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  About Fremojo

  Fremojo: Dark Desire is the first in a Gothic Horror trilogy that explores a romance between two star-crossed supernatural lovers spanning a period of 75 years during the Victorian era.

  Forced to confront the unseen forces that rule their two lives and set against a backdrop of the world’s first global financial meltdowns, our reluctant hero must battle to save himself, his family wealth and ultimately defeat the Druid power of the Underworld and it’s master - the sinister Karl Merdok.

  Only then can our wastrel hero find his true love.

  www.fremojo.com

  The series: eBook * Graphic Novel * Audio Book

  About The Author

  Nick Gibson’s written work has been published regularly in national newspapers and magazines in a dozen countries. A reporter for a top US radio news network for five years, he moved on to write material for TV and radio and his work including broadcast documentaries and network entertainment series have been enjoyed by over 100 million worldwide. Co-author of two non-fiction books detailing the work of UK Special Forces and a life-long student of Edgar Allen Poe, Dark Desire is the author’s first work of Gothic fiction.

  Copyright

  Nick Gibson has asserted his right under appropriate national and international copyright law including, but not confined to, the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988, to be identified as the author of this original work.

  The author retains all legal, moral, intellectual and physical rights relating to this work. No part of this work other than brief extracts for review purposes may be used, stored or distributed in any form and by any means for any purpose other than that covered and protected by the terms directly associated with this purchase, without the written consent of the author and/or those licensed to act on the author’s behalf.

  The information in this book is distributed on an “as is” basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 9781483528472

  The ancient Romans had a saying:

  ‘Money does not smell’

  People may not like the way it was made,

  the person who made it - or where it comes from.

  But they will always like, always want

  and always take, the money.

  Chapter One

  The seaport town of Lapore slumbers in no bed of innocence, the midnight solitude broken by pagan rhythms carried upon the wind from a remote valley beyond.

  Above the town a Palace is illuminated in silhouette as flashes of cobalt lightning fly out from a pulsating source of energy in the distance. A blood red full moon rises on the horizon, the Palace framed inside the rising celestial orb.

  Inside the Palace the Sultan sleeps, amid much faded former opulence. Lying next to his bed is the accoutrement of addiction and a well-used opium pipe. In his slumber he is troubled and sweating.

  The Sultan suddenly awakes, terrified, his wide eyes emitting a swirling blue mist inside which the naked beauty of Merengi - Princess de Luna, writhes in exquisite pleasure.

  As Merengi’s young body arches in erotic climax, the Sultan’s terrified eyes are consumed by raging fire that explodes to reveal a pair of savage reptilian eyes and an evil looking clawed hand.

  From the boiling flames comes a sinister roaring scream that echoes across the night...

  In the sleeping town of Grasston the sound is carried upon an ethereal wind that sweeps down alleyways and across Victorian rooftops before it falls as mist around Barons Bank, an imposing Gothic building silhouetted in the light of a full moon.

  From inside the Bank come the lights and sounds of an elite social gathering. It is England, April 1836 and the great and good of local and commercial society are celebrating a charity event to support the recently established Fair Trade Foundation.

  A fine carriage clatters out of the swirling ground mist and pulls up at the Bank. Inside the carriage are 20yr-old Roquefortes LeBaron, a handsome but dissolute banking heir, and his girlfriend Lotus Morelove, a young and alluring beauty.

  Roquefortes is dressed in frock coat with deep green high collar, his coat lining a chaotic paisley pattern of clashing colours. He wears a purple waistcoat with purple handkerchief, an outfit that betrays a strong desire to be different. With one hand he pushes back his unruly shoulder-length hair, with the other he takes a sip from a bottle of Laudanum then opens the door and stumbles out of the carriage.

  As Lotus joins him he unsteadily regains his balance and declares with a slight stammer: “What g-greater f-freedom than with the one you love”. He glances inside at the guests, adding: “Alas, without the absence of society”.

