Excalibur Rising (14 page)

     “What man?”
    “My predecessor,” said Marshall, “or rather my predecessor’s   predecessor.  You see I was appointed Vicar after William Trevelyan retired. He was much loved by his congregants. They don’t seem to feel the same way about me.”
     “Please,” said Ryan, “just stick to the subject.”
      “I’m sorry,” said Marshall.  He cleared his throat and looked at the notebook again. 
      “Trevelyan took over from Clive Wilshire who had been at the church since 1952.   Wilshire died, quite unexpectedly, in 1962.  He wasn’t all that old, and I don’t know what he died of, but when he passed away his widow just upped and left the parish as fast as she could.  I don’t think she was well received by the parishioners, although I don’t know why.”
     “It doesn’t matter why,” said Ryan.
     “It might,” said Violet.
     “Just get on with it,” said Ryan.
     “Well,” said Marshall, “Wilshire left all of his personal papers behind, a whole box of them.  Trevelyan didn’t even look at them, he just put them up in the attic and I suppose he forgot about them.  A couple of years ago when I was putting some of my own stuff up there, I saw the box and I thought that maybe somebody should see what was in it.  I didn’t want my children to be poking around up there and finding something unsuitable, if you know what I mean, and, just because a person is in ministry, it doesn’t mean…”
     He fell silent, staring at the notebook.
     “So,” said Violet expectantly.
      “Oh, yes, well it turned out that he had left his personal journal behind, or at least his wife had left it behind.  I’m sure he never intended that anyone else should read what he had written.  It was personal, and honest, and it didn’t show him in a good light, especially when it came to the treasure.”
     “What did he say about the treasure?” Ryan asked impatiently.
     “It’s all in the journal,” said Marshall. 
     “Just tell us,” said Ryan.
     “It seems,” said Marshall, “that Wilshire was first on the scene in 1952 when that World War 2 bomb exploded.  It was early morning and very few people were around; just Wilshire heading home on his bicycle from early morning devotions at the church.”
     Violet pictured the scene, with Wilshire a figure in long black cassock, riding an old black bicycle through the early morning mist, and then the sudden explosion of the bomb.   The blast would have sent the birds calling and shrieking into the cold air, while clods of earth rose up into the sky and then rained down on the surrounding fields.  Probably knocked the Vicar off his bicycle, she thought.
     “He ran to see if he could help,” said Marshall, “but the two men who had been digging were already dead.  I’m sure he prayed for their souls.”
     “Of course,” said Ryan.
     “Then,” said Marshall, and it was obvious that he was coming to the climax of his narrative, “then, he looked around at the bomb crater and he could see a glint of gold.  He dug with his fingernails; that’s what he says in his journal, he dug in the ground with his fingernails and he found a sword.”
      Violet realized that she was holding her breath. 
     “Keep going,” said Ryan.
      “Wilshire says that he thought someone might steal it,” said Marshall.  “He knew that people would be arriving at any minute, and the thought that it might be taken, so he took it and hid it in a bed of stinging nettles.  You know how that is, no one’s going to poke around in a bed of stinging nettles. “
      “He actually found the sword,” Ryan whispered. “There really is a sword.”
      “He hid the sword and went back to the bomb crater,” said Marshall. “By that time the fire brigade had arrived and there were people everywhere, and, of course, they found the rest of the treasure.”
     Marshall closed the notebook. “I am sure he had good intentions,” he said.
      “Who cares about his intentions?” said Ryan.  “It exists!  The sword actually exists!”
     Violet could hardly breathe.  If the sword existed, what else existed?  If this was the Great Sword of England, was it also Excalibur?  No, that was impossible.
       Ryan took the envelope from Marshall’s hand and pulled out an old leather bound journal.  He flipped through the yellowed pages. “What did Wilshire do with the sword after that?” he asked.
     “I don’t know,” said Marshall.  “I read the whole thing and I don’t think he mentioned it again.”
     Ryan continued to flip through the pages.
    “I don’t think that will help,” said Violet.  “I’m sure Rev. Marshall would tell us if he had found anything.  It’s a dead end.”
      “No,” said Ryan, “don’t give up so easily.  This is what I do, Violet.  This is how I find things.”
      “There really is a sword,” said Marshall, “and all we have to do is find it.  God only knows what’s happening to my children while I’m standing here.”
     Violet could see the man’s anguish.  She had no idea if what she was about to do would make things better or worse. “Do you have anything with you that belongs to your children?” she asked.
