The Archer's Diary
Book One
by Liam Cadoc
Genre: Historical Fiction Mystery
THE LEGEND IS REAL
Since the 14th century, Robin Hood has proven to be one of the most enduring and versatile folk heroes. Medieval historians believed Robin lived during the 12th or 13th century but despite decades of intense research by contemporary scholars, solid evidence has never been found.
Until now.
Logan Daggett, son of Donald Daggett, well known CEO of one of Australia's largest international corporations, has his 21st birthday celebrations disrupted by a family tragedy, the revelation of his mother's decades-old secret—and a birthday gift of a collection of centuries-old family heirlooms. This series of events contrive to change the course of his life forever.
Accompanied by his two closest friends, the young Aussie sets out to uncover the truth behind the accident that irrevocably changed his life, and to research the authenticity of the priceless heirlooms, completely unaware of the adventure and dangers lurking around every corner.
During the course of their journey they uncover irrefutable evidence that causes further turmoil among the family, spark controversy among medieval scholars worldwide, and the potential of sparking upheaval to a country's history and creating conflict between two nations.
Liam Cadoc's stunning debut to historical fiction sweeps readers into a ruthless world where greed and corruption threaten to deprive a nation of historical riches and the world of the truth behind a legendary hero. This is Book 1 of a 2-book set.
Book Trailer
He hit the brakes but
nothing happened. The car continued to pick up speed. He stamped down several
more times, only to achieve the same outcome. Nothing. He could feel his heart
racing, the blood pounding in his ears as he fought to regain control of the
runaway vehicle. Donald Daggett, CEO of one of Australia's top three wine
producing companies, was losing a fight for the first time in his life. He knew
it and his wife, Elizabeth, knew it. He saw the knowledge in her terrified gaze
as he glanced sideways at her. She had her arms out, bracing herself against
the dash as he fought to keep the car on the road. He swiped madly at the sweat
trickling into his eyes, burning them, and causing his vision to blur. Damnit, I can't save us if I can't see,
he thought. He reached for the emergency brake, hauling back on it with all his
strength. Once again, nothing happened. None of the brakes seemed to be
functioning. A leisurely day trip in the bucolic English countryside had become
an unexpected hellish nightmare ride through the quiet evening streets of
Bourton-on-the-Water.
Daggett sensed an aching
pressure building and clutched his chest as the tension suddenly turned
painful. Dark blotches swam into his vision, and he tried to shake them away
but succeeded only in losing his grip on the wheel. His wife seized her seat
belt and turned her face to her window, screaming at the houses flashing past.
Moments later the car careened across the road, with a screech of skidding
tires, and tore into the solid stone pillar of an ancient bridge before
flipping into the turbulent stream below.
Water rushed in through
the shattered windows, swirling around their heads as the Daggetts dangled by
their safety belts. Donald twisted and fought to free himself as water rose
past his head. He reached out frantically for his wife only to encounter her
limp body. The pain in his chest exploded and everything went black.
Moments later a dark
figure slipped from the nearby shadows. It eased down the embankment towards
the wreckage with one intention in mind. And it wasn't to be the Daggetts'
salvation.
* * * * * * *
Meanwhile, back home . . .
Logan Daggett was up to
his neck in trouble—again. He couldn't risk a backward glance but his
heightened senses were keenly aware of the men closing in on him rapidly from
behind. His latest predicament was yet another result of his inherent
cockiness. He tucked his head down and bolted forward like the hounds of the
Baskervilles were snapping at his heels.
The ground shuddered
with the sound of a dozen sets of heavy feet giving chase. Two hulking shapes
moved to bar his path. Logan didn't hesitate. He tucked his head down and,
leading with a solid shoulder, he bored straight into them. He sent one of the
human barricades careening backwards.
