Fatal Reunion Read online

  6 |

  Royal Palace Ayutthaya, Ayutthaya Kingdom April 26, 1758

  Abbot Luang entered the bedchambers of his king, his curiosity at having been summoned answered when he laid eyes upon the man. The king was dying, of that, there could be no doubt. He had seen those at death’s door far too many times in his life, and had been there when this man’s father had died.

  And it was a joyous occasion for the individual, though a tragedy for those they left behind. It meant a journey into the afterlife, and while time on this earth was a gift from the spirits, Nirvana was their karmic reward for a life well lived, and this man who had ruled them for decades had indeed lived a good life. The kingdom had thrived under his guidance, the people were happy, and their enemies dared not challenge them.

  Life here was good.

  And it was thanks to this man.

  And when he died, which appeared to be not far off, it would indeed be a tragedy for his subjects, especially with what Luang knew of the eldest son.

  Thammathibet was a selfish imp, who cared not for his people, nor appeared to have the mental capacity to rule. He was obsessed with the pleasures available to him due to his position. He ate and drank to excess, bedded a different woman every night, and shirked the duties expected of the king’s eldest son.

  It would indeed be a tragedy when he inherited.

  But it was the will of the spirits, and surely the spirits couldn’t be wrong. As a man of religion, he had to believe that if the spirits wanted Thammathibet to become king, and rule with ineptitude, then it must not be because the spirits were in error in choosing him, but instead, because they were punishing the people.

  The population was happy. Very happy. That came with prosperity, and those in the kingdom led far better lives than their neighbors who toiled under lesser monarchs. And perhaps they shared in some of the decadence that their future king enjoyed. Perhaps, when bellies were always full, it left time for idle hands to turn to evil. He had seen the drunks in the streets himself, the women trading their bodies for money rather than finding a husband to take care of them.

  There was much sin in the kingdom, and perhaps Thammathibet as king was the way to cure them of it. Under his inept leadership, surely the realm would falter, the prosperity enjoyed today would become a thing of the past, and the spare money for alcohol and women would dry up. Perhaps it would lead to a purification of his beloved people through suffering.

  “Come closer, Abbot.”

  Luang edged toward the bed, his head bowed, his hands clasped in front of him. “You summoned me, Your Majesty?”

  “We have an important matter to discuss.”

  “Yes?”

  “We are dying. we doubt we will see tonight’s sunset, let alone tomorrow’s sunrise.”

  Luang frowned, edging even closer as his fears were confirmed. The kingdom was about to suffer, perhaps for decades. “Surely the physicians can do something?”

  The king shook his head, the motion barely noticeable. “They’ve done all they can. It is in the hands of the spirits now, and we hear them beckoning. But before we die, there is work to be done, and we require your assistance.”

  “Anything, Your Majesty.”

  “It is about who will inherit our throne.”

  Luang’s eyes narrowed. “Your Majesty?”

  “Thammathibet cannot sit on the throne after we are gone. It will mean the destruction of the kingdom. Our enemies will sweep in and conquer us, and our people will suffer should he be their leader.”

  A pit formed in Luang’s stomach at the words. For a king to say such things about his son was unheard of. Most fathers he passed on the street wouldn’t say such things. The king was chosen by the spirits, and Thammathibet was the eldest son, therefore he had been chosen. If the spirits didn’t want him, for better or for worse, he never would have been born.

  He swallowed. “I don’t understand, Your Majesty.”

  “Thammathibet cannot inherit. We have decided that Uthumphon will be king after we are gone.”

  Luang gasped then slapped a hand over his mouth. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I…I’m not sure what to say.” He drew a deep breath. “You want your youngest, Uthumphon, to be your heir, not your eldest, Thammathibet?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But, Your Majesty, it can’t be. The eldest always inherits. It has always been this way.”

  “Yes, it has, but never before have we faced a situation where the eldest son is so unworthy of becoming king.”

  “But tradition—”

  “Means nothing. Law is everything. We both know that it is he who possesses the Mask of Succession that inherits the throne, as long as that person is of the royal bloodline if possible, and a male. It doesn’t matter what order of birth, nor does it even matter if they are the son of the late king, as long as they are in possession of the mask.”

  Luang gulped as his mind raced. He had read the scrolls that covered the history of the kingdom, and those that had preceded its current incarnation. The mask had always been handed down to the eldest son, though there had been several occasions where there were no male children, so a nephew would be named king. In all cases, it was the senior abbot that would place the mask on the dead king’s face, recite the funeral rites, then place the mask on the heir. From that moment on, as long as that person was alive, they were king, even if the mask was taken by someone else.

  As long as they were alive.

  “How? I mean, do you intend to kill…” He stood there, flustered for a moment. “Thammathibet will never agree to this,” he finally sputtered.

  “What Thammathibet wants is of no concern to us. All that matters is that the mask is placed on Uthumphon’s face at the end of the ceremony, and not Thammathibet’s. Can we count on you?”

  Luang closed his eyes for a moment, steadying his pounding heart before nodding. “I live to serve.”

  “Very good. Then bring the mask here immediately. We suspect the hours grow short for us, and we don’t want any delays.”

