Circles of Seven

by Bryan Davis

  Billy ducked under the professor’s elbow and followed the angle of his arm. “I see the big dipper. Is that what you mean?”

  “Yes. Ursa Major. We call part of it ‘The Plough’ here in England, and in ancient times, it was called ‘King Arthur’s Chariot.’ Do you see how the two stars in the dipper make a line that points toward Polaris?”

  Billy pulled a pair of gloves from his jacket pocket and began slipping them on. “Sure, Prof. I’ve seen that before. I used to go out and look at the stars with Dad and . . .” Billy clenched his gloved fingers together. “So what’s all this got to do with your faith?”

  The professor drew out his own gloves from his back pocket and put them on, keeping his eyes on his fingers as he slowly pushed them into the holes. “Much of what you have learned about faith, you have learned from me, but where you are soon going, I cannot come.” He pulled out his watch again, fumbled the latch open through his thick gloves, then, after reading the time, snapped the casing shut. He kept it in his closed fist as he shifted his gaze to the northern sky. “God always provides a guiding light, William. No matter how dark it seems or how terrible the situation, you can always count on finding a glimmer, a spark of light in the deepest blackness that will tell you which way to go.”

  Billy watched the twinkling north star, imagining a lonely explorer looking up at the same star a thousand years ago, counting on its never-changing position to keep him on his charted course. When he turned to the professor, his teacher’s sad, deeply set eyes were trained directly on him.

  “Do you understand?” the professor asked.

  Billy nodded. “Yes.” He then looked back at the sky and wrapped his arms around his chest to battle a new gust of wind. “I think I know exactly what you mean.”

  The first hint of dawn appeared on the eastern horizon, and the professor stepped down from the berm onto the grassy field. “Now we can finally search the area.” His long legs stretched into a quick pace. “Bring Excalibur, William.”

  Billy hustled the few steps back to the tree where he had left Excalibur. He strapped the scabbard to his waist and vaulted over the embankment again, following his spry teacher into the circular field. He searched the grassy dome, scanning both the ground and the brightening sky. The clouds had moved in from the west again, but they couldn’t keep the sun’s rays from spilling across the hilltop as the horizon dawned clear and sparkling blue.

  Within seconds a huge shadow covered the hilltop. Billy jerked his head up toward the eastern sky. “It’s a dragon! Is it . . . Dad? . . . No. It’s Hartanna!”

  Gusts of wind bent the grass and whipped Billy’s hair while two madly flapping wings settled Hartanna’s enormous body onto the hilltop. “Billy! Professor!” she growled. “Climb onto my back! We must fly!”

  Billy scrambled up Hartanna’s flank and straddled her back between her shoulders. The professor extended his long arms and grasped one of Hartanna’s spines to pull himself up. With a final push, he boosted himself aboard, just behind Billy.

  Two seconds later, her wings beat the air again. “Hold on!” Hartanna shouted. With a sudden vertical lift, the great she-dragon took off, heading straight for the clouds to the west. Billy wrapped the fingers of both hands around a two-foot-long spine and held his breath. The g-forces were so great, he felt his brain pushing into his sinus cavity.

  After they passed upward through the cloud bank and slowed their ascent, Billy looked back at the professor, mounted like a seasoned warrior with a steely gaze. Billy understood the professor’s serious countenance. If he had a mirror, he’d probably see the same expression on his own face. One dragon alone meant trouble.

  Hartanna shouted through the wind. “Clefspeare, Bonnie, and Sir Patrick’s squire were ambushed by two of the New Table’s so-called knights. I rushed down and killed one of the fiends, but the other held a knife at Bonnie’s throat. He demanded Clefspeare’s promise to go with him quietly, and he would treat him as a prisoner of honor.”

  “A prisoner of honor?” Billy yelled. “What’s that?”

  “We used that term back in the sixth century. It means he won’t kill his prisoner without giving him a fair fight, and the prisoner must agree to go peacefully. When Clefspeare gave his word, the coward let Bonnie go and led Clefspeare away. I guided Bonnie and the squire to a safe place.”

  The professor leaned over and shouted, “Sir Patrick’s squire? That must have been Markus. Is he still with Miss Silver?”

  “No. When I dropped them off, Markus insisted on reporting to his master, but Bonnie refused to go with him, saying that she wouldn’t trust anyone but her teacher and me. I agreed and sent Markus away, but since tracking Clefspeare was an urgent matter and great speed was necessary, I decided to leave Bonnie behind. I sensed no danger, even while Markus was present, and Bonnie assured me that she would fly away if she heard or smelled anything strange. Unfortunately, I have been unable to find Clefspeare and his kidnapper. I can’t imagine how they disappeared so quickly.”

  Although the wind buffeted the dragon’s words, Billy understood the gist. “But what was Patrick’s squire doing there? He wasn’t even supposed to know about the meeting.”

  “My question exactly,” Hartanna replied, “but I was in too much of a hurry to interrogate him as thoroughly as I would have liked.”

