by Rowan Casey
It took Matthias a couple of minutes to realize who the man on the screen was. It was easy to pick out which one Hautdesert had on mind; similar build, hair, complexion and at least a passing resemblance. He had seen the face before, and not just in the mirror, but was not sure who he was. Clearly, he had been away too long. Either that or he had just not been paying enough attention to politics while he had been away.
The image on the tv screen changed to show the man sitting in a chair opposite a figure he did recognize; Tom Barnard one of the toughest political interviewers the BBC had to offer. The opening question was about Scottish independence and at last the penny dropped. The man he was supposed to be watching was Cameron Argyle, rising star in the Scottish National Party and Member of the Scottish Parliament. Clearly Hautdesert really did have some kind of plan. If Matthias could pass himself off as Argyle then he might be able to get away with more than Bryn Matthias could possibly have, even if anyone knew who he was. Maybe he was onto something. He started to watch the DVD again from the beginning, listening closely to the man’s voice, pausing it every now and again to attempt a phrase before restarting it. After a couple of hours of watching and rewatching the collection of clips and interviews he was happy that he had at least a reasonable approximation of the man’s voice.
As he had suspected, the suit was just a little too large for it to have been made specifically for him, but as he had watched the clips for a third time he noticed that the man had lost weight at some point. By the time he reached the last interview on the disc, Argyle’s suit was a little looser than in an early section.
“Clever bugger.” Matthias said. The suit had been delivered with a white shirt, a blue tie, and a pair of brown brogues, all of them a pretty close match to those Argyle had been wearing during one of the last interviews. The yellow socks seemed out of place, but when Matthias played the clip again he was both surprised and delighted that they were exactly what the politician had been wearing. “That’s what I call attention to detail.”
Once he was dressed he spent an hour walking up and down the stretch of carpet between the door of his room and the window, relieved that the shoes did not squeak. The man had a slight stiffness in his left leg, the knee not flexing as much as his right. It gave him a rolling gait with one step a little longer than the other. It probably didn’t need to be perfect, it just needed to be there, and he needed to make sure that he used the correct leg. He eased back the inner sole of the left shoe and slipped a coin underneath to act as a reminder.
He realized that it was so much easier to be in character when wearing its clothes. Perhaps that was why he had felt so unconvincing at the airport and at his arrival in the hotel. He might not have walked a mile in those shoes, but he was comfortable in them. He hung the clothes on a hanger and poured himself a Scotch from the minibar and used his phone to connect to the hotel’s Wi-Fi. A little more background research couldn’t hurt.
It was well after midnight by the time he turned off the light. His head was full of details about Argyles life; his family, his previous jobs, his interests, and his views on independence for Scotland. The limp was due to a skiing accident while the weight loss was a deliberate effort to lose the pounds he gained after the accident. He might not have learned everything there was to know about the man, but Matthias hoped that it would be enough to fool anyone who didn’t know Argyle personally at least.
25
He took breakfast in his room before dressing for the part he was about to play. He still wasn’t sure how being recognized so that all eyes were on him would make it easier rather than harder to steal the stone, but he was happy to trust Hautdesert to offer his suggestion. At least the man had a plan, which was more than he had himself.
He took one last glance in the mirror after spending ten minutes coaxing his hair into the same shape as Argyle’s. It was not that different from the way he wore his own, but it was enough of a difference to look odd. He felt a tremble in his hands, a nervousness that he recognized. It was not stage fright, but it was something similar. He couldn’t afford to just play the part, he needed to be better than that. He need to be Cameron Argyle. He stared into the mirror, convinced that the color of his eyes had changed a fraction, the color of his hair slightly darker. Something was happening, something was changing. For the moment he was no longer Byron Matthias; he was Cameron Argyle, MSP.
“I didn’t know you were staying with us Mr. Argyle,” said the man riding the lift with him as he descended to the ground floor. The badge on his lapel declared that he was Martin Scarrow, Assistant Manager.
“Just visiting a friend,” Matthias said, hoping that the voice was as convincing as his appearance clearly was.
“No security today?”
“Not today, Martin. My car will be waiting for me outside. I hope I can rely on your discretion?” He remembered that in the clips, Argyle used his interviewer’s name in almost every reply he gave.
“Of course, Mr. Argyle. You can rely on me. Is there anything I can get you before you leave?”
“I’m on a somewhat tight schedule today, Martin. I’m sure you understand. Maybe next time.”
“Of course, sir. Can I just say that I think you’re doing a fine job? You’ve got my vote.”
“Thank you, Martin. Every single vote counts.” The lift reached its destination and Matthias stepped out, striding towards the exit without another word, the coin in his shoe reminding him to keep his knee stiff. He had managed to fool one person who seemed to be familiar with Argyle, and that gave him a certain amount of confidence. Maybe he could pull off his part of whatever Hautdesert’s plan turned out to be.
