Keeper of the Black Stones (24 page)

Well that was a particularly clean-cut version. I'd heard of the War of the Roses, of course, and knew the bones of the story. It was Medieval England's version of the Hatfields and McCoys. The Yorks and Lancasters had warred for years, killing each other as often as they could despite the fact that they were cousins. When Richard III finally came to power, it was as a usurper and murderer. No one had complained when Henry took over. Of course, Henry VII had caused his own set of problems, and led straight to Henry VIII. We all knew how that turned out.

But it had all started here. The Battle of Bosworth. Dresden would try to help Richard win the war, while Doc would try to balance Dresden's influence by throwing his own weight on Henry's side. Dresden sought to change history, and change the course of England itself, while Doc sought to maintain it.

And in trying to maintain it, Doc was walking right into his own death.

I sat numb for a moment, caught on that thought, then shook myself. I didn't have time to doze off or get depressed. I had a window to catch, and time was sliding by too quickly.

I pulled Doc's watch out of my pocket and noted the time, then grabbed the research and moved to his bed. We had a little over an hour before the stone's window opened. I had to get through this stuff, and fast. My heart raced as I skipped through the notebook to find the section on people. This is what we would need to know if we were going to fit in.

I read the entire stack of paper as quickly as I could, memorizing as much of the information as possible, then moved to my room, where I shoved the papers into my printer. I hit the ‘scan' function, and darted to the closet. I had packing to do. Downstairs, the door slammed shut and someone stormed into the house.

“Where are you?” Paul shouted. I heard his footsteps tearing through the living room and racing up the stairs.

“In here,” I called back. I threw open my closet door and started rifling through my clothes, searching for my backpack and sleeping bag. When I found them, I heaved them into the center of the room.

“What were you doing?” Paul asked, appearing suddenly in the doorway. He glanced quickly around the room, taking in my lack of preparation. “Why aren't you packed? We don't have much time!”

“Homework,” I replied. I tossed the sleeping bag and backpack onto my bed, then grabbed two pair of jeans, two rugby shirts, and a hoodie.

“What did you find out, anything useful?” Paul asked. He yanked open my sock drawer and started throwing things haphazardly on the bed.

“I think so,” I replied. I caught three pairs of socks and stuffed them into the side pocket of my backpack, then ducked to let another five pairs fly
past. “Paul, cool it with the socks,” I snapped. “We're not having a rummage sale here, and you're stressing me out.”

“Stressing you out?
I'm
stressing you out?” he muttered. “I'm just trying to help. Anyhow, I got a bunch of info too, all loaded on my phone.”

I nodded. “And my grandfather?”

“Yeah I found him, too,” Paul said. “You all done with this?”

I folded up one last thick wool sweater and jammed it into the backpack, then stood back. “Yep, packed in less than two minutes. That must be some sort of record.” I threaded the draw string of my sleeping bag through the strap of my backpack and dropped both articles on the floor. Then I stuffed the Swiss Army knife that my father had given me for my tenth birthday into my pocket, along with a flashlight the size of a magic marker.

I glanced at Paul to confirm his readiness, and did a double take. He had on a pair of white Reebok high tops, dark jeans with a hole in the left knee, a short-sleeved Patriots jersey with the number ‘12' printed on the chest, and a dark blue baseball cap with a large B on it. He'd brought a dark green backpack that appeared to be bursting at the seams, and a light blue sleeping bag. The sleeping bag was held together by two bright orange shoelaces.

He must have noticed the dismayed look on my face, because he sighed in resignation. “We don't exactly blend in, do we?” he asked.

“Not exactly,” I replied. “We'll just have to get in and get out again before it becomes a problem.” I turned toward my desk and glanced at my computer, where the scanning software was showing an electronic copy of Doc's notes. My iPhone was already connected, and I made quick work of the transfer, then yanked the phone off the connector.

“How much time do we have?” Paul asked suddenly. He looked at his watch and I took Doc's watch out of my pocket.

“A little over half an hour,” I answered, winding the watch and checking the time against my computer's clock.