Logan's momentum
faltered. A wave of bodies fell on him before he could move. Beefy arms wrapped
themselves around his neck and shoulders, others clawed at his legs. Just as he
collapsed under the attack, he caught a glimpse of his Aborigine mate, Gavin
Allawa, charging to his aid. With a deft flick of his wrist, Logan released his
death-grip on the object in his hand and sent it flying to Gavin's outstretched
hands.
He felt pure
satisfaction to see his friend making a perfect catch and dashing past before
Logan disappeared beneath a writhing mass of sweating, grunting, swearing
attackers. He laughed as the breath was crushed out of him.
A tumultuous roar went
up. Logan extricated himself from the heap of bodies just in time to witness
Gavin's victory dance and bow of appreciation to the thousands of fans enjoying
the regional intrastate football game.
Logan staggered toward
the sideline. Then he spotted them—a couple of stone-faced cops.
Shit. What now? Logan thought as a
bystander pointed him out to the police, and they began walking in his
direction.
Gavin watched his buddy
from across the far side of the field as the two officers converged on him and
a sudden lump of ice formed in the Aborigine's stomach. His head rang with
warning bells going off. I thought all that business surrounding the girl's
death had been sorted out.
Jostled by his jubilant
teammates and supporters, Gavin fought to keep sight of the cops confronting
Logan. He strained against the pull of the crowd, twisting and turning. Something
was definitely wrong, and he grew more desperate to rush to his friend's side.
One of the coppers laid a hand on Logan's arm and the young player's shoulders
drooped as he hung his head despondently.
That was the last straw.
Gavin tore free of the raucous celebrations and raced across the field as Logan
dropped to his knees.
CHAPTER 2
Three weeks later
"Ashes to ashes,
dust to dust." The somber voice of the pastor drifted upon the melancholy
breeze sweeping the hilltop as the congregation looked on as the two caskets
were lowered into the double grave. Logan heard quiet sobbing ripple through
the crowd as they dropped from view. After the ceremony he smiled weakly as
people shuffled up to him with their sober condolences before slowly drifting
off to their waiting vehicles.
A short time later Logan
shook his head slightly realizing, except for one other, they were alone.
Beside him his best mate, Gavin, stared grimly down at the caskets covered with
a smattering of dirt.
Logan was of two minds.
On one hand, he felt overcome with despair at the loss of his closest friend
and confidant—his mother. Together they had faced life filled with endless
trials and tribulations melded with moments of elation and promise, with
unflinching positivity. On the other hand, his insides were ratcheted tight
with contempt and fiery anger towards his father. As far back as he could
remember, the bastard always perverted his position as patriarch. He ruled with
an iron-will, as uncompromising as a steel rod. His word was law, final and
incontestable. As Logan approached his early teens a noticeable shift took
place in the family dynamics. Following the laws of nature, the young man
tested the extent and real strength of the patriarchal boundaries. Elizabeth
Daggett found her role as wife and mother shift to one of arbiter in the
household constantly rocked with clashes between two alpha personalities.
Donald Daggett avoided confrontations by simply spending more time at the
corporate office than with his family at home.
Why couldn't the bastard have died alone? Why did he have to take Mum
down with him? The questions battered Logan's mind like a hurricane as he stared
blindly down at his parents' graves.
Gavin laid his hand
gently on Logan's shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze, feeling the tension in
his mate's muscles. He knew all too well the animosity that surged like a river
between Logan and his father.
"C'mon mate."
Gavin's voice sounded uncommonly husky with emotion. His normally jovial eyes
were dull and brimmed with tears.
Logan placed his hand on
Gavin's, nodded and turned from the graveside and recognized Stan Beaman
standing patiently beside their car. The bloke had always been his mother's
personal financial advisor as long as he could remember and as he and Gavin
drew closer, Logan could see how distraught he was at his mum's passing.
"G'day Stan,"
Logan said. "What can I do you for?"
