by W. Peever
Charlie's mother picked up the gold-rimmed china and made a plate for Mick, while Father Sinclair poured tea. "One lump or two, Bailey?"
"Oh, three please."
He chuckled, loaded the cup and passed it over to her. Bailey tucked her smooth brown hair behind her ears, almost mesmerized by his smile. Reverend Sinclair gave a blessing over the food and sat down with an enormous smile. "I bet you don't do that at home." Not waiting for the stumbling responses of his guests he just continued to talk. "Oh, no one but us old guys do it anymore, even the young monks of our rather conservative order. But I thought I needed the extra support from above, seeing I'll be asking Charlie for his approval today."
"My approval?" queried Charlie, choking on his mouthful of cherry turnover.
"Well, I would never make my courtship of your mother public without your blessing."
Oh this guy is good, thought Charlie. Very smooth. How could Charlie not at least pretend to approve when asked to give his blessing in such a casual way in front of everyone? And how could he let his mother down? She didn't know her husband was secretly alive. All he could do was go along and hope that somehow everything worked out and that his father would understand. That is, if Charlie ever found him again.
"My blessing? You don't need my blessing. She's my mom. If she's happy, I'm happy." Skillfully avoided, Charlie thought.
"No Charlie. I'm afraid I am very 'old school' in these matters. You can't even begin to imagine how old school I am."
But Charlie was beginning to sense there was something very unusual, even objectionable, about this Romeo in priest's clothing. Sinclair went on. "I need the blessing from you, as the man of the house. In a way, I'll be usurping your position, you see." He gripped Ellen's hand across the table, and Charlie's heart sank a little as he watched his mother seem to melt like butter on a warm day. "I would like your permission, lad."
"Permission? That's a heavy word." But it was the nicety of the word that let Charlie off the hook.nicety of the word that let Charlie off the hook. year-old gives permission for his mother to marry? The whole thing was ridiculous. But how could he possibly deny his mother? It was easy in the end: "Okay, you have my permission." But then he added "For what it's worth." He made sure to laugh then, hoping a little levity would ease the seriousness of his words.
"Reverend Sinclair," Bailey began, desperately searching for something that would break the uncomfortable tension in the room.
"Bailey please, we're all family here. Call me Avery."
"Avery…where did you get that beautiful carving?" she asked, changing the subject not very subtly. "It's stunning, so intricate. It almost looks like a box, but obviously it isn't. There's no lid." All peered at the oversized wooden mantelpiece over the fireplace to look at the square block of wood.
"Oh, you've found one of my guilty pleasures. It's a personal belonging. I know, I am breaching the sanctity of the priesthood. A Chinese puzzle box, passed down through my family since before anyone can remember."
"But it's so beautiful. You must keep an amazing treasure in there."
"I am sure you are right, Bailey. Unfortunately I have no idea of its contents, if anything at all. You see, a puzzle box has its workings on the outside—movable runes along its entire exterior." The Reverend retrieved the box, then gently handed it to Bailey. "Each rune is a piece of the puzzle and they all move. The secret is to push them all over to the left side of the box. This resets the lock, and then only move the runes over that you know unlock the box."
"Well that doesn't seem too hard, Avery. Try each one in turn—eventually you will get it," encouraged his new fiancée.
"Oh, I have tried. But there are over a million different ways to push them. I'm afraid I lose my patience after a while. No, I fear this box will hold its secret, at least for this generation. Perhaps my nephew will take a stab at it someday."
"Your nephew, Avery?" Ellen registered surprise.
"Yes, I haven't mentioned him? He and my brother arrived from Scotland last week, at the moment off on an adventure through the streets of Boston. Perhaps you wouldn't mind letting him tag along with you three. He's about your age, a bit older. But I'm sure he'd enjoy the company."
"Sure thing," replied Charlie politely. "Sounds like a blast."
"Fantastic, I'll send him over next week. And maybe I'll come along to keep your mother company." He winked at Ellen.
"These runes are just unbelievably beautiful and… unique." Bailey concentrated not on the antique box in her hands, but something from her far-off memory. "They seem…I don't know—familiar. I've seen them somewhere before."