      “I don’t know,” said Marshall.
      He dug around in the pockets of his raincoat. 
     “I have Jenny’s hair clip,” he said, holding out a scrap of red plastic shaped like a row of hearts.
      Violet held out her hand.  “Do you want me to try?” she asked.
      “Is it witchcraft?” said Marshall.
      “I don’t know,” said Violet.  “I have no idea what it is, but it’s what I do.”  She cast a sideways glance at Ryan.  He had his clues and his meticulous research, but she had this.  From the moment she had stepped off the plane onto English soil, her abilities had been growing.  Previously she had only been able to read faint emanations from objects, vague clues and hints, and occasional flashes of brilliance.  Seeing King John and his baggage train crossing the Wash had been a moment of brilliance, or maybe not.  Maybe she had only regurgitated something she had already read.
      She held the little red clip in her hand, tracing the pattern of hearts.
     “Anything?” said Marshall.
     She closed her eyes, concentrating on the sharpness of the little hair clip as it pressed into the palm of her hand.  For a brief moment she became a little girl, sitting up in her bed, her heart pounding because she heard footsteps on the stairs; footsteps that did not belong to her Daddy. She tried to extend her vision.  Where was she now?  Where was the frightened child?  Nothing.  No pain, no fear, nothing.  And nothing to tell the anxious father.
     She handed the clip back to Marshall. “Sorry, I’m not getting anything, but don’t give up hope.  Doctor Ryan is very good, he knows how to find things.  We’ll find them.”
     “I have to call my wife,” said Marshall.
     “Yes, you do,” said Ryan.  “If she finds out from someone else…”
     “I know, I know,” said Marshall.  “I’m going now.”
     “Back to Norfolk?”  Violet asked.
     “I’ll call her from the train,” said Marshall.  “I want to be home in case I hear anything.  So they know where to find me.”
     Violet watched him leave, a sad figure with slumped shoulders.  Ryan was still leafing through the journal.  He looked up at her.
     “So, you didn’t feel anything?”
     Violet sat down and leaned forward to look at Ryan. 
    “I felt something.”
     “Why didn’t you tell him?”
     “Because it was the same thing I felt with that piece of paper you gave me in Key West,” Violet replied.  “The children are not here.  They’re somewhere far away, behind a barrier.  I don’t know how else to describe it.  They’re beyond reach.”
     “Dead?” he asked.
     Violet looked down at her hand, where the hairpin had left a row of heart shaped impressions.  She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.  Not dead, just gone.”
     Ryan contemplated the journal. “I feel responsible,” he said. “If I hadn’t gone up there____”
     “We had a job to do,” Violet said, “and you couldn’t know.”
     “No, I suppose not,” he said, “but somehow you knew.” 
     “No,” said Violet, “I didn’t know.  I just didn’t want to go to Norfolk with you.  I was tired and I wanted to take a bath.”
     Ryan was silent.
     “Well, we at least we know there actually is a sword,” Violet said encouragingly.
     “Yeah,” said Ryan abstractedly, still paging his way through the journal.
     Violet watched him for a few minutes, realizing that he was now in a world of his own.
      “I have to go and get dressed,” she said at last. “We’re supposed to go to Peacock’s house.  You can read it on the train.” 
      Ryan glanced at her sharply. “How do you know we were supposed to go to Peacock’s house?” he asked.
      Violet thought about it for a moment.  “I don’t know, “she said eventually, “but that girl said she would meet you at Griffinwood Manor.  Considering what you told me last night, I have to assume that she knows something.”
     “I think she’s been following me,” said Ryan.
     He set the journal down on the table and looked at Violet.  “This journal is the only thing I understand,” he said.  “All the rest is smoke and mirrors, and mumbo jumbo, and people knowing things they couldn’t possibly know, and people being where they can’t possibly be. I don’t work like this.”
     “Neither do I,” said Violet.  “I have dreams and hunches, but nothing like this.  All I know for sure is that people are being killed all around us, and we could be next.  So, is this journal worth killing for?  Is it worth taking children away from their father to God knows where?”
     “I suppose it could be,” said Ryan. “Fortunately no one else knows we have it. Let’s just keep it that way.”  He slipped the journal back into the envelope.  “I guess we’d better go and see what Peacock has to say.  We’re getting nowhere sitting here.  This isn’t going to bring those children back, and maybe we’ll find something at Griffinwood.  I’ll put the journal in the hotel safe while we’re gone.”