The financier collected
himself, reached inside his coat and withdrew an envelope. "I didn't want
to appear as if we were conducting business at the service, but before leaving
for England your mother left this in my possession, insisting I hand it to you
as soon as possible should anything untoward happen to her." He passed the
item to Logan. "The way she spoke sounded like she expected something to
occur, but I never thought . . . "
"Funny you should
say that," Logan murmured. "Before Mum and Dad left, I noticed
something was weighing heavily on her mind, but I never got the chance to ask
her what was bugging her. My only regret now is that I never bothered to ask
her." Logan fidgeted with the envelope. "Did she happen to mention
what's in this?"
"It happens to be
the key to your mother's safety deposit box at the bank," Beaman replied.
"Oh? I didn't even
know she owned one . . . particularly one of her own," Logan said.
"Did my father know about it?"
The financier frowned.
"I don't think so."
"Well, thanks
Stan." Logan shook the man's hand. "Give me a couple of days to get
my bearings and I'll come in to claim Mum's stuff."
"I understand
perfectly, Logan. Take as much time as you need. Gavin, always a
pleasure." Beaman smiled sadly at Logan and Gavin and left for his car
parked nearby.
The two men watched for
a moment as his mother's friend drove off. Logan turned and approached the group
of cemetery laborers standing quietly off to one side. He handed each of them
an envelope before quickly rejoining his friend and when the workers inspected
their envelopes they were amazed to find them each filled with five crisp one
hundred dollar bank notes. They stared in wondrous gratitude as the two young
men climbed into their car and drove off.
"Well, if that
don't beat all," one of them mumbled.
"Nothin' like his
old man at all," another said. "As far back as I can recall, old man
Daggett went out of his way to bicker with anyone to save a miserly few
pennies."
Logan sighed deeply. He
was bone weary and selfishly glad to see the last of his guests depart. It was
the longest and saddest day of his young life—having to bury his mother. Today
was his 21st birthday, and he vowed he would never celebrate any of his future
birthdays in deference to her memory. It looked to him like most, if not all,
the townsfolk from Mudgee turned up at the family homestead to pay their
condolences. A few, unable to attend the actual funeral service and burial for
one reason or another, dropped by afterwards at his home with their soft-spoken
words.
Despite the solemnity of
the occasion, Logan was troubled. Putting aside his anger, there was something
that didn't sit quite right with him about the circumstances surrounding the
death of his parents. He read the official reports sent to him from England at
the request of the New South Wales Police Department, thanks to his father's
corporate attorneys, but they left him with more questions than answers.
Regardless of his animosity towards his father, Logan knew him to be anything
but a reckless driver and as soon as he could, Logan was determined to set out
for England to carry out his own investigation. The report concluded his father
had suffered a possible heart attack at the wheel; something Logan rejected out
of hand. He regarded his father as too much of a heartless bastard to leave the
planet like that. He must find out for himself if it had actually been
an accident as reported or whether, for some unimaginable reason, his father
committed suicide and murdered his mother in the process.
The more he thought
about the incident, the more things just didn't add up. My gut is telling me it was no accident. Mum always went on about
how good her intuition was, so for her to leave that envelope with Beaman must
have meant she really did feel something was going to take place on their trip.
And despite his mind leaping to the notion of his father committing suicide,
Logan now dismissed it. The codger had
made enemies of a few locals right here in town because of his obnoxious
attitude and his way of doing business, so what if he had made enemies in the
corporate world? Maybe one of them had it in for Dad enough to—
"Here ya go,
mate." Gavin appeared at Logan's side with a heavy crystal tumbler in each
hand. He passed one to his glum friend and raised his own in a toast. "I
feel bloody guilty bringing it up and you can clout me if it suits you, but for
what it's worth . . . Happy birthday." The afternoon sun enhanced the rich
inner glow of the Scotch whiskey.
