ALEC: An Action & Adventure Fantasy Novel (Alexander Trilogy)

by Stan I. S. Law

  ***

  “Do you think he’s over it, darling?” Alice asked. Her voice did not exude excessive confidence. She needed reassurance.

  With spring offering but a smidgen of sunshine, she liked the cabin her husband had rented on Singer Island. It would be a nice diversion. They’d arrived at noon. She was just learning to love her painting, but as yet, she loved sunshine more. Alex Baldwin M.Sc., P.Eng., not to mention a member of the Ordre des Ingénieurs du Québec and half a dozen other affiliations, having spent some weeks up north consulting an a new hydro project, deserved a break. They wanted something different than yet another hotel. This was a brand new development, with prices cut to attract new customers. It consisted of a largish living room with a loft upstairs, just for an oversized bed.

  Alice was half-convinced that the computer her husband had given their son cured him, the son, not the husband, of all the chimerical shebang. Yet, for some reason, she wasn’t totally convinced. And after almost a month of Alec acting like a distraught juvenile delinquent, these last few days he turned nice again. Nice, and sort of dreamy?

  “What did Doctor Shmousenhopper say?” his voice emerged from the innards of a substitute armchair. He was looking forward the sunshine, but he was already missing his favorite armchair.

  He meant Dr. Schmidthousen. Before Mr. Baldwin went away on business last week, she’d agreed that if all else failed she’d see the doctor again. Actually she’d never had any intention of seeing him again, nor any other quack but, at the time, she’d given in to her husband, to avoid an argument. Alex Senior liked to insist, as though she was part of the team he commanded at the office. He was used to giving order. She hated that.

  “I decided not to see him,” she confessed.

  Alex looked up over the top of his newspaper.

  “Why?” His voice was quite relaxed.

  “Because he’s a sex-maniac.”

  “Fridlehooper? I thought you told me he had rabbit’s teeth.”

  “That was Alec,” she smiled. “He’d said that. Alec thought of taking some carrots with him, if we ever retuned to his office.”

  “So if there was no need to go, why do you ask me?”

  Why must men be so damnably logical? It wasn’t a question of thinking. It was a question of how she felt.

  “Because Alec is so nice, lately,” she replied, her voice trailing to a whisper.

  “I see,” Alex replied, his face perfectly straight. Nevertheless, he lifted up his newspaper to hide the smile he couldn’t quite contain. There was little he could add to the conversation.

  “Look at page seventeen, that’s right, in the bottom right corner…”

  Alex flipped the unwieldy pages of the Montreal Gazette he’d brought with him. He’d missed it for a whole week. Then, even as she watched him, his eyes grew larger.

  “Well, I never!”

  “You did lots of time, darling, but only to your own wife,” she murmured.

  “What?” he still looked amazed.

  The article claimed that Dr. Schmidthousen has been cleared of any charges of abusing his patients. He was, however, sentenced to 160 hours of community service, 40 hours for each of the four mothers whom he’d seduced in his office under the pretext of psychotherapy. He claimed that the ladies had been willing participators in the curative measures he’d administered. Apparently, it was at least partially true—hence the light sentence.

  “Son of a gun…” Alex’s tone was a mixture of admiration and incredulity. “Four of them!”

  “That’s not funny,” Alicia’s voice changed it timbre.

  “It would be if you… never mind. You’re quite right, dear. Shall we go upstairs?

  “You’ve only just come down.” She was in no mood when her husband was in an artificially invoked mood. “You want to play doctors, don’t you?” By now her voice has softened. “Finish the Gazette. You might find other games to play…”

  She wondered why did such cases and that of Dr. Schmidthousen have the opposite effect on men to those they had on her. Yet, an hour later she’d changed her mind.

  “Same time tomorrow, Miss Baldwin?” her husband asked.

  “Do you think we ought to wait that long, doctor?”

  The funny thing was that all this transpired only because she’d glanced at the paper Alex had brought from Montreal. She looked at it early in the morning, before her husband came down for breakfast. Now, that they were back in the sitting room downstairs, she regarded him with grateful affection. He was taking a well-deserved rest after a four-day visit to a site over the frozen tundra up north, let alone from performing his medical duties upstairs. She wondered why was it that we invariably accord members of the medical profession with their professional titles, while her husband, who she felt sure was a much better engineer than they were ‘healers’, was never shown equal respect. God knows, he deserved it.

  No matter, when the building collapses on their heads they might think about it, she mused.

  Alex picked up his paper again.

  “So you’ve decided to forego another visit to the rabbit?” he asked innocently.

  ***

  There was no Geography today, but history was almost as good. It was History that gave Alec the chance to travel not only to different places, but also to different times. He could do that also with Geography, but History was better. He learned, relaxed, and waited for what might happen. Before, he usually succeeded in taking a trip about once a week, and the trips were followed by at least three nights of vivid dreams. They were almost identical, only sometimes he did not have such a good recall of the dream. Sometimes, he could recount them minute-by-minute. Only there was a different kind of passage of time in his dreams. In an hourly daydream he could go all the way to the North Pole and get back in time for supper.

  It was funny how it worked.

