Beanstalked 2: Beanstalkers: Beanstalked, #2

By R.B. Ashton

Van's always thought big, but not like this…
 

Thief Van is getting out of prison, with a simple catch. She's got to do one last heist. It's a weird one, but with potential: climb the beanstalk and raid the house of the giantesses.

 

That's right, the same giantesses that recently raided an English village. The ones who ate a bunch of people. Big, beautiful and deadly.

 

But also, Van reckons, likely to own some pretty impressive jewellery…

 

Unfortunately, her shady employers have more in mind than simply letting her snag some loot and leave. She's about to learn how high ambition can reach. And the sort of trouble that can bring down the stalk.

 

You'll find echoes of King Kong, Gulliver and the Brothers Grimm in this fantasy heist caper, returning to the world of Beanstalked for another frantic homage to darker fairy tales! Climb the beanstalk for a second time and learn what new terrors await…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Neringa Press
• Release date: Apr 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224517336

Book preview

1

Van was a criminal , but not a bad one, just a world-class thief. Never hurt anyone. When she was sentenced to ten years, it was only right that the authorities find cause to release her. A way to put her magnificent skills to use. And after only two weeks in a maximum security prison, sure enough she was given back her clothes and packed into a windowless armoured truck (destination unknown) with the assurance that after one night’s work she’d be free to go. She was chipper, happily introducing herself to the two other inmates they’d picked up and explaining that of course no prison could hold her.

If you’re so good, said Hamish, the burly skinhead in a sleeveless top, how come you got caught?

Van’s mood only faltered slightly and she kept her smile. The plan was perfect. We would’ve been rich. But I was betrayed. Fucking Raddigan. The snake safe-cracker she’d enlisted, allegedly one of the best – except he decided to make an easier payday by snitching.

What were you trying to steal? asked the other inmate, Carla, a slender woman with a hard face and tattoos, dressed like a biker.

Crown jewels, Van told them, folding her arms proudly. The pair of criminals stared for a moment – yeah, soak up the sight of a master thief. Then they burst out laughing. Even the faceless guards either side of them, sexless brutes in full riot gear, shook their shoulders with amusement. Van’s face fell. Would’ve done it, I swear. Fucking Raddigan.

The drive was long, heading out into the countryside, Van guessed, and she grew restless, tapping her foot and itching to look out a window. She asked the guards where they were going but they were professionally quiet. Hamish suggested they were heading up north, probably to work security at some rich twat’s party. Van rolled her eyes: he might look like a low-rate bouncer, but she was clearly wanted for more refined work. She said to Carla, And I bet you’ve got some skills, too. Let me guess, smuggler?

Murderer, Carla said flatly, so she let that topic drop.

Van instead imagined a new life ahead, where she’d soon be free of these shackles and presumably well compensated, with all the time she needed to hatch up a new scheme. She couldn’t go after the Tower of London again, she supposed, but maybe that Edinburgh castle. She wasn’t meant for long, arduous work, anyway – her millions were always just around the corner, she was sure.

The transport finally trundled to a stop and one of the guards opened the rear doors. The criminals moved to leave but the other guard grunted at them to stay put, and a man stepped into view – primly presented with a side-sweep of blond hair, teeth shining even in the dim night, there stood a celebrity billionaire they all knew by sight: Chester Salmon. A man with a brand, he wore a pale pink suit and had made a fortune first in seafood then shipping, then in various extravagant entertainment ventures. He was known for being flamboyant. Van always suspected he’d changed his name to fit the whole absurd image, and reckoned he was slippery as a fish to boot. But there in the flesh she couldn’t deny this playboy was handsome. Also a prime mark, if she could get close to him.

Damn, if Hamish was right she might have access to a billionaire’s mansion.

Salmon said, There we are, the crew’s all here now. Wonderful. Beautiful. Let’s skip formalities, you know who I am, I know who you are, who’s ready to make a fortune?

The three criminals looked at each other uncertainly; his enthusiasm was infectious, but the setup was shady. It was dark outside, somewhere remote, and any situation that had them sneaking away from prison at night to meet with a private billionaire probably wasn’t legit. Then, that word fortune did a lot to quash those concerns.

You all know the opportunity ahead of you, Salmon went on. "A night of work for your freedom.