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    The Search For Pandora's Box
    The Search For Pandora's Box
    The Search For Pandora's Box
    Ebook143 pages2 hours

    The Search For Pandora's Box

    By Jim Jennings

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    About this ebook

    Meet Laurence Swift - inept, incompetent, idiot. When the fate of the world hangs in the balance due to the mysterious discovery and subsequent theft of Pandora's Box, he's probably the last man you would want to save the day. Yet somehow, by a miraculous turn of events that includes Dinosaurs, the Tour de France and a dartboard, Laurence Swift turns out to be the only man who can prevent the world from being totally annihilated by a ruthless megalomaniac. Action, adventure, romance, comedy, it's all here in Laurence Swift & The Search For Pandora's Box.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJim Jennings
    Release dateMar 30, 2014
    The Search For Pandora's Box

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      Book preview

      The Search For Pandora's Box - Jim Jennings

      Laurence Swift & The Search for Pandora’s Box

      By

      L. A. J. Jennings

      Chapter One

      Introducing Laurence Swift

      He was tired, oh so very tired. His forehead was moist with sweat, his blue tie was yanked awkwardly out of position, his baggy pale white shirt hung out of his belted grey trousers, and his usually smooth blonde hair was a mess after several vigorous tousles. The stench of gasoline that poured from the other participants of the early morning London traffic penetrated his nostrils and made his stomach curl into a little ball with disgust. He had been cycling for such a length of time it seemed like an entire Ice Age, which was ironic as it was one of the country’s hottest summers on record. Today, for instance, it was 35 degrees and promising to rise.

      As he flew past a double-decker juggernaut on his thin, fragile tyres, he cursed bitterly his alarm clock, registering a mental note to destroy it as soon as he returned home. At any rate he would check that there were batteries in it as soon as he got home from work. That was if he ever got to work in the first place.

      As things stood, he was only half an hour late and was not far from his destination, ‘The London Museum of Natural and Ancient History’, where he worked as a tour guide. This was only temporary (as he constantly explained to anyone who showed the slightest bit of interest) while the sales of his books went through a dry patch (a dry patch that had now lasted some five years) and as he waited for a call from the University of Twickenham to offer him his old job back, for once he had been a part-time (and much loved, so he told everyone) lecturer in Classics. In actual fact, he had been a one-time lecturer. The lecture he gave on the Belvedere Torso dragged on for so long that a pregnant woman not only went into labour but had her baby delivered while he was still speaking.

      He loved his job at the museum, but his job didn’t love him. He was always getting into trouble with his employers due to his occasionally poor time-keeping and ‘interesting’ tour anecdotes; he had been in trouble more than once for expressing his own opinion on many of the museum’s favourite exhibits; he told a tour of GCSE students that the pyramids were originally square but erosion had left them the way they were today. He also told them that Julius Caesar was actually called Julius Seizure because of his supposed epilepsy. In addition, he never passed up an opportunity to slate many scholars’ views on the Ancient World, leading to warnings that were once occasional, then weekly, then everyday occurrences, so much so that his boss, Quentin Derry, had told him that if he was late again then he would be late again for the very last time. Yet he wasn’t worried. Laurence Swift was never worried.

      ***

      Laurence Swift was worried, very, very worried. His boss was upset. His boss was angry, annoyed and bemused. Overall, Quentin Derry wanted Laurence Swift out of his life and out of his museum as quickly as possible, preferably without any more damage to its rare antiquities and expensive exhibits. Quentin Derry was Head of Archaeology at the museum and was about to give Laurence his marching orders after the tour guide had carried out his final uninformative tour. Quentin had already told Laurence after he turned up half an hour late for the third time this week that he had wanted a ‘word’, which was unofficial code for ‘you’re fired’ and this was no exception. Ever since Laurence had joined the museum it had been calamity after calamity; he had set fire to the caveman exhibit, encased himself in a block of ice in ‘Frozen World’ and fainted every time he walked into ‘Dino Land’, where he was faced on a daily basis by what was to everyone else a very realistic but obviously fake Pterodactyl. But every day Laurence was confronted by these models and every day he fainted. Even worse, Laurence had insulted Derry’s wife by mistaking her for a model of Genghis Khan. Yet surely, surely, Laurence Swift wouldn’t do anything wrong today. That was the only thought in the mind of Quentin Derry as he barked instructions at idle staff. As they scuttled away to do their duty, Quentin Derry knelt and prayed.

      ***

      Laurence had a feeling that this was to be his last tour, so he had better make it a good one, he thought to himself. But as he got closer and closer to the end of his route, he realised that this job wasn’t the right one for him. Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a devastating loss. Life would go on and his torment would be at end. He had done his best, but no one laughed at what he thought were his hilarious jokes, no one listened to his interesting anecdotes and many of the younger tourists made fun of his appearance. There were no perks to this job; the pay wasn’t good, there was a striking lack of attractive female co-workers, or any female co-workers for that matter, and it wasn’t satisfying. Surely fate had more in store for him than disaster after disaster?

