Shepherd's Warning

by Cailyn Lloyd

“You can read it?” Lucas asked.

  “No. None of it. This is not only Old English, but it’s handwritten in a script peculiar to that era. I can read some Old English if it’s printed in a modern font. I can read Middle English well in a modern font. This might as well be Latin. Actually, I would do better with Latin.”

  Old English, Middle English? Lucas understood none of it. “So how old is that book?”

  “If it’s genuine…possibly a thousand years.”

  “A thousand years old?”

  “It’s possible, though that doesn’t seem likely. Texts from that era are extremely rare. This isn’t really my area of expertise.”

  The mystery deepened with no answers in sight. “So it’s valuable?”

  “Probably.”

  “But you have no idea how to translate it?”

  “No. Afraid not,” Gregory said. “I do know someone who can. He’d be excited by this I’m sure—if you’re interested in pursuing this further?”

  “I am.” Lucas leaned forward. “Who?”

  “Doctor Shepherd, the head of Medieval Studies. He’s a renowned expert in the old languages of Great Britain. Indeed, he spent most of his life teaching in Europe. There’s probably not a man alive who has a greater knowledge of the old European languages.”

  It sounded like a sales pitch for the English Department. “Is he in today?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Gregory said sadly, as if he too would have liked an immediate translation. “Doctor Shepherd is away at the moment. He’s a guest lecturer somewhere on the West Coast—UCLA, I think. We do expect him back in a week, however. If you’d give me an opportunity to copy a few pages of this, I’ll show them to him when he returns.”

  “Sure. Thank you.”

  Lucas bristled as he left the language facility. Having committed to pursuing this, he wanted a quick resolution, and had impatiently expected all the answers now. Instead, he would have to wait a week or two before receiving any answer at all.

  His mood deepened further when he found a parking ticket under the wiper blade, flapping in the breeze.

  Twenty

  Nate also woke early but remained in bed, floating between sleep and wakefulness, thinking about the coins, the room, and the book. Finally, he turned to roll out of bed. A slender arm wrapped around him.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere in particular.”

  “Then what’s the hurry?” Ashley said with a sultry grin. She crawled on top of him, kissed him hungrily, then aroused him quickly with her mouth. She then rolled over, pulled him on top, and began to move her hips sensuously.

  An hour later, Nate slipped out of bed. High maintenance or not, that was one of the reasons he loved that woman so. Ashley had fallen back to sleep. Nate pulled on a forlorn pair of jeans and a grubby T-shirt, quietly left the house, and drove away in the Tahoe.

  After stopping for coffee, he went to a coin shop in West Bend, looking for confirmation of their age, origin, and value. He wasn’t sure he wanted to sell them and was considering displaying them instead. The dealer, a young guy with a long, pinched face, examined the gold piece for several minutes, turning it frequently and referring to several books from under the counter. He then checked online, mumbling to himself unintelligibly.

  “No idea what they are. Probably Roman.”

  Great. He already knew more than this doofus.

  “Any other coin stores in town?”

  “Sure. Frazier’s across town on—”

  “I’ll find it, thanks.”

  Frazier’s Coin and Stamp was a small shop sandwiched between a furniture store and a hair salon, part of a confluent line of small businesses. A clapboard facade ran along the length of the building at various levels like an ill-conceived battlement.

  A tall, balding man was busy examining coins with a loupe at the counter. Nate set the gold coins down and waited patiently. The dealer picked up one of the coins, holding it carefully by the rough edges. He turned it only once, then examined the other two.

  “Angelots. These are exceptional pieces—where’d you get them?”

  “I found them…in my house.” Nate then decided his explanation sounded sketchy.

  What could he say? It was true. “So what are they worth?”

  “Four or five thousand, I’m sure. I don’t have a market for this type of coin. I can only offer you their value in gold.”

  “That sounds like a bad idea.”

  “I’d have to agree,” the dealer said.

  “How about eBay?”

