Emerald Dragon- A Dane Maddock Adventure

By David Wood

“Part murder mystery, part pulp adventure, completely thrilling!”

When his old friend is murdered, Dane Maddock finds himself the prime suspect. To clear his name, Maddock and Bones Bonebrake must find the legendary Bachal Isu, the Staff of Christ. But a dangerous pagan cult, the Tuatha, has set their eyes on the fabled staff, and plan on using it to raise the Emerald Dragon.

EMERALD DRAGON is the second book in the DRAGON CYCLE.

Classic adventure for the modern reader! Fans of Indiana Jones, Doc Savage, and National Treasure will love Dane Maddock!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gryphonwood Press
• Release date: Aug 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005851767

David Wood

David Wood is W. Alton Jones Professor of Philosophy at Vanderbilt University. His most recent book is Deep Time, Dark Times: On Being Geologically Human.

Book preview

From the Author

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This book is, in part, a tip of the hat to one of my favorite television shows, Derry Girls. If you’re a fan of the show, you’ll likely recognize several character names inspired by the show.

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The book references the events of GOLDEN DRAGON but you do not have to read them in order.

I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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Until next time,

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David

1

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Leaden clouds hung low in a sunless sky. A light breeze swept in off the nearby river sending chills down his spine. Only the sound of their footsteps on the cobblestone street broke the silence. An old, imposing building loomed up ahead. Dane Maddock paused to take in the sight.

This is the place.

At least we’ll be indoors. This weather sucks. Bones Bonebrake scowled at the overcast sky.

You’ve dealt with much worse, Maddock said. The two men were treasure hunters and former Navy SEALs. Over the years, they had traveled the globe and endured all sorts of hardships. Come on. Let’s check it out.

When they reached their destination, Maddock paused to run his hand over the old bricks. They were cool to the touch, damp from the morning drizzle. There was something about an old building that sparked his imagination, made him wonder what secrets lay hidden inside waiting to be discovered.

Built in 1780, Maddock said.

I don’t even know if this is the original structure, Bones said. But that’s not what’s important. We’ve got drinking to do.

Maddock chuckled. For Bones, a visit to the Jameson Whiskey Distillery was like a trip to Disneyland. He hadn’t shut up about it since he had won a trip to Dublin.

Should be fun, Maddock said. Just don’t overdo it. Lots of places to see.

You’re right about that. The Guinness brewery is just across the river. And there are at least five more distilleries within walking distance.

So is Saint Patrick’s Cathedral and Trinity College, Maddock said.

Seriously? We’re on a guys’ trip and you want to go to church and to school?

How about the National Leprechaun Museum? It’s close by.

Leprechauns? Bones closed his eyes as if drawing upon his last reserves of patience. I should have invited Willis.

Fine, no leprechauns, Maddock said

Now you’re talking. Come on. Let’s take the tour, Bones said.

Inside the distillery, the atmosphere was warm and upbeat. The décor was striking. Enormous chandeliers made from Jameson bottles cast a bright light on the polished, golden-brown wood of the tables and bar tops. The room was crowded with people sipping whiskey and chatting amiably.

This is a welcome change from the weather outside. Bones looked around and smiled. And to think you wanted to see little green men.

The tour began with a multimedia presentation about the history and making of the famed whiskey. Next, a tour guide named Orla showed them around. She was an attractive young woman with big brown eyes and wavy auburn hair. She was also a wealth of information about the history of the distillery and the Jameson family, sprinkling in anecdotes and trivia throughout her presentation.

John Jameson, the distillery’s namesake, was not Irish, Orla explained. He was a legal clerk from Scotland. It was his wife’s family who owned this distillery.

Men! Always taking credit for everything. Am I right, ladies? Bones looked around. The others in their group smirked or rolled their eyes.

I don’t think they’re buying what you’re selling, Maddock said quietly.

I’m like Novocain. I need time to take effect.

I do find your company mind-numbing, Maddock said.

