The Spear (Major Quatermain Book 1)

by J. R. Rain

  I patted the duffel bag and felt the comforting feeling of wood and iron there. Inside the duffel bag, along with a clean uniform and civilian clothing, was my old Lee-Enfield No. 4. If there was one verifiable quality I’d inherited from my famous ancestor, it was my shooting ability. Since it was obvious that I would soon be heading for trouble, I decided to bring the weapon with me. My old Enfield No. 2 was in the bag as well, as the ancient service revolver would be easier to carry around than the rifle, although not as accurate by a long shot. Literally.

  When the train arrived, I was the only person to get on at Blackwater. I took a seat and settled in, and soon fell fast asleep to the gentle rocking motion and the rhythmic squeaking of the wheels. The loud blasts from the horn did little to rouse me. A good soldier can sleep anywhere.

  ***

  A light drizzle had started when the train passed through Reading.

  Then, as I stepped out onto the platform of Oxford station, the drizzle became a downpour, lashing my face and threatening to drench my person. I ran for shelter in the station hall, where I pulled my trench coat from the duffel. Battened down as well as I could hope, I exited the station into Oxford.

  The cobbled streets were deserted, which suited me well. I preferred some anonymity and debated removing my cap, but instead, decided to pull it down over my eyes. I traveled east toward the river, crossing it on Park End Street before turning right toward St Ebbe’s Church. Just before the church, I ventured down Pembroke Street and was soon behind the college that had been the home of the recently missing Dr. Julius Byrd.

  What I had hoped to accomplish that night, I wasn’t entirely sure. I wasn’t against breaking and entering, and I wasn’t against going through the professor’s belongings in his office, should I find an opening into the college. There was, after all, a bit of scoundrel in me. Had I inherited that from my great-grandfather, as well? I didn’t know, but I certainly wasn’t above doing what needed to be done to find answers. Especially if said answers led me to the...

  The Führer? The Spear of Destiny? Both were beyond comprehension, yet there I was, in the dead of night, looking into the disappearance of a professor who knew more about the Holy Lance than anyone. Or so said Painter and Godfrey.

  The doors of the college were locked tightly, as well they should be in the dead of night. I circumnavigated the building, but found no point of entry, although there did appear to be a window open on the third floor. I could climb with the best of them, but decided against it on that soggy night.

  I slipped back into the shadows, lest I attract the attention of the local constable, and headed toward Christ Church Cathedral, following a maze of alleys and lanes of the university district of Oxford, a maze I could have followed in my sleep. I soon reached my alma mater, Magdalen College, where I prayed like crazy someone was there to let me in to escape the inclement weather and cursing myself, again, for taking on such an assignment, one that would surely not end well for me. How many men had gone after Hitler? How many had failed?

  Not Hitler, I reminded myself. No, the Holy Lance.

  Even worse, a relic that had, no doubt, brought ruin to many a man, and perhaps many a nation.

  That was, if the stories were true.

  Fortunately, the front doors of Magdalen College were still open, as they often were late into the night, and I crossed the familiar threshold. Despite that this was my first visit since the war had passed, the hall still felt like home, as if I’d only been gone a few months, and not a decade, or separated by a great war. My wet George boots squeaked noisily with every step on the flagstones.

  I walked up a flight of stairs and past the offices of some fellows of the college, leaving a trail of water on the floor. The offices were dark, but light seeped through the gap beneath one door. I knocked lightly, which inspired scuffling from inside the office and a rustling of papers. Soon, the sound of heels on carpet approached, stepping onto wooden floorboards right before the door opened.

  A young woman in her mid-twenties stood before me, her long brown hair drawn back into a loose bun with several pencils sticking out.

  “Yes?” The woman frowned, and the dark rings below her eyes spoke to hours of laboring over something important.

  I snatched the forage cap from my head, inadvertently spraying drops of rainwater upon her. I tucked the cap under my arm and might have reddened. Pretty women had that effect on me.

  “Ma’am, I was wondering whether the janitor was here.”

