courses in it during college, and then I often saw official documents that were written in it.

Johan retrieved my suitcase from the trunk, then said, Come, in the local tongue. I went with him into the door.

A woman at a desk greeted us.

Hello, I’m Neal Harris, I said in her language. It was an easy phrase to say. From then on I spoke that language, and must have done okay.

I gave her my copy of the summons.

Yes. You are expected, she said. Then to the driver: Thank you, Johan. He left.

I’ll get someone to help you with your bag, she said. She rang a bell, and a young man came around a corner. His clothes were very ornate for a bellhop. I hoped that I didn’t have to tip him. I had no local currency.

Yes? inquired the man.

Sergeant, please take him up, she said as she handed him the letter.

He was among the guard. They had protected the High Sire and Holy Recluse for a very long time. He wasn’t just a bellhop.

As I followed behind him I looked at his ceremonial sword. I wondered if it was sharp, or purely for show. Also, I noticed the artwork in the hall. It was mostly paintings of often repeated religious stories. I thought that they treated accountants very well and my vacation was going to start soon with a long nap.

He took me up an elevator to the second floor, down another hall, then to a male secretary.

Ben, said the Sergeant, This is Mr. Harris for Archfont Dimwitz.

I stood up straight. I thought that I’d have a quick chance to greet my boss. I hoped that I didn’t smell too bad from being in these clothes for a long time.

Thank you, said Ben.

Ben stood and motioned for me to follow him. He knocked and then opened the double doors. Archfont Dimwitz stood in front of me. He was an old man dressed in ceremonial robes.

He wasn’t the only face that I recognized. Archfont Bumbleton was with him. Behind the two of them, the High Sire Helvetica IX reclined in a chair. He looked asleep. We were in his personal apartment.

The shock of suddenly being in the presence of the most powerful man in the world jolted me half awake. I had missed too much sleep to be fully awake.

Mr. Harris. You have arrived, said Dimwitz. He opened his arms. Good. He nodded at Ben. Then the secretary closed the doors as he went back to his desk.

I noticed two other men. One was another guard, and one appeared to be a butler because of his attentiveness and formal dress. The guard had the same sort of sword as the other one.

The butler approached me.

May I take your jacket? he asked.

I paused to think. I hoped that I wasn’t staying long, but I didn’t want to be impolite to my boss. Also, I wanted to stay very quiet so that the High Sire didn’t wake.

I carefully removed my jacket and handed it to the butler.

Mr. Harris, said Dimwitz in a get down to business tone, you are here because your personal records show that you know Chicken Cluck.

I nodded. I knew it as well as Chicken Scratch. Both were nearly dead languages that only a few religious orders kept alive. A few years ago, I asked around and no one else in the Sacred Recluse Self Insurance Groups worldwide database knew the languages, so it fell on me to pick them up. I had to learn the language to work with insurance plans for those odd orders.

The High Sire has been talking to us in Chicken Cluck, insisted Archfont Bumbleton, but no one understands it. I looked at the Hire Sire.

My tired head was confused. I had heard that it was common for sitting High Sires to learn the language, but I saw no reason that he would tease his advisors with it. However, it wasn’t my place to judge the leader of church, and God’s representative on Earth.

I looked back at Bumbleton. He winked at me. I was already confused, but the wink made me feel like I understood absolutely nothing. I would just stand and wait for them to tell me what to do.

The High Sire made some breathing noises.

There. He’s doing it now, said Bumbleton. He winked again.

Interpret for us, commanded Dimwitz.

I approached the High Sire and kneeled before him. I strained to listen. Both Chicken Cluck and Scratch were just codes of clicks and other sounds. I couldn’t get very close because of and tables end other furniture.

Sounds like he is greeting you, said Bumbleton.

Uh…, I said.

Definitely, Bumbleton assured. I guessed that he knew the languages better than he’d led us.

What else does he say? asked Dimwitz.

I looked up.

I need to get a little closer to him, I said.

Sam, said Dimwitz as he motioned towards the Sire.

The butler approached and rolled the High Sire’s chair closer.

The double doors behind us opened as the furniture was being arranged. Archfont Spitzmann came in. I didn’t rise to greet him since the High Sire took precedence.

Spitzmann was in charge of police and propaganda. However, the guards were a separate organization, and I thought they were under Dimwitz. Since he managed the finances that made him mayor of the Holy City which had been its own country for about 200 years.

I tried to recall what Bumbleton administered. I thought that it was related to politics.

Mr. Harris is about to translate a greeting from the Sire, Bumbleton said to Spitzmann.

Sam, the butler, remained behind the High Sire’s chair in case it needed adjustment.

I listened and interpreted what I heard.

P, I said. R…A…

Pray, interrupted Dimwitz. That is typical of him.

