The Harry Ferguson Chronicles Box Set

by William David Ellis

  The old man, silently listening to the ancient inner voice that had guided him sporadically throughout his life, replied, “Oh,” out loud.

  Sarah looked at him and said, “He still talks to you, doesn’t he? I am starting to remember more and more, and I remember the sword you called Speaker. It bonded with you, didn’t it? Together you were able to defeat the dragon. He is still with you, isn’t he?”

  The old man gave Sarah a sideways glance and laughed quietly. “Yes, he is, and we were just discussing you. I asked him which one of you, my six-year-old munchkin, or ah, well…”

  “The ancient princess you grew to love?” Sarah interjected sadly.

  “Yeah, I guess…”

  She smiled back at him, one eyebrow raised in an expression he had missed for ages. “No guess to it, peasant boy!” And then her expression softened, and she asked, “What did Speaker say?”

  “Apparently, he is well read in current psychology,” the old man started but was interrupted.

  “Of course, I have read everything you do and retain all of it, whereas you do not. I know everything you know and more.”

  “He is also as rude and as interrupting as ever,” the old man continued.

  “Must be hard having two voices in your head,” Sarah mused.

  “Are you experiencing anything similar? The speaker seems to think, both… of what…? Of you? I guess the six-year-old Sarah and the ancient princess.”

  “Watch it, buddy!” Sarah growled.

  “Huh?”

  “Are men always this clueless?” Sarah’s six-year-old voice asked. She blinked and shook her head, and the mature princess responded, “Always, my dear, and as our beloved Hank carelessly mentioned, I am ancient, so I would know.”

  Four personalities located in two bodies began laughing as the old truck continued rolling down the highway.

  After a few moments the old man grumbled, “Okay, this is not working. It is time to get serious.”

  A six-year-old face with twinkling ancient eyes looked back at him and calmly responded, “I am working. Now what did the speaker think we ought to do?”

  “I can take it from here,” the spirit of the old sword answered inside the old man’s weary brain.

  And just how the hell are you going to do that without involving me? the cranky old man protested.

  “I talk, you translate, and no worries about my hearing the princess. It’s as simple as that,” the speaker continued.

  The old man turned toward the squirming six-year-old and griped, “Speaker wants to answer you directly through me, with me translating.” Then the old man laughed. “So now, the wheels have turned. I get to interrupt him. This should be fun!”

  The old man heard a voice in his head grunt, “Humph!” and then begin. “Tell her the trap idea is a good one, and that a diversion would also be a good idea.”

  The old man obeyed slowly, “Speaker says traps and diversions are going to be needed.”

  His six-year-old passenger looked back at him. “What does diversion mean?”

  The old man sighed. This was going to be a very long conversation. He hoped the fire marshal was having better luck at figuring things out.

  ***

  The fire marshal hesitated before getting out of his truck. Firefighters and paramedics were hovering around filing reports and waiting for him to investigate so they could conclude their grizzly work. He stared at the accident scene, noticed smoke still curled up from it, and sighed. He hated combing through the still-warm ash of broken lives, especially when he knew the people the bodies used to be, and especially when one was a child, a playmate of his own granddaughter… but somebody had to do it. He was trained and had years of experience. Most of the time he could tell as much in five minutes as a forensic specialist could in a two-hour autopsy. It was called experience. Combining the context of the accident specifics, he could usually be fairly accurate. His observation didn’t carry the weight of a specialized autopsy report, but it usually nailed the important parts. Today he hesitated, then climbed out of the truck, put on his protective gear, and walked over to the crash site.

  Donning his breathing apparatus and gloves, the fire marshal could still smell the stench of the burned corpses through the filters. He steeled himself for the investigation. Suffering and pain were so powerful. People without good shields did not become first responders.