They learned several interesting things from Orla. Jameson was the grandfather of Guglielmo Marconi, the Italian engineer responsible for the invention of radio transmission. The whiskey was no longer distilled in Dublin, but in Cork, although this historic building was the one that drew the public’s interest.

Got any weird or creepy stories about the Jamesons? Bones asked.

Orla cocked her head. Such as?

You know, lost family jewels, curses, hauntings, skeletons in the closet. The interesting stuff.

Maddock rolled his eyes, but the other guests perked up. Orla frowned, then smiled.

Here’s one. Jameson’s great-grandson, James, once paid cannibals to let him watch them kill and eat a ten-year-old girl. This got everyone’s attention. He was adventuring in the Congo. When the chief of a host village mentioned eating people, James said he would like to see that. The chief set a price of six handkerchiefs, and Jameson immediately sent his valet to get said handkerchiefs. Upon payment, the chief sent for a slave girl. James, who had an interest in science, took notes and made sketches while... She didn’t need to finish the sentence. A grim reality of that time and place in history, Orla finished.

A silver-haired man hurried over to them and took Orla by the arm. Anger flashed in her eyes, and she jerked away.

What do you want, Eammon?

Orla, what have we told you about going off-script?

She was just answering my question, Bones said. Blame me, not her.

Eammon rounded on Bones, elbows cocked and fists clenched. He froze when he found himself nose to breastbone with the massive Cherokee. His eyes slowly climbed to meet Bones’ flinty gaze. He took a step back, cleared his throat.

Well, then. Don’t let it happen again. Orla, see me in my office after the tour. He turned and hurried away.

He walks like a hen with chub-rub, Bones said. Maddock didn’t know what that meant, but several of the women in the group laughed.

Orla led them to a bar area, where they were provided with samples of Irish whiskey, Scottish whisky, and American bourbon. They sampled the three as Orla explained the differences.

Maddock enjoyed the Irish whiskey. It was smooth with a light, floral fragrance. The flavor was a perfect balance of nutty and spicy notes with a hint of vanilla, and it left him with a warm feeling.

That concludes our tour, Orla announced. She hurried over and whispered a quick thank you to Bones before slipping away.

This was fun, Maddock admitted.

Just think, Bones said. This city is full of distilleries and breweries just waiting for us to drop in.

We do have an appointment this afternoon with Andrew Wainwright at Trinity College. He’s going to show us around, Maddock said. Wainwright was a retired professor from England who had recently taken up a part-time position at the Trinity College Library. He was also a great nephew of the legendary explorer, Percy Fawcett. He had once helped Maddock and Bones on their search for a lost city in the Amazon. Since then, he and Maddock had maintained a friendship, mostly by email.

I still can’t believe you want to go to the library, Bones said.

Trinity College has been on my bucket list for years. I can’t wait to check it out.

I believe I can help with that, a woman’s voice said from behind him. Maddock turned to see a smartly dressed woman standing behind him. She was tall with fair skin, russet-colored hair, and slightly tilted blue eyes. A stocky brown-haired man stood behind her, glowering at Maddock and Bones. Are you Dane Maddock?

Who’s asking?

Inspector Fallon Walsh. She flashed a badge and credential. This is Sergeant Mike Doyle. She inclined her head in the direction of the brown-haired man. I will ask again. Are you Dane Maddock?

I think you already know who I am. Maddock couldn’t imagine what the Gardai, the Irish police, might want with him. What can I do for you?

Your name has come up in the course of an investigation.

Not chance, Bones said. We only arrived late last night.

I am aware, Walsh said. I spoke with the hotel manager. She’s the one who told me where to find the two of you.

It’s not just a hotel, Bones corrected. It’s a haunted castle.

Clontarf Castle, where they were staying, was a twelfth-century castle that had been converted into a four-star hotel. It was also rumored to be haunted, with guests reporting a variety of paranormal activity. Bones considered ghostly activity a highly desirable amenity.

We didn’t share our itinerary with the manager. Maddock’s suspicion was rising.

Your friend mentioned your plans while he was trying to get off with her this morning, Walsh said.

Maddock flicked a weary glance