  “Why do you need a janitor?” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “I’m hoping there might be one of the guest rooms available. I am a former fellow and would like to stay here until I can fulfill my reason for returning to Oxford.” The janitor, I knew, had keys to all the dorms, especially the empty ones.

  She shook her head. “Well, he’s not here. The college is supposed to be closed already. I happen to be working late and told him I would lock up.”

  I nodded and prepared to take my leave. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, ma’am.” I returned my cap to my head while a small stream of water coursed down the side of my face. I might have allowed my eyes to linger upon her person—her very pretty person—a heartbeat or two longer than what would have been considered decent.

  “You’re dripping on the floor. Maybe you should come and sit down for a moment. At least, it’s dry and warm in here… and you look like you could use a drink.”

  I removed my cap again, nodding gratefully. “Thank you, that’s most kind.” I thanked my mother again for my big blue eyes.

  The woman let me into her office and pointed to a chair. “Have a seat, Mr...?”

  “Quatermain. Major Allan Quatermain.”

  I removed my trench coat and hung it from the stand, placing my cap over it, and moved to the indicated chair. Briefly scanning the office, I noted that the walls were filled with reproductions of famous paintings. A bookcase dominated one side of the room. The woman drew a bottle of whiskey from a drawer of her desk and poured two glasses. She sat on the edge of the desk near me after handing me a glass.

  “Here you go, Major Quatermain.”

  “Thank you, Miss...?”

  “Byrd. Dr. Hannah Byrd, art historian.” She sipped her drink and suddenly frowned. “Quatermain, you said? You’re not related to the famous Allan Quatermain, are you?”

  “I am indeed, Dr. Byrd.” I sipped the whiskey. It was good stuff, with obvious hints of the sea and peat in it. “And would you be related to Dr. Julius Byrd, fellow at Pembroke College?”

  She nodded. “I am.”

  “Then, perhaps we should talk.”

  Chapter Three

  “So, you’re saying my father was abducted by Nazis?” asked Hannah Byrd.

  The statement was almost a snort. She looked, if anything, incredulous.

  I nodded slowly for emphasis. “That’s the information I got.”

  She stood and walked over to a window that faced the green behind Magdalen College. After a moment, I got up and joined her there. Fond memories of playing spontaneous games of cricket came to mind. After a while, our breaths fogging on the glass before us, I said, “I’ve been asked to look for an object that it seems he has particular knowledge of.”

  “You’re not talking about his stubborn obsession with the Holy Lance, are you?” she asked.

  “The very same.”

  She downed another glass of whiskey, and her flushed face told of smoldering anger. I wasn’t sure if she was more angry about her father having gone missing, or of his continued obsession with the Holy Lance. Either way, I had watched her drink half the bottle of scotch. Yet, to her credit, she remained quite lucid. For now.

  Dr. Byrd hadn’t seen her father for more than a week, but that was not unusual. She had heard his colleagues had missed him for several days. There was a rumor about him being kidnapped, as his office was left in a tussled mess, especially since someone had reported hearing something break. But nobody had thought much of it, as
his office was continuously in a tussled mess, and the hot-headed professor was prone to throwing his less-valuable artifacts if he was in a snit about something.

  Hannah had had Sunday lunch with her father two weeks before, and at the time, he’d seemed quite excited about the Holy Lance. Apparently, he’d finally found a clue as to where the relic was located, although he refused to reveal just what this clue entailed, even to his daughter. Hannah found it difficult to share his enthusiasm since he’d obsessed about the lance as far back as she could remember; indeed, his obsession pre-dated even her own birth. Anyway, his clues often led to nothing but heartbreak and she had nearly reminded him of that, but had held her tongue. Why dash the hopes of an old man?

  Unlike her father, she didn’t embrace the Christian faith. Nor did she share his passion for religious symbolism and historic artifacts. But her father had inspired Hannah’s passion for art and its history, leading to her becoming a fellow at Magdalen College, indeed, one of the first women to hold a fellowship.

