There was a strange man moving about the kitchen garden, hacking at the weeds with a sling. He stopped when Nigel opened the door, stared at him curiously a moment and then went back to his task.
"You there," Nigel called when he’d finished. "By what name are ye known?"
The man stopped again and looked him over. "Sean. Are ye the yank’s husband, then?"
Nigel frowned. After a moment, he realized the man must be referring to Emily. He was on the point of denying it when it occurred to him that he didn’t particularly want the locals gossiping about his woman. "I’m laird here. Fetch me up some water for bathing."
The man frowned. "Is the water na’ workin’ in the castle then?"
Nigel gave him an assessing look. He wasn’t accustomed to having anyone counter an order with a question, but he was curious enough about the comment to let it slide. "Have a look."
"I’m na’ much of a plumber, but I’ll see if there’s aught I can do about it."
Nigel stepped to one side as the man reached the door. After glancing around, he headed for the sink to one side of the kitchen and grasped a knob. Water spilled forth the moment he turned it.
Intrigued, Nigel strode across the kitchen and stared at the water flowing through the spout. It appeared to be coming right out of the wall. He tilted his head, listening to the movement of the water and trying to determine the direction it was coming from and realized that it was moving through the tubes that ran across the ceiling and down along the wall.
"Yer right. It ain’t gettin’ hot. Maybe the breaker on the water heater’s tripped?"
Nigel stared at the man uncomprehendingly.
"Ye ken where the breaker box is?"
Since he didn’t ken what a breaker was, or even a water heater, although that sounded rather self-explanatory, he certainly had no clue of where the box might be that held the breakers--whatever those were. He merely shrugged.
After glancing around the kitchen, the man finally turned and made his way down into the dungeon.
The thing at the bottom of the stairs was still growling and coughing and the strange flameless light still glowing, Nigel saw. He didn’t see a box of any sort beyond his sarcophagus.
Sean glanced at him over his shoulder a couple of times. "It’s a bit chill down here ta be walkin’ about in the altogether."
Frowning, Nigel grasped the man around the throat with one hand. Lifting the man clear of the stairs, he pulled him close, peering through his bulging eyes into his thoughts. "I’m a patient, good-natured fellow else I’d na’ ha’ put up with yer impertinence as long as I have, my lad. Ye’ll watch yer tongue when ye speak ta me or ye’ll na’ have it long. Do ye ken?"
When the man’s eyes glazed, Nigel set him on his feet once more.
"Now … I dinna ken breaker box, nor plumbing, nor water heater for that matter. Ye’ll explain it ta me an then we’ll find these things and ye’ll show me how they’re to be done."
Nodding, Sean held forth for a good ten minutes, but he might just as well have been speaking a foreign language for Nigel found he simply did not know enough to make sense of it. His library was gone, but it seemed doubtful it would have been of use to him if it was still intact. In the days before, he’d kept abreast of advances in science, but he hardly felt that a two hundred year old book would be of much use to him even if he still had the books. Finally, he simply cut Sean off and urged him to explain the simple workings of the things he described so that he could use them. When he had time--and money--he’d locate some books and bring himself up to date on the things that had changed since he’d last walked the Earth.
They located the breaker box and Sean flipped the breakers back and forth, plunging them into darkness at one point. Finally, he expressed it as his opinion that all the breakers were working as well as could be expected considering their antiquity and they went up the stairs once more.
When they reached the hall once more, Nigel rummaged through the bundle of clothing he’d left there and finally merely donned the kilt. From there, they proceeded up the stairs to the second floor and Sean displayed the wonders of the bathroom. Pleased, Nigel sent Sean about his business and made use of the facilities. Despite Sean’s assurance that the water heater was working, the water was barely less than frigid, but since servants seemed to be a thing of the past, he made do.
There was a rectangular piece of fluffy fabric hanging over the shower curtain rod. It smelled of Emily and was still damp from her drying her own body with it. He used it to dry off and tossed it aside.
Donning the kilt once more, he headed down the stairs again and into the kitchen. There were no servants to cook and no food to speak of even to cook himself. Inside some sort of cooling chest, he discovered a block of cheese. Peeling the strange skin off of it, he closed the door of the chest again and looked around for something to go with it. He found bread, but not so much as a single bottle of wine.
Angry now, he settled his hip against one of the tables and consumed the bread and cheese, washing them down with water from the thing Sean had called a faucet.
It was a disappointing meal to say the least. He was accustomed to eating far more elegant meals, but he decided he could remedy the situation far sooner if he could lay his hands upon some of his money.
Brushing the crumbs from his hands, he made his way back to the dungeon. There were no torches, no light source at all beyond the light bulb Sean had explained that used electricity and could not be moved around. After scrounging for a bit, he broke a rickety chair and took one of its legs then pulled some of the lining from his sleeping cask to form a makeshift torch. Discovering he had nothing to light it with, he climbed the stairs once more and collared Sean in the kitchen garden.
"I’ve need of flint to light me torch."
Sean scratched his head, staring at the wad of cloth at the end of Nigel’s makeshift torch blankly for several moments. Finally, he dug into his pocket and withdrew a small, rectangular object.