     Violet looked around the lobby, making certain that no one was watching them.   She saw a flurry of activity around the entryway.  A porter wheeled in a cart loaded with expensive luggage.  He was followed by a slight, raincoated figure, directing activities with graceful hand gestures. She recognized him instantly.  Todd.   Todd was here in London and following close behind, dressed in stylish tweeds, came Michael Mandretti.
     Mandretti strode towards them with Todd at his heels.
      “So,” said Mandretti, “did you find it yet?”

Snowdonia, North Wales
     The white- haired woman stepped easily from the frail craft onto the pebbled beach of the high mountain lake. A group of wild horses, who had been drinking along the shoreline, scattered as her feet crunched on the pebbles.
      “You will not wait,” she said to the girl who sat in the stern. “I will call for you if I need you.  You may prepare the barge.”
      “Will he come?” asked the girl.
     The white haired woman offered her companion a cautious smile. “Our hope is greater than it has been for centuries,” she said. “We now know where he sleeps.”
      “But the sword…” said the girl.
     “The one-eyed man has returned empty-handed,” said the older woman.  “He has no gift of finding, but there is a woman, a daughter of Avilion, although she does not know this about herself, and she possesses the gift. If this is to be done, it must be done now and it must be done by her, or it will not be done at all.”
     “And what will happen to us if it is not done?” asked the girl.
     “If he is allowed to truly die, the gates will close,” said the white haired woman, “and neither world will see us again.  We will return to the mists.  Now go.”
      She stood on the beach and watched as the frail craft made of cunningly knotted reeds moved without the benefit of sail or oar out across the cold depths of the lake.  She watched until the mists parted to reveal a heavily forested island.  The girl in the stern turned her head to look back at the beach, and then the mists closed in around her.  She and the island were gone from sight.
     “Will I ever see them again?” the white-haired woman wondered.  She turned away from the beach and set her sights on the distant hillsides, preparing herself for a long, lonely walk.  She glanced at the cheap plastic watch that she wore on her wrist.  Useless.  Time was not measured here as it was measured on the other side.  The watch would not work until she passed through the gate.
     She grasped her ornate staff, the insignia of her office, and set her face resolutely towards the east where the sun was appearing above the mountains.  She would not look back at the lake and the mists that concealed her island home. To move the island would take all of the power she possessed, and she would not survive, but the island would be safe and forever hidden.  By what great plan, she wondered angrily, was it decreed that so much should depend on an orphaned daughter of Avilion who did not yet know her destiny? Perhaps there was no plan, perhaps there was no solution, perhaps there was only chaos and war from now until eternity.
 London
      Violet was overcome by a wave of anxiety at the sight of Mandretti.        Her heart actually seemed to skip a couple of beats as he approached her.
     “Did you find it?” he demanded.
     Although he was dressed like an illustration from English Country Life, he still managed to look dangerous with his black hair slicked back, and his dark, hooded eyes glancing from side to side,  always on the alert for trouble.  He still looked like a man who could handle any trouble that came his way with money, or influence, or brute force if necessary. 
     Ryan sprang to his feet towering above Mandretti in height.
     “Did you find it?” Mandretti asked again.
      “We’re getting closer, “Ryan said.
     “Close don’t count,” Mandretti replied, as he dropped down into an armchair next to Violet.  Todd continued to hover in the background.  He looked tired and angry.
      “What are you doing here?” Violet asked Todd, looking away from Mandretti’s determined stare. “What about the play?”
     “Ah, well,” said Todd dryly, “it seems that someone bought out the whole entire run, and then closed the show, thus making me available to come here and help you.”
     “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Violet said. “I know you were looking forward to it.”
     “He was playing a dame,” Mandretti said.
     “I was playing Madame Arcati and it was a concept,” said Todd, “the idea of the feminine within the masculine.  We were emphasizing the spiritual side of masculinity.”
      “He was in drag,” Mandretti said. “Running around being some kind of crazy gypsy fortune teller.”
     “Blithe Spirit,” said Todd. “We were reinterpreting Noel Coward.”
     “You weren’t getting no audiences,” Mandretti said.
     “So you bought him out?” Violet asked.
     “Well first I was just going to buy the property, it’s not much more than a flea pit, but then I talked to the Director and he said I could just buy out all the tickets.  He was happy. It gave him a few bucks for his next production.”
