THE MOUNTAIRY ROCK CITY CHRONICLES:
THE SERPENT CULT

Chapter one:
NEW YEARS IN MOUNTAIRY ROCK

                                    "Happy NEW YEAR!!!" The raucous refrain bellowing from his car radio was followed by the distant sound of firecrackers echoing through the cold night. Maximillion Madigan listened woefully to the loud, off key, singing of the traditional New Years song as he drove on. He had been forced to leave the festivities at King square because of a sudden and mysterious call from the Director and head curator of Haley Museum, Dr. Odom King. It was a call that ordered him to go immediately to the Museum that night.
            “Damn!” He muttered to the empty passenger seat. His date for the evening had “declined” to accompany him to the Museum. Not that he blamed her; the party at King square was going to be the best one Mountairy Rock city had ever seen. When he left it had been so crowded that he could not even see the huge stage set in front of City hall. New City Ave was a sea of people standing shoulder to shoulder. Although that should not have mattered; with all the parties and other celebrations going on in center city, there was plenty to see and do. The huge snowdrifts lining the side streets from the past storm only packed the crowds tighter, but did nothing to stop them from growing. There were exhibitions, vendors selling just about anything, music coming from several open doors along the avenue, pop stars performing live, and women running around baring their chests for beads in this crazy weather.
            It was New Years’ Eve in Mountairy Rock City, a celebration that had been getting bigger and better every year. The city had a strong and well represented culturally diversity. That meant that tonight there was nowhere you could go in Mountairy Rock and not find a grand celebration going on… except for the Museum that is. For the past three years Dr. King had ordered the Museum closed during New Years’, usually for inventory. Several key parties that had been held there had been forced to move, not without a little resentment, to other parts of the school or the city. Especially the huge Mountairy Rock countdown party which was both New Years celebration and the City’s founding day celebration.
            That was the real reason for the blow out. Mountairy Rock was an old city, officially two hundred and ninety-five years old, and as the city got closer to its official tri-centennial the huge end of year parties got ever grander. This year the biggest party was being held in King square, on the other side of the city and far out of site in Max's rear view mirror. Or rather it had been held in King Square; Max had already heard the count down and fireworks.
            So that meant that he was going to get there a little late this year if at all. Hopefully, he could return to his date before she found another escort.
            His cell had gone off about fifteen before midnight, and like a complete idiot, he answered even though he knew it was his boss and mentor, Dr. King. Max had recently become King’s top researcher and aid and that meant the doctor was relying on him more than he had in the past. Even so; King calling him in the middle of New Years’ Eve meant something big had gone down at the Museum. So Max answered his phone.
            It turned out that someone had broken into the Museum and the Doctor wanted Max to be there, as he himself could not arrive for some time.
            “Probably at the party he’s hosting, having a ball!” He thought. While King was the curator of one of the largest museums in America, he was also one of Mountairy Rocks biggest politicos. The big man hobnobbed with the Mayor and every other major V.I.P. in the city. So that meant he could not leave his own New Years party, to which Max had NOT been invited, just to see what was going on at the Museum.
            “DAMN!” The young man cursed his luck. Even with it being the holidays there was always a good number of staff and security at the Museum, so much so that he should not have been called no matter what the emergency was. But if something had happened in the labs or offices where they had been working then it was important that someone who was familiar with what was going on to be there.
            “Dammit!” He had only been trying to talk with Rosette for a month and when she finally agrees to go out with him this happens. Hell, he had rented a Benz.
            Finally the Museum came into view; the tall front walls and towers were bathed in red and blue flashing lights. The police were there in force when he pulled up. Max saw half a dozen squad cars parked outside among the huge piles of plowed snow as well as a few ambulances. The usual over kill response the Museum usually got for alarms and such. Money demands attention and the Museum and the University were the two biggest moneymakers the city had in the past century.
            The lot was so filled that Max had to park the rental a good distance away from the Museums entrance. All six feet three inches of him stepped out of the car. The long black over coat blew impressively as he walked down the row of police cars and snow banks. It was his good one, and also his only one as was the suit beneath it. His good hat had been lost so he complimented his wardrobe with a black baseball cap, the number 76 emblazoned in white on it. It was as sharp a look as he could manage and he was going to be wasting it on cops and a stupid break-in. With any luck he would be able to get out of there soon, find Rosette and somehow salvage the night.
            There were only two officers just outside the big double doors of the Museum’s barbican; the huge medieval guardhouse, but he knew there would be more in the Museum itself. Careful of ice he ran up the steps, noticing that one of the policemen was bent over.
