The Memoirs of a Faun

The Memoirs of a Faun

Copyright © 2014 Caldon Mull

Published by Caldon Mull

at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

The Memoirs of a Faun... is a work of fiction, any resemblance of any character to any person, alive or dead is entirely coincidental. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to your favourite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One: - Succession Planning

Chapter Two: - Food Security

Chapter Three: - Headhunting

Chapter Four: - Arteus the Faun

Chapter Five: - Family Business

Chapter Six: - Vegan Rumination

Chapter Seven: - Fuel Efficiency

Intermission:

Chapter Eight: - Corruption Governance

Chapter Nine:- Familiarity Breeders

About Caldon Mull

Other books by Caldon Mull

Connect with Caldon Mull

Prologue

The rain thrummed and scratched at the thick glass, intermittent sleet daggers hidden in the cold strong wind, coming off the sea. The building crouched at the end of the lane running the bottom of the cliff, hidden under a large rocky channel, which in times past had been tunnelled out of the cliff base by the sea’s relentless tides. The hard black rock of the building was speckled with snow-white quartz as it stood out in stark contrast to the pale cliff face. The same building stone had been used in the cobbled lane that twisted round the cliff and lead into town, while only a short distance away, was well-concealed by swelling sea, majestic cliffs and hanging trellis of lichen. The building was characterized by thick wooden doors, and sturdy leaded glass windows sparkled up the three stories to a sturdy slate roof, overgrown with moss. A massive, ancient beech tree obscured the front of the building, with its wrought iron gate and the little garden before the front door, all teaming with growing things that flourished in wet, shady places. Behind the thick frosted panes, light and shadows flickered, indicating the building was home to people inside.

As you entered the building, you would pass through the front door and the coatracks draped with heavy weather jackets in different sizes, past a small side room with racks of books and overstuffed chairs with a view of the gloomy sea, and inside the house to the first common room, a jumble of old wooden tables and benches, faded woollen rugs and wood panelling to hide the ancient megalithic stonework assailed the senses. Haphazard in its placement, most of the furniture shared the same blocky design of the building, built for durability rather than aesthetics.

An anthracite coal fire crackled in the hearth, a large ginger house cat lay on a thick pile rug, soaking in the warmth while two men sat sipping at large flagons containing a clear honey- coloured substance. They had the air of an easy familiarity, the bronze-haired man with the bull- like neck and the slighter, dark-haired man.

The transitioning is nearly done Duke, the weather will clear soon. The bronze-haired man remarked, smacking his lips and putting the flagon down carefully, mindful of spilling.

I hope so, Rusty. The man called Duke sighed. The waiting is starting to drive me stir- crazy.

Nah, you’re just new at this. Rusty grinned, and pointed with his chin behind Duke’s shoulder You want a definition of crazy, you have to look at our boy, here. Underneath the edifice of crazy, he has a whole basement of crazy.

Screw you, Barca. A deep voice growled as Duke turned to look at a huge man outlined in the doorway, You’re the real nut-job, but no-one believes me.

You know, Argus. Rusty rolled his eyes at Duke who grinned into his flagon You’re like the brain-damaged second cousin no-one likes to speak about. I mean you look really good from a distance, and then you open your mouth and start to prove what a jerk-off you actually are.

So that’s today’s game, is it? Argus growled sullenly, You and your little pet here, gang- up-on-Argus-day?

No, I just don’t have the energy. Rusty shrugged but you do look like you’re up to mischief, so what do you have there, hmm?

Duke turned to see the giant grip a whole sheaf of papers closer to his chest. No... nothing. Argus stammered.

Argus... Rusty tsk’ed, sighing theatrically Sit down and show us what you got.

Where’s Caleb? Duke ventured, shifting up and the giant pulled out the bench and settled at the table, spreading the vellum sheets carefully over the top.

He’s staffing the passage room. Argus mumbled, staring at the script on the vellum, apparently entranced. Up later.

So, what you got there...? Rusty leaned over the sheets, brow furrowing while his mouth formed the words on them. No! Argus...? Rusty’s voice raised a pitch in alarm.