The lighter Sean produced pleased Nigel. He pocketed it and thanked the man, striding purposefully inside once more.
Rubble, he discovered, blocked the narrow hall that led to his secret chamber and he nearly lost his patience altogether. Curbing his temper, he trudged back up the stairs once more and rounded up the men working in the castle, setting them to the task of clearing away the rubble and shoring up the hall. He watched them for a while, but grew bored and went back upstairs to assess the magnitude of his situation.
Emily had not reappeared and, as little as he liked to admit it, he wasn’t at all pleased with her absence. She’d taken the carriage, he saw, but he couldn’t decide whether that meant she had gone upon a long trip or would be returning shortly.
She’d left her belongings. She would return. He was certain of that.
Deciding that, perhaps, she had gone for food, he dismissed her from his mind and examined the castle from top to bottom. By the time he’d finished, he was of the opinion that it was beyond repair. Perhaps he should simply have it pulled down and rebuild?
Emily seemed strangely attached to the pile of rubble, however.
Not that he was particularly concerned about whether she was pleased, or displeased, about his decision, but he finally decided he was rather fond of the place himself and that it warranted the work needed to put it to rights. There was a wealth of memories attached to the place for him, some good, some not so good, some rather unpleasant, but overall he was inclined to look on those of a more pleasant nature and the desire to preserve something of such familiarity was strong, as well.
Everything had changed so drastically since he’d decided to hibernate. It was going to take a great deal of effort to accustom himself to the changes as it was. He didn’t particularly relish the thought of also having to grow accustomed to a new residence.
Having settled that in his mind, he went outside. None of the outbuildings still stood. The stables had vanished altogether and he felt an unaccustomed pang of regret
for the horses that had once lived there. He’d been particularly fond of Caesar, his bay stallion. He’d expected to wake to find Caesar’s descendants awaiting to attend him as Caesar once had.
He supposed he should consider purchasing himself one of the new horseless carriages everyone seemed to use now, but he’d always preferred to ride and he didn’t particularly feel up to trying to master a carriage that looked so strange and moved so fast. Eventually, he knew he would have to, but he saw no reason to rush things. He had all the time in the world.
Chapter Ten
Emily found herself humming as she headed back to the Castle MacKissack. It had been a long and very tiring day but enthusiasm buoyed her flagging energy.
She’d taken the coin to a dozen different shops in almost as many towns. No two had appraised the coin at the same value, but after she’d made the rounds she had a far better idea of the worth of her discovery. She just wished she’d had the chance to check on the internet before she’d had to sell the first one. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a land line … yet. She hoped to have one before she had to sell more of the coins, but she was still very happy with what she’d done, even knowing she’d probably sold the coin for a lot less that it’s actual value.
The car was full to bursting with the things she’d bought. She had deliveries scheduled for supplies and building materials … and she still had enough money left to pay the workers!
Her good humor vanished as she pulled into the parking spot she’d claimed and turned the car off. The place looked very little different than it had when she’d left hours ago! What had the men been doing all this time?
Trying to tamp her rising ire, Emily climbed from the car and headed across the narrow bridge and into the keep. She could see the men were working, but they were still pretty much working in the same spot as they’d been working when she left.
"You haven’t made much progress," she said as she reached them.
The men exchanged a glance. "Yer man had us down in the dungeon clearing a bit of rubble."
"My...." Nigel. Emily’s lips tightened. She turned away, heading for the main entrance, intent on giving Nigel a piece of her mind for ‘posing’ as her man and having the nerve to pull her workers off the job she’d given them to do something for him instead.
"He left with Sean a bit ago," one of the workers volunteered.
Emily halted in her tracks, turning back to the man. "Sean?"
"Connors. The bloke that give us a ride up here."
"Oh." Emily frowned, remembering the old truck that had been parked beside her car earlier when she’d left. Disconcerted to discover she had no outlet for her temper, she stood indecisively for several moments and finally stalked back to the car to begin unloading it. When she came back outside, the men had gathered around her car to unload it. Mollified, she directed them where to put the supplies and went inside to see if she could discover what Nigel had been up to.
* * * *
The operation of the carriage seemed a bit more complicated than Nigel had expected it to be and seemed to require a surprising amount of coordination, as well. There were three pedals on the floor. Sean had depressed the one in the middle when he’d turned the key. Nigel had wondered what the key was for--for the placement of the lock seemed odd to say the least. The moment Sean turned the key, however, the carriage began to bounce and growl like the contraption in the basement that he’d been told was a generator to produce electricity.
When he’d pumped another pedal for several moments, Sean grabbed a stick protruding from the floor of the carriage, wrestled it a moment and lifted up on one pedal, depressing another at the same time. The carriage jerked and, to Nigel’s surprise, surged backwards. When Sean turned the wheel in front of him, the carriage changed directions.
It was at this point that Sean stomped down on the third pedal, jolting the carriage to a halt. He then went through the entire ritual again, except that this time when he raised one foot and lowered the other, the carriage shot forward jerkily.
