Chadwick Yates and the Cannibal Shrine: The Adventures of Chadwick Yates, #1

By Bradley Verdell

“You know nothing. Nothing about Tanzia or its people. You would never have agreed to dog me if you didn’t want to see the Black Continent, and only I can show it to you. You have only one option anyhow: follow me, Commander Sharp.”

A Lost World. A Marvelous Expedition. A Dangerous Ambassador.

Across the waters from industrialized Cavendia lies the Forbidden Continent of Tanzia, where Servants, the majikal creations of an ancient sorcerer, still walk the earth. Once mankind was enslaved there, but after the sorcerer’s imprisonment, one nation sailed away. For centuries, none has dared return, until now.

Fear has grown that technology may have emerged on Tanzia. Cavendia’s government decides to make first contact with the ancient land. Their chosen ambassador is Chadwick Yates, of origins unknown. An expert woodsman and firearms master, Yates is not a man to be crossed. His mission is to report on the technology and resources of the indigenous, but the government now suspects he is hiding the full truth. Thurston Sharp, a Royal Navy Commander from a long military pedigree, is selected to go along and find out what Yates is hiding.

When the pair are dropped on Tanzia, Sharp realizes nearly everything Yates has told the government is a lie. But in a land populated by dark hounds, cannibals, and gargoyles of living stone, Sharp has no choice but to fight to survive with Yates and to go where the ambassador leads, even to battle...

About the Series

“Yates shouldered his shotgun and poured cartridge after cartridge of triple-aught shot into the minotaur. The monster howled and turned to face him, ruby eyes alight like coals.”

Monsters and elephant guns face off as Ambassador Chadwick Yates and Navy Commander Thurston Sharp explore the Forbidden Continent of Tanzia. The pair must adapt to the curious cultures of Gremlins, Faeries, Anurans, and others to make allies, and fight off the evil creatures that serve an ancient sorcerer.

The Adventures of Chadwick Yates is for readers who love action in exotic locales. The series blends the Lost World literary genre of Indiana Jones and King Solomon's Mines with the magic and monsters of epic fantasy.

Featuring real 19th century gadgets and a gorgeously-realized world, the series was inspired by such works as Allan Quatermain, Sherlock Holmes, Journey to the Center of the Earth, Heart of Darkness, The Most Dangerous Game, and The Lost World.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bradley Verdell
• Release date: Sep 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536594409

Book preview

Artwork and Lore

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For a collection of illustrations, including the world map, races, firearms, potions, and majik sigils, please visit www.chadwickyates.com. The website serves as a field guide to the world of Chadwick Yates, featuring: Weapons, Equipment, Majik, Monsters, Locations, Races, Characters, Cavendian History, and more.

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Your ship awaits. Enjoy your expedition.

Foreword:  A Portrait of Mr. Chadwick Yates

By Mr. Thurston Sharp, former commander in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy

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I must begin my relationship with the readers of The Evening Star by expressing my enormous gratitude to the editor, Mr. Kingsford, who has been as eager to receive these memoirs as I am to see them published.  To see my adventures printed as a fortnightly Extra Edition, and in such a highly-regarded journal, is positively overwhelming.  No essayist or journalist, no matter how famous his pen, could deserve the extreme favor with which Mr. Kingsford has honored me.

As my name has never been embossed on book covers or given a byline on newsprint, it will be readily imagined that no talent of mine has brought me before you.  I should say it is rather the dual forces of public duty and urgency, acting together like scissors, which compel me to shear all secrecy and speak now the full truth.

Crowds of pressmen swarmed at my door after the Crisis, as it is being called. It is reported that I was silent. That is not so. I insisted that I would tell nothing unless I told all, and it was Mr. Kingsford who insisted he would hear nothing unless he heard all. When I added to this that the man is a governing member of the Cavendian Historical Society, I knew I could entrust my tales to him.

Therefore we have worked for hours a day and days upon end, I pouring through my old journals and mining deep into my memory, he questioning me about every detail, taxing my powers of recollection. It is well, for I would be as accurate as possible. I have written, and he has edited the ramblings of an old sailor and soldier into a proper testimony for the printing press, not an easy feat I assure you.

Of those recent and dire events which we all recall so readily, I shall not speak until the time is ripe.  Everything that came to pass was so because of what came before, and only by beginning at the beginning can the truth come completely to light.

