The Devil's Path (An Alexander Scott Novel Book 1)

by Richard Turner

  “They built the castle here so they could see anyone nasty coming for miles,” said Gareth. “The Professor taught me that.”

  Kate smiled at the obvious pleasure the young man had interacting with people who did not judge him, but treated him as a man. “It is quite an amazing feat of engineering, that is for sure,” Kate said.

  Looking around, Scott could see what remained of the outline of the fort. Tall gray brick walls, several feet thick, long broken down, showed where a castle must have been, now sadly only a mere shell existed to tell the tale.

  “Would you both like to see what the Professor found?” asked Gareth excitedly.

  “Yes of course we would,” said Kate, slipping her arm under Scott’s.

  Scott, surprised by Kate’s boldness, said nothing, but simply followed along enjoying the harmony of the moment. Together they all made their way over to a prominent outcropping along what had once been the western wall of the castle. Stopping, Gareth stood there beaming like a child who had a secret he so desperately wanted to tell.

  Both Scott and Kate stood there looking around for something that might give them a clue to her father’s disappearance. The ruined walls were devoid of any writing or markings. Kate stepped forward, looked over the side of the castle, and saw nothing but the steep side of the hill dropping down towards a ploughed farmer’s field far below.

  Turning around, Kate looked into Gareth’s deep brown eyes and said, “Are you sure this is the spot. I hate to say it, Gareth, but I can’t see a thing.”

  “Me too,” added Scott with a shrug of his shoulders.

  Gareth smiled widely and then said, “The Professor and I were up here for days looking for clues all through the castle and the old Iron Age Fort. We found nothing, absolutely nothing. The poor professor was becoming really sad, I thought he was going to pack it in and leave, when we stopped here for our dinner meal one evening, and that’s when he saw it.”

  “Gareth, what did you see?” asked Scott, trying not to show his growing impatience with the boy.

  “That!” Gareth said loudly, pointing across the valley at another hill.

  Both Scott and Kate turned their heads trying to see what he was pointing at. Looking along the ridgeline, they both expected to see something dramatic; instead, all they saw was a large grayish oblong rock leaning over to one side.

  “Do you see it?” asked Gareth eagerly.

  “No,” said Kate sadly. “Gareth, please tell me what we are looking for.”

  “That rock, that is what the Professor saw,” Gareth said. “He jumped for joy the moment he saw it, almost went over the side of the hill too.”

  Scott looked over at the rocks and tried to figure out what was so important about it. No matter how he tried, the rock just looked like an oblong rock jutting out of the ground to him. He turned to Kate and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, was he missing something?

  Kate shrugged back. Opening her father’s journal, she thumbed through it until she came to the map drawn in the back. Turning it around until it lined up with the rocks on the other side of the valley. She tried to see if she was also missing something. Shaking her head in defeat, she closed the book and looked over at Gareth.

  “Boars,” said Gareth finally unable to keep his secret anymore. “That rock over there is known in Welch as Boars Rock.”

  Kate and Scott turned and looked once more at the rocks. Neither saw anything remotely resembling a wild boar in the shape of the standing stone.

  Scott stepped over beside Gareth and looked him in the eyes. “Gareth that was it, that was what Professor O’Sullivan had been searching for?” said Scott wondering if the boy had been playing a game with them.

  “Yes, sir, cross my heart, I remember it well, I do,” Gareth said. “When he saw that stone and I told him what it was called, he became as happy as a man after too much ale. We left right away and went straight down the village. He packed and was gone that very day.”

  “Did he say where he was going?” asked Kate.

  “No, sorry, ma’am…I mean Miss Kate, he never said where he was going. The last thing he ever said to me was to tell no one about the stone.”

  “What about the rock?” said a stern voice from behind Scott and Kate.

  Turning about, they were shocked to see three men standing there, pistols in their hands. The closest man was dressed in a brown suit with a long coat. His companions were wearing matching dark gray outfits and stood silently.

  Scott gritted his teeth. He cursed himself under his breath. He should have been more alert.

  “I asked you about the rocks, boy,” said the man in the brown suit, his voice hard and threatening.

