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

by Stan I. S. Law

  “I never go away.”

  “But...”

  “I never go away. Sometimes you lose contact with me. I am always there, or rather here, with you.”

  “I’d never lose contact with...”

  And Alec blushed again. I must really stop this blushing business. It’s embarrassing. He prayed she couldn’t detect these last thoughts.

  For the next little while, even without uttering a single word, Alec was acutely aware of her presence. He was still tired from his ordeal, but he felt contented, relaxed, complete. As if two lost parts of him had found each other and become one. Alec realized that, although he couldn’t read or sense Sandra’s thoughts, he could, in a way, sense her emotions. He sensed her smile, her worry, her concern. Even gratitude. It had nothing to do with the actual words. Yet it was there, unmistakably. It was like playing the piano. There were no words, but the emotions were all there. As plain as could be.

  He also knew, just knew, that she always spoke the truth. He couldn’t imagine her lying. He wondered if she could lie, ever.

  “No.” The same smile.

  “Not even not to hurt someone?” Alec pressed.

  “Not even not to hurt someone.” Quite definitive. Since Alec couldn’t quite figure it out, she continued, “What you hear, when I talk, are things that you really want to hear. In your heart. Not what you were taught by your parents, or in school, or read in books, but what is really at the very depth of your...”

  “I know what you mean.” Alec sensed her meaning. “I know that I can always trust you. Always!” He added again as though defying anyone to contradict him. Then he changed the subject. “Who was Igor? Have you known him long?”

  “I met him before. He has a problem with his size. He thinks that anyone who is half his size is against him.”

  “That’s about half of the world’s population,” Alec quipped.

  “Exactly.” Her tone wasn’t smiling. After a moment she added, “There are some people who think that those larger than they are also against them.”

  “That’s different!” Alec was adamant.

  “Is it?” He sensed her smile again. “Does size really matter that much?”

  Alec did not answer. He remembered the feats he performed in his dreams. Size had not come into it. Not at all. He knew she was right, but it wouldn’t do always to admit that a girl was right.

  “Can’t you help him?” He changed the subject.

  “I do. I always show him that although I’m little he has nothing to fear from me. Not just physically but also in any other way. He never fears big men because he’s bigger than most, so he channels his fear toward the ‘little ones’. But I also never laugh at him. Never ridicule his apparent clumsiness. But he must overcome his opinion of himself by himself. That’s what the dungeons are for, mostly. To help people overcome their fears.”

  “You mean my saving him might help to restore his faith or trust in, ah...”

  “...in people much smaller than himself. He’s already learned to trust individuals. He must still learn to feel comfortable in a crowd.”

  “A crowd of little people?”

  “Next to him, everybody is ‘little people’.”

  There was another moment of silence. It seemed to Alec that we all had things to learn. Regardless of size, or age or anything else. Life was a continuous lesson, or a series of lessons, if one chose to treat them as such. We could learn and move on, or refuse to learn, and, sort of, keep walking in circles. He wondered if all people knew that; if they knew that life was a continuous lesson.

  “Unfortunately, no. There are many who seem to refuse to learn.”

  “What happens to them?” He felt sorry for such people.

  “Their lessons become more and more... persuasive.”

  “You mean they are forced to learn?”

  “No. You can’t teach anyone anything. All learning comes from within yourself.”

  “Then what are schools for?” Alec asked triumphantly.

  “Schools are there to convey to the pupils what the consequences of other people’s thoughts, ideas or deeds in various circumstances are. Whether the pupil accepts the lessons contained therein is up to the pupil. No teacher can force anyone to learn.”

  “She can fail them at the exam?”

  “Not really. It is the pupil who fails the exam. Miss Brunt, or any other teacher, can only affirm this fact by allotting the pupil an appropriate mark.”

  The Princess was right again. Gee, she’s clever! Alec felt incredibly proud that such a clever (and beautiful), and kind, and courageous Princess would choose him to be her knight. He was the luckiest boy in the world.