      His thoughts turned to what he would do with his life now. He had always wanted to travel, to find hidden treasure, discover ancient civilisations and save distressed damsels from certain peril. In short, Laurence wanted to be Indiana Jones. There were however three major obstacles to his chosen path. Firstly, Indiana Jones wasn’t real, and therefore Laurence couldn’t be him. Secondly, Laurence wasn’t brave or strong or scholarly; he was an inexperienced man with no faith in his own abilities. He didn’t believe in himself or believe himself capable of great feats. Thirdly, and perhaps the most important and dangerous obstacle of them all, he had just entered the ‘Extinct Animals’ exhibit with his tour of twenty students, and immediate calamity was just one innocent question away.

      ‘We have reached the end of our tour, ladies and gentleman, the ‘Extinct Animals’ section! Feel free to wander about for yourselves, return to previously visited exhibits and do please visit the gift shop. Are there any questions?’ Laurence asked, as he swept his sun-soaked hair to one side and scratched at it impatiently.

      ‘Yeah,’ said a gangly, unwashed youth. ‘Do you know anything about Aztec burial rituals or the Holy Grail?’

      ‘No, sorry’ Laurence answered swiftly. Why was this man asking him questions about those subjects when they were in the ‘Extinct Animals’ exhibit, he asked himself. Had they really been paying so little attention to what he had been saying? Laurence was reaching the end of his tether.

      ‘Okay well what about the lost city of El Dorado, Atlantis and buried treasure?’ A very short woman, hidden by a huddle of bored looking students, proceeded to ask.

      ‘I’m afraid not but I’m sure if you asked Nigel...’ an increasingly annoyed Laurence replied, his tether fraying with each passing second.

      A man in an ill-fitting t-shirt and orange baseball cap that was facing the wrong way asked one final question, ‘So you know nothing about Excalibur or the Incas or…’

      ‘No!’ roared Laurence furiously, ‘I know nothing about Aztecs, Holy Grails, aliens, magical chalices, power stones, pyramids, lost cities or buried treasure! I know nothing about these things! I know nothing! We’re in the ‘Ancient Animals’ exhibit you moron, why the hell would I need to know anything about Excalibur!’ The man stood on his tiptoes, his hands thrust forward in exasperation, his face as red as the ripest strawberry. A panorama of his tour revealed twenty gobsmacked faces, unable to believe the tour guide’s volcanic-like eruption of anger. However, one spotty 16 year-old girl had one last question for the about-to-be-fired tour guide. She spoke in a harsh Scottish accent,

      ‘Excuse me, Mister. That there Woolly Mammoth skeleton,’ she pointed to the magnificent animal behind Laurence, ‘is that thing fragile or really rock-hard, you know, proper sturdy?’

      Laurence relaxed his body, and turned to answer, ‘That’s a good question. Now when I first worked here I too, like you, thought that the slightest touch on one of these precious exhibits, that had remain untouched and perfectly preserved for millions of years, and is now suspended by only a few slight strings, would cause the whole thing to collapse and end up a heap of useless bones on the floor. Ha-ha, what a fool I was!’ He chuckled, and as he chuckled, he outstretched one of his arms and held onto the ribcage of the woolly mammoth skeleton that was suspended mid-air behind him. Indeed he was a fool, for as he put his whole weight onto it the wires in the ceiling started to shriek under the pressure and in an instant the whole skeleton started to fall and collapse behind him, causing a cacophony of broken bones and pieces of ceiling. The proceeding tremors caused a similar Sabre-toothed tiger skeleton to fall also, then another skeleton, and another, the rubble upon rubble cascade resulting in a cloud of dust spreading about the room and a scream from the mouth of Quentin Derry that echoed about the room for what felt like eternity. The dust settled, revealing twenty faces that were even more gobsmacked and shocked than before. Laurence turned, looked at the heap of dust, bones and building infrastructure that had collected up on the floor behind him, and let out a deep breath. His eyes lit up, his limbs froze like blocks of ice and his hair leapt off his skin in terror. And then, he fainted.

      Chapter Two

      Desertion, Drinks and Dreams

      Having packed his bags and left, Laurence returned to his mid-town flat, a small but cosy dwelling which he shared with his friend Richard. He had hoped to slumber amongst the comforting bubbles of a luxurious bath and hear some encouraging words from his flatmate, but as he pushed open the stern door, he observed that Richard was doing some packing of his own.

      ‘What’s going on?’ He asked in a surprised manner. Cardboard boxes were strewn about the living room; some were full of Richard’s belongings and some were in the process of being filled by Richard’s girlfriend, Carla, who had never really taken to Laurence; partly because he had set fire to her favourite top by leaving the iron on it, and partly because he had accidentally hit her cat with his bicycle one morning when he was particularly late for work. Ever since then, Carla had been plotting her, and Richard’s, escape from the walking cataclysm that was Laurence Swift. Now it seemed she had finally got her wish. Richard, wearing a checked shirt over a grey t-shirt, lifted his head from his suitcase and placed a hand on Laurence’s shoulder, saying,

      ‘I’m sorry, mate, but I’ve decided to move in with Carla.’ His voice wore a mellow, resigned tone of guilt. He didn’t make eye contact with Laurence, merely giving his shoulder a light and rather patronising pat before shuffling over to a shelf covered with picture frames. Carla entered from the kitchen carrying about a dozen ‘How to Cook’ books she had bought for Laurence, to whom she gave a snort of disdain and such a glare that would make you feel that you were looking at the Devil himself.

      ‘Since when?’ asked a perplexed Laurence. Carla gave Richard a

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