  “Them rocks is nothing special,” replied Gareth with a smile. “I was just telling these good people that they look like wild animals to me, that’s all.”

  Scott cringed inside. He could tell that Gareth didn’t see the danger; in fact, it seemed as if he thought that it was all some kind of foolish grown-up’s game.

  The brown-suited thug stopped and pointed his pistol straight at Kate. “Miss O’Sullivan, I believe you have something I want.”

  Kate hesitated, not knowing what to do.

  “Your father’s journal, I suspect that you have it on you,” said the man. “Give it to me…now!”

  “Do as he says, Kate,” said Scott, trying to eye up their opponents. The brown-coated leader looked to Scott like a former soldier by the way he held his pistol, the other two more like hired muscle.

  Kate nervously dug out the book; with her hand shaking, she stepped forward and handed her father’s brown leather journal to the thug.

  “Hey, you’re not being nice, mister,” objected Gareth.

  One of the gray-suited men drew back the hammer on his pistol and aimed it towards Gareth.

  Scott stepped forward, his hands out showing he was unarmed. “Please leave the boy out of this,” said Scott. “He’s a smidgen simple in the head. He doesn’t understand what is going on.”

  “Not now,” growled the lead thug at his hired hand. “I still haven’t got what we came to get.”

  With that, the man swore under his breath and lowered his pistol.

  “Miss O’Sullivan, you have in your possession another journal…a red one…yes?” asked the brown-suited man.

  “Yes she does. It’s back at the tavern, but only she knows where it is hidden,” said Scott, a desperate plan quickly formed in his mind.

  The brown-coated man seemed to ponder things for a moment before telling Gareth to go get his carriage and bring it over.

  Gareth hesitated, not knowing what to do.

  “Do as the man asks,” said Scott to Gareth with a reassuring smile. “It’s going to be ok. I promise.”

  With a reluctant nod, Gareth ran off to do as he was told.

  “Very well then,” said the thug. “Miss O’Sullivan and I will go back to the tavern to retrieve the book while my associates and Colonel Scott remain here to conclude some unfinished business.”

  “No,” objected Kate. “I won’t go…I won’t leave him.”

  Scott placed a hand on her shoulder and looked deep into her eyes. “Kate, please do as he says.” Leaning over he whispered in her ear, “I’ll see you shortly.”

  Wiping a tear from her eye, Kate reluctantly climbed aboard the carriage. The brown-suited man got in beside her. A second later, Gareth called out to his horse and with a loud neigh, it started slowly to pull the carriage away, leaving Scott alone facing the two remaining hired thugs.

  Scott stood there looking into the faces of the men left behind, undoubtedly left behind to kill him. The tough expressions on their scarred faces gave them a look as if they had been pulled from the deepest cesspool in England. He could hear the sound of Gareth’s carriage wheels squeaking and moaning in protest as it made his way down the hill.

  “So what’s it going to be, are we just going to stay up here all night?” said Scott as he placed his hands in his pockets and stoo
d there rocking on his heels.

  “Hardly mate,” said the thug with short blonde hair. “We were told to wait a couple of minutes and then shoot you in the head,” the man said with obvious delight in his voice.

  “I ain’t never shot me an officer before,” said the other gray-suited man, with a mouth full of tobacco stained teeth. “I got whipped once for not paying proper compliments when I was in the army, so I guess this is a bit of fair payback if you ask me.”

  Scott smiled at the thugs, his heart beating wildly. He had one chance and only one chance of staying alive, and he knew it. “Gentlemen, please answer me this before you shoot me.”

  “What’s that?” asked the blonde-haired man.

  “Did they show you how to properly work those pistols before coming up here?” said Scott.

  Both men stood there taken back by the question. The blonde-haired thug looked over at his accomplice and then shrugged his shoulders.

  Like a coiled cobra, Scott struck. Quickly pulling his hand from his pocket, he dropped to one knee with his derringer in his hand. Without aiming, he fired twice. The blonde-haired man was struck in the stomach. With a gurgling sound, the man staggered and then fell onto his knees. His pistol fell out of his dying hand and landed on the grass beside him. The second shot hit the other thug in his thigh. With an anguished moan, the thug raised his hand and tried firing his pistol, but realized that he hadn’t pulled back on the hammer yet.