  “Do other boys have Princesses? I mean know... I mean hear...”

  He felt very embarrassed. He didn’t own the Princess. He did not have her.

  “I know what you mean.” She was kind again. “Yes. All boys will discover, sooner or later, their... other halves. And the girls, too. They will find their Princes.”

  “And adults? My mom and dad?”

  “For them it’s harder. They are set in their ways, and it is harder for them to free themselves from the evidence of their senses. They believe only what they see and touch and smell, and so on.”

  “But I do the same...?”

  “You do the same, but you also accept what you see with your eyes closed. For them it is harder.”

  The Princess seemed to search for the right words.

  “There are some adults,” she resumed, “who still accept the reality of the imaginary world. Mostly they are the artists. They create from what they sense within themselves. They sort of bring it out. From within to without.”

  “I thought artists had models, or painted what they saw.”

  “They do, but only up to a point. A moot point. The object or the person they are looking at acts as an inspiration. They use what they see to focus their attention. Leonardo da Vinci didn’t paint the face he saw. Not even the smile. What he painted was the secret thought, the mystery, the enigma...”

  He thought he understood what Sandra was saying, although he’d never really looked at the Mona Lisa in quite such a deep way. But really, it was not the painting, as such, which had made such an impression on him; it was the smile on the lady’s face. What was she smiling at? Why was she smiling? Was it something Mr. da Vinci had said? No, he’d never thought of a painting in this light.

  “So artists can travel?”

  “There are some who do travel on the wings of their imagination, just as you do. But what is more important, many of them can translate what they see within for others to share on the outside, or in the material world. That way they expand the awareness of the people among whom they live.”

  He felt, again, that he had so very much to learn. Alec was looking at artists with a new respect and decided to investigate the books on art his mother kept in the living room. He was sure that Sandra would be a great help to him. Of that he was very sure. He wondered if one could ever learn enough to know everything. Not to have to visit the dungeons any more. Not to have to...

  “There is always more to learn. Always, no matter what you already know. Remember that every new day is the first day of the rest of your life. Think of it—of life—as going on forever. Think of having so much to learn that you could never, never get bored. Not if you lived for a million-million years. Nor even longer. Think of life being fun...”

  But Alec wasn’t thinking at all. His head was leaning slightly on his left shoulder, his heavy eyelids shutting out the remains of daylight. He sank into a dreamless sleep, resting his imaginary body before the next taxing exploits. He was sure they would come. What form they would take, he had no idea. But it was the fact that they were ventures into the unknown that made them so fascinating. So enticing.

  And then, there was Sandra... her voice still reverberating in his youthful heart.

  6

  The Far Country

  It’s been a three days since the Baldw
ins stepped aboard the Catalina. Catalina 42, the biggest yacht Alex had put his foot on. The British expatriates considered it unpatriotic not to love the sea, with sailing their first love. It all started quite by accident. Tomorrow they would be back in Palm Beach, and then on Singer Island for the rest of their holidays, and then fly back to Montreal.

  It all began quite by accident.

  Walking along Worth Avenue, her eyes peeled to the shop-fronts evidently designed to attract the fair sex, Alicia had bumped into a man. He gave Alicia a curious once-over. Before she could even apologize he nodded towards an outdoor café immediately behind her.

  “Keen Ah buy you a cup o’ cooauffee?” he asked, his eyes peeled on Alicia. Only then he’d noticed Alex. “You too, Ah preeesume, Sir?” he added with a lot less enthusiasm.

  He was a Texan, and he wouldn’t take no ‘fer’ an answer. Alex shrugged, Alicia managed a slight blush, and the three of them settled at an outdoor table right there. They’ve been walking for more than an hour, and a little rest wouldn’t do any harm.

  The Texan was as Texan, as can be imagined. He spoke with a Texan drawl, talked mostly about oil, cows, money and his collection of pistols, double-barrel guns, and three, that’s right three rapid fire Uzis.