  Luang bowed. “I shall return with great haste, Your Majesty.” He backed out of the room and didn’t turn until the doors closed. He hurried from the palace, sweat soaking his body as his pulse hammered and his mind struggled to make sense of what was happening.

  His king had ordered him to break with centuries of tradition.

  And he wasn’t certain it was his place to allow it to happen.

  7 |

  Muban Chong Sadao Kanchanaburi District, Thailand Present Day

  Bunthan parked the van provided by the university for the dig and sat behind the wheel for a moment, ignoring the small restaurant with patio in front of him. This was a poor town, very poor, the poverty he witnessed every time he came here heartbreaking. But that was the way things were in rural Thailand. Yet none of that was on his mind right now. It should be Achara, but it wasn’t.

  It was what they had found.

  It could be only one thing. It matched the historical descriptions, yet it had been lost long before photography, so there was no way to be sure. Yet how many could there be? It was a jade mask that covered the entire face, intricately carved by what was clearly a skilled artisan, trimmed with gold, and encrusted with priceless jewels that covered its full surface.

  There was little doubt they had found what had been lost for centuries, what had led to the downfall of an entire kingdom, and changed the history of his country forever.

  They had found the Mask of Succession.

  It was a stunning find, certainly the biggest of his career, and while it should excite him, it instead terrified him. It was priceless from a historical standpoint, but the jewels alone were worth millions. The mask itself, intact, could sell for an unfathomable amount on the black market, yet that would require a sophisticated thief.

  Here, he feared the local gangs.

  He had to get the mask to safety, back to Bangkok, before word leaked. He trusted his students and staff, but in today’s social media-o
bsessed culture, he feared one of them might snap a photo and upload it. Their budget was small, but he had arranged for a Starlink terminal to provide them with good Internet access rather than risk a mutiny.

  And it meant an upload could happen at any moment.

  You should have shut it down before you left.

  He grunted.

  Then you’d definitely have a mutiny on your hands.

  Achara appeared in the doorway to the restaurant and smiled at him, beckoning him to come inside. He sighed, his stomach churning as his mind returned to the other thing making this an incredibly difficult day.

  The restart of his love-life.

  You can do this.

  He stared down at his wedding band then twisted it off, placing it in the cupholder. He didn’t want it anywhere near him, not tonight. He climbed out and shut the door, smiling at her. She was gorgeous. Unbelievably gorgeous, yet in a simple way. In the city, she would be considered plain. Not enough makeup, hair too flat, clothing too basic, and nothing but a simple handcrafted necklace for accessories.

  She was perfect.

  Just like his wife when they first met.

  Bile filled his mouth as guilt swept over him, but he swallowed and forced a smile. “You look lovely tonight.”

  She clutched her hands together in front of her. “And you look handsome.”

  He stared down at himself and chuckled. “You’re looking at a man who bathed in what’s left of the river, and was dressed by his female students after they saw what I was going to wear.”

  “Well, they did an excellent job.”

  He shrugged. “Then forget what I said. I take all the credit.”

  She giggled and beckoned him inside. “Come. My parents are eager to meet you.”

  The next two hours were a whirlwind, and he forgot his troubles concerning the mask, instead enjoying an incredible evening with the lovely Achara and her parents, who kept a close eye on them while serving their customers, often joining them during lulls.

  And they were wonderful as well. Simple folk with plenty of questions, mostly about his background, why he wasn’t already married, how long it had been since his wife died, what kind of a provider he would make. Standard stuff of parents everywhere, he supposed, though the questions did add pressure to the evening. He had the distinct impression that if they approved of him, they’d be entering marriage negotiations.

  “Forgive them,” said Achara as her mother left the table to greet new customers. “I realize what this is, even if they do not.”

  He regarded her. “And what is this?”

  “A lonely man looking to spend some time with a woman, to take his mind off his problems.”

  He took her hand, a loud clearing of the throat from the front of the house nixing the action. “This is not a one-night-stand as the Americans might call it. I like you, that’s why I talked to you earlier. And after this evening, I realize I was right.”

  She stared at her glass, gripped in front of her. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I’d like to see you again.”

  She peered up at him, keeping her chin low. “Really?”

  “Of course. Only if you want to see me, though.”

  “I would love—like—to see you again. But…”

  His chest tightened. “But what?”

  “Where is this going?”

  “I’m going to be here for months. Why don’t we see how things go before we start talking about our future together?”

  Her chin pressed even further into her chest. “Things are simpler here. It’s not like in the city.”

  “I understand. And that’s part of why I like you. It was the same with my wife. She was from a small village much like this. It was one of the things I loved about her. She didn’t care about the city. She just wanted a simple life.”

  Achara’s head rose. “But you would expect me to move to the city, wouldn’t you?”

  He smiled. “I suppose I would, if we were to be married, but let’s not worry about that tonight. Let’s get to know each other. You might find in time that you don’t like me.”

  Her head again dropped. “I can’t imagine that.”

  A motorcycle engine cut through the dusk, followed by several more. Everyone tensed, including Achara.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Hopefully it’s nothing. They normally don’t come in here.”