Logan lifted his glass
in return. "I know how you feel. Weird ain't half of it, but thanks,
Gav." For a split-second his dark eyes twinkled with flecks of gold and
then returned to the deep green color people always found intriguing,
especially the women. His voice was quiet, strong, but to Gavin's discerning
ear there was an unmistakable undercurrent of melancholy tinged with anger.
Logan's gaze was unfocused, as he savored the mellow liquor.
It was darker now. The
sun having slipped behind the distant hills painting them in purple hues
against a deepening golden spring sky. The first stars twinkled overhead and
the nip in the air forecast a cold night ahead. He and Gavin sat in heavily
cushioned wooden chairs handcrafted by Logan's grandfather and stared at the
surrounding vista of the rolling country property from the covered veranda.
They could smell the
sweet scent of impending rain on the breeze and to the west a line of dark
clouds roiled along the horizon. The bush was coming alive with nocturnal
sounds of birds settling down for the night while unseen animals such as the
Echidna and Eastern Bettong shuffled about foraging in the undergrowth for
their evening meal while off in the distance sheep bleated as they hunkered
down.
*****************
Beyond
the spill of light from the house a shape lurked deep in the shadows stealthily
observing the two men through military-grade binoculars equipped to take
photographs. He adjusted settings on his equipment to allow for the mediocre
lighting on the farmhouse veranda and, zooming in on the two men, began
snapping photographs.
1. Can you, for those who don't know you already,
tell something about yourself and how you became an author?
Okay, good question. Even as far back (several centuries) as
high school, I had a gift for writing and always earned A+s for my English
writing assignments. The various English teachers I was fortunate to have all
encouraged me to keep writing in order to nurture my gift.
That said, I decided to take another career path because I also
excelled in art class and turned to graphic design. In a serendipitous way,
several years later I found myself as art director with one of Australia's
major publishers designing and laying out books. Then, a few decades later, I
happened to read an article that inspired a story idea that took me some 9
years to evolve into my foray into historical fiction — The Archer's Diary.
2. What is something unique/quirky about you?
I've
always been intrigued by the supernatural and psychic powers. I read somewhere
that we (as humans) utilize only a small portion of our brain's capacity. This
led me to experimenting with my mind during my commute to my job with the
publishing house. The drive took about an hour and snaked through beautiful
bush lands. And for the most part, oncoming traffic was hidden from view by
trees and the numerous bends. At first all I accomplished was giving myself
some hefty headaches, but over a couple of months, I was able to 'detect'
oncoming vehicles with my mind — even to discern the difference between trucks
and cars, and eventually their colors.
A
few years later, I was introduced to, and subsequently invited to join, a coven
of white witches where each of us possessed an unique gift and, combined as a
group, we worked to help people outside our group who had physical and mental
problems. Unfortunately, being the inquisitive person I am, all this led me
down a rabbit hole of experimentation that caused me to have a 'psychic
breakdown.'
3. Tell us something really interesting that's happened to you!
Following
on from #2 above, I learned the dangers of 'playing' with the ouiji board,
working with mirrors, and the like. I was even invited by various private
schools to talk to their students about the subject.
4. Where were you born/grew up?
I am an Australian, born in Sydney. My parents were living and working in
Lae, Papua New Guinea (Google it) and when the time approached for me to enter
the world, my mother decided to return to Sydney. Two weeks after being born,
we flew back to Lae where I spent the first 5 years growing up.
5. Which of your novels can you imagine made into a movie?
This
might be a trifle self-indulgent, but something I would hazard to guess most —
if not all — authors have thought on. I can well imagine Book One being made
into a 2-part movie, with Book Two the rip-roaring sequel.
6. Describe yourself in 5 words or less!
An
incurable inquisitive empathic romantic.
7. What
are you passionate about these days?
I
believe my compassion for the welfare of innocent animals has heightened ever
since looking into the 'blood sport' of dog fighting, and its prevalence here
in America and around the world.
8. What do you do to unwind and relax?
As
well as a writer, I am a painter and do commissioned portraits of animals and
people.
