The Royal Stones of Eden (Royal Secrecies Book 1) (13 page)

“Father said that he was once royalty, but, of course, I thought it rubbish.”—Peter was sincerely inquisitive to a bothered Dred as he downed the rest of his pint of ale.

“Right!” Dred said. “Not wanting to be rude, chum, but there are more important things to discuss than parents and their delusional minds. My friend—
our
friend—was just murdered…”—the two pints kicked in heavily, even for Dred. That slipped out. Dred did not mean to use that word, but Peter corrected him.

“I never said murdered. I said he passed away,” declared an equally inebriated Peter. Peter emphasized his point as he slammed one of his empty mugs down on the table. Some powder spilled to the table from the frothy rim of Peter’s pint, and it caught Dred’s eyes.

Earlier, when he had first arrived at the pub, Dred had drugged Peter’s first drink, but Peter had not noticed the slight traces of white powder on the rim of his glass. Dred grabbed his mug and demanded the waiter to bring another drink while he clandestinely wiped the powder off with his sleeve.

Upon the next drink, laced again with another concoction of mystery, Dred began his interrogation.

“Where are those stones, Peter?” Dred commanded.

“What stones?”

“The ones you surely must have and must know about. Those stones were your mother’s stones. Where are they?”—Dred heavily perspired while he grew more impatient with Peter.

Peter’s eyes were bloodshot, and his head spun. He realized something was wrong in his mind, and he dished out his accusation.

“You drugged me. You bastard!” Peter slurred.

Dred insisted that Peter was just pissed and not drugged. But Peter’s head fell quickly, and he passed out. Then Dred promptly got up from his side of the table and sat beside Peter and began to search his pockets.

The crowd in the pub was boisterous that night with a party of boys that boasted a celebrated win at a local rugby event. The noise had muffled the drunken objections of Peter, and the distraction had hidden Dred’s attempt to loot Peter’s valuables.

But Dred found nothing of value because Peter had locked up Uncle Willie’s cryptic book at his hotel. However, he had in his pocket one important thing that was discovered by Dred. It was the note from Doctor Habib. He read the note that said that Habib would be there to “sort things out.”

Habib is alive? I thought he was dead. Is this his son? Or is this the same Habib that I once knew?

“Peter must think that Habib killed Willie!” he mumbled softly.

“Hey, fella! Who ya talkin’ to?”—Doris, their waiter, came to ask if they were ok. She was about to ask if they needed a cab but noticed Peter’s head on the table. “Is he ok?”

“He’s fine. Leave us be.”—Dred said it again more forcefully and then pushed Doris away so that she fell to the floor and spilled a drink. Some of the noise died down when people heard the sound of a bottle breaking along with some swear words from Doris. Then Doris picked up her tray and walked away.

Dred searched again through Peter’s pockets. He hoped to find something that belonged to Willie. A man then walked up to the table and bellowed, “What’s this? You taking the man’s wallet, eh?” It was a boyfriend that Doris had cried to, who was part of the loud crowd earlier.

“You heard me, mate!”—again the persistent man pestered Dred and stood quite close to the table.

Dred would be bothered no more. He straightened his back after a brief roll of intimidating eyes that pierced the stranger with a look of grotesque evil. Dred pushed the table forward with one hand to give a threatening effect, and it allowed him to stand up quickly against his intruder.

Dred’s tall stance overshadowed the other man as his rigid right forefinger extended with a straightened arm. The tip of his finger touched a button on the man’s shirt. He pushed forward with his finger and again struck his victim with a devilish stare.

“I said to leave me alone!”—Dred’s eyes started to glow an unnatural and reddish hue in the iris that quickly faded back to a black color. This display scared the man, who promptly left and returned to his party. Peter was still passed out on the table.

The owner of the local pub had called the police, and their lights flashed just outside. Dred, not amused with the blue lights of warning seen through the windows, rapidly scanned the pub and looked for an exit.