  “Who?”

  “Red Wa wannabees. They’re a gang in this area that like to think they’re part of Red Wa. You know, the organized crime gang? They ride around on their motorcycles, harassing people, drinking, stealing. They’re very bad, but normally they stay out of here. You saw my father. He’s a big man.”

  Achara’s father emerged from the kitchen in the back as the motorcycles came to a halt outside. He had a meat cleaver in one hand, and a carving fork in the other. He was a terrifying sight, and Bunthan gulped at the prospect of having a man such as this as his father-in-law. The door swung open and a man entered, all swagger and no substance. He pointed at Achara’s mother.

  “Get me a beer, woman.”

  “Get the hell out of here!” shouted Mr. Panya. “You know you and your kind aren’t welcome here.”

  The man pointed at Achara and she whimpered. “I have business with your daughter.”

  Bunthan tensed and was about to stand up to place himself between Achara and the new arrival when she hissed, “Don’t.” He stopped himself, and the man sauntered over with his pelvis shoved forward as if the cock-of-the-walk.

  “I’m here to talk about my daughter with her teacher.”

  Achara trembled, and from the reaction of the entire restaurant, it was with reason. An arrogant bastard like this wouldn’t bother him in the city. He had had enough students over the years much like this parasite. But here, in the jungle, life was valued differently. In the city, most men like this that he encountered had something to live for, had goals in life that could come to a crashing halt if they followed through on their threats.

  Here, this man could kill everyone in the restaurant and just leave, without worrying about the authorities ever finding him, and if they did, he could either pay them off, or die in a blaze of glory, ending a life not worth living.

  He had to keep the situation from escalating.

  He extended a hand. “Hi there, I’m Professor Bunthan from Silpakorn University. I had a group of students at my dig site today. Was your daughter among them?”

  The man regarded him with disdain, ignoring the hand. “Yes.” He grabbed a chair from a nearby table and sat, his legs straddling the back. “So, you’re the one who lied to my daughter.” He grabbed Bunthan’s beer and took a swig. “You shouldn’t lie to children.”

  Bunthan suppressed the urge to gulp. “I lied?”

  Another swig. A big one. A phone was pulled out and a picture brought up. “My daughter took this photo. That’s jade! It’s no clay pot like you said.”

  Sweat trickled down Bunthan’s back as his greatest fear manifested before him. There was no way he could admit the truth. He instead played along. He held out his hand. “May I?”

  The phone was slapped in his palm and he zoomed in, his mind racing for a plausible explanation for what was clearly jade. He smiled. “Oh, that pot. No, it is just a clay pot.” He pointed at the distinctive green poking out from the mud. “This was fired in a kiln. They formed the pot then fired it to make it hard, then they would dip it in a heated glaze that once cooled, hardens into a glass and appears shiny like this.” He handed the phone back. “I can assure you, sir, that this is just a clay pot with a green glaze to make it smooth. Nothing more.”

  The man stared at him for a moment, the restaurant collectively holding its breath, before he finally rose, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Kids! What do they know?” He stabbed a finger at both of them. “But my little girl found that, so if it’s worth anything, I want it.”

  “It is worthless, I assure you. Only someone like me w
ould find any value in it.”

  The man finished the beer then slammed the empty bottle onto the table. He wagged a finger. “You better not be lying.”

  “I’m not, I assure you.”

  The man grunted and stumbled from the restaurant, no one relaxing a muscle until the motorcycles faded in the distance.

  Achara sighed, reaching out and gripping his hand. “That was so brave!”

  He squeezed her hand as he exhaled, his entire body trembling for a moment. His potential in-laws rushed over and he withdrew his hand, the bloody meat cleaver looming large in his field of vision. “Are you all right, Professor?” asked Mr. Panya.

  “Yes, I’m fine. A little on edge, obviously, but I’ll be fine.”

  “Get him another beer.” Mr. Panya then launched into a tirade about their visitor, a man named Zhao, who had been harassing the town for years. Most of what was said was lost in the fog of the situation as the adrenaline pumping through his veins waned. His mind could only focus on one thing.

  He had fooled a drunk man tonight, but tomorrow, in the light of day, would Zhao take another look at the photo so clearly of a piece of jade?

  And would he pay the dig site a visit with his gang?

  He had to get the mask to safety, yet he wasn’t sure how, for if he left, they would surely know something was wrong and pursue him.

  What am I supposed to do?

  8 |

  Royal Gardens Ayutthaya, Ayutthaya Kingdom April 26, 1758

  Prince Thammathibet groaned in pleasure as his favorite masseuse, Suriya, kneaded his shoulders. He took a swig of his drink, the bite harsh, like his mood. He should be happy. He was young, good-looking, rich, powerful—everything any young man could want. He led a good life thanks to his position, and made certain he enjoyed every moment.

  But it was all about to come to an end.

  His father was dying. In fact, he might already be dead and the news simply hadn’t reached him yet. He hated his father. Anything he did was never good enough for the man, though in his father’s defense, he never put much effort into anything except partying. He was young. This was his time to enjoy life, and when the time came, when he was well into his thirties or forties, he would happily take over when his father passed.