As a Manserian, Bailey had come across thousands of runes all over Thornfield Academy. The old castle in Scotland was home to runes in old books and in burial tombs below in catacombs. Runes made her world work, allowed her to focus on objects and channel her God-given abilities. Yet somehow these runes were different. They looked nothing like those she was used to, but she knew she had seen them. Bailey looked back up at the table of friends. "Maybe I saw them in a National Geographic." She had to say something, and not that she and her two friends were Manserian and battled every day in a world of Gods, Runes, and Monsters.
Reverend Sinclair regarded the twelve-year-old for a moment. "An interesting notion, Bailey, but these runes are not what you would find in a history book or periodical. In fact, I took this box to a runeologist at Oxford, and he said they appeared to be Nordic in origin. However, they were not of any runic language he had seen before. He concluded the runes were created by an expert in Norse myth, and that this person perhaps created a whole new runic alphabet as a code." Avery bent closer to the table to almost whisper the last part of his story in deliberately hushed, reverent tones. Everyone closed in around him. "He suggested that it was a language of a secret society." The conservative priest, whose Cool Quotient had suddenly risen off the scale in the eyes of the kids, leaned back in his chair, grabbing a blueberry scone as he sank back and smiled mysteriously at his captive audience.
"That's wicked!" Charlie gushed, beaming at the chance to uncover a mystery.
"Wicked is right," agreed Avery. "Actually, the runes make a great deal of historical sense, in that my family should have such an object. You know my name as Sinclair, but that name has changed over time. In the mid-1300s it was St Clair, as in Henry Saint Clair." Avery waited for the dramatic reaction to what he obviously expected to be the climax of his story. What he received was a lot of blank looks.
"Oh, come on. Henry Saint Clair!" Avery stood up, almost shouting. "Hardcore New Englanders and you don't know the first Western European to make it to your shores?"
"Columbus?" said Bailey.
"Oh dear, oh dear…that, my dear, is what your corrupted history would have you believe. The truth is far more fascinating. Now, all of you listen very carefully. Almost a century before Columbus was even born the Vikings arrived on these shores of New England. They left from Iceland, via Greenland, to Nova Scotia and then down the coast of Maine to Cape Cod. It was a brilliantly easy route that my ancestor, Henry Saint Clair, followed using the runes and caves the Norsemen left to hide the Templar Treasure."
"Templar Treasure?" Said Mick, his breath catching in his throat. You mean that stuff from the Da Vinci Code is real? Do you know where it is?"
Avery sat back down in his chair and dunked his teabag absent-mindedly in his bone china cup. "Perhaps true enough in vastly simplified form. Well that's the story that was passed down in my family. I am sure it's exaggerated. But it's well known that Henry was good friends with the Templar, and obsessed with the Vikings, so there may be some cool Templar treasure in that box. In any case it makes for a good story." Avery took a big bite of a scone, and sank back into his chair to bask in the palatable excitement he had stirred up in the room.
"When we go back to school there are some really old professors that know a lot about this kind of stuff. Can I take a picture of it with my phone and show it to them?" Bailey tried
to sound childishly ingenuous enough for the Reverend's benefit.
"I see no reason why not." Avery said amicably.
"Sir, if you want to know what's inside why not just take an x-ray of it or break it open?" Mick asked, ever the practical thinker.
"After thirty years…you think I haven't tried? The box appears to be simply wooden but in fact there is solid stone underneath each piece of wood. The layers are fused together with some kind of very well bonded adhesive, the recipe for which alone might make anyone discovering it rich beyond need. The stone does not give up its secrets easily, not to physical force or x-ray. So we are left to gaze at this box in awe, perhaps never to unlock its secrets."
All sat there, staring at the object for a few moments. Bailey handed it back to the priest, who placed it gingerly back on the mantel and was the first to break the silence. "So much for the man-made. Now, shall we take a look at one of God's great mysteries? That walk by the cliffs? The waves crash up on them in such a majestic way this time in the afternoon." Avery opened the glass doors that led to the outside and smiled out at what greeted them.
