Read Online New Pompeii by Daniel Godfrey - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Daniel Godfrey
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have to crawl back home. And hope everything else fell into place rather than smashing to the ground.
Six weeks. Nick massaged the back of his neck, trying to loosen the muscles in his shoulders. No, all things considered, he needed to make this move permanent. Whatever he found when the plane landed, he needed to impress McMahon. Needed to impress Whelan.
Not that either of the two NovusPart bosses were travelling with him. He glanced around, casting his eye over the four other passengers: two men, a woman and a small child. Most of the seats – about twenty in total – were empty. The aircraft wasn’t laid out as generously as he’d seen in some magazines, but it was clearly expensive. About a third the size of a jumbo, the interior had a single column of seats running down each wall. They were more like easy chairs than normal airline seats.
“Put that down!”
Nick glanced over his shoulder. The woman and child were sitting in the rear of the cabin. From the sound of it, the boy’s patience with the flight had finally run out. He was maybe eight or so, and had been remarkably quiet up until this point. The woman – probably his mother – looked to be in her late thirties. She was thin, almost gaunt. Her blonde hair was tied back into a tight bun, perhaps in an effort to keep herself looking young.
Nick turned back towards the front of the plane. The two men flying with them looked like NovusPart security. Both were thick-set, and hadn’t moved since they’d sat down.
“Sir?”
The stewardess had returned with his water. It was in a short, thick-rimmed glass more suited to holding liquor than anything softer. A couple of pills were set down beside it. Nick took them to be another round of antibiotics. The third since he’d been picked up from home. A quick flush of his system, they’d said, while they checked his blood sample. Which was all fine, given the risks involved. He swallowed the pills with a quick gulp, turned back to the window and looked down over the sea.
The thought of going to a foreign country had been enough to trigger his latest headache. He’d only realised after they’d passed three or four road signs that they were heading towards an aerodrome, and he’d be expected to board a plane. Which should have been obvious, if he’d stopped to think about it. After all, NovusPart couldn’t exactly build the new Pompeii in Britain. Not where every little bit of gossip made the local news.
Nick reached into his pocket for his phone and glanced briefly at the screen before pushing it back. The display confirmed they’d been airborne for three hours, and he had no messages. Not even any reception. Of course not, he thought. They were thousands of feet in the air. The realisation caused another twinge of pain through his right eyeball.
“Sir?”
The stewardess again. She was holding out a slimline media player. Nick glanced at it, but years of avoiding campus leaflets meant he didn’t bite.
“Sir, this is your inflight entertainment.”
“I have a bit of a headache coming on.”
“It’s a present from Mr Whelan.”
Six weeks to make an impression
. Nick grunted and took the device. As soon as he did, the stewardess disappeared back up the aisle. Confused, he pressed the headphones into his ears. The player had several audio files loaded on to it, and Nick half expected to find some cheesy briefing from McMahon or Whelan. He selected the first track. There was a hiss of static, and then a voice started to speak. In Latin.
His initial reaction was to laugh. Although he recognised the words, the pronunciation was off; like someone reading aloud without any background in the Classics. But then it clicked. The voices belonged to Romans. Real Romans.
Brief snatches of dialogue, the voices those of men, women and children. They were saying their names, where they were from, what they did for a living. It didn’t sound much like the Latin he’d been taught at school, or the vulgar
Six weeks. Nick massaged the back of his neck, trying to loosen the muscles in his shoulders. No, all things considered, he needed to make this move permanent. Whatever he found when the plane landed, he needed to impress McMahon. Needed to impress Whelan.
Not that either of the two NovusPart bosses were travelling with him. He glanced around, casting his eye over the four other passengers: two men, a woman and a small child. Most of the seats – about twenty in total – were empty. The aircraft wasn’t laid out as generously as he’d seen in some magazines, but it was clearly expensive. About a third the size of a jumbo, the interior had a single column of seats running down each wall. They were more like easy chairs than normal airline seats.
“Put that down!”
Nick glanced over his shoulder. The woman and child were sitting in the rear of the cabin. From the sound of it, the boy’s patience with the flight had finally run out. He was maybe eight or so, and had been remarkably quiet up until this point. The woman – probably his mother – looked to be in her late thirties. She was thin, almost gaunt. Her blonde hair was tied back into a tight bun, perhaps in an effort to keep herself looking young.
Nick turned back towards the front of the plane. The two men flying with them looked like NovusPart security. Both were thick-set, and hadn’t moved since they’d sat down.
“Sir?”
The stewardess had returned with his water. It was in a short, thick-rimmed glass more suited to holding liquor than anything softer. A couple of pills were set down beside it. Nick took them to be another round of antibiotics. The third since he’d been picked up from home. A quick flush of his system, they’d said, while they checked his blood sample. Which was all fine, given the risks involved. He swallowed the pills with a quick gulp, turned back to the window and looked down over the sea.
The thought of going to a foreign country had been enough to trigger his latest headache. He’d only realised after they’d passed three or four road signs that they were heading towards an aerodrome, and he’d be expected to board a plane. Which should have been obvious, if he’d stopped to think about it. After all, NovusPart couldn’t exactly build the new Pompeii in Britain. Not where every little bit of gossip made the local news.
Nick reached into his pocket for his phone and glanced briefly at the screen before pushing it back. The display confirmed they’d been airborne for three hours, and he had no messages. Not even any reception. Of course not, he thought. They were thousands of feet in the air. The realisation caused another twinge of pain through his right eyeball.
“Sir?”
The stewardess again. She was holding out a slimline media player. Nick glanced at it, but years of avoiding campus leaflets meant he didn’t bite.
“Sir, this is your inflight entertainment.”
“I have a bit of a headache coming on.”
“It’s a present from Mr Whelan.”
Six weeks to make an impression
. Nick grunted and took the device. As soon as he did, the stewardess disappeared back up the aisle. Confused, he pressed the headphones into his ears. The player had several audio files loaded on to it, and Nick half expected to find some cheesy briefing from McMahon or Whelan. He selected the first track. There was a hiss of static, and then a voice started to speak. In Latin.
His initial reaction was to laugh. Although he recognised the words, the pronunciation was off; like someone reading aloud without any background in the Classics. But then it clicked. The voices belonged to Romans. Real Romans.
Brief snatches of dialogue, the voices those of men, women and children. They were saying their names, where they were from, what they did for a living. It didn’t sound much like the Latin he’d been taught at school, or the vulgar
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