  “Worth a try.”

  As Nate pulled his seatbelt across his chest, he saw the dealer through the glass door staring at him intently as he brought his phone to his ear.

  Something about the guy’s expression disturbed him.

  Hope that’s not a problem.

  Twenty-One

  Laura woke early, showered, then heard Leah calling. Standing at the end of her crib, Leah broke into a toothy grin as Laura peeked through the door, a crooked grin that tempered the bad mood she had woken with. Leah threw her arms upwards and outward, a silent plea to be rescued from the prison that was her crib.

  “Good morning, baby,” Laura said with a big smile. She plucked her from bed and hugged her lovingly, then gazed into her big blue eyes. “You know something, kid? There are times I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Leah rewarded Laura with another crooked grin. Together, they marched downstairs to the kitchen.

  “Morning,” Ashley said absently. She was sitting at the table sipping coffee, playing on her phone. Bright sunlight poured through the windows of the kitchen.

  Laura whipped up a bowl of oatmeal and sat down to feed Leah. “Any plans today?”

  “Work on the blog for a couple of hours, then head to the mall.”

  “Don’t you ever tire of shopping?”

  “Never.”

  After dressing Leah, she sat in the Hall on her tablet while Leah played nearby. Continuing to research their family trees in Ancestry, her tree had blossomed extensively and she received dozens of new hints daily. She had traced several lineages of her family back to the Colonies, including an eighth great-grandfather who had sailed on the Mayflower.

  On Lucas’s family, she remained stuck at his paternal grandparents. Searches yielded nothing. Somehow, his family had evaded county and state records, church records, and the national census. She was able to reach back further on Elizabeth’s side, but she really wanted the MacKenzie history. Who were they? Where had they come from? When had they arrived?

  Lucas called from the foyer, “Hon, I’m going out for a couple of hours.”

  “Okay.” Laura shrugged. She knew what he was doing. If that’s how he chose to spend his afternoons, fine. He’d quit work, they’d spent a couple of intense months working on the house and now, without obligations, he could hunt, fish, and waste a few hours drinking beer and playing pool. She assumed it was a phase that would pass. Soon, he would tire of that routine and head off in search of work or some other adventure. They gave each other considerable freedom in life, and she had no desire to become the controlling wife who questioned her husband’s every move.

  Tired of shopping with Ashley, she needed to do something different. Laura had pestered Lucas to help her set up her stained-glass equipment and a small play area for Leah in the room at the bottom of the lower stairs. Large with a stone floor, it had been a kitchen long ago, but now it looked like an ideal workspace for her hobbies. She decided she would set it up herself tomorrow if he hadn’t started by then.

  Somewhat later, Laura watched Nate pull into the drive. She and Ashley were sitting in the grass chatting while Leah ambled and stumbled around them.

  Nate walked around the corner of the Tahoe and said, “What’s up?”

  “We were hoping you might be able to tell us—” Ashley stopped and gazed up the drive. A light blue squad car was pulling into the drive behind the Tahoe. On the side, the words Auburn Coun
ty Sheriff were printed across the doors. An overweight cop stepped from the car, slid a hat on, pulled his belt up, and walked toward them, sizing up the house as he did so.

  The cop spoke with the official tone cops used for official matters. “Are you Nathan MacKenzie?”

  “I am.”

  “You were in West Bend today, at Frazier’s Coin and Stamp?”

  “I was.” Nate frowned. “Is there a problem?”

  “You tell me. The coins, are they yours?”

  “Yep, they are.”

  “Can I see them?”

  They stepped inside, and Nate led the cop toward the kitchen while Ashley and Laura went to the Hall to wait.

  Laura looked at Ashley. “So what’s Nate up to? What are these coins the cop was asking about?”

  “I have no idea—and I’m not very happy about it,” Ashley said angrily. “Where’s Lucas?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Something’s going on here.”

  A few minutes later the front door slammed, and Lucas walked into the Hall with a puzzled expression.