  Scott saw his chance. Seeing the wounded thug struggling to place his thumb on the hammer, Scott, yelling loudly, his head down like a battering ram, charged straight at the man, hitting him square in his chest.

  Both men tumbled to the ground. The thug’s pistol flew out of his hand and landed on the ground a few yards away from Scott.

  Adrenaline filled Scott’s veins. Quickly jumping up onto his feet, Scott hauled off and then as hard as he could he brought his right foot straight into the stunned man’s face, sending it flying off to one side. Blood and spittle flew through the air. Seeing the pistol, Scott ran over, picked it up, cocked the hammer, and then turned to face his attacker.

  The man lay on the grass, spitting blood and teeth from his injured mouth. A large hole in his thigh added to his misery. “Please don’t kill me, mister,” pleaded the thug. “I got a wife and two kids at home…please don’t kill me. I was just doing a job.”

  “Who hired you and why?” said Scott, twisting the pistol in the terrified man’s face.

  “The man…the man who left with the girl, he hired us to help him find you and then to kill you and the girl,” said the man, wiping the blood away from his mouth.

  “Who is he, and don’t lie to me,” said Scott threateningly.

  “I don’t know. He never gave us his real name. He called himself Mister Brown on account of his clothes,” babbled the thug. “And that’s the truth, sir.”

  Scott stood up, and with a loud scream of anger, he swiftly kicked the man as hard as he could in the head, this time knocking him senseless. “I should kill you, but I’ll leave you to the locals instead,” said Scott, trying to control his breathing.

  He walked over beside the dead thug and picked up his dropped pistol. Running to the edge of the hill, Scott looked down; he could see the carriage making its way towards the village below. Jamming the second pistol into his belt, Scott took a deep breath and then started to run as fast as he could after the carriage, hoping that he wouldn’t arrive too late to help Kate.

  Gareth pulled lightly on the reins, guiding the horse off the trail from the castle onto the dirt road leading towards the center of town.

  Two shots echoed down the valley.

  Gareth turned his head towards the castle but saw nothing. “I wonder if they’re shooting foxes again,” pondered Gareth, not really knowing what was going on around him.

  Kate’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of the gunfire. Looking over at the brown-suited man, she saw a smug look on his face. Hate suddenly surged through her body. With a hiss through gritted teeth, Kate turned on the carriage seat and threw herself at the snake of a man sitting beside her, her hands clawing at his eyes. She had never hated someone so much in her life. She was more animal than a person, while she screamed and clawed at the man.

  With a howl of pain, the thug reached up, grabbed Kate’s wrists, and then flung her back onto the hard carriage bench. Blood flowed from the deep scratches on his face. “You whore,” yelled them man as he hauled back on his hand and then slapped Kate hard across her face, sending her head back, bouncing off the side of the carriage bench. Blood trickled down the side of her mouth.

  “Hey, mister, stop that,” yelled Gareth angrily at the top of his lungs.

  “Shut up,” snarled the bloodied man as he dug out his pistol and aimed it at Kate.

  Kate winced at the sight of the pistol.

  “I said leave her alone,” said Gareth furiously as he stopped the carriage just outside of his uncle’s tavern.

  Turning the pistol towards Gareth, the thug said, “I told you to be quiet, you simpleton.”

  Gareth barred his teeth and growled like an enraged animal.

  With a loud click, the brown-suited man pulled back on the pistol’s hammer.

  “No,” screamed Kate; fear filled her eyes as her world suddenly seemed to crawl by in slow motion. The thug placed his finger on the pistol’s trigger but never had a chance to pull it. A loud explosion filled Kate’s ears. In an instant, the man seemed to fly straight out of the carriage and tumble over the back, disappearing from sight. Looking over, Kate saw Owen standing there holding a smoking shotgun in his hands.

  “Are you both alright?” said Owen, lowering the still-smoking shotgun from his shoulder.