  The fire marshal had powerful shields, some natural, some cultivated. After the initial shock of horror, they slipped into place. His eyes hardened, and his observational skills heightened. The first thing he noted was the position of the smaller body. Neither sex nor age could be determined due to the extensive burns, but the fire marshal did notice how the body was strapped into the car. The seat belt had jammed, so it wouldn’t give any slack. He cut the belt, freeing the small body, and then placed one hand under it and the other behind the head and neck, moving it for a better view. He noted that the chest cavity, although burned nearly through, revealed broken bones and a major gash; not a tear from an explosion, but a long thin cut that even though partially burned, clearly had not been caused by the accident. His verdict? The smaller individual was dead before the car crashed.

  After a few more minutes of close inspection, the fire marshal shifted his investigation to the larger body. He moved over to the other side of the car, pried the door open, and began his observation. This body was obviously female. Her face was burned, making immediate identification impossible, but what was obvious was that the head had been hammered from the side, not from a collision with anything in the front. His conclusion was the same. This victim was also dead before the car collided with the tree.

  The question was how the vehicle hit the tree and exploded if both occupants were dead before it crashed. Most investigators would immediately presume it was impossible, regardless of what the bodies seemed to indicate. Dead bodies don’t drive cars; therefore, they would rule that the driver must have been alive before the accident. No other possibility would seem to exist.

  Kenneth Linscomb, however, was not a normal investigator, at least not in this situation, knowing what he already knew. He was about to back carefully out of the vehicle when he glanced over at the smaller body. From this angle he noticed something he had not seen before. He walked back around to the passenger side of the car and bent down low. This time, with gloved hands, he gently pried open the slit that ran the length of the body’s chest cavity. His eyes widened and he gasped! The body’s heart was missing! He shook his head and looked again, but it was clear. The arteries and muscles that would normally have held the small heart had been severed with almost surgical precision. Damn! What is going on?

  A fireman heard his gasp and moved in close to help. “You okay, Kenneth? Everything all right?”

  The old fire marshal caught his breath, his shields slipped back into place, and he yelled back, “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just hard when it’s a kid, and especially when you knew him.” With that, he quickly covered the chest with remnants of the clothing and thought, I need to talk to Hank.

  Chapter Twelve

  After a conversation shortened by the limits of the drive to her grandmother’s house, Hank pulled into the driveway and said, “Now as far as anyone else knows, there are only two people in this truck. So, no one forget that, and pipe up out of turn, and really confuse things. Okay?”

  The speaker responded, “Don’t you think you’re stating the obvious?”

  The princess, looking though a six-year-old face, nodded, then Sarah blinked, shook her head, and said, “I really like her.”

  Hank grimaced, nodded, and thought, This can’t be real. I am an inmate of an asylum living out my delusions. I have a voice in my head that is a thousand-year-old sword and a six-year-old at my feet who thinks she is a medieval princess. Help me!

  Sarah looked up at him, smiled a snaggle-toothed smile, and took his hand. “Come on! Grandma is cooking, and I am hungry!”

  The old man looked back at
her and heard, “Well, if you are insane, at least you’re in good company.” Then silence.

  The old man was still shaking his head when they walked through the front door.

  “Good to see you again, Hank,” Sarah’s grandma said as she hugged Sarah and shook hands with the old man.

  “Good to see you too, Grace.”

  “Well, come on in, wash up, and get ready to eat. I didn’t have time to throw together a really big meal, but most people like bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches, so I hope you do as well.”

  Hank looked back at Grace and winced.

  She caught the expression and stopped. “What?”

  “Well, I’m allergic to tomatoes, and pork gives me migraines.”

  Grace paused and looked back at him, her eyes narrowing. She tilted her head as she studied him. Hank withered before her glare. His snort gave his secret away, and this exposure was complete when Sarah chimed in, “Grandma Grace, he is teasing. He loves tomatoes and used to raise pigs!”

  They both turned to look at Sarah, whose princess-personality quickly retreated, leaving the six-year-old façade to face their stares. “What? What did I say?”

  The old man recovered, laughing, and confessed, “She’s right, Grace. I’m only teasing. I love BLT sandwiches and have it on good authority that you could sling mud in a pie plate, and it would come out tasting wonderful. So, forgive me. I am a terrible tease.”