  He smiled to himself. He remembered when he told Miss Brunt some things about Egypt that he saw on one of his travels, which Miss Brunt had never told them about in the classroom. She was taken aback and grilled him how he knew such things. She only let him be when he told her that he read about it on the Internet. This was the first and only time he ever lied in school. From that moment on he never, never volunteered any information. He answered questions when asked, and stuck to the subject he was asked about.

  The classes dragged on and on and on. Alec had just one thing on his mind. The Princess. She was not a thing, obviously, but he was completely preoccupied with all things concerning her. Would she come back tonight? Ever?

  “Yes!” he said half-aloud and quickly cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he half-whispered.

  He decided to pay more attention. During the afternoon he had Math and Geometry. To him they were both one, really. It all had to do with logical thinking. He was really quite good at that. But his heart wasn’t in it. He still preferred Geography and History. He wondered why, now that he hadn’t traveled for a month, Math did seem more interesting.

  Finally school was over for the day. He was prepared to run home practically all the way. And then he heard a vague giggle. For the second time today, he stopped dead.

  “Sandra?”

  Nothing. No more giggle, not a word. “Are you there?” He tried again. Where was ‘there’, anyway. That’s right, where was there?

  He slowed his pace. Maybe she wanted to see the school. He walked to the parapet and sat down. It was an older building, put up probably some 150 years ago. All stone, smoother higher up and rough at ground level. The original side-hung wooden-frame windows had all been replaced with aluminum, for easier maintenance. Or so he supposed. He wondered how he knew those things. The eaves overhung about two to three feet, with copper gutter and down-pipes, all green from the pollution. Probably acid rain, he thought. And then he wondered again: “How do I know these things?” He’d never read up on the school buildings, never even read an introductory pamphlet. His parents did that. It was of absolutely no interest to him. Yet now...?


  He walked around the building discovering details that had never before entered his awareness. There was a carved stone portal over the heavy, ornately carved main doors. Almost like a castle he’d once visited...

  The boys and girls didn’t use these doors, except on festive occasions. When some ceremonies were held with the parents present, the heavy doors were opened directly onto an impressive entrance hall. The Headmaster would stand there and shake hands with the visitors. The parents, of course, not the pupils. The boys and girls never touched the Headmaster. Not until they finished school and got their certificate. Alec would shake the Headmaster’s hand next year.

  There were many other details Alec noticed until he felt tired and slowly walked home. Funny how he’d completely forgotten about Sandra. The school building was really interesting, he thought. It was almost like traveling...

  Almost.

  When he got home, he went to the fridge. His mother had left him exactly twelve of them. One for each night of their holidays. He wondered why he’d never had any brothers or sisters. With two or three of them, there wouldn’t be enough room in the refrigerator, and his parents would never be able to go on a holiday. That was probably the reason. Of course, they could buy a bigger fridge. But then the kitchen would be too small. He didn’t really feel like another TV dinner.

  He switched on his computer instead and clicked to open the Internet. He looked up some buildings from about two centuries ago. They did look fairly nice though also rather somber. He wondered if people were also somber in those days. The older buildings looked even more interesting. He read about two of them, then quit the Internet and stretched out on the settee. A minute later he woke up in the darkest, scariest, dampest dungeon he could imagine. Only he wasn’t imagining it. He really was there. Right in it.

  4

  The Castle

  Sitting on the beach and watching the gentle easterlies fill the sails of the idle-rich was fun, but not as much fun as being aboard a yacht.

  “I wonder what it would be like to be filthy rich…” Alice mused, sipping her second Bloody Mary just to kill boredom. She had no idea what sailing was like, but Alec would show her. He was a sailor once.

  It was only the beginning of the afternoon, but it must have been 5.00 p.m. somewhere. After the problem they had with her husband’s aunt, Alicia had promised her husband not to touch a drop before five. On the other hand he must have long forgotten. His aunt had died in England from cirrhosis of the liver some five years ago. Apparently women have smaller tolerance for alcohol—or so he’d said at the time.

  Alicia wasn’t used to doing nothings for hours on end. With nothing to clean, nothing to cook, no shopping to do, she seemed lost. The Baldwins were, what is known as, comfortably off, but hardly rich. They never really needed money for its own sake. Alec liked his job, and lately Alice fell in love with painting; together they enjoyed walks in the Mount Royal, good friends, and an occasional game of Bridge with his business associates.

  “I should have taken you to the Virgin Islands. There are all sorts of people looking for crews out there”, Alec said, pointing towards the east with his chin.

  There was a magnificent schooner seemingly frozen in space silhouetted against the blue horizon. Then he snapped his fingers for another Bloody Mary. Alec Senior enjoyed a good capacity for all things that pretended not to be alcoholic.

  For a while they both closed their eyes.

  It was hot, really hot, but coming from Canada, it just couldn’t be too hot. After our bloody winters we need not only Bloody Marys but also sun, he mused. Lots of sun. And a gentle breeze to make it tolerable, if necessary.

  “For my old bones… just for my old bones,” he murmured.

  “What, dear?” Alicia asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “I shouldn’t have done it,” Alicia said, interrupting his meandering thoughts.