Yeah. The big man’s classically fine features spread into a broad grin Really!

What? Duke peered at the sheets, I don’t read whatever-that-is.

Wh... where did you get them? Rusty licked nervous lips He’s not going to be pleased about this. What were you going to do with this, anyway?

What? Duke felt like screaming at them What have you done?

Those are the Boss’ debriefing reports and some of his personal memoirs. Argus smiled happily "He hid them and I found them. I knew there was something someone didn’t want me to see, so I looked for that something first."

Rusty, this isn’t right. Duke fidgeted, the last thing he wanted was to give the Boss a good reason to boot him, especially considering how recent he was to the team. Why don’t you... Duke sighed, watching Argus and Rusty pass sheets back and forth between them, muttering to each other in a series of coded grunts.

Ah! Rusty flipped through a set of the vellum sheets, skimming through the headings.

U-huh. Argus nodded smugly and pushed another set over the table.

Oooooh...? Rusty’s eyes widened in surprise.

Mmmm...! Argus grinned, nodding his head.

Duke realized they weren’t listening to him at all. He stood up and retrieved Rusty’s near-empty flagon and returned from the kitchen with three full ones, carefully placing them at hand near the two. Sooner or later one of them would bother to fill him in. Duke sometimes felt like he was back at Langley, fresh out of college with these two around him. He gingerly sat next to the giant, wincing as the bench creaked under his added weight.

What are you going to do with these? Rusty sat back and sighed.

Well, first I’m going to order them, so they make more sense. Argus shrugged a massive shoulder Then I’ll probably change some of the tenses, and...

Argus! Rusty leaned forward You’re playing with fire, here.

What? Duke swallowed nervously, Someone please tell me what’s going on!

What is going on? A pleasant tenor from the doorway caused all the men to jump in their seats.

Oh, it’s just you, Caleb. Rusty swallowed thickly Argus went and dug up some of the mission reports the Boss was keeping hidden. He wants to ‘compile’ them.

Oh? Caleb sat next to Rusty, placed his own flagon in front of him. Will it keep him busy and out of my hair?

Screw you, Wings! Argus glowered at the blonde, marbled perfection sitting opposite him.

Yeah. Rusty grinned suddenly, It would for a while.

Then as you are the second in command, I place my recommendation to you, that he do so. At least until we finish the Transition, or the Boss gives us another mission. Why would you want to do this anyway, Argus? Caleb arched a delicate eyebrow.

Because... Argus blinked "Because no-one believes what we do, and it’s dangerous? Because the Truth is important, any truth...? Because I want to, and no-where have I been told that I shouldn’t? Because ... just because."

You’re not afraid to piss off the Boss? Duke shrugged.

Not really. Does the Boss usually look like he worries about stuff like that? Argus sniffed. "I think we’re all just getting a good idea of what he is. Personally, I don’t think he’d even care. I think he just hid the something to keep me busy, because when I started looking, it was quite easy to find all of this... so far. I think there is a lot more, somewhere else."

Well, what can I say? Rusty sighed If it’ll keep you busy, I don’t see the harm in it. Also, if it’ll reduce filing and order those archive shelves in the Cave, I’m all for it.

Thanks, Barca. Argus nodded his shaggy head You won’t be sorry. I... need... to keep busy, y’know? he grabbed the sheets with his huge hands and clutching them to his chest, stalked out of the room.

Yeah, yeah I do. Rusty shrugged and reached for his flagon, sighing at Duke.

Brain-damaged second cousin...? Caleb grinned.

You heard that? Rusty looked sheepish I suppose I just rag on him out of the habit of it... sometimes, just sometimes, he’s not really that bad.

You’d better not let him hear you say that. Duke smiled at his friends You’d only encourage him.

"Duke, you think there is anything he wouldn’t find out about, eventually?"

Nah, you’re right. I guess just let sleeping dogs lie. I guess he did help me after all, and he didn’t have to. Duke stood and walked to the window, staring out at the dark sullen ocean and the swelling waves behind the running glass.