  I noticed she was getting more excited as she spoke, but I chose not to remark on it. After an hour or so, my clothes had dried and I noticed that my trench coat was no longer dripping. I prepared to take my leave of her charming company.

  “I will not keep you from your work any longer, Dr. Byrd.” I offered a congenial smile as I gathered my coat and forage cap.

  She reached out to stop me, gently placing her hand on my wrist.

  “Don’t be foolish, Major. It’s still pouring rain outside and you’ll not find a place to stay in the city at this hour.”

  “Nevertheless, miss, it’s unfair for me to detain you any longer.”

  I nodded and made for the door again, knowing I was doing the honorable thing, but hating myself for it anyway. How often did one meet such a compelling and beautiful woman?

  “Honestly, Major, you are welcome to use my dorm for the night.” She smiled and waved a hand around the room, in particular, a low couch opposite the desk. “I am finishing up on a paper and will be a while yet. It would also not be the first time I have spent the night here in this office.”

  Surprised by her forwardness, I paused to consider her offer while poised to exit instead.

  “I cannot possibly inconvenience you like that, Dr. Byrd.” I looked into her eyes and suddenly felt quite sure that she was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever laid eyes upon. Then again, I’d had my own share of the whiskey, although not as much as Hannah. Still, I hadn’t often made that reflection, if ever.

  Meanwhile, Hannah shook her head while not removing her gaze from mine.

  “It is not an inconvenience… not at all.”

  “If you’re sure it is no inconvenience, Dr. Byrd, then I accept.”

  She smiled shyly. Or slightly drunkenly. I wasn’t sure which, nor did I care.

  “It is not, and please call me Hannah, Major Quatermain.”

  I returned her smile, held out my hand. “Very well, then, Hannah. And do say Allan.”

  She eyed me from head to toe. “You’re too tall for my office couch.”

  “No matter,” I said.

  “Follow me.” Hannah Byrd led me out of her office and down the stairs. The living quarters for the fellows of Magdalen College were located on the ground floor, facing the green. Hannah’s rooms were at the end of the hall, and when she opened the door and flicked the light switch, I was surprised to find it almost equal to the office upstairs. There were bookshelves and many more paintings.

  “Come.” She led me into the second room, a small bedroom with a double bed, a closet, and an en suite. “I did put on fresh sheets this morning,” she remarked while turning on the light.

  “How fortuitous,” I said gratefully.

  She grinned. “You’ll be all right here?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.” Admittedly, I was quite pleased not to have been forced to sleep on her too-short office couch. Never could I have visualized more inviting accommodations than these. Hell, I’d originally resigned myself to sleep on a wooden bench at the train station. “Thank you very much for this. You are a life saver.”

  “My pleasure.” She brushed past me as she prepared to leave, which brought her face close enough to mine for me to catch the scent of lavender. Then she was gone, and I swallowed. Hard.

  I sat on the bed, eased off my boots and noted that there remained a shallow layer of water in them. I removed my socks, laid them over the heater and took my boots to the en suite, tipping out the water over the wash basin. Then I pulled the boots open as far as I could without taking the laces out and placed them by the heater.

  I made a round past the bookshelves in the other room and found Hannah Byrd was a lover of romantic English literature. The books upstairs had all been about art, history and symbolism, but the books here were all classics: Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters, Wordsworth and Coleridge, volume upon volume of prose and poetry.

  I ran a finger over the spines of some books while unbuttoning my shirt, then, I returned to the bedroom and threw back the bedspread. Stripped down to my drawers, I climbed in under the duvet. The sheets felt soft and I began feeling warm again. Sleep beckoned, and I turned off the light and closed my eyes. Almost immediately, I was asleep.

  I awoke when the door to the living quarters closed and the lock was set. It was done quietly, but it woke me anyway. I opened my eyes and noticed that I had left the bedroom door ajar. Silver light streamed in from the parlor. Hannah’s face appeared briefly in the opening and then withdrew. Then there was some rummaging in the parlor.

  “Are you all right, Dr. Byrd—I mean, Hannah?”