Chapter Four Vision
Diesel fumes from standing taxi cabs filled Charlie's nose as he and Bailey ran through loading zones at Boston's Logan International Airport. Echoing horns, sirens and foul-mouthed cabbies cut off as the twosome passed through revolving glass doors and emerged in a cavernous entryway. Mick had decided to stay in the car with Ellen as more exciting. His adoptive mother was dodging a state patrolman, who would not let any person, car, bicycle or wheelchair stop on one spot. Upright and straight-laced as she seemed to the world, Mick was learning an oldfashioned trick or two from Ellen.
It didn't take Charlie long to spot his friend: Just look for turning heads and one lucky boy stumbling over himself to help with her baggage. Emerging from a flurry of bouncing blonde curls that would shadow the Florida sun, Tillie too caught site of Charlie and Bailey. She dropped her Prada purse into the hands of her attendant and ran over to throw herself at the two. Her latest fan visibly wilted, shoulders slumping while Tillie's luggage dropped to the floor.
"Good help is hard to find," she giggled at her two friends, and went to retrieve her blue paisley purse and hand luggage, rapidly followed by Charlie in tow. "I have so much to talk to you about. I missed you both so much! Oh my tour of Europe was wonderful—the architecture and paintings. I brought slides to show you!"
Bailey rolled her eyes as Tillie walked ahead, and got a jab in the ribs from Charlie. "I know, I know, slides are so 1995 but actual film is better than digital," Tillie continued, seemingly unaware of Bailey's silent objection.
Tillie stopped and looked around, as if she had forgotten where her pet dog was. "Where's Mick?"
"Waiting in the car," said Bailey, her patience beginning to feel stretched.
"Oh goodness, I was so hoping he would grab my bags for me. There are just so many."
"More?" enquired Bailey, just to make a point.
"I've never been to the States before. I got excited and just couldn't think what to pack, so I brought it all. Do you think I am well dressed for the occasion?"
Bailey stifled a laugh, and looked up and down at Tillie's tan bellbottoms, the sleek modern ones from the high-end stores in the mall; a long-sleeve, blue pinstripe blouse and a captain's hat. She looked like a Gap model doing a New England shoot.
"You might want to change into some shorts. July is not exactly a bellbottom month," suggested Bailey, still trying to retain her equilibrium after the fight the two of them had last term in school. The altercation had split the group up, and almost got Charlie killed in the process.
"Well, I brought everything," Tillie sang back, "including my makeup kit. We can do makeovers, Bailey!"
Charlie chuckled at this despite his annoyance that Tillie seemed to think he couldn't handle her bags without Mick. Bailey wore black eyeliner and nail polish. That was it. So the thought of his best friend receiving a glaringly colorful preppy makeover to her own punk look was more than he could take.
Striving to keep the peace in the new friendship, Bailey smiled through gritted teeth: "That sounds like fun."
In hopes of stifling his laughter, Charlie bent down to pick up the bags, slinging Tillie's book bag (obviously filled with the summer homework Charlie had avoided) over both shoulders. He put a strap from two duffle bags on each shoulder and grabbed for the makeup bag and carry-on. Tillie's preference for Mick's musculature had triggered a need to man-up, and that's exactly what Charlie intended to do. Unfortunately, his body did not seem to understand his need to look good in front of Tillie and he was having a great deal of trouble standing up. Bailey sighed, walked over to a baggage cart kiosk and paid for a baggage trolley.
"So how was your vacation with the family, Tillie?" Charlie asked between gasps. He was sure there were wheels under the baggage trolley but it seemed hardly movable. He daren't ask Are there wheels on this thing? as he felt like doing. That would do his image no good, but What did she bring with her? Charlie wondered.
"Oh absolutely brilliant. Paris was so romantic…you would have loved it, Bailey. Rome was the same as Paris, just more ancient and mysterious. The Mediterranean was marvelous. I had no idea most beaches along the Mediterranean were topless. Did you, Bailey? That would never happen in England, but it was so liberating."
