Atticus McKnight & The Fountain Of Youth

So, there I was. On some sorry excuse for a cruise ship and floating with a crew of three men off the coast of Madagascar. We had spent the afternoon testing cranes and different devices that were to aid us in the retrieval of a subterranean monolith, not too far below the sea’s surface.

Within that monolith lied a hollowed box. A ruined treasure which had fallen from the storage of an old cargo ship. Treasure that was to be buried on Madagascar back in the old 1800’s.

Though our presence there did hint at the continued existence of this treasure’s stationary status, I must say, I did doubt our endeavor for a moment or two. That was until the cranes pulled up a great big stone in the shape of a box. There to crack open the stone alongside me were my colleagues, Cole Sanford, crooked lawyer-extraordinaire, Walter Harris, fellow treasure hunter and master tracker, and Taylor Morgan, machinery expert.

I was the good luck charm of the group; Atticus McKnight, master treasure hunter, mercenary, pirate in some cases. Normally I would be off on these exploits all by my lonesome; but this job required extra hands.

And I didn’t mind splitting the findings, as it was never money I had been after. I love the hunt for that which is believed to be undiscoverable. Money comes and money goes. But damn, if it ain’t nice to grab a break every now and again.

It’s a simple fact of life. I worry not about my finances. Stupid systems of money and chaotic trash that’s meant to tie us down and keep us paying for the rich until we die.

That kind of life would never work for me. And so, I refuse it. Stationed in Subic Bay, I served in the Navy and on a carrier which provided me with a few years of travel.

Had I not decided to leave that life one night, I doubt I’d be were I am today. For it was a band of bootleggers, mercenaries and loot-hunters that swept me up one night and convinced me to join their brigade. All it took was one brawl in a drunken bar and this band of no-gooders was welcoming me with open arms.

That was right after saving their leader’s a*s from some local Pilipino law enforcement. That is, if you could call them that. From that night forward I deserted the army, travelled with the hunters for a while, until I learned how to go my own way.

With everyone believing me to be dead, I only kept in contact with my brother, Edward, who currently holds some government position in Germany. The expeditions I embark upon fund the ones I go on later, with my money-accounts spread all across the globe and my earnings in every form of bill you could think of; I steal, I squander, but never more than I need. After all, this one life is all we got.

I ain’t spending my time starving away, doing nothing. So, I am a villain to some. But, to those who know me, and they do, know me to be fair, as I believe all men should be.

Now, returning to the subject of the excavation of that most fantastic monolith. Within it we did find a small black box preserved in it’s core. And within it was a map.

Of course, it was no map any of us could read. With strange symbols and markings I’m sure no sane man would recognize. My first order of business was to get it over to London where my personal-coder, Theodore Cyril, could reconstruct it’s mapping.

We headed for land immediately, eventually being cut off by some not-so-friendly ships, headed by a b*****d with the name of Victor Logan. A treasure hunter, like myself, he was as evil as any villain and a rich pompous cocky little snot-nosed brat with hired muscle and an untamable greed. I should have suspected it before hand, but his men had trailed us to Madagascar and had gained knowledge of our exploits.

It was all thanks to Taylor Morgan. The b*****d mechanics-expert. After Logan took Walter, Cole and myself hostage, Taylor revealed his loyalties.

He was to get in with us and contact Logan when we had pulled up the monolith containing the map. A map to the fountain of youth; Which is what this whole ordeal is about. Myself and my rivals have all swept the Earth in search of it, and with the approaching age it finally seemed doable.

Alas, Walter revealed that he’d been approached by Logan and asked to join his expedition for the monolith; To which he refused, staying loyal only to me. Well, of course Logan had a problem with that. Now, here I stand, tied up with rocks around my ankles in a sack, next to the two greatest men I’ve ever know and about to be cast into the bottom of the sea.

At the hands of a rich thieving pampered baboon, no doubt. Logan had taken the map and one by one he sent Cole, Walter and myself into the sea. Down we went, weighted by rocks, surly believing we would drown.

Fortunately I always carry about seven to ten concealed blades on my person at all times. You can get farther with a knife than you can get with your fists. After freeing myself and my fellow left-for-dead crew-mates we floated a while back to the shore of Madagascar, just barley avoiding any unwanted attention from the hungry monstrosities beneath the sea.

A while after that we waited upon the shore for a day or so. I always pre-stock areas around my locations of expedition with food, water and other necessities in the case of my getting stranded. As well, I inform my colleagues, outside of my endeavors, to send aid in the circumstances of my delayed return.