  Grandma Grace looked at him with an I-thought-so smirk across her face and said, “Oh, that’s fine, Hank. It’s not real bacon anyway. It’s made out of soymeal,” and walked off to fix the sandwiches.

  Hank looked back at her, saw her shoulders shaking, and knew she got him! He glanced toward Sarah, who just shrugged as if to say, “Hey, my grandma is tough!”

  Lunch was filled with pleasant conversation, and the old man was grateful for a moment of respite from the worries of dragons and ancient princesses. He was about to leave when the fire marshal got home and the old man realized his reprieve had been short.

  “Glad you’re still here, Hank. Please tell me you ate all the bacon.”

  “Yep, sure did. There was one last piece, but when I realized it wasn’t enough for a sandwich, I decided to go ahead and eat it to save you the misery of having only one piece left.”

  “Don’t let him mess with you, Kenneth. I knew you were going to be late, so the moment I heard your truck enter the drive, I threw a couple more pieces on. Yours will be the freshest and hottest of anybody’s.”

  The fire marshal paled. He swallowed hard and looked at his wife. “I just got back from a fire, burn victims. I would rather not have any bacon. It’s just, you know, honey.”

  Grace rolled her eyes and her hand covered her mouth as shock threw a dark veil across her face. “Oh gosh, yes! I am so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I knew better. I just forgot.”

  The old man looked at Kenneth, eyes widening. “Oh my! I didn’t know. I am so sorry!”

  “It’s fine. I am used to it. After a few days, the smell gets out of my nose, and more importantly, out of my head, and I get back to normal, but right now, not so much.”

  About that time Sarah walked in the room, looked at the faces of her guardians, and said, “But dragon meat smells really good, and I will be glad when you guys have some ready for a meal!”

  All three of the adults in the room stared at the little girl. A heavy silence held for an awkward moment. Grandma Grace recovered first. “Well, we will do our best, dear. Now why don’t you get ready for your nap while your grandpa, Mr. Hank, and I have an adult talk?”

  “Grandma, I know you love me and mean well, but if it’s okay with you and Grandpa, and of course Mr. Hank, I think being here listening to you figure out how to defeat the evil that has come into our town will be a lot more comforting than me laying in my bed staring at the ceiling, listening to my fears.”

  Grace stepped back, stunned by Sarah’s retort, but was bailed out by her husband, “You may be right, Sarah, so why don’t you come sit in my lap while we talk about this. If there is something you don’t understand, then you ask. Okay?”

  “Yes, sir, and if I get sleepy, I’ll just nap right here with you holding me.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” the old man responded to the fire marshal.

  Grandma Grace had stepped out of the room to regain her composure. Her granddaughter’s very adult-like voice, countenance, and even word choice had stunned her. When she came back in, she carried hot cups of Earl Grey tea on a tray. Once everyone was served, she sat down, looked around, and said, “Bring me up to speed. I have a feeling I have missed some important details of what’s going on.”

  The fire marshal looked at his wife and said, “I’m trying to remember what you know and what you don’t. Let me start with the most recent. Thomas and his mother were found dead in a burning car off Highway 279 a few hours ago. I just came from investigating it, and this hasn’t been officially announced yet, so…”

  Grace shifted in her chair, instinctively becoming more official, and nodded. She had been married to the fire marshal for close to forty years, knew the protocols, how he would lay them aside to talk to her, and how they would both put them back in place as soon as the conversation was over.

  The fire marshal continued, “After investigating the accident, I am convinced both Thomas and his mother were dead before the car exploded.”

  “Whoa!” Hank cried.

  Grandma Grace closed her eyes and whispered a sad prayer.

  “I was expecting it, but even so, it’s hard to grasp,” the old man replied softly.

  “What is going on around here? This is crazy!” Grace cried. “He was just a little boy.” Then remembering Sarah, she asked, looking at both men seated in front of her, “Are you sure she needs to be hearing this?”