  He ignores the plight of a beggar woman in the street and, with a smile and a studiously exaggerated gait he leads Lotus through the front door and into the grand foyer of Barons Bank where they join the formally dressed society gathering.

  Roquefortes is greeted by Giles Neath, one of his wastrel friends, who declares: “Why, ’tis surely the world’s greatest illusionist”. Another voice adds wryly: “...Or drunken fool”.

  As Roquefortes leads Lotus through the gathering some guests turn their back and whisper disapprovingly: “Wastrel... Turns his back on duty... a scandal”. One woman sighs: “So much money, so little ambition”. Another adds: “Of no consequence, with one so handsome”. On this they all agree.

  People gather around Roquefortes as, with great charm, he performs an amusing sleight of hand magic trick, ending with a flourish as his audience applauds. But Roquefortes is pensive, and clearly suffering a burden. An old gentleman is unimpressed and declares: “Heir to a great banking fortune – reduced to mere cheap tricks. Is this the only fruit of a once-great dynasty?”

  Roquefortes: “No, but a m-manifestation of my still great...” he glances around the room, “...disappointment”.

  As the old man sniffs and walks away, Roquefortes snaps: “Do not judge me, sir, upon the altar of my g-great family... burden”. He pulls a book from his jacket and holds it up, adding: “Better you judge my good reading of... this!” The book is titled ‘The Magician’s Craft’.

  Lotus approaches and hugs his arm, saying: “What’s wrong?”

  Roquefortes: “There is nothing wrong with me,” he notices a fortune-teller booth: “...that g-good fortune cannot cure”.

  As Roquefortes steers Lotus across the room to the booth, she frowns: “A fortune-teller? Are you sure?”

  Roquefortes grins: “Wait here”. Pulling aside the red curtain of the booth, he steps inside. A swirling cloud of fire battles to escape from a crystal ball gripped in the hands of the Fortune-Teller, who says: “Let us away into the world of unseen forces.” She frowns darkly then slumps back into her chair. “You will hold the future in your hands ... face great responsibility...”

  “Damn all – n-not you as well!” Roquefortes declares as he sat down. “It is indeed the unseen forces, of parents and society that would have me a s-slave – to duty, an arranged marriage and God knows what! - Some crone harridan telling me what to do”.

  The fortune-teller bristled, saying sharply: “So, what is it that you most desire?”

  Roquefortes, eagerly: “To be an acclaimed magician upon the s-stage”. He adds softly: “I seek my own path, not a life determined by others”.

  The Fortune-teller frowns:
“You expect much, yet refuse the expectations of others”.

  Roquefortes declares: “Expectations? M-more rather, demands. Some would have me a leader, a husband - some, a wastrel and fool. Yet I am none of these things. I shall be my own man”.

  The Fortune-teller says: “Very well. I can see that you possess powerful emotions. You are sensitive. You look to creative expression as a way to be understood and appreciated for yourself. You are certainly unique in the way you express yourself with clothes, and the unorthodox way you approach life”.

  Roquefortes replies sarcastically: “And this I didn’t know already? What of my future?”

  The Fortune-teller peers into the crystal ball in the centre of the table, saying: “Your world shall be thus, a matter of time, events - and wisdom”.

  Roquefortes snaps: “I need not wisdom. I need a drink”.

  In Victorian England a small elite remain in total control of society. Across the country the ruling class consists of no more than three hundred families.

  Charles LeBaron, of French aristocratic ancestry, is a member of this elite. But he is no feudal Lord. He has strong personal convictions and clear moral values, as he explains to the guests gathered around him. “I try to be fair and moderate in all things. Ethics and justice are sound values, added to a duty of responsibility and personal integrity”.

  Across Britain the Anglican Church remains powerful across society with high ranking churchmen holding office in the House of Lords. Throughout the country the power of the Church continues to rule in rural areas. Each day millions live out their lives by the laws - and even the minutes and hours - of the Church. But in cities across England dissent is rampant. A growing number of people now stand against the church and how it employs its power. One complacent gentleman declares: “Damn all non-conformists. Traditional values of faith and service is what made this great country”.