He was so intent on walking to the castle without being distracted, without making eye contact with any one for more than a couple of seconds that he almost missed a young couple staring at him. A few people smiled at him as he made his way along the street. Some clearly recognized him, but one or two simply knew that they had seen his face before. Maybe later they would realize who they had seen, or at least thought they had seen, and wish they had said hello, or told him exactly what they thought about his policies.
As he crossed the street he caught a glimpse of the couple on the other side of the road. He had not expected to see anyone he recognized other than Hautdesert, but they caught his eye. Rhys and his girlfriend; but how could they have possibly found their way here? They could not have followed him. Was it possible that they were tracking his phone somehow? He tried not to look at them and instead concentrated on the character he was playing. They might be looking for Bryn Matthias; they were not looking for Cameron Argyle.
He headed straight for the castle. The gates were already open, and the chances were that Hautdesert was already waiting for him somewhere inside. The queue to enter was fairly short, but he joined and fished out his wallet, ready to pay the entrance fee. It was only then that he realized that he had only English notes and if he paid with them rather than Scottish ones he would be raising suspicion. If he had been posing as a tourist it wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow, but a Member of the Scottish Parliament was another matter. He felt in his pockets for coins, relieved that he had change from paying for the previous night’s coffee. They were far less likely to attract attention even if they were English, but he needn’t have worried.
“Mr. Argyle. Please, come straight through.” A neatly dressed woman in a grey woollen dress approached with one hand outstretched. “I’ve just had the call from your office to say that you would be calling in today.”
“I really don’t mind paying my way and waiting my turn like any other citizen,” he said as he accepted her firm handshake. He hoped that the call had come from Hautdesert, paving the way for his entrance, not a coincidence which meant that the real Argyle was also on his way.
“Nonsense. You’re a very busy man and have more than enough demands on your time.”
“You are very kind,” he said, allowing the coins to fall back into his pocket.
“
I’m Cheryl, by the way. Is there anything in particular you’d like to see today?”
“Well, somehow I found myself with a couple of hours to spare and thought that I’d come and take a look at the Stone of Scone before it’s off to America. I know that you have a replica here too, but I’d rather take a look at the real thing, if that’s okay?”
“Of course it is. Have you visited before?”
He had a recollection from his research the night before, an interview in which Argyle had said he had not visited since he was a small boy. Matthias was pretty sure that it had been a fairly recent interview; he just hoped that Argyle hadn’t rectified the situation recently. Stlll, the woman didn’t seem to know either.
“Not for a very long time,” he said. “I thought it was about time I did something about it, even if I can’t stay very long.”
“Then let me show you to the Stone straight away. If there’s anything else you’d like to see, just say so. I have to say that it’s refreshing for a politician to come and visit without a whole camera crew in tow.”
“This is just for my own interest, not a photo opportunity, but I really appreciate you giving up your time to show me. I’m sure you have plenty to do yourself, Cheryl. You don’t have to stay with me.”
“It’s no trouble at all. I’m more than happy to stay around in case you have any questions. Anyway, here we are.”
They emerged into a large, ornate room with the Stone standing on a plinth set in front of a great fireplace. To either side stood a pair of suits of armor, each with a lance standing upright beside it.
“No security to keep people away from it?”
“We discourage people from touching it, but we really don’t want to prevent people from getting a good look at it.”
“And you’re not afraid of it being stolen?”
“The thing weighs something like 450 pounds. I can’t imagine anyone picking it up and walking away with it. Can you?”
“450 pounds?” Heavier than he had thought, too heavy for one man to move that was for sure. He couldn’t even imagine two people being able to move it very far. The chances of success were fading fast.
“There’s a story that when the stone was taken to London it was much lighter.”
“Lighter? How could that be possible?”
She said nothing, but her lips were pressed tightly together. Clearly she was giving him a moment to make the connection himself.
“Oh,” he said after a moment. “You think that the stone that came back wasn’t the one that was taken away?”
“Not me,” she said. “But there are others who do.”
“Ah, anti-English conspiracy theorists? They are everywhere, aren’t they?” He laughed at the suggestion, but it raised the possibility that this really wasn’t the stone they were looking for. Maybe the real stone was still in London after all.
“Something like that,” she agreed.
“And the copy?”
“That’s usually on display in the grounds of Scone Palace…”
“Oh, I thought it was here?”
“It is now. We’re borrowing it while the original goes on its holidays. It will take its place on the display here.”
A couple of other people entered the room, their voices dropping to little more than a whisper when they saw that they were not alone. They turned and left in search of a room they could examine without feeling they were intruding on anyone else. From another doorway emerged Hautdesert in a set of overalls with a second stone perched on a two-wheeled barrow like an old station porter carrying suitcases. Matthias didn’t acknowledge him with so much as a raised eyebrow.
“Is that the replica?” he asked.
“It is indeed,” Cheryl replied, then addressing Hautdesert, “I didn’t think the stones were being switched until this afternoon?”
“I just do as I’m told,” he said, his voice rough and almost unrecognizable.