     “And now I’m not even there to audition,” Todd complained.
      Michael leaned forward, lifted Violet’s hand and carried it to his lips.
     “So?” he said.  She had a little trouble breathing.  Hand kissing was a new and unwelcome approach, and she was not sure what it said about their relationship or Mandretti’s expectations of her.
      “We’re working on it,” she said.
      “Yeah, well, I thought you’d work better with your brother around.”
      She looked at Todd.  “He knows?” she said.
     “He had to have my name for the reservation,” he said.
     “Don’t make no difference to me,” Mandretti declared. “Brother, uncle, he might even be your sister for all I care.  Just so long as he gets the job done.”
     Violet looked at her brother.  “Thank you for coming,” she said. “I really do need you.”
     Todd flounced over to the sofa and sat down.  “I am utterly exhausted,” he said. “This whole experience has been emotionally draining. Traveling with that man is just...”
     “Just what?” asked Mandretti.
     “Oh nothing.  There’s nothing I like more than hanging out with gangsters.” Todd said.  He turned his back on Mandretti.  “So fill us in, Violet.  What do we need to do?”
      Violet tried to assemble her thoughts.  Where would she begin?  Should she start with the kidnapping of Marshall’s children, or should she start with the mysterious blonde woman who knew things she should know, or should she start with the Griffinwood Document?
     Ryan held out Wilshire’s leather-bound journal.  “Read that from cover to cover,” he said to Todd, “and see if you can find anything Marshall missed.”
     “Marshall?” said Todd. “Who is Marshall, and why do I need to read that book, or journal, or whatever it is?”
     He looked at his sister. “I can’t just pick up in the middle,” he said. “I can’t read minds, not like some people I know.  You have to use your words, Violet.  You have to fill me in.”
     “Yeah, what’s happening, doll?” said Mandretti.
     Remembering the hand-kissing, Violet decided to settle her relationship with Michael Mandretti once and for all.   She had slept with his brother, but she had no intention of sleeping with him. “I’m not your doll,” she hissed.
     “Sorry.”
     “Violet and I are going out,” Ryan said, “we have a train to catch.”
     “But we’ve just arrived,” said Todd. “Do you really need us to go with you?”
     “No,” said Ryan, “that’s the last thing in the world we need.”
     He leaned forward, suddenly looking more like the charismatic young TV star he had once been.
     “Here’s what we’ll do,” he said. “Violet, you go upstairs and get changed.”
     “Changed?” said Violet.
     “Are you going like that?” Ryan asked.
     Violet suddenly remembered what she looked like, in baggy slacks and a loose sweater, with her hair barely combed.  Oh God, she couldn’t believe that she’d allowed Mandretti to see her like that.
      “Go and get changed,” Ryan said again, “and while you are making yourself beautiful, I’ll bring Mr. Mandretti up to date.”
     “What will you tell him?”
      “Everything that’s relevant,” said Ryan. 
      Violet left Ryan to do the talking and hurried across to the elevator, glad to take her mind off the children and occupy it with planning how she could repair her appearance, and what she should wear for the train trip to the Manor.  Being very careful not to slip back into thinking of the little girl’s fear, or the dense barrier that now cut off all contact with the child, she made a mental catalogue of  the contents of her suitcase. She decided the occasion called for her new suede jacket, and perhaps her earth toned peasant skirt. Casual but not too casual, and boots definitely,  but not heels.       
     By the time Violet returned to the lobby, freshly showered and appropriately attired for visiting an English country manor, Todd had stopped sulking and had become his usual efficient self.  The cartload of luggage had been whisked away.  He had somehow acquired cell phones for himself and Mandretti, his laptop was open on the table beside him, and  Mandretti was nursing a Jack Daniels on the rocks. 
     Ryan was standing a little aside, talking on his phone.  As Violet approached he slipped the phone into his pocket.
      “Just talking to Professor Molly,” he said.
     “Really?” Violet was surprised.  “I got the impression you didn’t like each other.
      “We’re fine,” said Ryan.  “We just had to give each other a little respect.”
      “So it’s a professor thing,” Violet said caustically.
     “Academic courtesy,” Ryan replied. “I called her and gave her my number in case she had anything to tell me, which, of course, she doesn’t.”
     “Did she say how Lady Clemma was doing?” Violet queried.