But it is high time the public had a first-hand account of the doings of Mr. Chadwick Yates, the former ambassador, a figure whose singularly brave deeds have made him the talk of two continents. Three, in fact.

Yes, it is important now that all Cavendia should know the truth about the Forbidden Land, the Black Continent of Tanzia, where Yates and I spent so many years.

The life he and I have lived in lost places has been a hidden one, in which all our adventures needed to be absolutely suppressed, or else lead to serious international complications. It must be remembered that until very recently, both Mr. Yates and myself were under official commissions by our government, and as my reports were state property, they have only been mine to disseminate for some few months past.

I’m more grateful for it than you can know. When I was a lad, my father taught me that the reality of a matter, no matter how terrible, is always better than a lie. I have lived in secrets and deception far too long, and such is like breathing yellow air of a pea soup night in the Charleston metropolis. I am glad to know once more the clean breath of being on the outside what I am on the inside.

Who is Mr. Chadwick Yates? Most of what has been guessed about him is ineffable hogwash, thoughtless twaddle.

I have watched silently, since the Crisis, as Mr. Yates’ character has been speculated over, in some circles applauded and in others defamed on the basis of merest guesswork. Conjecture emerges everywhere, all of it wrong. I met him many, many years ago, and I alone have first-hand experience of his deeds, having accompanied him more than any other living soul.

Some questions are easily put to rest. Does he speak fluent Gremlish? Yes, without the slightest accent.  I have heard him numerous times as I kept watch over our camp, muttering it in his sleep, his cheeks pulled back tight to pronounce the squeaks and yips properly.  With my back to him, I would have sworn there had been a Gremlin sleeping behind me, rather than a man.

Gremlins are frightening to behold and their language is frightening to hear, but let the reader learn about Gremlin deeds. Then let him judge that people and those who speak their cant.

Does Mr. Yates possess a charmed, star-steel blade? Yes, this extraordinary article was given to him by the Faerie artist and Master Enchanter Pufferton Spark, for extraordinary services to the Tickle Tribe in the first year of our association, services which nearly cost us both our lives.

Apart from the Black Continent, did Yates and I start a gunfight with Sutherbury citizens, our fellow civilized men? Yes, and it briefly landed the two of us in prison. That episode can only be explained by an unabridged account, and that story too will be told in due time.  I will only say that our later pardon had nothing to do with political connection, but was truly the result of our genuine innocence.

Has Mr. Yates slain monsters? Oh yes, and more than you could guess. Before beginning my tale, let it be told that Mr. Chadwick Yates is, above all, the most skilled and fearsome warrior I have ever met, and I have been brother-in-arms with him against every type of horror that is known, as well as a few that will only now be named. The Servants of Maraa are the enemy of all thinking beings generally, but to Yates they were enemies personally. Even on the Black Continent, where every nation makes a defense against Servants, Yates is one of the few who went looking for them.

Mr. Yates speaks many foreign languages, but I should say that his first tongue were not any spoken language at all, but rather the universal language of action, which is respected and heeded by all the sentient races.

When words were useless, as they often are in the wilderness, my friend communicated in lead, and his message was ever clear, for it often won the allies he sought to make.

Then I come to the hard questions being asked about about Mr. Yates. Is he more a diplomat or a warrior? Is he a fiend, or is he a hero?

I shall introduce you to Chadwick Yates, as I met him myself, and then and only then, let the reader judge.

I am bound to omit nothing, for I believe no picture of his many triumphs would be complete without a treatment of his vices, which are, I’m sorry to say, rather numerous. Let no one say that I am a biographer partial to my subject, for I will disclose the worst of Yates. No one can live the life we have lived and not come to seek excitement in all its forms, but Yates made this search an art and himself a very great connoisseur of it. He craved the stimulation that only tangible risk to his person could provide. It will offend the sensibilities of many, but undisguised facts often do.

My stories will seem uncouth, unsavory, and downright savage to many cultured readers. I make no apology for this. Consider how different life is on the Black Continent of Tanzia, among strange races and dangerous monsters, where the Queen’s laws are not enforceable, and where a good ambassador must be readily capable of any adaptation to earn trust, let alone stay alive.

I’m sure my companion would threaten my life, as he has actually done before, if he knew I was telling his tale, but I am confident he has never read a newspaper and will not soon alter his habits.