It did not make for a comfortable ride. The carriage was not well slung at all and jolted every bone in his body as they bounced along the roadway. He wasn’t exactly thrilled with the speed either. As much as he’d always enjoyed racing horses and carriages, those had never attained such speeds and he wasn’t at all certain Sean had the skills to handle a carriage moving so fast. After a time, however, when Sean proved that he did indeed have control of the speeding carriage, some of the tension left Nigel and he concentrated on watching and learning. By the time they arrived at the shop where Sean had said he should be able to sell his jewels, he decided he was ready to give it a try himself once they were out in the countryside again and there weren’t nearly so many obstacles to avoid.
The shopkeeper seemed inclined to rob him. Nigel was in no mood to haggle over the price and simply mesmerized the man. Once he’d made the man tell him the true value of the necklace, he was perfectly willing to settle for a sum that would allow the man a modest profit. Pocketing his money, he went out again.
Sean, he discovered, left much to be desired as a servant. He remained seated in the carriage, staring at Nigel through the window instead of rushing around to open the door. Irritated, Nigel glanced around. He saw then that everyone seemed to be opening their own doors and finally decided that he would have to accustom himself to the new customs.
"I’ve need of a tailor and a shoemaker," he announced when he’d climbed into the carriage once more.
Sean frowned. "I canna think of one of either hereabouts. There’s a shoe repair shop, but I don’t think they make shoes."
Nigel stared at the man in disbelief, but his senses told him Sean was still under his control and therefore could not be lying to him. "Ye’ve clothes an’ shoes. An’ everyone else from what I can see. How is it tha’ ye’ve these things when there’s no tailors nor shoemakers about?"
"The shops sell both, ready made ta fit."
"They canna ken my measure. How’s this?"
Again, Sean frowned in confusion. "Ye just find the closest fit."
Nigel wasn’t happy with that, but it seemed he had no choice and he directed Sean to take him to a shop. He was even less happy with the clothing and shoes he was able to purchase, but he supposed they fit as well as the garments he’d taken from MacGregor.
Deciding there had to be skilled tailors still in the world and shoemakers, for that matter, who could produce garments and footwear specifically to his measurements, he purchased only enough for his immediate needs and returned to the carriage Sean referred to as a truck.
Once they’d left the congestion of the town behind, he had Sean pull over and stop the carriage.
"Ye’ll need ta teach me how to drive the carriage."
Shrugging, Sean got out and moved to the passenger side of the carriage. Nigel switched places and, once he’d settled in the seat, studied the workings for several moments, remembering the things that Sean had done to start the thing.
The moment he turned the key, the carriage growled, lurched forward and died.
"Ye have ta push the clutch all the way in."
"Clutch?"
"Tha’ pedal in the middle."
Nodding, Nigel pushed the pedal as far down as it would go and tried again. This time the carriage hopped forward for several feet before it again died.
"Ye have ta ease out on the clutch and ease down on the gas pedal at the same time. Too much petrol and the engine floods out. Too little an’ it chokes."
Nigel was feeling rather more like choking Sean at this point than the carriage. He was tempted to simply give up on it, but he had need of transportation. Grinding his teeth, he tried again and again. Finally, just as he was considering climbing out of the carriage and taking a limb to it, he managed to get the carriage going.
"Now, when ye hear the engine start ta whine a bit, shift ta the next gear."
It made a horrible grinding noise as he tried to comply.
"The clut
ch. Push it, then let out again and push down on the gas."
He discovered it was a lot harder to keep the carriage on the road and shift gears than it had appeared when Sean had done it. While he was focused on shifting the stick into the correct place, the carriage veered off the side of the road. Righting it, fighting the edge of panic that seemed determined to grip him, he focused on keeping the speeding carriage centered on the roadway.
"You’re supposed ta stay ta the left. Otherwise, ye’ll hit the next car ye meet."
The carriage was traveling at such speed by now, Nigel didn’t even dare take his eyes from the roadway long enough to glare at his ‘teacher’. Instead, he gripped the steering wheel in white knuckled fists and concentrated on keeping the thing where it was supposed to be on the pavement.
"Shift to third now."
They met an oncoming carriage as Nigel wandered across the road while attempting third. The blare of its horn alerted Nigel to imminent disaster and he looked up, shouting. "Whoa! Whoa!"
"The brake man! It’s na’ gonna help ta yell whoa at the bleedin’ thing!"
Nigel stomped down on the brake, jerking the wheel at the same time. They missed the oncoming carriage, but ended up in the ditch on the side of the road.
Shaken, Nigel decided he’d had enough practice with the new carriage for one day.
Chapter Eleven
A week of backbreaking, mind numbing cleaning passed before Emily finally worked her way through the lower floor of the castle and turned her attention to the rooms on the upper floor once more. It was just as well, Emily thought wryly, that she hadn’t grown up in a cushy sort of life. She was exhausted and she was used to working hard. If she hadn’t been, she would’ve either had to give up or she’d have dropped from exhaustion long since.
Even with modern cleaning tools and supplies, and the aid of a couple of women from the town nearby, it was hard work. She couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to have to clean the place in the old days when all the water had to be drawn from a well and lugged into the castle with buckets.
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