Praise the Lord, said Spitzmann.

W, I said. I mean, Y. It sounded like the letter W, but maybe I misheard. The High Sire was supposed to be telling us to pray. W and Y were near each other in the alphabet. The official answer would be that the infallible High Sire couldn’t have made a mistake. I had just heard wrong or been distracted by my tiredness.

I was under pressure from my superiors to give the right translations.

Well, then let’s pray, said Bumbleton. We all bowed our heads as he said a prayer for the health of the High Sire, and to settle the tensions between the Holy City and immigrants who had settled around it.

I didn’t listen to every word of his. Instead, I tried to hear more of what the High Sire said. It was C, Z, M, A, A, A, C, and more nonsense.

He wasn’t communicating. He was in a coma. The High Sire was getting old, and there were rumors that his reign might be coming to an end. However, death was the only way to resign. Until then he was the infallible word of God that rattled B, A, A, P, D.

The world’s most powerful organization was without a leader. They had a leader, but his command was to PRAW. This was the worst time for this situation with trouble happening all around the Holy City.

If the word of God was to Praw but I said it was to Pray then I could have endangered my soul. I wasn’t the only one taking that chance. Archfont Bumbleton had prodded me along.

I should have got up and walked away right then, but in my foggy brain, I couldn’t decide anything for myself. I looked at Bumbleton and winked.

What does he say now? asked Bumbleton.

I pretended to listen to the Hire Sire while I thought.

He says, ‘thank you for your concern and that you should be assured that things are in good hands.’

It was too many words to have been translated from the simple code that quickly, but they wouldn’t know that.

Sam, the butler and Bumbleton looked at each other and nodded. The other two Archfonts said blessings. It didn’t look like Spitzmann and Dimwitz were in on the winking. In order for a secret to be a secret, someone had to be excluded.

I knew it, said Archfont Dimwitz. I could tell that Helvetica was meditating.

He looked so serene. He’s closer to God this way, he continued. Bumbleton, that was inspiration to call Mr. Harris here.

Thank you, replied Bumbleton.

This is going to work out very well with Mr. Harris staying here, Dimwitz said. Neal, you’ll need to translate for him from now on. He was my boss, and I obeyed.

I yawned. I couldn’t keep myself from doing it. Then I yawned again. I put my hand in front of my mouth. Sometimes when I yawned saliva sprinkled out of my mouth. Spitting on Helvetica’s robes would be very embarrassing.

Neal, said Bumbleton. Why don’t you sit down. He pointed at settee.

I got up and went to it.

Bumbleton went to the door.

Ben, he said to the secretary, Neal will be translating for the High Sire.

Out of my half closed eyes, I noticed Ben smirk at me. Not everyone was as gullible as Dimwitz.

It was very exciting to be where I was, but then nothing could keep me awake any longer.

I heard Spitzmann and Dimwitz talking, but I didn’t listen. The last thing that I saw as I closed my eyes was the guard staring blankly. Then I fell asleep.

* * * *

I woke a short time later. I couldn’t have slept very long in the uncomfortable small couch. It was probably ten times older than I was, and built for appearance rather than comfort.

The guard was the first thing I saw as I opened my eyes. It was the same man.

It was still light out. Sam the butler looked up from across the room.

What time is it? I asked. I was groggy.

Seven P.M., he replied. Are you hungry?

I thought for a moment. Then I nodded.

Sam disappeared for a minute. A few rooms adjoined the living space. The High Sire was likely in one. I set my watch as I waited. Sam came back with a tray. It contained a sub sandwich.

The guard stared almost straight at me. Was it polite to eat in front of him?

Does he want some? I asked.

Heinz? Sam said to the guard. Heinz shook his head.

They usually don’t eat on duty.

I nodded.

Sam disappeared again. I ate the whole sandwich. At first I got hungrier as I ate as my body realized that it hadn’t had food in several hours.

I wanted to call Angela and tell her that I had arrived safely. What else could I tell her since I didn’t understand much myself?

I got my cell phone and turned it on. It said there was no service. That was hard to believe. In a big city at the center of the world, there had to be service. Then I recalled that European cell phones operated on a different system and mine didn’t work in dual frequencies.

I could probably ask for a phone, but Ben the secretary didn’t seem welcoming. I’d wait until I knew more.

Now that I knew the time, I guessed that Angela would be awake and at home. The first couple months after the baby was born, the two of them would be awake at random times, but recently Angela had been usually awake during the day and asleep at night, except for feedings.

She probably knew that I had arrived by tracking the flights, but I needed to talk to her anyhow.

It was a reprieve to not have a working phone. I had to be honest with her, but I didn’t know what part of my secret that I could share.

Heinz, the guard, stood to protect the High Sire. He took everyone’s word that I was translating for Helvetica, but what would he do with his sword if he felt that I was instead part of a coup?