My closest agent of aid, Michael Burton, I had informed to send help if my crew and I had not returned within the day. Sure enough, boats arrived around midnight and far after Logan and his crew had sunk us, looted our ship and made their way East. I relieved Walter and Cole of my company and attempted to hunt for this treasure myself.

Walter, the closest of my “friends” insisted on accompanying me. I eventually gave way and had one of Burton’s sailors send us off in the direction of Cyril, my coder. Of course, I wasn’t worried about the map to the fountain of youth.

I had it the whole time! When you’re searching for something as important as eternal life you must be aware that there are others who would probably want it more than you. Figuring this I drew up a duplicate, with some “minor” changes in location.

I chuckle now. Logan will be quite cross when he reads the map to learn I’ve tricked him into believing the fountain lies in the Bermuda Triangle. But, I doubt he’ll learn quickly.

I even made the map out in English. He doesn’t know the original map is in some coded symbol-language. So writing the fake out in actual coordinates works better for me.

So, I headed with Walter back to London to meet up with Cyril and start pushing this thing forward. Normally my friends charge a hefty price for their services, but when your promising the elixir of immortality at no physical expense of theirs, you’d be surprised how ‘on-board’ everyone gets. We spent some time in London while Cyril took to the map.

By this time I could only speculate that Logan and Taylor were battling the waters of the triangle. And good for them. Serves them right for trying to kill me and ruin what could possibly be the greatest expedition I’ve ever embarked upon!

To think I would one day be counted among the greats. That, I would say, was my biggest dream. One that this fountain would secure for me.

While Walter and myself walked the streets of the nice foggy city we came across a duo of two other gifted folks in our profession. Leo Turner, an expert on the Aztecs, as well as a seeker of foreign pottery and Jack Scythe, the man who rediscovered some jewel called the Hope Daimond after it went missing a couple years back. The two just so happened to be leaving a local pub.

No doubt in discussion about a new job. Two big shots like them wouldn’t just meet up to shoot the s**t. They weren’t buddies, as far as I knew.

We made quick chat and went our separate ways. I bet that by the time we were out of view they kept questioning why I was in London, just as much as I was wondering about them. My only goal, for right now, was to lay low.

So there would be no trailing leads that I wasn’t let in on. No sneaking around to gain insight. Certainly no embarking on any hunts that took my attention away from locating the fountain of youth.

About a month passed and Walter had come to work very closely with me. I must say I’d grown an attachment to the tracker. He was a comedic and down-to-earth kind of fellow with wits to match.

I felt he would be a fine sidekick. That is, if he’d accept such a title. Getting back on point.

Out at the shops, one day in the afternoon, there came this yelling as Cyril’s assistant, Finny, a chap in a small coat and black cap, had been sent by the coder to call us back to his study; For he had cracked the mystery of the map and played out its precise readings. Upon returning to Cyril’s study we discovered a break-in. The map was gone, Cyril was missing and of all the luck there was no trace of who this might have been.

We were at a dead end. A whole month of waiting, for nothing. If it hand’t been for a description Finny gave of a few men he saw sitting on the corner of Cyril’s house, just before he left, perhaps I never would have deduced that the scoundrels that kidnapped Cyril and took the map were Leo Turner and Jack Scythe, of all people!

I knew their presence in London couldn’t have just been a coincidence. They had my map and my human-coder. And I assured Walter and Finny that we were going to get them both back.

Jack’s mother lived locally. A nice elderly woman with a weak mind and a big heart who thinks her son is a pilot. He visits her before every job and tells her where he’ll be off to. 

Leaving out the details of him being an arms dealer and treasure seeker, of course. After a quick stop and her house, and half a cup of tea, we found ourselves on a dock by the harbor and paying witness to Scythe and Turner, as well as three henchmen, forcing Cyril into the hold of a ship they had all fitted up with supplies. Finny and Walter took positions behind some barrels while I jumped right out and announced myself. 

Turner’s men began to move on me; Each of them clutching a revolver or two. They asked me how I had found them and what I thought I was going to do to oppose their thievery. I couldn’t really pay attention all that well to their questioning.

I was too busy giggling over the absurd amount of hand grenades I had on me at the time. I pointed out towards the sea and tricked their eyes away and their attention off of me. I flung a few explosives into the water and commanded a path for Finny and Walter to come running across the dock and hop onto the boat.