My
wife and I are also very keen bare bow target archers; we also love camping,
kayaking, traveling, movies, and catching up with old friends.
9. As a writer, what would you choose as your
mascot/avatar/spirit animal?
I
can see myself as an Anatolian shepherd dog-sized Border Collie.
10. What inspired you to write this book?
I
have always had a fascination for historical fiction and medieval England.
After spending 2 vacations driving around England, Scotland and Wales, the
immersion in all that history combined with my love for the legend of Robin
Hood to conjure up an idea that led me to write The Archer's Diary.
11. What can we expect from you in the future?
Should
my debut to historical fiction with The Archer's Diary (Book One), and
subsequently Book Two create a substantial following of eager readers, then I
dare say I may well be tempted to remain writing in that genre for the
foreseeable future.
12. How did you come up with name of this book?
Truthfully,
the title for The Archer's Diary gave birth to itself. I had already settled on
a broad outline for the story and was giving thought to a suitable name when it
just 'came to me.' After all, the diary itself is the pivotal point of Book One
and is the cause of all the mishaps and mayhem that occur. Then, in Book Two,
readers are given the unique privilege of reading over Robin Hood's shoulder as
he pens his thoughts and deeds in his private diary.
13. Who designed your book cover?
After
a career of some 30+ years as a graphic designer in the publishing industry,
both here and back in Australia, I plead guilty to having the audacity to
design my own cover — and will continue to do so while I remain writing.
Wouldn't it be crazy to toss aside all that experience?
14. What did you enjoy most about writing this book?
As
much as I love writing, when it came to deciding to tackle my first historical
fiction, it was the thought of the research that stirred me. Thankfully, with
the Internet available at my fingertips, I was able to achieve a great deal of
delving into the background of the period. But I was well aware others before
me had trodden that path, and it was to their books that I turned for a lot of
reference. Then there were those gracious people who were willing to step up
when I approached them for professional consult — Ian Richardson, Treasure
Registrar, British Museum, London, UK; The Department of Portable Antiquities
and Treasure, British Museum, London, UK; The National Archives, Kew, UK; Mark Strong, Senior
Access Assistant, The National Library of Wales, Aberystwyth, Wales; Pat E.,
Hay-on-Wye Tourist Information Bureau, UK; Lynne Moore, Coflein, National Monuments Record
of Wales (NMRW); and others.
15. If your book was made into a film, who would you like to
play the lead?
Ryan Kwanten, or any of the Hemsworth boys.
Cadoc endeavors to create a feasible balance of historical fact and fiction into his writing in order to meet his obligation, as an author, to his readers. To that end he spends a large part of his conceptual writing on researching the world in which the characters will inhabit. "I've always had a fascination with history, particularly the medieval period of England and the Arthurian Legend. Though my genre is historical fiction, I hope that my readers will come away with a better understanding and appreciation for how people survived and endured before the inception of the basic luxuries we take for granted each day."
He penned his first fiction while in high school and was quickly recognized by the English staff and his class for his vibrant imagination. He was also a talented artist and, after graduating, followed a career as a graphic designer in the publishing industry compelling him to put aside writing for a number of years.
In 1998, he met his wife-to-be on the Internet when online dating was in its infancy. After 18 months of long-distance romancing, they wed in Sydney, Australia and he returned to America with his wife to begin a whole new life together.
Now retired, Cadoc has the time to return to his beloved writing and has spent 9 years working on THE ARCHER'S DIARY, his first historical fiction novel.
He enjoys bare-bow target archery, reading, writing, kayaking, movies, traveling, and doing the occasional commissioned portrait of pets or people. He currently lives in central Florida with his wife.
$40 Amazon
Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!
#BookTour #Giveaway
with Excerpt and Guest Post
#thearchersdiary #history #mystery #fiction #liamcadoc
#booktrailer
Comments
Post a Comment