“Who am I to argue?” she laughed. “But I really need to check to see what the plan is. I’ll be back in just a couple of minutes. Are you okay to wait here?”
“Of course, Cheryl, I’ll be fine. Is it okay if I…” he pointed towards the stone and she smiled.
“Go ahead. I won’t tell if you don’t.”
“Close the door,” Hautdesert said, his voice regaining its usual timbre. Matthias, though, retained Argyle’s demeanor as he stepped towards the door and pushed it closed with a click.
“What now? Are you planning on just wheeling the thing out of here?”
“Not quite,” he said. “But I do need you to touch the stone. I need to be sure that it’s the real thing.”
“What makes you think that I’m any more likely to be able to tell than you are?”
“Just do it,” Hautdesert snapped before adding a “please” to his request.
This was not the time for arguing. Cheryl could be back at any moment, and if they were going to get the Stone out of there they were going to need to move quickly. He climbed the two steps to the Stone and took a breath. Hautdesert had moved a little closer to watch him. Clearly he was expecting some kind of reaction. Matthias stretched out with one hand, feeling an impossible tingle of electricity spark as he reached toward it.
And then the world turned black.
26
His head was full of memories that could not belong to him. A different time; a different place. A clearing in a woodland and a stone; a different stone, and yet it was the same one. Once he had tried to pull something out of it but he had failed. It had been the first of many failures, and the confirmation that he would always be second best.
“Quick, get up,” he heard a voice urging him through a fog of thoughts. A voice that belonged in the here and now, not back then. He struggled to his feet, desperately trying to hold onto both the image that he had in his head and the need to remain in the character of Argyle.
“What happened?” he asked. “How long?” the questions were coming too thick and fast and he could not control them.
“No time for questions, just pull yourself together. When your friend comes back we don’t want her thinking that anything happened.”
Matthias glanced at the Stone, still trying to work out what had happened when he had touched it. It was a moment before he realized that the two stones had been switched. “How the hell did you manage that?”
“More questions. I will tell you after we get this thing out of here.”
“And how do you plan on doing that?”
“It will take a while before anyone notices that the real Stone is missing.” Before he could explain any further, Cheryl was opening the door, a puzzled look on her face.
“The schedule says that the switch is to be done after we close this afternoon. Perhaps you could come back later.” Even as she said it, she saw that the exchange had already been made, Although the two stones were of more or less the same size and shape, and both had iron handles set into them to help with lifting, they were not identical.
“All done now,” Hautdesert said.
“How on earth did you manage to do that on your own?”
“I work out,” he smiled. “You have to stay fit for this kind of job.”
“But you could have dropped it. You could have damaged it. That was so irresponsible. I’ll have to report this you know.”
Hautdesert raised his hands in supplication, hands that looked as if they had never done a day’s work in his life. Matthias hoped that she didn’t notice and found himself needing to support the other man’s story.
“He went rather red in the face but he seemed to be in control. I’m sure that he wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t been confidant that he could.”
“But it’s so heavy.”
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to have to do it again,” Hautdesert said. “I’m sorry if there’s been a misunderstanding but better to get it done too early than too late.”
“But I’ll have to get the new sign we’ve had made so people un
derstand that this is the replica not the original. This is really an inconvenience.”
“Of course. I’ll just go and get this put into storage until everything can be crated up and ready for collection tonight.”
“I’m so sorry,” Cheryl said, clearly flustered. “But I’m going to have to leave you again. I’m so sorry, but we can’t leave things incorrectly labeled.
“Please, don’t worry, Cheryl. I’ve seen what I came to see and it looks like I came just in time. I can have a look around by myself before I head off. But thank you so much for all your help.” He held out a hand and this time her response was not as firm as it had been when they first met.
“If you’re sure?”
“Of course I am. You have far more important things to do than show me around, but I hope to be able to make it back again before too long. Hopefully I’ll be able to spend a little more time here then. Perhaps I can get you to come along to Holyrood sometime and cast your eye over some of the treasures we have there.”
“That would be wonderful,” she replied, the invitation almost overwhelming her. She wanted to stay and talk but there were things she needed to take care of and so Matthias shoo’d her away, much to Hautdesert’s relief.
“I thought she was never going to leave,” he said. “You saw it didn’t you? When you touched this Stone you saw something. What did you see?”
“I saw the Stone, or rather I saw another one.”
“It was the same Stone. If this really is the Whetstone then clearly it can exist in different forms. If that’s the case, then it can have existed as different stones at different times. You know that this is also called Jacobs Pillow, don’t you? I’m not saying that it’s the very stone that Jacob laid his head down on, but you have to admit that it’s a possibility. Lots of stories with stones in them, but who knows how many of them are really about the same one.”
Matthias couldn’t argue with him. He had seen something that made no sense to him at all, and yet seemed perfectly possible. This was the stone of myth, the stone that had held the sword that Arthur had pulled out, the sword that others had tried to extract, but failed. Matthias was somehow convinced that he had been one of those failures even though he had fully expected to be able to do it as if it should have been his right.