Before Bailey had a chance to answer, Charlie seemed to lose his sense of direction but found a back wheel on the trolley, tripped over it and sent the bags at the pinnacle of the pile teetering off onto the floor. "I had no idea they're topless," replied Bailey. "I don't think Charlie did either." She smiled at Charlie, who turned a deeper shade of red the longer the two girls looked at him.
Tillie picked up an oblong bag and placed it back on top of the pile. "Can't lose this," Tillie whispered. "My dad bought me this amazing bow and quiver and taught me how to use it. I'm getting quite good but promised I would practice while visiting with you three. I can get into an advanced class when school begins."
Bailey was relieved to finally have something in common with Tillie, and a little excited if she admitted to herself. "Maybe you can teach me how to use mine. The headmaster sent me home with a bow and quiver too."
"Sounds great! But enough about homework. I still haven't told you all about my vacation. All those ruins and relics came alive. I touched the walls of the Louvre in Paris. Did you know that's where the royal family invited hundreds of Protestants under the promise of peace, then trapped and slaughtered them? Deep inside I could feel Queen Margot's screams!"
"Wait, isn't the Louvre an art museum?" Charlie called from the other side of the mountain of bags, determined to be more than just a porter with the two girls talking together like he wasn't there—a sight he couldn't have imagined before now.
"Well, it is now, silly! But back a few hundred years ago it was a castle—a very bloody one." She closed her eyes. "Oh, those poor people…a truly humbling experience," Tillie said reverently. Then suddenly she was back in the present. "As soon as we get to your home, Charlie, I have something important to tell you all, something that happened to me while I was in Scotland."
"Tell us, just a hint before we get into the car with Charlie's mom," urged Bailey.
"No. Not now and not here. We may be overheard, and this is important." Tillie spoke in a hushed, dramatic voice full of secrets.
"You sense the Vanari around us, listening to every word we're saying?" asked Bailey, beginning to suspect her new friend was a little paranoid.
"It's not just them. We need to protect the secret from everyone. I overheard my parents talking in their hotel room our last night in Rome. It sounds like the Vanari have been showing their powers to mortals. The last time this happened there were witch trials. People these days think that's all myth, and we need to keep it that way. The Mind Alteration Squad already has their hands full. We don't need to add to MAS's problems by letting everyone know about our world."
Charlie hated surpri
ses, new factors introduced to a situation he thought he was getting a hold of. He could feel his anxiety level rising. "MAS is bad enough? How much do your parents know? No one told us."
"That's why I'm telling you now, to help you see the larger picture. My dad is a minister of the Order, in charge of creature capture."
"Creature capture?" queried Bailey.
"Yes, when a creature makes it through a weak spot in the barrier between our world and theirs, Dad organizes a capture squad and they return it to its own world."
"That makes sense, I guess." offered Charlie, trying to reassure himself.
Tillie went on. "Just the other day a Giant escaped and tore up Los Angeles. You heard about the earthquake?" The other two nodded. "Well, it took Dad and the others a while to bring this particular creature down. It was MAS that came in and made the media and everyone else in the city believe it was a 'natural' earthquake. Can you imagine if they all—or even a few of them—knew what was really going on?"
"Come on, kids! Quickly!" It was Ellen's voice calling out from across the parking lot, a shaky note of anxiety just detectable through her usual composure. A state trooper not far away was getting out of his car and starting to look around for likely victims. He flicked his ticket book open and reached for his pen with the other hand. Charlie's mom made a frantic gesture for the kids to hurry.
Mick jumped out of the car. "Hey Tillie, need some help with those bags?" Bailey gave an audible grunt of disapproval. The two boys she'd had all to herself this summer were prostrating themselves on the altar of Tillie.
"Ladies, into the car, let's go!" Ellen urged as the police officer wandered closer.
Mick and Charlie stuffed and squeezed the rest of Tillie's things into the trunk and jumped in the back. There was a sneaking sense of accomplishment for Ellen as she looked in the rear mirror to see a small cloud of black exhaust fumes wafting towards the cop, getting gradually more distant, just looking at them as they took off into the traffic of the Boston afternoon rush hour.