  “What’s going on? Why are the cops here?” He looked to the corner where Leah was busy pulling the leaves off a parlor palm. “Do you always let her do that?”

  “Damn. All right, Leah, it’s time for a nap. Come on.” She turned to Lucas. “You can get her some water while I change her, then you can tell me what’s going on. And no, I don’t always let her do that.”

  By the time Leah was tucked in bed, the sheriff had left. They all converged on the Hall at the same time.

  “The dealer thought I might be a thief.” Nate placed the coins on the coffee table. “Apparently I look a little sketchy.”

  “Man, you should be more careful with those.”

  “Yep, that’s what the dealer said.”

  There was a silence. Laura picked up one of the Angels. “What are these and where’d they come from?”

  “So what happened?” Lucas said.

  “I went to West Bend to check the coins out,” Nate said. “As I figured, they’re English. Angels. They’re worth about five grand each. Turns out a number of gold coins were stolen in a burglary a few months back. The cop had photos of the missing coins. These weren’t a match.”

  “Where did you get these?” Laura said again, a tad sharper.

  Ashley said, “Yeah, what’s going on here?”

  Lucas and Nate shared a brief, knowing look. Laura and Ashley both caught it.

  Laura planted her hands on her hips. “All right, guys. What’s going on?”

  Nate explained how he’d discovered the trap door upstairs which led to the basement and finally the hole in the wall, the supposed electrical problem.

  “So you found these coins in that room, and you decided to keep it secret?” Ashley said accusingly. “Excuse me, but—what the fuck!”

  Pointing to Nate, Lucas said sheepishly, “It was his idea.”

  “Jesus, how old are you guys?”

  “So where’s the book?” Laura said.

  “Oh, I left it in the truck—”

  “The truck? Why in the truck?”

  Lucas described his trip to Milwaukee and the meeting with Professor Gregory, then ran to the truck to retrieve the book.

  When he returned, Laura reached for it. As her fingers touched the brass binding, a shock jolted up her arm, followed by a brief lapse as the room canted sideways. An image, a subliminal insert, flashed in her mind and evaporated. A pitchfork? Her fingers failed to grasp the book, and she dropped it.

  Lucas caught the book mid-fall. “Jesus Laura, careful!”

  The episode and his sharp tone left her off balance. She staggered and nearly fell.

  Lucas, now concerned, said, “You okay?”

  She couldn’t speak. Still dizzy, she sat down hard. After a moment, she was fine.

  “Yeah. I am. I don’t know what happened. I got a shock, like static electricity from the book.”

  Lucas looked doubtful. “Really?”

  Laura nodded. She reached for the book, and when she touched it, nothing happened. The dark cloud of her childhood epilepsy intruded again as she opened the book, but she pushed it away. She would deal with that soon enough. As Laura carefully paged through the handwritten pages, she recognized nothing, the text incomprehensible. It was old, possibly important and probably valuable. This wasn’t some pioneer diary.

  “So what did this Professor Gregory have to say about this?”

  “He said it was old.”

  “Seriously, Lucas!”

  “He couldn’t read any of it. Apparently it’s Old English or Anglo-Saxon or something like that.”

  “Old what?” Ashley said with a furrowed brow.

  “Old English,” Laura said. “It’s English as it was spoken a thousand years ago.”

  “Well, aren’t you a smarty pants.”

  “I was an English major, sweetie.” She patted Ashley’s cheek. “So now what?”

  “They have a guy who can translate the book, but he’s gone all week. They’ll call me.”

  “So what are we doing about dinner?” Ashley said.

  “Going out.”

  Laura hoped she’d covered the brief episode while handling the book. A reminder she needed to address the problem soon. She had scheduled a trip to Illinois, ostensibly to visit Dana, but also to see her neurologist for a consultation and an EEG. She hoped the test would reveal no major issues, but speculating was pointless. Still, she didn’t want to deal with that again. Lucas would wonder why she’d hidden it from him. He might be angry and she now realized there had been no good reason to keep it secret. After this latest lapse, her confidence was shaken further, and she felt vaguely depressed.

