Nathaniel Cannon and the Lost City of Pitu

By Jay Slater

The year is 1929. In the aftermath of the Great War, the world rebuilds, and the mighty zeppelin is its instrument. Carrying trade between every nation, airship merchantmen attract an old menace for a new age: the sky pirate. One man stands out above the rest. Ace pilot, intrepid explorer, and gentleman buccaneer Nathaniel Cannon and his gang, the Long Nines, prowl the skies in hot pursuit of wealth and adventure.

Cannon receives word from a sometime friend in Paris about a job in the Dutch East Indies. The contact tells a tale of a mysterious lost city, bursting with treasure, not seen by human eyes for a thousand years. Will his tip pay off? Or will it lead the Long Nines straight to a fight for their lives, lost in the unfriendly depths of the Indonesian jungle?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Many Words Press
• Release date: Mar 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781945092015

Jay Slater

Hello! I'm an author and software engineer from beautiful southwestern Pennsylvania. I read a lot of speculative fiction, as well as history (military and naval being my main interests), and alternate history (which is always better with zeppelins). You'll find that I write the first and last most often. My other interests include a wide variety of PC games and a very small variety of TV shows, as well as historical firearms (which I collect) and competitive shooting (in which I occasionally take part).

Book preview

Nathaniel Cannon and the Lost City of Pitu

Jay Slater

Published by Many Words Press

Visit Many Words Press online at

http://manywords.press

Copyright © 2017 Jay Slater

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 9781945092015

For Katya, my wife

Acknowledgements

As always, I would like to thank my intrepid editrix, Katya, for her hard work in shaping this manuscript into something I am much happier to put before you.

I would also like to thank my darling wife, Katya, for permitting me to refer to her using a very 1920s word for 'editor'.

I would also like to thank Miranda Kerin, the artist who produced the striking cover atop this volume, for more or less reading my mind and designing what I wanted, as opposed to what I described.

Finally, I offer my thanks to you, the reader, for your continued patronage.

Chapter I: Paris

The City of Lights was always a beautiful place. On Bastille Day, it was even more so. Tricolors and banners bearing the Bonaparte standard flew from the windows. The Eiffel Tower, rising proudly above the buildings, wore blue, white, and red bunting. The sun shone between the occasional puffy cloud, and easily two dozen zeppelins hung over the city, sparkling, many-colored fish in a sea of sky.

In the half-hour since he'd set his plane down at the Champ de Manoeuvres et d'Aviation, Nathaniel Cannon had remembered his mixed feelings for Paris. The cafes along Rue Saint-Charles filled the air with the smell of fresh bread and the sound of accordion waltzes, while a gentle breeze fluttered through the flags overhead. Certainly, the atmosphere was pleasant, but somehow trouble always seemed to catch up to him in Paris.

Twenty minutes later, Cannon took the last stair and set foot on the Eiffel Tower's lowest platform. His man would be here somewhere, likely over by the cafe. After a few moments, Cannon spotted him­— Philippe Lachapelle, short and trim, with the tan of a colonial and a Frenchman's pencil moustache. He wore a narrow-brimmed trilby at a rakish angle. Cannon walked up to the railing next to him. La Tour Eiffel? Qu'est-il arrivé à la subtilité? he said.

Lachapelle faced him with a crooked grin. Ah, Monsieur Cannon, he said in English. I see your French 'as not improved. I 'ave a table right zis way.

They sat on the northeast edge of the platform. Looking out over the city, they could just see the parade along the Champs-Élysées as it turned round the Arc de Triomphe. A copy of Le Temps sat on the table between them next to an ashtray. It's out in the open, Cannon persisted. Isn't some shady dive more your style?

Only in 'anoi, Lachapelle replied, putting an arm over the back of his chair and lighting a thin cigarette. You know, bien sûr, of Maupassant? 'e once said zat 'e ate at ze Eiffel Towair every day, because it was ze only place where it did not spoil 'is view.

You know what else it is? said Cannon. Lachapelle raised his eyebrows. It's the best place for the gendarmerie to spoil my day.

Do not flatter yourself. We do not 'ave posters wis your face as zey do in Britain, Lachapelle said. A waiter left two croissants at the table. Lachapelle took one. Surely, Monsieur Cannon, you are curious why I 'ave asked to meet you today?

If it's work, you know I can't. Not after the stunt we pulled on that Red zep and that snake Calhoun's casino job. It's too hot for honest piracy, Cannon replied.

Oui, monsieur, it is honest work zat I 'ad in mind, but it is not piracy, said Lachapelle carefully. It is more like ze... affair in Panama.

Stony silence descended over the table. At length, Cannon said, You've got some nerve bringing up Panama.

Lachapelle exhaled a cloud of smoke over the railing. Oui, he said simply. He took a bite of his pastry and looked out over the city.

Cannon let the silence drag out a bit longer, then decided, I'll hear what you have to say.

Magnifique, Lachapelle said, leaning forward and balancing his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray.

Cannon stabbed his finger down in the middle of the table. Against, he said, emphasizing the word, my better judgement.

Lachapelle held up his hands, a picture of innocence. "It will be different zis time. Ze Bureau National des Antiquités 'as lately taken an interest in expanding ze exhibits of ze Louvre. Zey 'ave, en fait, offered an 'efty bounty to zose intrepid aventuriers 'oo can provide artifacts for le musée.

I only 'eard of zis per'aps two weeks ago, from ze collectair 'oo purchased ze idol you recovered from ze Bolshevists, and it was pure chance zat I 'eard from one of my Javanese contacts before I left 'anoi. 'e 'ad ze photographs most extraordinary— photographs 'e claimed were of ze fabled lost city of Pitu.

Pitu? Cannon asked, his interest piqued. Capital of the Medang Kingdom?

Precisely ze one. Lachapelle opened his mouth, then closed it again, and regarded Cannon with a measure of doubt. You 'appened to know off ze top of your 'ead?

Cannon shrugged. I read.

Lachapelle shook his head. "At any rate, ze photographs appear genuine. I propose zat we take your zeppelin to Java and see if zese claims are correct. If