  The door opened further and she appeared now in the doorway.

  “Yes, Major... Allan. I finished my work and locked up. And thought I would sleep on the sofa here instead.” She smiled. “I forgot that I’d taken my blanket down here, and would have had to grab it anyway.”

  I sat up, but then realized I was undressed. I yanked the duvet up to my chest. “If you give me a moment to dress, I will sleep on the sofa. I cannot deny you your own bed.”

  Hannah pursed her lips and entered the bedroom, sitting down next to me. I pulled the duvet closer still. Her smile returned. “I very much appreciate a gentleman, especially a gentleman officer. But we do live in the twentieth century, and these are more modern times.” She kicked off her shoes and lay down on the bed, facing me, supporting her head with her hand. “And I am a modern woman.”

  I was flabbergasted. Hannah Byrd was indeed modern, and she was more forward than any woman I’d ever known. My attraction to her was growing, and as her face approached mine, I envisioned our lips would meet. Then her smile turned mischievous and she got up.

  “I will just put on my nightclothes and then, we can share the bed. I trust nothing untoward will happen, Major Quatermain?”

  Despite my amazement at what had just happened, I laughed. “Not unless you choose to make it happen. As you say, I am a gentleman.”

  I lay back again, my hands behind my head. It was difficult to fathom that the successful daughter of such a conservative professor was as forward and apparently as careless about her reputation as this. To throw cold water on my suddenly alert mind and body, I forced myself to think of her esteemed father. What, exactly, had become of Julius Byrd? There had been a hint of him being taken to Istanbul. I decided to have a look through the man’s papers in the morning. Perhaps Hannah would help me with it, since she would surely want to know the man’s whereabouts.

  Hannah came back in the room, now dressed in a long white nightgown. She unabashedly pulled back the duvet on the other side of the bed and lay down underneath it.

  “Would you mind turning off the light, Allan? I can’t sleep with the light on.”

  Her smile and tone were impish, and I determined not to think long on either one. Thinking of her father did seem to do the trick, for now. I turned off the light and resisted the urge to reach over and lay my hand on Hannah’s side. Instead, I kept my hands on
top of the duvet and closed my eyes again.

  There was a good chance I might not get any sleep at all.

  Chapter Four

  Turned out, I had been more tired than I had anticipated.

  I awoke in the morning as a finger brushed over the stubble on my cheek. I grabbed the hand in a reflex, before realizing where I was and who had touched me. I let go of Hannah’s hand and turned my face to hers. Smiling, there was a hint of amusement in her eyes.

  “Good morning, Major Jumpy.”

  “Good morning, Dr. Byrd.” I wanted to throw back the duvet and get up, but felt self-conscious. “Perhaps you should dress yourself and let me dress as well.”

  Her smile widened. “Honestly, Allan, there’s no need to be so prudish. I have already ruined any semblance of modesty by sleeping in the same bed as you. I doubt it makes any difference.” The smile softened to a grin. “Besides, I can assure you, there is nothing I have not yet seen.”

  Oh?

  She patted the duvet over my stomach. “But I’ll go and avail myself of the facilities if you are feeling self-conscious.”

  She got up and entered the en suite. I fell back into the pillows with a sigh, still feeling self-conscious. I peered under the duvet and hoped the latest cause for my embarrassment would go away. But I doubted it would go away soon, and quickly located the pile that was my discarded uniform and darted for it. As quickly as I could, I pulled on my trousers and my shirt. I had just buttoned my shirt’s top button when Hannah returned from the bathroom. She was shielding her eyes dramatically.

  “Are you decent yet, Major?”

  “Of course, Dr. Byrd,” I said. “I shall retire to the parlor so you can dress.”

  My boots and socks had long since dried, and as I sat down to pull them on, I thought about my strategy for the day. The first stop would be Pembroke College to look through Dr. Byrd’s office and rooms for anything that might yield a clue as to what he might have found out about the Holy Lance. Since the potential kidnappers appeared to have taken the professor from that location, it could offer a valuable clue as to where to search next.