Shrapnel flung everywhere as Scythe, Turner and his men ran in a panic of the exploding dock. I made grenades rain as I dropped one with each leap. Finally, I took the two sticks of dynamite I had been hiding in my coat, sparked them up and threw them onto the dock.

I hopped onto the departing boat with Walter, Finny and the bound Theodore beneath us. As the dock exploded we made our getaway. The night became day as I could hear Jack and Leo swearing all the way until I could see those docks no further.

Our first order of business was to untie Cyril. Our second was to locate where we were headed on the map. The map which I did not have!

I had forgotten it! On the dock, in the pocket of Leo Turner, the b*****d!! I could nearly feel my heart stop as I dropped to the ground in a fit.

Then, as if a great miracle had been blessed upon my head, Finny stepped forward and revealed that he’d swiped the map off Leo in the ensuring chaos. I took a deep breath and a well deserved jovial-vomit off the side of the ship, collecting myself and returned to the matter at hand. The fountain.

The map was taking us to Africa. To the jungles and tribes of men said to be savages. For there were tribes hat had not known the existence of the modern world outside their boarders. 

And their discovery of use, as well as their treatment of us, is what I feared most. We came upon the shores of Africa quite swiftly and without hassle. Theo and Finny had decided to join us, as I had convinced Cyril that giving him the immortality elixir when we got to the fountain would be much easier than taking samples and dragging them across long distances and avoiding theft. With me he knew the elixir would find safe delivery. Cryil stayed behind and attempted to flag down any ships he could find.

We embarked upon the jungles of the foreign land and with weapons in tow. We made sure to have Walter guide our way as he had lived in a predominantly english-influenced fraction of Africa for a time. In those days he was a hunter and writer, before pursuing my line of work with the passion for uncovering history’s secrets.

Walter sent us through a beautiful wilderness and we eventually happened upon an African tribe. At first we heard the clicking of guns, then the moaning of distress. We hid as we analyzed the situation, realizing the tribe had been assaulted.

We saw the whole populous in cages, trafficked by men in camouflage suits. Men, women and children were behind steel bars, having guns poked in their faces if they’d dare stick their arms through the bars. It was ghastly sight.

The huts of the village were set ablaze and the jeeps and trucks that had seemed to have transported the cages had a rather familiar look to them. Black and grey with a hawk’s severed wing in a white silhouette design. The symbol of Victor Logan’s mercenary fractions.

The b*****d had gotten here before us. No doubt the tribe gave him trouble so he had them all rounded up. Now it was just a matter of pin-pointing the damned mastermind himself.

We saw Taylor Morgan, the traitor, step out from behind a green tent and make his way over to a group of hired hands, seemingly commanding them to guard the tent as he went off into the forest. Probably to spend a penny. Finny, Walter and myself positioned ourselves around the camp from three locations.

It appeared that we weren’t rescuing these tribes folk and foiling Morgan’s plans without a strong distraction. We decided more forward force was needed for this to be pulled off, so we agreed to shoot the men. No killing blows of course.

We shot strictly for their legs, that way they could not chase us! The mercenaries fell in pain as I skipped through their writhing torsos, apologizing with each one I had passed. They weren’t reaching for their guns.

They were too busy nursing their hole-y legs. I strolled swiftly into the tent to find, what appeared to be, the tribe’s chief, bound and gagged. I set him loose and made haste to find the keys to the cages.

Finny, Walter and myself flung open the doors of the cages as the tribe mobilized. The chief, Takobe’, thanked me personally, apparently being experienced in the english language. He handed me, what he said was, an heirloom of his tribe’s ancestry.

A necklace made of claws and precious stones. I was honored. The thanks had to be cut short as we could all hear Taylor returning from his piddle.

I ambushed the prick on his way back from his mid-morning tinkle and forced him to tell me about Logan’s whereabouts while Walter held him at rifle-point. He told me that Victor and a few of his best men had headed North in search of a hidden temple. The only thing I worried about more than bumping heads with Logan was more damn walking!

Taylor spilled his guts in a panic. He was quite simple to interrogate, if I do say so myself. Though I am sure that in that blistering heat I might have looked rather desperate.

I dropped him to the ground once I had learned all I wished to have learned. Walter cocked the rifle to give Taylor a scare. I must say, I chuckled a bit at the action.

Walter wanted to shoot Morgan, but I demanded he leave him be. I assured Walter justice was afoot and convinced the tracker to follow along with me. Taylor begged us not to kill him.