  “Yeah, I guess I am,” stammered Kate, her heart still somewhere in her throat.

  “I’m fine, Uncle Owen,” said Gareth with a tip of his cap as if nothing had ever happened.

  Kate suddenly realized where she was. Standing in the carriage, she turned to look up towards the castle; fear…fear for Scott raced through her heart. She was about to ask Gareth to turn about to head back up the hill when she saw Scott turn a corner and sprint towards the waiting carriage. Leaping down, Kate ran as fast as she could towards Scott. Meeting him halfway, she threw her arms around him and pulled him in tight. “I thought I would never see you again,” said Kate, her head still buried in Scott’s chest.

  “I thought the same about you too,” said Scott with a smile. Taking Kate by the arm, he led her back towards the tavern.

  A crowd had gathered outside of the tavern. Everyone was with an odd assortment of weapons, from shotguns to rifles to scythes held aloft by a growing mob of agitated local farmers.

  Owen stepped over the dead body of the brown-suited man and walked over to Scott and Kate. “Where’s the other two men?” asked Owen, looking at the blood splattered on Scott’s clothes.

  “One’s dead, the other is knocked out up there,” said Scott, pointing towards the hill with his head.

  “I’ll send some men up there to bring back the bodies,” said Owen, stepping away to organize a work party to remove the dead body from in front of his tavern. A minute later, he sent a boy on horseback to fetch the local constabulary and a bunch of the younger, bigger lads up the hill with a couple of men armed with shotguns, in case they needed them.

  Gareth stood beside his carriage, a blank look on his face, oblivious to the fuss going on around him.

  Scott stopped and looked over at the boy and then turned to look at Kate, his mind back on what they had been discussing on the hill. “What do you think about what Gareth told us at the ruins?” said Scott. “It seemed like a whole lot of gibberish if you ask me.”

  “Actually,” said Kate, “while I was coming down off the hill I had a thought.” Her eyes sparkled as she spoke. “I need father’s red book.” With that, Kate let go of Scott and hurried inside the tavern, dashed upstairs to her room and retrieved the journal from her suitcase. Sitting down on t
he bed, she sat there quietly reading, engrossed in her father’s work. After about five minutes, a smile slowly crept across her face. Triumphantly yelling aloud, Kate slammed the book closed and ran out of the room. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, her heart aflutter, she turned and saw Scott at the bar, a glass of Scotch in his hand. Walking over, she grabbed it out of his hand and downed it in one gulp. Kate felt the amber liquid burn as it slid down her throat. Turning, she said, “Two more please,” to Owen, who with a hearty laugh poured two more glasses on the house.

  “Miss, I don’t know where you learnt to drink,” said Owen, “but you may need to take it easy after all you’ve been through today.”

  “I’ll stop at two,” said Kate, dragging Scott to a table in the corner of the tavern. Sitting down, she opened the red book and turned to the page she had been looking for. “Here…here is what is so important about those rocks.” Kate pointed to a passage written in her father’s undecipherable shorthand.

  “Kate, I’ll take your word for it,” said Scott, looking down at the odd-shaped squiggles and lines on the page. It could have been a recipe for Irish stew for all he knew.

  “It’s Bors, not Boars that my father found here in Wales,” said Kate, her eyes all aglow.

  Scott took a sip of his Scotch and then asked, “Ok Kate I’ll bite, who or what is a Bors?”

  “According to the myth surrounding the Holy Grail, Bors was a chaste knight who had sworn to protect the Grail. His family came from Gaul, what we called France today,” explained Kate. “His father was the King of Gaul, and Bors entered the service of Arthur, a Sub-Roman King, as part of his retinue in order to protect the secret of the Grail’s resting place. My father writes that he was one of Arthur’s most-trusted knights. When the old Iron Age Fort was threatened, Bors and a handful of loyal and chaste knights fought their way into the fort, retrieved the Grail and then made a solemn oath to take it far away, hiding it once again from the world. According to legend, only Bors survived long enough to take it across the channel.”

  “Kate, if your father already knew about this knight taking the Grail away from here, why did he even bother to come here at all?”