Stiff with fear and cold, Brian listened for the door to shut before he carefully crept out from his hiding place. First he had to make sure that they were really gone, after which he stole to the front room window and kneeled. Peeking over the windowsill in the dark spare room, his eyes followed the big ogres down the next three houses. He had to react quickly or he would lose his mother and grandma forever, he reckoned.
Slipping out the side window of the enclosed porch, the boy used his knowledge of the area to hop the yards of his neighbors to see where the men were taking his family. It saddened him that their clothes had blood on it and that the cruel men did not even cover their bodies to carry them in the cold. “Bassa scums,” he growled as he came to the end of the second yard. He could go no further, but Brian could see their vehicle. It was too dark to get the license plate, but he had enough information, as long as he could get help soon enough.
He headed back to the house to get some proper clothes on, lamenting the lingering dizziness that still plagued him since the lightning incident. But there was no time now to worry about ailments, Brian told himself. His grandfather was missing and his ill grandmother would not survive the ordeal. He had to get help, no matter how his skin hurt or how his feet cramped up. Brian pulled on his jeans and put on a sweater under his windbreaker jacket. Tying his shoelaces was a bit of trouble, as he could not focus in the haze of the spinning room. He was by no means well enough yet to venture out, but Brian was not a prissy child, especially where it concerned his family.
He put on his thickest socks and briskly rushed to his mother’s room, where he had kicked off his shoes the previous evening. On the bedside table, he saw Pam’s cell phone, which he promptly took and slid into his jeans pocket. From under her bed he retrieved his shoes and started slipping them on. By now, his tears had ceased. Shock and sadness had now become desperation and focus. This was not the time, he knew, but Brian could not help but assume the role of one of his beloved knights — Gawain.
“I am coming, Mum,” he said, still sniffing from the panic and the cold. “I will save you.”
Brian tied his shoe, thinking of going to Mrs. Lomax next door to ask for help to get to the police station. His hands began to shake and his ears started ringing. From all sides the room closed in on him in a cloudy blackness, something he knew from one time before when he fainted at school.
“No,” he moaned, hurrying to get his shoe tied. “No! No, no, not now!”
The black cloud drew closer to his face as the room gradually vanished. Brian jumped up and made for the bathroom to wash his face. Last time cold water helped him avert a fainting spell. Hissing like a thousand rattlesnakes, his ears felt frigid and his fingers started to sting. “Pins and needles,” he huffed, trying to keep his eyes open. “Oh no, please, no. Pl-plea…,” he slurred as his eyes drowned in inky black.
Limply, the boy fell into the bathtub, still trying to hold on to the shower curtain, but his body gave in. From the mild resistance of his grasp, his body swung round and Brian fell with his temple against the edge of the tub. Where he was suffering a fainting spell, he was now knocked unconscious. In the cold white bath his little wiry body came to rest, not stirring after that blow to the head. His mission was lost and his armor dinted.
19
Gathered for the Feast
“It was an absolute pleasure to have you here, Dr. Gould,” smiled the flamboyant Principal Willard as he shook Nina’s hand. Miss April was, as always, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, hands folded neatly in front of her.
“Glad I could be of some assistance,” Nina replied cordially, secretly wishing she was already in her car en route to Wrichtishousis. She could sure do with Lily’s insulin-threatening baklava and a stiff Scotch from Purdue’s new and improved bar cabinet, not to mention a fag. Nina’s lungs begged for a fag, but she had to take care of the pleasantries first.
“Please, come and see us anytime,” Principal Willard invited. “And thank you so much for what you did for Brian Callany, Dr. Gould. If you had not been there to help him, God knows what could have happened to him.”
“Oh, the poor thing,” Nina said. “Please give him my regards when he returns to school on Monday.”
“Will do,” Miss April smiled, pulling her pointy, narrow nose into a wrinkly mess. “We are going to miss you, so please keep in touch, alright?”
“Oh, hey, here,” Nina gasped, reaching into her pocket. She pulled out a business card and handed it to Miss April, who was ecstatic to have Nina’s e-mail and number. With a high- pitched yelp, she embraced Nina in a tight hug that lasted what felt like an hour to the historian. Looking over Miss April’s shoulder, Nina chuckled as the headmaster shrugged and shook his head at the teacher’s over-zealous goodbye.
Finally, Nina made it into her car. It was Friday afternoon late and due to the season, night came sooner every day. She hoped to miss most of the heavy traffic on the main roads, but when it came to the traffic between Glasgow and Edinburgh, she had a better chance of growing a tail. As she watched them waving in her wake, she felt a great sense of relief. In fact, it was a feeling she had not felt in ages. That same happiness shared by all nine-to-fivers who get to the end of the Friday afternoon sprint and leave the office doors behind until Monday.
“I am ready to party, man,” she mumbled happily, turning on the radio for some rock music and the latest weather forecast. She got her phone and placed it in the hands-free kit so that she could speak while driving.
“Wrichtishousis Estate. How may I help you?” a woman answered.
“Jane? You still there?” Nina asked Purdue’s personal assistant.
“Mr. Purdue is throwing a small party, as you may know, Dr. Gould,” Jane explained. “You know that always means the staff get a little get-together before the real party.
“Oh yes! I forgot about that lovely unwritten rule!” Nina laughed. She had heard about it before. Purdue, being the generous hedonistic type, always allowed his staff to have an informal office party whenever he had a jamboree on the cards. “Is he there?”
“He is not, Dr. Gould, but he will be back in about thirty minutes,” Jane reported. “Shall I ask him to call you?”
“No, no, no worries. Thanks Jane. I will see him when I get there,” Nina said. “Enjoy your party!”
She did not really want to make a big deal of the inquiry about the scabbard, so she elected not to tell Jane that she was anxious to hear what Purdue could find out. After all, she would have plenty of time to talk to him at the get together. Nina wondered if Sam would be there. They had not spoken for a while, since Sam was on assignment. Both she and Purdue knew not to call Sam while he was doing a journalism gig. It interfered with his work and could jeopardize his safety if his phone rang at the wrong time.
The M8 between Glasgow and Edinburgh was not too hectic, to her surprise. On the radio, Nina heard the newscaster report on something so interesting that she actually turned up the volume.
‘…police said they are still investigating the armed robbery, but will appreciate any light the public might be able to shed on the case. The Hall Hoard, as it was known to collectors and antique connoisseurs across the world has made headlines before when the victim, the late Mr. Rufus Stanhope Hall, was locked in a dispute with a well-known auction house over the rightful ownership of the Excalibur Scabbard. Police spokesperson Hilary McDonald told news teams that the police have reason to believe that the two deceased robbers had a third accomplice who fled on foot with some of the relics from the collection.’