Oh? Caleb stood I didn’t know this.

It was just before you started your time here, a few days or so. Rusty stood and joined the others at the window. That would probably a good space to start, Duke. You want to tell him? We’ve got nothing else to do for a few days and the girls are only due back after we’ve docked.

Sure... Duke began.

Chapter One - Succession Planning

August 13, 1978AD

The two men sat over the table from each other in the small, ill-lit room. The darker haired man looked tired and haggard, his shirt stained where the air-conditioning had failed in the small, close room.

He lit another cigarette and snarled We’ve been over this a hundred times, Barca. I’m tired. Just tell me the truth, Dammit!

The Bronze haired man, by contrast looked fresh and rested. He smiled wryly I am, Agent Duke. You just don’t believe me, and neither you or Agent Green, and no matter how often I repeat myself, don’t look like you’re going to.

You’re damn right I don’t. Vernon Duke stubbed the butt out viciously. It’s not every day a punk like you gets to walk into our offices and demand to tell us such a cock-and-bull story. How did you find us, and why do you insist on telling us this ridiculous nonsense in the first place?

I like to rattle chains. Barca flashed a smile, Besides which, I really think it is important, otherwise I would not have bothered at all.

Duke found himself smiling in spite of himself. Well, you have succeeded in one thing at least.

Yeah. Barca’s grey eyes twinkled, "I thought so. It’s kind of hard for you to accept what I’m saying, but there you have it. I’m not changing my story, and it is a truth.’

Yeah, so despite all these notes, and all this detail, the short version is that you reckon we are not alone in the cosmos, and you’re actually from a different dimension, Duke’s humour failed him, and he scowled and you’re chasing a demi-god of sorts.

That’s pretty much on the nail, for an executive summary. Barca stretched. I did some reading when I first got here, and I think I know where he is. As to yourselves, you deny your existence everywhere I have ever been to, but your type of organization is pretty easy to spot once you have had the practice.

Barca flashed another smile Our Sophists theorize that the industrialization process has to generate secret forces like yourselves to administer itself in response to its fragmentation of the older… hmmm… synchronous social systems.

Duke blinked. There was an uncomfortable moment of silence before he realized he had not understood a word of what Barca had said. His brain felt mushy with all of the nonsense Barca had sprouted in the last eight hours, and he had already decided to let the crackpot go. He rallied his thoughts. So what are we supposed to do about it, now? Duke sighed. Most of what you are saying reads like a bad Science Fiction novel. We’ve got you, your word, and precious little else.

Science Fiction is one of your better genres. Barca rubbed his face and yawned for the first time. We have something similar, but we don’t call it that. He leaned forward suddenly Duke, I’m serious. If I had just charged in and taken him back, you would have had endless hassles in your world. Now I’m hoping that you would at least have had some warning and can make preparations after I have finished what I’ve come here to do.

Barca, you’re crazy. I’m convinced of it. Duke sighed.

So then, I’m crazy. I’ve now told you and Agent Green, and the two goons who were here before you. You lot have been questioning me for three days solid, and eventually I am going to get tired of it. Barca shrugged. Even I need to sleep eventually.

Well, I can’t hold you for anything. Duke yawned. We’ve got all of it on tape, and aside from being an illegal alien you haven’t broken any laws. Here, if what you are saying is true, intent to commit a crime is not the same as actually doing it, and everyone is innocent until proven guilty. You’ll be sent back to where you probably came from and you’ll be out of my hair. He stood up and opened the door.

Where I come from, intent is often the crime itself. Barca stood easily and made for the door. If you deport me, where will it be to?

Our data-base has indicated you are an Italian citizen, Naples at a guess. Now get out of here. Duke was too tired to see the triumphant smile flash on Barca’s face as he shouldered past him.

Then get some sleep, Agent Duke. Barca called from the corridor You’re going to need it.

***

August 15, 1978AD

So what did you think of that crazy, hey Vern? Phil Green glanced up from the report, The nerve of the punk.