     “Didn’t ask,” he replied. “You can do that later, if you like.”  He looked at her impatiently. “Can we go now?  Your …er…brother  seems to have everything under control.”
     “Do we know how to get there?” Violet asked.
     Todd passed her a slip of paper. “Euston to Shrewsbury,” he said. “Change at Shrewsbury. Take the 12:15 stopping train to Littlehaven, and get out at Griffinwood Halt. “
     “They have their own train station?”
     “No, but Todd has discovered that it’s just a short walk,” Ryan said.
     Oh goodie, Violet thought, a short walk.  Well, at least she had chosen not to wear heels. 
     “Taxi’s waiting outside,” said Todd.  “You have to get going.”
        Violet and Ryan departed, and Violet looked back to see Todd obediently leafing through the journal, while Mandretti shouted impatient instructions down the cell phone.  She felt a hard knot of anxiety in her stomach just knowing that Mandretti was no longer far away across the Atlantic.
     They climbed out of the train several hours later when it came to a stop at the tiniest railway station Violet had ever seen.  The size of the station was appropriate because they were also riding on the shortest train she had ever ridden.  When they changed at Shrewsbury they had boarded a train with only two carriages and the little train that stopped again and again at tiny villages nestled among rounded hills. Griffinwood was the smallest village of all, and consisted of a pub, a post office and an unmanned railway station.  Violet could see the Manor itself in the distance, silhouetted against the skyline on a grassy hill behind the pub.  It was, she thought, more than a short walk away, more like a short hike, uphill.
     A sweeping tree lined driveway led up towards the impressive front entrance.  The Manor itself was red brick with tall chimneys and lattice windows.  Beside the manor was a far older construction, the stone remains of a castle with crumbled battlements, and mullioned window arches indicating that there had once been a chapel.  The lawn around the manor was neatly mown, but the castle ruins stood amongst tall weeds, with stunted trees growing up through the stonework.  The sun was high in the sky, the air smelled of rain-washed grass, and Violet could see clearly to the far western horizon where clouds piled on top of each other above shadowy purple mountains.
     “I know he’s expecting us,” Violet said.  “Do you think he’ll send a car?”
     “Oh come on,” said Ryan, “it’s just a short walk.”
     “I don’t do much walking,” she complained.
      “So, now’s the time to start.  The fresh air will wake you up,”
      I’m already awake, Violet thought. Barry Marshall took care of that.
     Ryan strode ahead on his long legs.  The day was mild, verging on warm, and he carried his raincoat over his arm.  Violet tottered along behind him regretting the weight of the fashionable, but large, purse that she had elected to carry.
     They passed through the wrought iron gates of the manor and she began to notice signs of neglect.  The gates hung open on rusted hinges and the windows in the gatehouse were broken, the door sadly in need of a coat of paint.  The driveway was cracked and pitted with weeds. Apparently all was not well financially at Griffinwood Manor.
     The driveway dipped into a valley and they lost sight of the house.
      “Slow down, “Violet said to Ryan who was now well ahead of her, but he was like a hound following a scent, never even looking back. She moved her purse from one shoulder to another and paused to unbutton her coat.  She stopped abruptly as someone stepped out from behind one of the chestnut trees that lined the driveway. 
     “Oh, it’s you,” Violet said.  She was not surprised. She had been expecting to see the blue eyed blonde, and here she was, just as expected.  This time the girl was wearing a sky blue ankle length dress that clung closely to her slim body.  Her hair fell in a long flaxen braid down her back.  The effect was distinctly medieval.
     “I’m supposed to take you,” the girl said, sounding not at all happy at the prospect.
     “I’m going to the Manor,” Violet said.
     The girl shook her golden head. “No,” she said, “not the Manor.  You’ll find nothing ther,; I’ve already looked.”
     “Violet?”  Ryan had turned to look back. 
     “Get back here,” said Violet.
      Ryan hurriedly retraced his footsteps and loomed angrily over the slender girl, forcing her to step back so that she could look up into his face.
     “Who the hell are you?” Ryan asked.
     “I’m called Elaine,” she said. “I’m really sorry about this.  I was going to take you and show you____”
     “Show me what?” said Ryan.
     “The other side of the mist,” Elaine said. “I was going to take you through the portal so you would understand everything. But now I can’t.  I have to take her.” 
     “Me?” said Violet.
     “Yes,” said the girl angrily. “They want to know who you are.”
      Ryan looked up towards the manor house and then back at Violet.