  “Of course you should have…” Alec had no idea what his wife was referring to, but preferred to play it safe and be affirmative.

  “No, I shouldn’t have,” she insisted.

  “What, dear?” He was treading on dangerous ground. For all he knew, he may have been supposed to know what she was talking about.

  “The story I read for him. I told you about it,” she said, taking a deep swig of the red liquid through a long straw. “About the princess.”

  Alec cringed. He knew he was guilty.

  “I guess you are right, dear…” he tried agreement for size.

  “You have no idea what I am talking about, do you darling?”

  The word ‘darling’ was a good sign. He might get away with it. Just then the pool-boy brought his next Bloody Mary. He signed the chit and gave Alicia his most disarming smile. It seemed to have worked.

  “To encourage Alec to read more books, I began reading aloud for him. It was a charming story about a Princess. I quite enjoyed it, but then I thought that he might use it as a sprig-board for his own musings.”

  “Cheers!” said Alex, raising his glass.

  Alec took a sip. The drink smelled good. Almost too good. He suspected they used moonshine rum instead of vodka. Still, it also tasted good.

  Alicia shrugged, smiled, and closed her eyes again. They said one shouldn’t read in the sunshine, by the time they got to the pool, all the umbrellas were already taken. Anyway, they came here for the sun; she could read at home. And her husband was too tired, even to read. He deserved this short break in the routine.

  ***

  Alec had absolutely no desire to travel to the murky innards of a medieval stone castle. He really wanted to meet Sandra again, rather than resume his travels. And if he had to travel, well, there was plenty to see of a stone castle without having to end up in a dungeon. And then his heart almost stopped!

  He was sitting on a stone bench, about a chair’s height. Around his wrists and ankles he saw metal rings with chains leading to great rings anchored to the wall behind him. The wall was just close enough to lean against if he lifted his legs off the floor. The room was about eight by twelve feet, no more than six feet high, with a slot of a window just below the ceiling. There was no way anyone could escape through that slot, even if he could free himself from these chains.

  “What on earth am I doing here?” he wondered, half aloud. “What on earth am I doing here?” he repeated, listening to his own voice. He imagined he’d heard a slight echo.

  The walls remained absolutely silent. There was no sound of any nature anywhere. He felt, and probably was, completely alone.

  For a moment he panicked. “I’m going to starve to death.” Then he calmed himself, remembering that this was only one of his trips—unpleasant, but only one of his trips. “But why the dungeon?”

  There were footsteps behind the wall directly in front of him. In the darkness, he thought he saw a door in the wall. If you could call it a door. It was little more than five feet high. A door for...

  A door for a fairly short thirteen-year-old boy.

  The door didn’t open, but a slot at its foot swung into the cell and a plate was pushed in. Someone pushed it along the floor with a stick until it was within Alec’s reach. The chain on his left wrist was longer than the one on his right. Alec bent down to retrieve the plate. There was an odd-looking sandwich on it. It was some kind of meat on a soggy piece of crust with another piece of crust lying on the edge of the metal plate. Lord Sandwich obviously hadn’t been born yet.

  “Supper?” he wondered.

  And then he heard a quiet sob. He would have paid more attention if he hadn’t been so hungry. He put down the ‘sandwich’ in short order and looked around for something to drink. At this very moment, the hatch in the door swung towards him again and a metal jug was pushed along the floor.

  “Room service…” he remembered his father saying last winter in a Florida motel.

  Room service it was, only by now his eyes had adjusted to the murk of the dungeon and he saw that the water didn’t look that clean. There was an easy way out. What
you can’t see can’t hurt you, he mused, closed his eyes and drank avidly. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, his spirits improved somewhat. Just then he heard it again. The sobbing. This time not just one catch of breath but a series. Someone was crying. Close. Very close.

  Even as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer. The Princess needed his help. His Princess. His Sandra. This would make up for his rudeness last night. But he was cast in irons, hand and foot. There was a heavy wooden door straight ahead, but he was sure it was locked. And his Sandra needed help. Alec was torn between the desire to break the chains with his meager strength or join Sandra in her sobbing.

  He did neither.

  For a moment he sat to consider his situation. He relaxed as best he could and closed his eyes. The idea came to him with vivid clarity. He remembered how he got here. How he got anywhere on his travels.

  He closed his eyes and imagined that his irons were falling off. He expected the clang of metal... Alas, nothing happened. Nothing except for another plaintive sob. He looked at his arms in desperation. There was a peculiar sheen on his arms and legs. As if he were sprayed with just a little silver dust. Just a little. Very slowly he pulled his hand against the metal bracelet. Even before anything happened, a smile brightened his face. The bracelet had been made for adults, not for thirteen-year-old, rather small, boys. His left hand slid quite easily through the irons, as did his other hand. The legs were a bit more difficult, but the sound of quiet weeping from nearby gave him the fortitude to bear a little pain. Well, quite a lot of pain, but he was free—except for the heavy door reinforced with iron bars, and the unknowns of a strange castle. Not to mention the unknown whereabouts of his Princess.

  “Sandra... Sandra... where are you?” He listened for an answer. None came.