Paul sighed in response. “Where's Reis? I'd feel a lot better if he was
back,” he said. He walked toward my window and drew my curtain to one side, glancing down at the yard and the garden shed that awaited us.

I grunted in response. I'd been so busy studying that I hadn't even thought about Reis, but Paul's words brought him quickly back to mind. A large knot began to form in my stomach. Paul was right, he had been gone for a long time. Was he really coming back? And if he didn't, would the two of us be brave enough to go through with this on our own? I looked at Doc's pocket watch once again and gulped.

Less than thirty-five minutes left, and Reis was nowhere in sight.

17

S
uddenly Paul gasped and plastered himself to the window. “Thank God. He's here.”

I shot to the window to stand next to him and watch as Reis climbed out of his car and made his way quickly toward the shed. He took the lock off and ducked inside, careful to close the door behind him.

“What's he doing? Leaving without us?” Paul whispered.

I shook my head. “He wouldn't do that. He
couldn't
do that.” I turned and grabbed my sleeping bag and backpack, though. We needed to get down there, regardless of what the body guard was doing.

“Wait, he's back,” Paul muttered, interrupting me. “And he's carrying something.”

I turned back and stared out the window. He was right–Reis was carrying a long roll of paper under one arm.

“He's got Doc's map of England,” I answered, already thinking ahead. The map would come in handy; I'd loaded a map of England onto my phone, but it was a modern map–none of the old cities or territories were labeled. I'd also have to look at it on the phone screen, which was less than ideal. The full-size map would give us a much better idea of what we were dealing with. Besides that, who knew if my phone would even survive the trip, or work when we got there? I shook my head at the thought. I could worry about that later. Right now we needed to finish preparing and get to the stone.

I looked down again, willing Reis to move faster. He tucked the
half-folded map more securely under his arm, closed the shed's door behind him, and strode firmly toward Doc's car, which was parked in the driveway. He glanced at the house across the street, and then down the street itself, scanning the block for anything out of place. He must not have seen anything, because he turned his back on the street and bent to the trunk of the car to pull out a dark green duffel back and a long black case, then slammed the trunk and quickly made his way to the house, glancing back once before opening the front door.

“How much time do we have?” Paul asked excitedly.

“Twenty-nine minutes,” I replied, looking at Doc's pocket watch for the hundredth time. The watch was already making me feel more secure, though I hadn't thought of this when I first nabbed it. It sat heavy and solid in my hand, reminding me of Doc's usual solid presence. I slipped it back into my pocket now, running my thumb over the engraving before withdrawing my hand.

Suddenly, Reis was standing in my doorway, looking like the cover of Tom Clancy's latest Black Ops video game. He wore black cargo pants with at least a thousand pockets and a stern, almost formal black turtleneck sweater. A utility belt that would have made Batman proud was clasped around his waist, and a shoulder harness of black heavy-duty nylon held his 9mm handgun. A black knit cap covered his hair, and a dark green scarf rested loosely around his neck. He looked relaxed and confident, as if he'd done this a million times, and already knew exactly how it was going to play out.

“I get the feeling we're a little underdressed,” Paul muttered out the side of his mouth.

Reis nodded solemnly at me, glanced quickly at Paul, and laid the duffel bag on the floor. He set the rigid black case gently on my bed, flipped the locks, and pushed it open.

Paul gasped at what was inside. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked, awed.

“It's an HK-416 assault rifle, complete with undercarriage grenade launcher,” Reis said sternly. He pulled the gun, shiny and black, from its case, leaned it against the bed, and looked at Paul. “Is that what you thought it was?”

“Heavy,” Paul breathed. Suddenly he broke into a grin. “Do we each get one?”

The corner of Reis' mouth turned up in an answering smirk. “What do you think?”

I rose from my seat, anxious to get started, and in no mood for jokes. “Do you think the weapons are a good idea?” I asked hesitantly. “Don't you think they'll … stand out?”

Reis straightened. “I've been hired to protect you to the best of my ability. I'm not exactly trained in the use of a long bow or heavy sword, so…” He grabbed the assault rifle, popped open the chamber, and slammed a large magazine into its housing, then glanced back at me. “This will have to do. Now, how much time do we have?”