I assured him I would not; As if I would ever commit such an act. However, as we turned our backs on him we welcomed the company of the furious tribe he had imprisoned. They rushed past us in a sea of angry faces and sharp tools as they swept Taylor, the traitor, away in a sea of vengeance and sharp pointy daggers and spears.

We heard his screams until we came across a discarded jeep which we would then use to pursue Logan and his band. Rushing through the brush of the jungle, we encountered a tiger which persuade us in great haste. It nearly slashed the wheels of the jeep, that was, until Walter gunned out the beast’s left arm, halting it.

We travelled a while and happened upon the small aztec-looking temple, yellow, half crushed and nearly sunken into the ground. There we found Logan’s jeep; assuming he and his men were inside. We proceeded with confidence, moving steadily, yet sure that he could not call for back-up; Allowing us to avoid any ambush.

He happened upon long corridors with candles and traps sprung. Since we were the second group to pass through this trap-maze, we enjoyed a safe stroll through, as Logan’s men had already activated the flying daggers and falling walls of an average sacred-temple. We finally came to the last room, and there we saw Logan and two of his last hired hands looking up at some large round object on the wall.

It almost looked like an ancient calendar, but nothing like the Mayans’. We made sure to stay quiet and listen in on what Logan was discussing with his lowers. Surely this was just the beginning to a long goose-chase that would lead us all along a vast road to reach the fountain.

I got this feeling in my gut, that this quick venture which I supposed would take a few months, might in-fact take years to accomplish. I hadn’t thought of this before; And the idea chilled me. But, I certainly wouldn’t let Logan get to the fountain before me.

And so, like a fool, pride and impatience filled my head and I dived out from the shadowy corridor to hold Logan at gunpoint and force him to tell us of all that he had learned. Not my brightest move, I can assure you of that. Especially once he ordered his men’s guns upon me; telling them to shoot if I even flinched. It was then that this standoff was interrupted by Inspector Claude Augustine of the French Secret Service.

Now, to explain the inspector’s purpose and reason for being in this exact point, at this exact time, we need to rewind back my career as a treasure hunter a bit, to a time when I was more hated than most other scoundrels in my profession. Some time ago I was involved in the retrieval of this rare Russian stone, nicknamed the ‘Ragnarok Amulet’. During it’s captured I learned that I was employed by criminals, attempting to steal the piece from a wealthy world traveler.

Coulda’ fooled me; And they did! So me and team have this thing in hand and all of a sudden the French Secret Service, of all things, busts us. Mainly cause the stone was on transportation from Russia to France at the time.

That’s how I cam to know Inspector Claude Augustine, you see. He followed us farther and longer than any off his other fellow operatives could. He was determined to catch us.

We ended up escaping with the Ragnarok Amulet and I took it for myself, taking the money and the object of value from the criminals who tricked me into doing their dirty work. Nowadays that same organization is after me for finding out and turning on them; Just as Augustine can’t let the fact that I got away go. He’s caught each and every one of my accomplices for that job up until this point.

I’m the last one; And though I always evade him, I do constantly fear inevitable capture. From time to time he would appear, trailing me from the start of my ventures to find treasures and such. And quite a bother he was becoming.

I knew I could never kill him. I have too much respect for the average law-man to just gun them down like some heartless fiend or righteously absentminded hero figure. By this point all I could do was hope that he would one day give up his search for me or find someone more interesting to chase. I digress.

The agent was a fine distraction as bullets flew and my tour leaped for cover. A bullet hit Logan and one slug skimmed my leg, but I could still run like hell. We got out of there quick-fast and Walter had picked up some detonation device he found laying by Logan.

Before I could intervene Walter hit the switch and blew the structure sky high. I gave Walter a good belting after that, especially since he’d completely forgotten that the map to the fountain was inside with Logan and the Inspector, who were both probably buried under mountains of rock.

I stopped to my knees and sat in a stubborn position, mumbling obscenities while Walter paced back an forth, embarrassed. Finny sat with me and sulked as we had come all this way for nothing. Finny also remarked about how adventures didn’t always end in the discovery of treasure.

That perhaps they were just sometimes composted of the journey to one’s own final destination; and that it was the journey that we were meant to look back on and enjoy. That that was the true treasure of this hole quest. Yeah… what a crock of s**t. Would you believe Theodore was still waving down ships on the shore when we came back? It looked like we were gonna be there for a while.