I couldn’t tell Angela the truth in front of him. I thought Sam was in on the secret, but I wasn’t sure.

Maybe no one knew. Bumbleton could have had an eye tic and my tired head misunderstood it as a wink.

However, I couldn’t lie to my wife. I’d lied about a case that I was on nearly a year ago. It was at a hospice run by murderers. Angela had just gotten pregnant with our daughter and I didn’t want to scare her. She’d had trouble staying pregnant once before that.

I finally told her just a month ago. I knew that she would be upset that I had been in danger and not told her. To me it didn’t matter how long I waited to tell her, so I delayed until after she and our baby were settled.

I couldn’t wait long to call her or she might fear that I was in danger again. One day was the longest that I dared to delay contacting her.

I missed them. I thought of our daughter’s beautiful face. Every father probably thought that of his baby. However, with Angela as the mother, it was a sure thing that our daughter would be pretty too. As an insurance man I often thought about probabilities. I was 100% confident that our baby would be cute.

I hoped that I would see them again. I had been summoned to be the translator for my employer who was the leader of the church, and head of state of his city. That meant that I couldn’t walk away without legal, political and religious consequences. I was in a mess.

This was my fault. I should have played dumb when the Sire’s advisors asked me to translate for Helvetica. I could be on a plane headed home already. Instead, I thought that I was very likely bound to him until his reign was over.

The High Sire was obviously in poor health. It was possible that he was on his last breath.

I could help him make his next breath his last one. A pillow over his face would work. That would help me go home.

I was ashamed of myself. We were told that the Word of God came from his lips, and I was plotting to silence him. Heinz wouldn’t let me do it, but then he probably couldn’t see the High Sire from where he stood.

No. I straightened myself. I wouldn’t let myself think about murder.

I looked at Heinz. He didn’t show that he understood that I was a potential murderer.

Then I heard talking from the Sire’s bedroom. I was hopeful that it meant he was out of his coma.

I got up quickly and went to the door, but I was disappointed. Sam and a woman were talking. She wore dark conservative clothing of a religious sister. They were next to Helvetica’s bed.

Thank you, Sister, he will be fine for the night now, Sam said. The woman nodded to him, then left. She nodded to me as she walked passed.

Heinz, yelled Sam. We won’t be receiving anyone else if you want to lock up and leave. I didn’t look back as I heard Heinz leave.

When you were asleep, I put your things in the nurse’s apartment, said Sam. Where was I supposed to stay? Did he mean I was with the sister?

With the woman? I asked softly.

What? he asked.

I didn’t want to be loud in the presence of the High Sire. I stepped into the room.

Where am I staying? With the sister?

Oh, no. Since the current nurse is female, she has her own place. I have my own apartment too and a key to come and go.

I nodded.

I was close to the Sire. I listened to him a minute.

I hoped that he would send a code. He would say that he had tricked me, and he really wasn’t brain dead.

I didn’t hear anything meaningful. It was random breathing patterns.

I thought that if I should ask Sam if the Sire was in a coma, brain dead, or something else, but I didn’t ask. I told myself that I didn’t know if Sam was in on the secret.

He is a wonderful man, said Sam. He watched me gazing on the Sire.

Yes, I said. I was obligated to say that about my employer and religious leader, although I knew nothing about him as a person.

I’ve worked for him for twelve years, Sam said.

Do you have a family? I asked.

No. This is my life, he said. We used to sit here at night and play cards. He motioned to a small table at the side of the room.

Sometimes I play with my friends too, I said.

You’re not married then either?

I am. Honestly, I haven’t seen my friends in a while. We have a new baby.

Congratulations, he said.

I nodded.

Do you play poker? he asked.

Yes, I said.

He sat at the table and withdrew a deck from a small drawer.

I looked at the Sire.

It’s okay. He won’t wake up, said Sam. I smiled.

What’s your last name? I asked.

Harkness.

I shook his hand then sat opposite him. He dealt out the cards.

Where do you normally work? Sam asked.

I told him about insurance.

That’s how Archfont D had your name? he said.

Who is D? Dimwitz?

Yes, they all seem to have long names, so it is easier to shorten it.

We played several hands. He won most of them.

Frankly, he said. We were hoping for someone who could bluff better. I smiled, but was unsettled.

I’m tired, I said. I was still groggy from the short nap.

I recalled where I was and looked at the Sire sleeping.

He won’t help you, Sam said playfully. He wasn’t good at bluffing either.

I smiled again.

Maybe he just let you win, I said.

Is that what he told you? he joked. Oh, I’ve got you two figured out. The Sire’s trying to see my cards and tell you what I have. He shielded his cards.

I laughed.

Yes. We have a secret code, I