Whatever the outcome to myself or to him, I will tell you the extraordinary adventures of Chadwick Yates. I assure you such a story of adventure has never been told before, nor ever will be again.

Chapter One:  A Covert Commission

My promotion to commander in the Royal Navy came equally from patient service and from the unfortunate, brave deaths of two superiors, during separate altercations with pirate ships off Sutherbury’s western coastline, the first in 1874, the second in 1877. My readers will recall the great trouble pirates gave to the merchant ships in those disastrous years.  I was only twenty-seven years old at the time when I was given charge of my own eighteen-gun sloop.  I would perhaps have lived a life of dutiful honor in the Navy for years to come, or met my own death in those wild waters as my superiors had, were it not for my summons to the Foreign Office on September 9th, 1879.

I was ushered straight up and into the office of the nobleman Leon Smythe, then minister of the Foreign Office.  His barrel chest and broad shoulders, combined with his grizzled hair and bushy mustache made him the very image of old dignity.

He greeted me cordially by coming round his desk and wringing my hand as if he’d known me from boyhood.  Then he pulled back a fine, Faerie-made chair and beckoned me to sit down in front of the writing desk, made of solid elm with mohair blotter.  It was then that I noticed Undersecretary Grant of the Department of War sunken in the winged consultant chair beside me.

The undersecretary, clad in a fine charcoal-colored suit, was a younger man whose face nonetheless was heavily lined from the prolonged knitting of his brows.  I saluted him at once, and he rose briefly to shake my hand.

I should congratulate you, Commander Sharp, said Minister Smythe, "upon the recent acknowledgments of your service.  Two years at the helm of The Queen’s Scepter and only twenty-nine years old. You’ve an unimpeachable record."

I had the discipline taught to me by my father, I replied.

Yes, your father is the retired Vice Admiral Sharp.  How is he?

Well, sir, still in excellent health I’m proud to say.  He rides and shoots with his neighbors in Ryedale almost daily when the weather is good.

Capital, capital, said the foreign minister.  His smile was very genial, but I sensed some irregularity in my sudden introduction to the high official.  Signs of trepidation must surely have shown on my face, for he came to the point immediately.

We have need to fill a special post, Commander Sharp, and we think you may be just the soldier to help us, though it would take you away from the familiar ways of the Navy.  Undersecretary Grant would arrange everything with the Naval Office.

I am honored to serve Her Majesty in any capacity that is needed, Minister, said I.

You should hear all the facts before you decide, Commander, the official replied, his smile firming up into a more serious and business-like expression.  The position is a solitary one, and you would be in plain clothes, you understand.  You would report directly to me or to the undersecretary here.  Is my meaning clear to you?

I understand, sir, I replied, as I dimly began to realize that some clandestine work was in the wind.  I thought perhaps some seaman of the fleet had gone awry. Please tell me more.

If you’ll only sign this document first, Commander, was the minister’s reply.  He opened a leather portfolio and slid across a file. The word Secret was stamped in red across the coversheet.

I spent a few minutes scanning the agreement which bound me to silence regarding what was about to be revealed.  Then I signed and dated it, slid the file back, and sat upright in my chair.

Very good.  Have you heard of a man called Mr. Chadwick Yates? asked Minister Smythe.

No, sir.

Very good, continued Smythe.  That is just how we want it. He has been an independently-operating part of this office for some few years. He works entirely alone, and yet his mission is so delicate that he has become indispensable.

I coughed in repressed astonishment at this, though I quickly mastered myself, as the men who had brought me had grown more stern all the while.

May I ask what it is that he does, sir? I asked.

He is an explorer on the Black Continent.

I stared for some moments in silent shock.

Alone? I asked incredulously.

Yes, Commander, answered the Undersecretary of War.  The story goes like this: when the Army’s Corps of Discovery expedition came to the extreme eastern Outback of Sutherbury, they found nothing as shocking as a Cavendian man already living among the Krukokee natives. He’d crossed over to Sutherbury and simply vanished into the Outback. He’d been living among savages, learning their languages and their knowledge for no other purpose than the adventure of it, and perhaps some impulse toward hermitism or escaping modern society.  But there was nothing black against him. No crimes, no anarchism or nihilism or political affiliation whatsoever.

My word, said I.

"He very amiably introduced the Army to the tribes in those parts, so that no conflict occurred. He shared the