            "Excuse me? I'm Max Madigan. Dr. King sent me over to see what happened." The officer who was bent over stood up and wiped his mouth, the mess on the ground was apparent. Max almost smiled. It looked like these cops took to the New Year’s festivities early, and hard.
            "Go ahead inside.” said his partner, who did not even bother to look in Max's direction. “They're expecting you."
            Carefully he stepped past the officers, through the barbican, and across the causeway that sat over the empty basin of the moat. Why the cop couldn’t stop here to gag, instead of inside the barbican, Max did not know.
            This was Haley Museum’s main visitor entrance, still very much the old world castle for tourists. The moat was usually full and fed by an under ground waterway originating from and flowing back out to Cobbs river but in winter it was blocked off and kept empty. From the front of the Museum, which sat on Germantown Avenue, this was the only way to gain entrance. Students, Professors and employees entered through the “Dock” along the side. The fact that the police and Ambulance vehicles were sitting out in front must have meant that whatever had happened, must have happened either in the Gatehouse, maybe in the Outer Bailey beyond or worse, in the Main building of the Museum itself.
            In that case it could have been something that happened in the South tower where Dr. King’s offices and labs were, and where Max worked.
            As he passed through the Gatehouse door he spotted the broken glass on the floor. The glass front door that was cut out of the larger drawbridge, which had not been lowered since before the town was founded, had been broken open. Cold winter air blew into the Gatehouse behind him when he entered but that did not stop a strong acrid smell from making him wince as he took it in. What was it?
            It was almost as cold inside here as it was outside. The Museum was always a cold drafty place anyway and the heating system never seemed to be able to compensate, but now it was so cold he could see his breath. There was another officer just inside the vestibule standing there apparently waiting for the ill officer. The look on this officer’s face made Max feel an even greater chill.
            "What happened?" He could already see that the Gatehouse was in shambles. “You guys had your New Year’s party here again?” He was joking, but the police man’s face only grew tauter.
            "Thought it was just vandalism, until we found the bodies." The officer stated flatly
            Bodies? He knew everyone who worked at the museum and the thought of having to see one of his coworkers dead scared him. He tried to remember who was supposed to be working that night. The security rotation was vague to him and there were only a few guards he knew by name. Only the kids doing post graduate work were still in town he was certain. That would mean few students but any of the research staff could have worked tonight. If he had not been able to get a date he might have been here himself.
            Far across the lobby just inside the Outer Bailey entrance there waited more uniformed officers and a couple of men and women he knew to be some of the Museum’s department Heads. From their attire Max could tell that they had all been enjoying New Years parties themselves before they had come here.
            But as he scanned the faculty and senior researchers he could find no one from administration or from Dr. King’s personnel department. The only person representing the South Tower was Max.
            Besides the uniformed officers and the paramedic there were a couple of people he did not recognize though. They were engaged with the other Department heads, some of whom Max noted were gathering themselves to leave. Sure enough, one after another the strangers seemed to be dismissing the faculty. Many of them walked out heading for the dock exit but one moved his way, toward the Gatehouse entrance. Dr. Pini was a historian, and a usually energetic man. Tonight as he approached Max his face was pale and drawn. One of those people who always had a good word for you some would say about him, but when he passed Max the man never even met his eyes. It was going to be bad. The faces of friends flashed across his mind as Max wondered who might have died tonight.
            The strangers were now looking in his direction. They were standing with Dr. Eastman, head of Biology, and he was pointing at Max. The strangers, a man and a woman, nodded and shook hands with Eastman before he too walked off. They must be police detectives, he figured. The oldest one walked up and introduced himself.
            "Sher… excuse me…Derrick Mann, Detective, Mountairy Rock police, 1st district. You're Madigan?" Max shook the detective’s hand and nodded. The Detective was in his fifties at least and had a tired, worn look to him. Dirty gray hair that had not seen a comb this evening made Max think that on New Year’s Eve, this man had been home sleep when he got the call.
            He had yet to see any paramedics or bodies, so that must mean the main building. Not the South Tower please. If it wasn’t the South Tower then maybe no one he knew was hurt.
            "Yes. Ahh... I was called me just a little while ago to see if… um… to see if something happened… where we work… in the South Tower. What happened here? Someone tried to rob the Museum?" The whole thing was confusing. Sure Rock City had its crime problems, but for someone to try and hit the Museum...well it would have to be someone who knew nothing of the Museum. Despite its grandeur the Museum never really held anything of value, nothing that could be sold anyway. Maybe it was just…
            “Or was it vandalism?” he thought, suddenly wondering at the amount of damage done in the Gatehouse.