  “Sarah knew it before we did,” the old man responded. “She even knew before it happened, and I’m pretty sure she knows who did it. The only surprise to me is that Thomas’s mother was also killed. I wasn’t expecting that.”

  Sarah, whose face had hardened as much as a six-year-old’s could, calmly addressed her grandmother, “Thomas saw an angel, Grandma. He left the room before the bad people could hurt him and went to Heaven with the angel. Then the angel surprised the bad people by letting the dragon out of its prison. He let the dragon eat those people; then the dragon hid inside Thomas’s grandpa. It’s a smart dragon, but my other Sarah knows him, and she and Mr. Hank are going to fight him, just like they used to. Aren’t you, Mr. Hank?”

  Grandma Grace shuddered at her granddaughter’s words. Confusion spilled across her features as she turned to the old man and waited. The announcement had gotten the fire marshal’s attention as well. All three of them looked at the old man, waiting for his response.

  The old man’s neck tightened and his head drew back stiffly. The truth was he didn’t know how to reply. He had just recently come across the whole truth himself. As he paused, trying to get his words right, the sword that lived inside him whispered to him, “Ask them where they want you to start. Don’t assume they know enough to ask the right questions. Start with theirs. Be honest, but don’t lay all your cards out.”

  “I don’t know everything, but I may be able to help you some. What is it you want to know?”

  Grace blurted out, “Everything! I want to know why my six-year-old granddaughter talks like an adult one minute and a six-year-old the next. I want to know how she could possibly know Thomas was going to die, and about angels, and why she spoke Latvian in her nightmares, and how she knows you. Who are you?” As Grace spoke she grew louder and more frustrated, almost shouting by the end.

  Sarah hopped out of her grandpa’s lap and walked over to her grandma, looked her in the eyes, and said, “He is okay, Grandma. He really is. He saved me a long time ago, and I know he would lay his life down for me because he did it before. Please trust Mr. Hank. He is a good man.” Sarah had taken her grandmother’s hands in her own, then leaned in and hug
ged her. “Trust him, Grandma. It’s okay,” she whispered as she held her tight.

  The fire marshal also walked over to his wife and granddaughter and held them both in his long arms. After a moment they broke and all looked back at the old man expectantly.

  “Sarah and I did not always live in this time,” Hank began. “We have, as she said, fought this evil manifestation before… centuries ago.”

  Grace’s mouth fell open and Grandpa Kenneth’s eyes widened.

  “It’s true. It really is.” The old man nodded. “The story I have been telling the children in the library is not a fairy tale. The timing is ironic, however. I had no idea when my daughter asked me to help her with summer story time that my story would renew itself. Nor did I know that Sarah even existed, or that the dragon would come back to torment us.

  “But back to your questions. First, who am I? I am Harry. After battling the dragon, I fell, broken and burned, into darkness. I still don’t understand how I got here. The last thing I remember was fighting the dragon that had abducted Sarah from her father’s kingdom. I thought I had killed it, but then I passed out from my wounds. When I woke up in your time, a continent away from my home, I was alone. It took me years to discover when and where I came from. What I could recall from my past seemed more like fanciful old stories than memories. I was as shocked as you were to discover that my Princess Sarah was manifesting in your little Sarah. I was even more shocked to realize that the dragon was alive and had followed us through time.”

  Grace’s face hardened. “I want my Sarah back! Whatever spirit is trying to use her to relive its life, you can’t have her!” She turned to stare adamantly back at the six-year-old in front of her.

  Tears began to flow freely down Sarah’s face. She looked back at her grandfather, who was also stunned, and then at Hank, who opened his arms. She ran to him, shaking. The old man continued, “It’s not like that, Grace. Your Sarah is my Sarah. Of that, I am sure. They’re not two spirits fighting over one body. Kenneth, you told me you found Sarah after a fire, a little girl wrapped in old cloth. Isn’t that correct?”