Doris and her boyfriend escorted the police in, and they pointed to Dred’s table in the back. Some of her boyfriend’s mates blocked the rear entrance. They thought this would keep Dred from leaving and avoiding the police.

Dred grabbed a pen from Peter’s pocket and scribbled something on the back of Haj’s note that he had stolen. He swiftly bent over and shoved it back into Peter’s pocket as two police officers arrived at the table. Dred stood and turned to face them. There was a constant and glowing redness in both eyes that did not fade. The police though frightened quickly took a defensive stance.

Dred stretched out his right hand toward the officer on his right and slightly moved his hand with a flick of the wrist to the right. At once, the police officer’s body was lifted off the floor by an unseen power and thrown over three tables to Dred’s right. The body sailed and collapsed against a wall.

Dred’s eyebrows rose, and his head tilted as if he invited the other officer to stand down. But the other officer on his left ignored Dred’s prior display of telekinesis and fully charged toward him with a droll expression of determination. It was then that Dred motioned his left hand in the opposite direction of the prior move. With a flick of his left hand, he threw the other officer over several tables and into a glass photograph case that contained several local trophies that heralded pub-sponsored athletes.

Small pieces of glass covered a large area to his left, but Dred navigated through it and made his way to the front entrance. His eyes ceased their glow and returned to their original black color. The patrons either stayed under their tables or crouched against walls. The fear that struck them kept them from running away.

Dred exited the establishment and looked for a vehicle to steal while the lights of blue still pulsated and beat out their defiance just outside the pub. He quickly spotted a motorcycle and walked over to the bike. He raised his black coat to mount it and tightened his pair of black leather gloves over his fingers and triangular nails.

He then noticed that there was no key in the bike as the sounds of nearby sirens increased their intensity. More police were on their way. Again, Dred’s eyes glowed red, and he waived his right hand over the bike. The engine started instantly, and Dred pushed the kickstand back with his black leather boot. Then he revved and tore out of the parking lot just as two more police cars arrived at the scene.

One of the two police cars pursued Dred’s smoky trail of blue that puffed out of the fleeing motorcycle, and the other car remained at the pub. The brisk wind helped to revive the inebriated Dred. His eyes still glowed red, and the wind cut through his greasy black hair. He looked back at the car that followed him. The siren sound increased. The chase was on.

They were soon away from the town and on a narrow road lined with trees. It was a scarcely populated area, and there were no other cars around. Dred knew that only one car had followed him and decided to make his move. He suddenly braked the bike and turned to face the pursuer in anticipation. He spun the bike around. He wore a snakelike grin and invited the car forward with his smirk.

As the police car came closer, the glow in Dred’s red eyes intensified, and he straddled the bike in a standing position. He stretched both hands toward the car as it approached rapidly. And then he lifted his hands up toward the heavens and kept them raised above his head. As it advanced toward him, the police car suddenly lifted off the ground. It sped forward and floated directly over Dred’s head. After several seconds in the air, it landed on top of a tree, on the right side of the road, and it stayed there while its engine kept turning and its wheels kept spinning. The police inside were knocked unconscious.

Dred’s eyes turned black again as he lowered his arms and gazed with satisfaction at the car in the tree. With a smile and a quick spin around of the bike, Dred coasted down a hill and away from the scene—as if nothing had ever happened.

Inside the pub, Peter woke from his malted and drugged slumber. He had slept through it all, but Doris told him everything that had happened. He explained to the police that questioned him that nothing had been stolen from his person. So a stunned Peter was allowed to leave and return to his hotel via taxi.

Once Peter returned to his hotel, he was surprised to find Robbie in the lobby.

“Robbie, thank God you are here!”—a relieved Peter embraced his friend warmly. “I have a lot to talk to you about. I’m so glad you came.”

“Yes. Well, I came as I thought it might be necessary—having heard on the news about Willie!”—Robbie seemed like he held a little more information back.