            "Vandalism is a possibility son. Let me ask you, has the museum or any of its employees been threatened in any way?" No, he could not think of any mention of threats. He had been working as an assistant for a little under two years and before that as an intern there at the museum so he pretty much knew everyone who worked there well. No one had given any indication that anyone was having any serious problems.
            "No sir." he answered.
            The detective nodded knowingly. "I didn't think so. Come with me please." and Max followed the detective through the mess toward the Outer Bailey. The female Detective followed them both, sandwiching Max in between the two of them.
            Cold wind blasted at them as they stepped out of the Gatehouse. First thing he saw was the paramedic. The second was the still form she was standing over, lying in the snow covered with a white sheet that was stained bright red.
            Max then realized what the acrid stench was; it was blood.
            “Try not to look now…although we may need you to help us identify some of the victims.” The Detective kept walking across the Outer Bailey. The sheet lying over the body was just thick enough that it hid the identity of the victim, just barely. Max did not realize that he had stopped walking to stare until the other detective gave him a shove from behind urging him along the shoveled path to the main building.
            “Come on.” She said making a poor attempt to sound comforting but Max could here the irritation in her voice; it was New Year’s Eve.
            They were indeed going into the main building Max now knew. Detective Mann walked into the entrance to Rebel’s Keep and paused a moment, waiting for Max and the other Detective to catch up. There was more broken glass here; sitting on the ground alongside streaks of what must have been blood. The blood lead into a service corridor that Max used almost every day, to get to the South Tower.
            There were more people here, some uniformed officers, some wearing police windbreakers over party clothes. A few were wearing latex gloves and picking through the debris on the floor. The service corridor door opened as someone with plastic bags on their feet walked out. Before it closed, and only for an instant, Max could see down the hall.
            “Oh my GOD.” There were at least three bodies lying on the floor of the corridor and the walls were splashed with blood. One of the bodies that Max could see clearly was wearing a security uniform.
            “No son, we’re not going through there.” And Detective Mann pulled him by the arm into the West hall. His legs did not respond in time and he stumbled a little. They walked through and past the West Hall and, much too soon for Max, they arrived at the South Tower. Past the swinging doors there was even more evidence of vandalism, although now it looked to be more like signs of a fight.
            The Detective stopped and pointed at some crates in the corner. Max recognized them even though they had been smashed into. They had arrived at the museum earlier that week but because of delays they had yet to be opened. Random violence beat them to it.
            "See there? The path of vandalism leads right to this spot. Plus the amount of damage done to the rest of the walls and exhibits is small compared to the effort it must have taken to go through these crates." It was easy to pick up on what the Detective was leading up to.
            "You mean whoever it was broke in here; they did it just for these crates?"
            "Maybe. Nothing's sure just yet. After the forensics team finishes here I'm going to need you to go through this box with them and tell me what's missing."
            "Okay but where the hell are the rest of the security guards?" Max asked. Again he wondered who might have been working. The Detective shook his head. Then he pulled Max to the side, and spoke in a low voice.
            "Of the seven guards that were on duty here tonight, four are in the bathroom Mr. Madigan. They are all dead from several severe blade wounds. That's not the worst of it though; there are two more bodies in the office of the administrator. They seemed to have been attacked by some animal. The other guards are in the service corridor and in the Outer Bailey.”
            "What… happened?" The smell was not overwhelming but it was making him gag nonetheless.
            "Until the lab boys get here I don't want to make any speculations, but between me and you? I think somebody killed them." The detective’s sarcasm angered Max but he said nothing.
            "The two victims in the rear office are apparently the vandals. One of them was still holding an ax which is what we think was used on some of the guards."
            Again the smell made Max gag as he thought about the bodies he had already seen. He knew there were women who worked at the Museum as guards. Acid formed in the back of his mouth and he knew that if he did not calm down he would throw up. He clenched his jaw.
            “Uh Professor…?” The Detective reached a hand out.
            “I’m not a Professor… not yet. I started late…” he was stammering now, breathing deeply to stop from losing control but taking in more of the smell of blood at the same time. He could explain why he had not yet earned a Doctorate later.
            “If you could tell us what was in those crates.” The Female Detective said, once more trying to sound comforting at the same time but again Max could hear the irritation behind her words. Looking at her now he could see the dress she wore beneath the police windbreaker. Her short blond hair had just been styled so despite the weather she wore no hat. She had to be freezing, but maybe like Max himself, she had planned to be celebrating the New Year right about then.
