Mark Arbour's story, Odyssey, was Monday's Signature Feature. Did you grab your copy of the signature banner so you can share your love for Mark's story? If not, you can do that here! Today we're featuring a great excerpt from the story that shares Mark's great ability to create a vivid world for Mark's main character in the series, George Granger, to explore. Why did Mark pick this story to feature?

Mark says:
My favorite story is: Odyssey, from the Bridgemont series. I'm really proud of that one because of all the meticulous research I had to do, and how carefully I had to plot out the timeline. I had to get my hero from England, around the world via Indonesia and India, and to Egypt in time for the Battle of the Nile, all of this in 1798. I know CAP is more popular, but that story is my best effort

 

“Good luck, Mr. Calvert,” Granger said just as formally. He extended his hand and Calvert took it, the electricity flowing between them. Granger wondered briefly if this would be the last time they would see each other. They were going off on dangerous missions, both of them. He pushed that horrible thought aside and released Calvert’s hand.

 

“Good luck to you as well, my lord,” Calvert said. Their words were formal, but all that needed to be said between them was communicated by their eyes. Granger nodded, and Calvert descended into the boat. Granger watched as it rowed over to Saphiro, and then waited for it to return even as Saphiro spread her sails to put some distance between her and Bacchante. Their plan would largely fail if the two ships were sighted together.

 

Bacchante turned away from Saphiro and tacked on canvas, making her way toward a small bay just north of Valdivia. They spent the day maneuvering into position, but staying out of visual range from the shore. As soon as night fell, Bacchante hurried toward the shore. Nights were short this time of year at these latitudes, so they had to make haste to land Granger and his party and then retreat back out of sight.

 

Granger stood on the quarterdeck as the men were loaded into the boats. They had 25 of Bacchante’s men, along with 75 natives that they’d taken aboard a few days ago. They’d recruited these warriors when they’d visited de Arana’s home village. They’d been easy passengers, confining themselves to the main gun deck, although they weren’t the neatest of fellows. Granger decided with a rueful grin that Robey would probably have to spend the better part of a day getting that deck back to the standards Granger demanded.

 

“Captain Somers, Mr. Robey, you gentlemen have your orders. If all goes well, I will see you tomorrow morning in Valdivia. If not, you will know how to proceed.”

 

“Good luck, my lord,” Robey said, shaking his hand.

 

“I am personally hoping for your safe return, both you and Mr. Calvert, my lord,” Somers said with a grin that was almost a leer as he shook Granger’s hand.

 

“I am sure that your good wishes will carry us through,” Granger said. He nodded to both men and descended into the boat. As soon as he was aboard, they cast off and set the lugsail. It was an easy boat trip to the sandy beach they’d selected. Granger embarked handily, as did the other men, and they watched as the boat returned to Bacchante. Granger felt detached, cut adrift, but shrugged that off and focused on the business at hand.

 

“This way,” de Arana said. He led them up a steep and winding path that led to the top of the cliff. “We will hide here,” he said, pointing at a wooded area.

 

“Alright men,” Granger said. “We’re going to give you some time to relax and enjoy yourselves.” That got a chuckle. “These woods are our home for the time being.” They fought through trees and rough brush until they found a pretty little creek, where they set up a temporary campsite.

 

“I have sent out scouts, and we are contacting the other tribes that live here,” de Arana said. Granger just nodded: He didn’t like being dependent on other people, being reliant on their timely cooperation, to make their operation successful. De Arana had wanted to disembark only British men on the shore and then draft local warriors for the assault on the fort, and had been annoyed by Granger’s blatant refusal to consider such a plan. Instead, Granger had disembarked the minimum number of Mapuche men he’d needed from de Arana’s people, so he knew that force was armed and ready for their assault.

 

“Nice place, my lord,” Eastwyck said conversationally. He and Granger walked down to the creek and indulged themselves in the fresh drinking water that flowed past them.

 

“It is indeed,” Granger said, although he was too keyed up to truly appreciate the beauty of these virgin forests and creeks. He was bored and impatient, and desperately wanted to walk about, but that would show the men that he was anxious, so he remained largely stationary.

 

An hour after they had arrived, a somewhat breathless de Arana rushed up to him. Evidently he had no qualms about not remaining stoic. “The scouts have returned. The gates are closed. They are locked down.”

Want to read more? Check out the rest of the story here!