Peter escorted Robbie to his room and began to share the events of the last few days with him. Robbie sat expressionless on the hotel bed as Peter told him about Uncle Willie—and even about Dred. Peter told him of Uncle Willie’s book that he had found, but not of the note from Doctor Habib. He rambled for several minutes then Robbie admitted to having knowledge of Dred.

“You knew about Dred! I also remember that you never told me about my adoption. Do you remember that omission?” Peter confronted. He paced the floor in front of a deadpan Robbie, who took a few moments before he spoke.

“Peter, I never thought I would have to involve you in any of this,” Robbie apologized. “I thought that by the time of your father’s death all of this would be over. I did not even know that Dred was still alive.”—Robbie now showed a concern and a willingness to open up to him.

“Still?” Peter asked.

“Do you have Uncle Willie’s book—the one that you said you found?” Robbie asked while he looked around for it.

“Yes, and I must speak of an omission myself,” Peter admitted. “I also found a note by a Doctor Habib, from Egypt. It said that he was going to come take care of someone...no, rather he was going to ‘take care of something.’ I can’t remember exactly, but I believe that somehow this Habib is connected to the death of Uncle Willie!”

“I don’t believe that Habib killed Uncle Willie,” Robbie insisted. “I believe that Dred did! And Dred is
not
your brother! He was using you to get to the stones!”—Robbie stood up and insisted that Peter get Uncle Willie’s book. A confused Peter remembered Uncle Willie’s final words.

Uncle Willie was trying to name his killer at his death, but is anyone or anything believable or trustworthy at this point? What is Robbie talking about! What stones? My mum’s stones? Was Habib working for or with Dred? I am not satisfied. I have to know the truth about everything.

Peter went to the room safe, entered a code, and opened it. He withdrew the book and brought it to Robbie, who told him to sit down and examine it carefully.

“Look at the binding of the book—and—if it’s not there, look for any pages stuck together.”—Robbie told Peter that there was a small memory card, hidden somewhere in the book.

Peter found that the outer corner of the back of the book had a raised spot near the bookbinding. He retrieved a small penknife from his front jacket pocket and used it to cut around the raised area. Then Peter removed a small but hidden sim card with a great deal of pride. Robbie returned the sly smile and handed him a small tablet from his briefcase.

“Just remember, you only have one chance to read the sim’s contents. Willie more than likely set it to autodelete once viewed.”—Robbie sat down and lit a cigar as if it was appropriate for just such an occasion as this.

Then Peter inserted the memory card and booted up the tablet. It immediately asked for a password just after the words on the screen said, “Welcome Peter!”

“It’s asking for a password, and I have no idea what it is!” Peter worried.

“Peter, don’t type anything yet! Let me think!”—Robbie warned him not to enter the wrong password, or the data might erase immediately. After several moments of thought, Robbie said, “Try E-D-E-N!”

Typing “E D E N” did the trick as the next screen on the tablet read:

“Congratulations Peter! Press next to continue.”

“I’m in!” Peter announced proudly.

Robbie stood up, walked to the kitchenette, and grabbed a drink from the refrigerator.

“You have drinks in here?”—Robbie was on a scavenger hunt for a satisfying libation to calm his nerves, which danced with anticipation. Peter was about to enter a new world of knowledge.

“Just water, sorry!” Peter frowned.

“No worries, I am going to pop down and grab something at the hotel bar while you read. I will be back soon.”—Robbie reached for his overcoat on one of the two single beds and started for the door.

“One more thing Peter…” Robbie warned.

“Yes?”

“You do realize that your mother was a witch, right?”—Robbie glared at him with a most serious look of truthfulness.

Peter’s shocked and astonished opened mouth remained open as Robbie left, and the door shut behind him. Then he took the note out of his front jacket pocket, the one that Habib had written. He read the words that Dred had scribbled on it, “Haj killed your uncle!”