            “I’ll get the manifest…” and he turned to the rear stairwell and stopped. “It should be in the upstairs office. Is it…” ‘Safe’ is what he wanted to say, clear of blood and bodies is what he meant. “…okay to go up there?”
            The female Detective said that it was but she would go with him anyway. Her heels tapped up the stairs with the same impatient tone her voice had. The office door was locked but Max had his own set of keys so it was no problem. This was not his office alone but one he shared with a few other researchers.
            This was where he would have been had he been working that night.
            Everyone who worked there was careful to keep the place neat and clean usually. Now with most of the students and assistants gone for the holidays, work had fallen behind. The manifests were probably in one of a dozen stacks of papers scattered about the room that had yet to be filed.
            The Detective’s cell phone went off and startled Max enough that he jumped a little. Thankfully she did not seem to notice and she began speaking into it. Reminded now, Max decided to call his own boss and let him know what happened. The Curator had stressed to him how important it was that Max get to the Museum in his stead but he could not have known that there were deaths involved. With any luck he would come down here himself and Max could get out of here. But then what? Go back to the party and his date and try to pretend that nothing had happened?
            Not likely.
            There was no answer. As the head Curator of Haley Museum, the Dean of African Studies and the Head of the Lost Tribe research Project, Dr. King was hosting his annual New Years party at his home. A lot of the Cities V.I.P.s would be in attendance and the party would be in full swing by now. If Kings Wife had come back to Mountairy Rock for the New Year then she would have had the house staff turn off the phones.
            Max had no other way of contacting him so he went about finding the delivery manifest that was hiding somewhere in the piles of paperwork. He had not expected anything to be shipped to the South Tower so the crates probably were for some other department. But when he did find the manifest it was indeed designated for Dr. King. It had come from the research site in Africa, site one in Nigeria and it had been sent by Dr. Bazillion who had been King’s previous top Researcher.
            By the time he found the manifest the forensics team was done in the corridor and the Detective, Lynne by the way she answered her phone, was tapping her foot with the rhythm of machine gun fire. Like Max didn’t have somewhere better to be himself!
             Max had entirely forgotten about the New Year’s party as he watched the crime scene in the South Tower being swept for evidence. The police scientists carefully picked their way through the entire contents of the crates. Max identified each piece and checked them off of his list. The going was slow and many of the pieces were damaged but eventually all was accounted for. Max had managed well enough, not gagging as much near the end as he had at the start.
             The Detective was baffled. He had been sure that the supposed vandals had stolen something from the crates.
            "Maybe there was something in the crates that wasn't listed in the manifest. What is all this stuff anyway?"
            "Dr. King’s big project is finding a lost African tribe. These are artifacts that could be evidence of their existence. They have to be examined and we gained permission to bring them back here to the Museum because our facilities are better. I didn’t think this stuff was going to get here until late January but here it is." Max was beginning to doubt the detectives’ theory. Even though he could not explain why someone would break into the museum just to trash it, he did not believe that the crates had anything to do with it. Why were the watchmen killed if all the killers wanted was to steal something?
             He looked at his watch. The New Year’s party in King Square was over by now so he missed seeing Rosette. She would have made her own way home or to another party. Now all he wanted to do was go home and go to sleep.
            "Do you need me for anything else?" he asked. Scratching his head and yawning Detective Mann stuck his thumb out, motioning him to leave. Eagerly Max grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. On his way something crunched under his foot.
            At first it appeared to be a piece of wood broken off from one of the crates but the way it felt when he stepped on it made Max look closer. Bending down he saw that it was a small rock. It was firm and coarse in his hands when he picked up the small object, which had broken into two pieces. There was some kind of design etched into it. A zigzag line set in a circle.
            A symbol of mountains, or of lightning?
            It was familiar but Max could not identify the design. He thought that the symbol was ancient. Maybe African in origin… from before the Slave trade…Ibo?
            No… no he had not ever seen it before. It could not have come from one of the crates, Max had checked in everything against the manifest.
            "Excuse me Dr. Madigan?" Max was startled by the quick appearance of another cop and did not correct the title. He dropped the small rock and promptly lost it among the rest of the debris from the broken crates.
            The female police officer asked him for his home phone number in case they needed to contact him later. He grimaced as he gave her his information and hoped that he would not hear from them, he just wanted to forget what he had seen. Just in case he gave them his home phone number instead of his cell, which she then asked him for.
            “And your cell number?”
            “I don’t have a cell.” And naturally there was a loud buzzing followed by a very static filled ring tone version of “Touch My Body” coming from inside his jacket.
             This has to have been one of his most memorable New Years.