  “You nevah knowah when you might need’em,” he assured Alex who wouldn’t touch a gun for fear of shooting himself in a foot.

  After exhausting the subjects mentioned above, he mentioned causally that he also owned a li’l boat, and kept it in a marina in Palm Beach. He didn’t like hotels, he’d said.

  “Jist a li’l west from heere,” he added. He meant his boat.

  Suddenly Alex’s ears perked up. “Just a little west…” That would be Lake Worth?

  “You nevah knowah whoo you might run intaw,” the Texan drawled on, only just managing to avoid dropping the ash from his oversized cigar into his bourbon. It seemed that his ‘cooauffee’ had miraculously metamorphosed into Garrison Brothers oversized Texan bourbon on the rocks.

  “You just neav’r knowah, these days,” he repeated to make sure that Alicia heard him. He paid little attention to Alex.

  It seemed that Don, the Texan, didn’t know quite a few things, but it transpired that he certainly knew a beautiful boat when he saw one. As Baldwins finished their ‘cooauffees’, Don left his bourbon half-finished, put a $20 bill on the table under his glass and got to his feet.

  “Peerhaps you’d like a li’l look at my li’l boat? Got two bouys runnin’ ’er,” he added, “I wouldn’t know which eeand is heed and which is the other eeand…” he assured them of his growing ignorance.

  This was the second time that Alex actually listened to his drawl. Don had referred to his boat as ‘’er’ meaning ‘her’. He couldn’t be all-bad.

  It also transpired, a little later, that Don was anything but ignorant. He just liked to create an impression of a country yokel, in case people took him for a rich Texan. Neither the rich part—with the boat, not the Texan part—with his accent, could be avoided. Alex thought Don was just bored, and did things to enrich the monotony of a lonely Texan on the East Coast. Actually, it turned out later, that he thought that if he’d exaggerated all that stuff about oil and guns, no one would take him seriously. It was a form of protection.

  It was a fairly short walk. They stepped on board.

  “You nev’r knowah whom you might meet in Pielm Beach these days,” he repeated his previous sentiment. “There’s all keends of riff-ruff,” he said. “Why, only the other day they asked me how much I’d charge them fer a day trip on my lady here,” he added, lovingly patting the fiberglass curve of the bow. “Ah told’m to geet lost…”

  The next thing, in seeming contradiction to his previous reservations, Don had asked them if they’d like a li’l run to Nassau.

  “That’s a li’l town on a li’l island they call New Providence, right next to Paradise Island where they used to keep pigs, and now serve the best and biggest lobsters in the Caribbean…”

  Don seemed ready to expound further about the mysteries of the Bahamian cuisine when he noticed that Alex’s eyes have doubled in size. Also, as he talked sailing, his drawl seemed to diminish somewhat. Alicia, on the other hand, noticed that everything was li’l in Don’s eyes except for the lobsters. And Texas, of course.

  Don didn’t have to ask twice. It took Alicia and Alex about two hours to get their swimming costumes, and an overnight bag with toiletry essentials.

  By sunrise the next day they’d set sail.

  On the second day aboard, Don dropped his drawl. He was soft spoken, yes, still a Texan, but no longer acting as protection against “riffraff”.

  ***

  Alec woke up in the middle of the night, his mind telling him that something about Sandra had changed. Then he got it. Last night, before he went to sleep, she hadn’t been talking like the little girl he’d first met. She hadn’t giggled as much, not even really laughed. There had been no jokes, no verbal sparring. Obviously, what she’d been trying to tell him was important and… he’d fallen asleep.

  “I’ve been rude again,” he thought. “I must stop being rude to Sandra.”

  With this thought still fresh in his mind, he ran upstairs and went to bed. The good thing about being alone in the house was not having to wash himself. At least, not every time. Not even his teeth. Just dive into his bed and sleep.