I think he was telling his truth. His profiling report checks out consistently, specifically for a persistent and well detailed delusion. Duke smiled wryly "Some of this stuff is pretty good reading. What does bother me most was how consistent it all was. Also his physical shows him to be quite capable, he’s as strong as a bull. If he was an aggressive person of interest, I’m not sure how many slugs would take him down. Good thing he was a quiet kind of crazy."

Duke the critic. Green snorted, So when’s your first novel, then?

Laugh if you want to, Phil. I guess I’ll publish someday... maybe after I retire. But... Duke flushed, rifling through yet another manuscript ... but I’m telling you; Octavian Rusta Barca believes himself to be the real thing.

Green gaped at him.

No, I’m serious, just think about it, and outside the box for a few minutes. Duke pushed on in case he was to lose his train of thought, or God Forbid, Green was to burst out laughing. So he finds us right off, just strolls into a CIA office, and tells us this huge yarn about where he comes from and what he wants to do. We find out he’s not a US citizen, with no real papers and deport him back to where we think he’s from.

So far he’s told the same consistent story no matter how he’s pushed to change it. And it’s not in the same way, the punk hasn’t learnt it by wrote.

Ok, so convince me. Green said suddenly, leaning back and watching his partner. Why would he come in from the cold like this anyway?

Duke smiled nervously So let’s read between the lines: Barca is from somewhere else, and he’s after this guy whose broken parole. He gets to a strange place and he’s got no idea of who’s who. All he knows is how to find this guy and how to take him back. So right now he’s a bounty hunter. We should think along those lines.

I’m following you so far, Sherlock. Green grinned ruefully. Bounty hunters are resourceful.

So he walks into us, we question and check him out. We find out that he is who he says he is, but isn’t where he should be. We then send him back under United States guard to Naples and by-pass all of the Italian checks, just to dump him out of our hair.

Well, they have a different government every week, so what? Green started to fidget; something had clicked far down in his subconscious.

Phil, I’ve just checked the Italian Government files. Duke worried at a hangnail, staring at the papers on the desk. Octavian Rusta Barca did not exist until two months ago; we only checked existing records, not when they were issued. We’ve just given him a free ride into another country, courtesy of Uncle Sam.

Shit! Green exploded. Vern, we gotta fix this.

***

August 22, 1978AD

Octavian Rusta Barca sipped a glass of wine and looked up at the ruined Coliseum. The waiter had just placed a tot of ouzo and a glass of water next to the carafe and the spare wineglass when he spied her walking towards the little sidewalk cafe.

A pity about that, it could’ve gone either way. He smiled wolfishly at the Coliseum. The traffic noises irritated him as he swept his gaze over the streets of Rome. After a few more minutes, she crossed the street and casually made her way down the crowded sidewalk to his café’s table.

Hullo, Rusty. The woman smiled at him Long way from home, aren’t you? She was beautiful enough to halt a few of the men passing by in their tracks. She was wearing a light emerald green dress which showed off her long shapely legs and curvy figure to its best result.

Long time, Circe. He greeted her, smiling at the envious looks he was receiving How’s tricks?

Oh, you know... It’s lovely here, but I was glad you called. Truth be told, I was starting to get a bit bored. She shrugged Who is it this time?

Argus. He gestured for another glass of ouzo.

Oh dear. Circe poured some of the wine for herself. He’s about to change cycles, then?

Soon enough, the Boss got an order placed for him. We’re getting quite busy recently, and we’ve been thinking about increasing our roster. Rusty sighed. You know what Argus is like, don’t you?

I remember the last time. Circe shuddered He could blow all of our covers. I’ve worked too hard for him to do something like that, I actually like it here. A lot more than in the Middle Ages, at least.

Well, that’s why I need your help. I know where he is, I just need to get in. Rusty swirled his ouzo, watching the milky liquid swirl in the small glass.

I’ll help if that’s what you want. Circe shrugged and sipped the wine without wetting her Lips.

Thanks. Rusty smiled, changed tack Do you really enjoy this place Circe? It seems so much busier than when I was last here. Don’t you miss home?

Circe laughed out