  Another, disenting voice, says: “The Church demands obedience, submissiveness and resignation in order to make people more malleable and believing. It claims sole and universal piety yet seeks only to appease the will of the elite and cares little, if at all, about the condition of the lower classes”.

  The gentleman says with distain: “The cities are filled with Puritans and others that have turned their back on the church, while in the countryside people are bewitched by magic and paganism”.

  A Woman adds: “I’ve heard that Druids have found two miracle trees that can cure all kinds of pain. Hundreds have made pilgrimages seeking a cure from two Beech trees in Serbia. ‘Tis well known that some parts of the world hold magical powers”.

  The gentleman replies: “Such stories are exaggerations of bizarre things far removed from the testimony of people’s own eyes and ears. In short: unbelievable”.

  Charles LeBaron raises an eyebrow: “Just because it is hard to believe does that make, even the possibility, untrue?”

  The Woman demands: “But what of new values? The idea of the self-made man? A belief that, if they work hard enough, all men can become wealthy”.

  The Gentleman scoffs: “Curse the very idea”.

  Charles LeBaron frowns: “Sir - ‘tis an idea that can make, or break, an empire”.

  Sarah LeBaron whispers to her husband Charles: “Look, over there - that dreadful girl Lotus Morelove. She is nothing but an Adventurer seeking to marry for money above her station”.

  Lotus stands alone, ignoring the disdainful glances of well-to-do guests that surround her. A Young Boy of teenage years approaches Lotus offering a tray of drinks, saying: “For the master and a mistress of such... standing”.

  Lotus laughs: “I have no wealth or status. But, I am rich - in the love of my family and...” seeing Roquefortes approach she breaks into a smile then turns to the Boy but he is gone as Roquefortes joins her. Lotus sees Sarah glaring at her from across the room and says: “These people will never accept me. See the way they regard me”.

  Roquefortes assures her: “True love is not bound by occupation or social standing”.

  “Good fortune?” She asks. Roquefortes shrugs his shoulders.

  “Your parents - have you still not told them?” Lotus asks with concern.

  Roquefortes: “They should know by now”.

  Lotus urges: “You cannot hide from this. If you are true then you must be true. Tell them”.

  Roquefortes sighs: “I have tried but my p-parents ignore me. People surround me b-but to all extent I’m like an orphan. I have everything I n-need but don’t want – and everything I could w-want but can’t have... including you.”

  Lotus melts contented into Roquefortes’ arms: “Soon we shall be together ... always”.

  Roquefortes: “Arrangements are being made”. He turns away saying: “But in the meantime...” and he takes a sip from his bottle of laudanum.

  Lotus frowns: “Is love not enough? Is life so cruel that...?”

  Roquefortes, softly: “’Tis nothing. With all p-pressures of expectation, it helps is all”.

  Lotus is sympathetic: “I understand. Maybe, with time...”

  Roquefortes quickly changes the subject: “But I forget you in all my inattention. May I bring you some refreshment?” He walks off to find some drinks and upon finding a waiter he says bluntly: “Wine. Give me two of those glasses”.

  The Waiter replies in a deadpan tone: “Fruit juice, sir”.

  Roquefortes squints through blurred eyes, saying adamantly: “Don’t be ridiculous. I can see it is wine”.

  The Waiter offers a glass and Roquefortes takes a sip, then winces: “Yuk!! Get me some wine... and hurry, damn you”.

  Giles Neath appears beside him, dressed in bright purple waistcoat and garish accessories he asks lecherously: “How goes it with Lotus - does she...?”

  Roquefortes frowns: “I have t-too much r-respect for her honour to...” Neath cut him off, laughing: “Then let us away, to find little respect – and no honour!”