  He woke up at seven, washed, made his bed, ate a bowl of Cornflakes and ran to school. He felt elated as though he’d accomplished something great. Something he’d never done before. At the back of his mind he knew what it was. He had saved his Princess from a fate worse than death. He’d never understood what that meant, but he’d done it anyway. He was a knight in shining armor.

  He almost tripped as he remembered a detail from last night. Was it last night? Time got funny when Sandra was around. Anyway, he recalled his arms and legs down in the dungeons having a slight sheen. Was that the shining armor? Was he really a knight? A real knight?

  For a moment he was in danger of falling off his steed.

  He continued on his way with hops and leaps, parrying the thrusts and lunges of his imaginary adversary. Carried away, he punched his sword right through an old lady’s fruit basket. He pulled back, saluted with his invisible blade at his nose, and beat a hasty retreat. The lady was still scratching her head when he turned the next corner.

  School kept him busy for the next six hours. He was happy—cracked a few jokes. The boys and girls actually laughed at them. Was he becoming popular? Life was becoming more beautiful by the minute. He actually enjoyed all his classes, and afterwards he hopped and skipped practically all the way home. It was good to be... To be what? He didn’t care. Just to be!

  An hour later he made himself a TV dinner that didn’t taste bad at all. Not after the soggy crust with the long-dead meat on a metal plate yesterday. He smiled at the recollection. Could it have all been just his imagination?

  Frankly, he would never believe it. Nor would anyone who had taken part in last night’s exploits. Then he had an idea. He rolled down his socks and looked at his ankles. There they were. The red welts he’d made pulling the irons over his heels. They didn’t hurt any more, but the telltale signs were still there. He’d been in the castle, he’d been there, and he had saved Sandra and the big, big man. He wondered if Igor was becoming more sure of himself. It was really strange that a man that size could be afraid of anything. He was so strong. And yet?

  He had so much to learn.

  He wished Sandra were here. Of course, he already knew that you do not command a Princess to your presence. You can save her, you might even hold her in your arms for a while—if you’re really lucky—but you do not command her. She would come when she chose. All he could do was to be ever ready to welcome her. To wait upon her every whim. If he so much as heard her laughter, or a sigh, or even a giggle, he would be ready to drop everything and be at her disposal.

  A deep, tremulous sigh escaped from his young, lonesome
heart.

  It was not easy being a knight.

  By ten o’clock Sandra hadn’t come. He worked on some schoolwork, took out the garbage. All the things a man must do around the house. And then he did brush his teeth, wash his face and hands, and behind his ears. Then he hesitated for a while and decided to wash his feet as well. The red welts were gone. Funny that, he thought, and went to bed. After another few sighs he was fast asleep.

  ***

  Don, in ridiculously oversized swimming trunks, stood at the wheel. His legs astride, he practically oozed confidence. His recently confessed ignorance about sailing seemed to have vanished the moment he’d stepped on board.

  Alex couldn’t help but to ask him how come he’d invited them.

  “I’ve been sailing since I was a little boy. I can tell a sailor when I see one,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

  “You mean you needed a crew?”

  “Do you mind?”

  “Do I look as though… You’re very kind, Don. We are both very grateful.” And then Alex looked puzzled. “Just where are you hiding those two boys you’d said…”

  “They stayed in the Marina. Why is the boat dirty somewhere?”

  “It’s Bristol fashion,” Alex replied. “Shipshape,” he added, his eyes filled with admiration.

  “Well, you have the boys to thank for that.” And then he gave Alex a curious look. “I cheated,” he added.

  “You…?”

  “I was watching your eyes when I mention my ‘li’l bouat’,” he slipped into his previous accent.

  Alex could only smile. He’d underestimated his newfound friend, in more ways than one.

  “So you intended to take a forty-two-foot boat across an open sea singlehanded?”

  “Francis Chichester was 65 when he took his Gypsy Moth IV around the world in 1966. I’m a lot younger and marine technology has advanced a lot since that time.”