Page 1 of Thawed Gladiator: Varro

Chapter One

Laura

“I found it! Laura, do you copy?” Garrison’s deep baritone wakes me up as it crackles through my walkie-talkie. “We found part of the ship! Get down here!”

I slept in after staying up late last night triple-checking facts I’ve already checked hundreds of times. Almost three weeks ago, we found a single sword at the bottom of the Norwegian Sea, a hundred miles off the coast of a town I can’t pronounce. Since then—nothing.

I was close to giving up, having come to the conclusion I’d miscalculated the location of the shipFortuna, but Garrison sure sounded certain that he found it. It’s a legend I’ve been fascinated with since junior high—a sunken Roman ship from 82 AD that was supposedly carrying chests of gold to buy slaves and goods from Britannia.

Although I thought it was an odd paradox that a ship named after the Goddess of Luck disappeared at sea with all aboard, the idea of all that gold at the bottom of the sea triggered the treasure hunter in me.

I yank on my clothes with trembling fingers, jam my feet into my boots, and tear out of my tent into the cool, salty air on the coast of the tiny, uninhabited island we’re using as a base camp. Like most of the thousands of other islands along Norway’s coast, it’s harsh, isolated, and unwelcoming. Even birdwatchersand naturalists don’t venture here. The temperature’s already dropping and it’s only early September.

My body is buzzing with excitement as I make my way from the camp to the windswept shore. It’s rocky, sloping terrain, but I’m going as fast as my feet can carry me, nearly skidding on loose rocks and falling on my ass, to see what Garrison discovered.

As I hurry down the craggy slope, my mind flashes back to the beginning of this long, arduous journey. I was still in grade school when my mom and I were walking with a neighbor in rural Missouri.

As we passed a house that was under construction, our neighbor mentioned this would be a good place to look for arrowheads. At the end of her sentence, she bent down and plucked one right off the dusty ground. That was it! The moment I was hooked. I wanted to dig in the dirt and find things magically, like a treasure hunt.

Twenty years and one advanced degree later, I’m on the brink of what may be one of the century’s greatest archaeological discoveries—not in the dust, but in the water.

Garrison is clutching his waterproof computer pad, his normally booming voice a thousand decibels louder than usual. His craggy, sunburned face is barely visible as strands of his unruly red hair writhe in the wind.

“We found it, Laura! Look!” He tips the pad toward me, but quickly pivots it toward himself, marveling at the pictures the underwater drone is sending us in real-time.

The dark image flickers in places when the signal glitches, but apart from that, it’s perfect. The drone lights illuminate the dark ocean and the sand banks hiding beneath the waves. The camera bobs slightly as it fights the strong currents that have made this strip of the Norwegian Sea famous for its traitorous waters and difficult-to-navigate currents.

Though my head is still reeling, unable to grasp the enormity of this moment, my body gets it. Something explodes in my belly like a depth charge.

All my work would have been worthwhile for a find half this exciting, but look at what the drone’s light is revealing! It’s exploring the partial remains of a wooden ship that sank almost two millennia ago.

My breath catches as the lights reveal a sunken mast covered in seaweed. An octopus, startled by the sudden light, scuttles deeper into what remains of the broken vessel.

“Holy moly.” My tone is hushed, as though I’m in church.

“Live a little, Laura. At a time like this, you’re entitled to say holy shit.”

It’s his not-so-subtle way of razzing me about my strict religious upbringing. I’m far from a perfect Catholic, but I try not to break the commandments when I can avoid it.

Garrison towers over me. Rather than scholarly pursuits. He exudes a raw, primal energy that can be charming when he wants to be—it’s better than when he’s angry, which is rare but terrifying.

“Look!” His deep voice booms so loud my ears are ringing, but who cares? The little drone has burrowed under what’s left of ancient timbers and its light is shining on exactly the type of chest I’ve imagined in my daydreams a thousand times—the type of chest built to carry treasure.

“Rick! Rowdy! Dive to these coordinates,” he shouts at his divers who are standing ready in their diving gear, “and don’t come up without the chest.”

I look at the drone display and tap an icon on the bottom. A measurement scale appears. I trace the mouse across the dimensions of the chest and the measurements of 15 inches by 10 inches by 10 inches appear on the screen.

“Careful. If that chest is filled with gold, it will weigh close to a thousand pounds. After all these years in the water, it will likely come apart if we try to winch it onto shore. Tell them to bring their diving bags.” I raise my voice and speak to them directly. “Open the chest as gently as possible without smashing it to smithereens and bring up only as much as you can safely carry.”

“Yeah,” Garrison says, “you heard the lady.”

Rather than roll my eyes, I simply close them and take a deep breath. As the old saying goes, when you lie down with dogs…

I want to say that we must prioritize the integrity of the wreck, catalog each piece, and map the area, but I know most of my archaeologist-speak will fall on deaf ears.

I knew what I was getting into when I sought this man out. After working my ass off for my master’s in archaeology, I was stunned to find there were dozens of applicants for every job in my field. Between the tanking global economy and my lack of experience, I struggled to find even the crappiest entry-level positions in my field.

Between short, poor-paying professional gigs, I waited tables and worked on my passion project—finding the missingFortuna. People have been searching for it for two thousand years. I’m not totally naïve, I knew I was looking for a needle in a haystack. But I persisted. It was something to keep my mind busy while working for tips and searching for the next paying gig in my field.

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