  Lance Merdok is an arrogant strutting Young Turk. Everything about Lance - from his dandy clothes to his callous behaviour and blatant ambition - is focussed solely on his own prestige. He delights in showing off, on this occasion in a mock Scottish accent: “Eh? See you. Didja hear ‘boot Shakespeare’s pal? Eh? The wee Scottish alcoholic - I drink, care for a dram?”

  The Cronies gathered around the young rake laugh indulgently as he adds: “It proves that all art is theft and, like everything we have is always taken from...” seeing Roquefortes approach he sneers: “Ah! Just when you need one... the peasants!” The Cronies gathered around Lance break into cruel laughter.

  Roquefortes, carrying two drinks, studiously ignores the insult and is making his way across the room to Lotus when an alluring young woman accosts him, saying slyly: “The most eligible bachelor – and still unwed”. She runs a painted fingernail down his cheek, adding: “Perhaps I...” He slides from her unwanted clutches and she frowns in defeat.

  Mead, a drunken town burgher, grabs Roquefortes and pulls him aside seeking favour. “When your father and I were small children we swam together in the river. Now he ignores me”. He pleads: “You must help. Can you arrange for such closeness again?”

  Roquefortes pulls himself away from the clawing drunk, saying: “Please. I possess no such power to aid you”, then he walks away muttering in frustration: “Always everyone else. Will I ever be my own man?”

  “Not with a name like... muck-fart”, Lance Merdok sneers with derision.

  As Roquefortes put down his two drinks on a table Lotus steps forward and grabs his arm, saying: “His name... is Roofert”.

  Lance mocks: “His n-name is an affront to all the g-great p-promise of the new world”.

  Lotus snaps defensively: “He’s twice the man you’ll ever be”.

  Lance says darkly: “Not by the time we get through with him”.

  Roquefortes, seeking to end the conflict, says: “That’s enough. You’re d-drunk”.

  Lance explodes: “Step outside. Come on!”

&nbsp
; Roquefortes refuses to rise to the challenge: ’’I’m n-not going to fight you”.

  Lance makes to lunge at Roquefortes but he is held back. “Not here”, his Cronies advise.

  Roquefortes, seeking to diffuse the situation, pulls a slapstick magic trick that goes hopelessly wrong and all around laugh at him.

  Lance Merdok leers at Lotus. “’Tis time you set your sights higher lest you discover more... appropriate company’. He leans forward and whispers something in her ear.

  Lotus squirmed, seeking to hide her disgust.

  A Crony smirks: “Why Merdok, you are incorrigible!”

  Another, Anthony Sharp, eyes Lotus up and down dismissively: “He would mount mud, should it provide him some low relief’’.

  The Cronies laugh as Lance struts away, only to suddenly turn and snarl: “You know your trouble LeBaron? Your f-family is weak, its’ time has p-passed, so best make way... for the future”. He strides off, arrogantly barging other people out his way.

  As Roquefortes leads Lotus away she hugs his arm: “I like the way you speak. I think it’s sweet”.

  Roquefortes scowls: “Sweet? It’s a d-damn curse”.

  Across the room Lance and his cronies burst into laughter, clearly enjoying themselves at someone else’s expense. Lance needs to be admired in order to feel worthy and he tries to earn this admiration by doing whatever it takes to be successful. Lance is popular among his cronies who are content to bask in his energy and the reflected glory of his family status for he, too, is an heir to a fortune, albeit of a more nefarious kind.

  “My family, already made of great wealth through slavery and the opium trade, shall soon hold power over Barons Bank and I shall rise to great office within this establishment”, he boasts; to much toasting and praise from his Cronies.

  Lance may be an arrogant bully but he also possesses a dark charisma that draws young women and like-minded souls to his company and he revels in their attention. He embodies the image of youthful success promoted by Victorian culture. Lance declares: “I am worth the effort it takes to be the best. Without success and status a man has no value – he’s a nobody”.