  She tried to shake the feeling off as she changed for dinner, but her melancholy gave way to an anxiety that she was losing her mind.

  Twenty-Two

  Shepherd was about to close his laptop when an email came in from Gregory at the university. Shepherd had flown to San Francisco primarily to attend a hacking conference, the guest lectures at UCLA a convenient cover for his trip. His room overlooked the Embarcadero just north of the Bay Bridge and it was one in the morning, three a.m. in Milwaukee. Why was Gregory awake at this hour?

  The email was vague and contained two attachments—both photographs. He stared at them, unsure what he was looking at until realized they were handwritten documents in an obscure dialect of Old English, but he had trouble reading the faded script. He needed the original, a strong light, and a magnifier.

  Shepherd turned to Gregory’s email for further explanation.

  The story sounded outlandish. A man had walked into the English Department with a book written entirely in what Gregory had correctly surmised was Old English. The odds of such a thing were astronomical. Books written in Old English did not appear out of the blue. Virtually all known texts were in museums or major libraries. Now, someone just strolled in with a text, handwritten in Old English? The most likely explanation was simple—the book was stolen. He suddenly wished he was back in Milwaukee where he could deal with the issue directly.

  He studied the photos again. The Old English dialect looked like Mercian, his native tongue. It read like a diary and seemed mundane except for its great antiquity. He dashed off a few quick emails to friends in England asking if they knew of any thefts of Old English texts. He sent a brief email to Gregory expressing interest but not his concerns nor suspicions. With that, he closed the laptop and slipped into bed.

  He couldn’t sleep. The documents disturbed him in some intangible way. Something about the dialect, the handwriting. Resigned to the insomnia, frustrated he didn’t have the originals to peruse, he poured a small glass of Port and sat on the floor in Lotus pose. Closed his eyes. Cleared his mind and quietly repeated his mantra, seeking the calm of a meditative state.

  Without warning, a powerful wave washed over him, causing the room to cant sideways. Shepherd put a hand out to steady himself as he lost his balance
. At first he thought it was a small earthquake, but the hanging corner lamp remained motionless. The tremor was imaginary.

  A brass and leather-bound book appeared in his mind.

  A sign, finally.

  Took a slow, deep breath to relax. Flexed his fingers.

  He understood. The book would reveal the location of the house. It was the final link connecting the woman, the house, the farmer, and the hidden entity into a unified whole.

  He returned to bed but sleep still eluded him. The nature of that unified whole remained a puzzle and a tendril of unease twisted in his belly as he wondered about that hidden entity. It must be very powerful to draw him from so far away. Was this something he wanted to pursue? It felt risky and dangerous, but when had that deterred him in the past?

  Curiosity slowly supplanted anxiety. He needed to know where this was leading.

  He couldn’t wait to return to Milwaukee.

  Twenty-Three

  The next day, Laura awoke with a firm sense of purpose. After pestering Lucas to organize her workshop for weeks, she grabbed him fresh off his fishing boat and insisted he do it today. They spent half a day organizing her stained-glass workshop in the basement at the bottom of the stairs, setting up her workbenches and organizing the glass and tools: soldering irons, glass cutters, and glass trimmers.

  The room was large, square, and approximated the footprint of the kitchen and dining room above. A door in the far corner led outside, and a door on the opposite wall led to a passageway running the length of the house under the Hall. There were two rooms—a large room that housed the furnace, water heaters, electrical gear, and storage for boxes from the move, and beyond that, the root cellar at the end of the hallway.

  While she worked on smaller details, Lucas found a piece of carpeting and laid out a play area for Leah. He also set up the portable crib so Leah could nap while Laura worked. They exchanged idle chit chat: about the house, the move, the weather, Leah.

  Laura asked, “So what have you been doing in the afternoon?”