  A sudden gust of wind knocked the dragon to the side. Billy tightened his grip on Hartanna’s spine and hung on until she righted herself. The professor shouted again. “It seems that we’re in for a rough ride in more ways than one, and we won’t get any answers until I have another talk with Sir Patrick.”

  Ashley sprinted through the airport corridor, waving an arm as she ran. “Come on! That was our boarding call!”

  Walter lugged a heavy, carry-on suitcase and shuffled into a labored jog. “What’d you put in this thing? Dumbbells?”

  Ashley stopped and waited for him to catch up. “I’m not going to comment on ‘dumbbells.’” She took the briefcase and ran ahead, apparently oblivious to the weight. “I told you I’d carry it,” she shouted back. “You’re the one who wanted to be Mr. Chivalry.”

  Walter slung his backpack over his shoulder and tried to catch up, but he kept falling farther behind. He straightened the baseball cap on his head and grumbled under his breath. “She’s a dragon, Walter. Get used to it. She’s stronger and smarter.” Letting out a grunt, he urged his legs into a dead run. “I’ll bet she can’t fish with a fly rod or spar with a sword or jump across Saddler’s Creek without getting wet.”

  Walter finally caught up to Ashley at the gate. As soon as he arrived, she tugged at his backpack. “I hold my high school’s record for long jump,” she said, fishing in one of the pockets. “I know I put the tickets and passports in here somewhere.”

  He turned to make it easier for her to search. “Long jump? How did you know what I was thinking?”

  She pulled out two envelopes and handed them to the attendant. “What do you mean, what you were thinking? I was just explaining why I can run so fast. I did the long jump in high school, and you have to get up a huge head of steam before you can plant and jump.”

  “I was just thinking . . . Oh, never mind. But you sure creep me out sometimes.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She wagged her head as they hustled down the Jetway. “I’ve heard it before. Ashley reads minds. She’s a space alien.”

  After finding their row in the crowded plane, Ashley slid her case under the seat in front of her own and helped Walter get his backpack off. “My brain reacts so quickly to all sensory input,” she continued, “everything from facial expressions to posture to personality, it can anticipate what people are thinking. It makes people think I can read their minds.”

  Ashley took a window seat on the right side of the plane, and Walter slid into the middle. He hoped the seat to his left would remain empty or at least be taken by someone under four hundred pounds. He tilted the video screen embedded in the seat back in front of him, eyeing the line
of passengers stowing their luggage in the overhead racks.

  It was easy to tell the Americans from the Brits. Those heading home to England looked drained from their ‘holiday’ ordeal, ready to fall asleep, while those embarking on a vacation adventure in Europe greeted Walter with bright, cheery faces. A thin, pale man plopped down next to him, buckled his safety belt, and leaned back without a word, immediately closing his eyes and easing into a gentle snore.

  Walter mumbled under his breath. “Seven hours of snoring ahead!” He pulled the flap of the seat pocket in front of him and rifled through the magazines. Aha! A comic book! Walter leaned back and flipped open the pages. After reading it for a few seconds, he burst out laughing.

  “Walter!” Ashley scolded. “Settle down!”

  “Just a minute! Listen to this joke. There was this fish who loved to play golf—”

  Ashley snatched the comic book from his hands. “Shhh!” She pointed toward Walter’s neighbor. “He’s trying to sleep.”

  Walter frowned and crossed his arms. Ashley pulled the airline magazine out of the seat pocket and flipped through the movie schedule. Walter found the plastic bag that held the video headset, tore it open, and slid the earpieces around his cap. He adjusted the speaker pads on his ears and grinned at Ashley. “So what am I thinking? My brain can’t leak through my ears now.”

  Ashley lifted her index and middle fingers. “Two things I would guess. Your most pressing thought is ‘I wonder when breakfast is served on this flight.’” She then gestured toward her carry-on luggage under the seat. “The second is, ‘She still hasn’t told me what’s in that heavy briefcase.’”

  Walter yanked off the headset and moaned. “You’re three for three!” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “I can tell this is going to be a long trip!”

  Ashley pulled the bill of Walter’s cap down to his chin. “Then sleep all the way to London, and I’ll experiment with Apollo by myself.”

  Walter jerked up and straightened his cap. “Apollo? What’s Apollo?”

  The airplane began backing up, and Ashley checked her seatbelt buckle. “I’ll show you when we’re at cruising altitude.”

  Walter fastened his seatbelt, then used his shoe to nudge the briefcase that was neatly stashed just in front of Ashley’s toes. “You’re always the one for mysteries, aren’t you?”

  Ashley yawned and leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes. “Get used to it. It’s like I always say, ‘Too much information can make your brain choke.’”

  “Maybe. But not enough information makes for a lot of dead cats.”

  Ashley opened her eyes and squinted. “Dead cats? What in the world are you talking about?”

  “You know, ‘Curiosity killed the cat.’ And I have enough curiosity to start a feline genocide.”

  “Feline genocide?”

  “Yeah. If you don’t explain Apollo, the cat kingdom will crumble. Cats all over the world will suddenly plop down in unmoving masses of fur, their food will dry up in smelly chunks of liver and fish, and when people call, ‘Here kitty, kitty, kitty, no cats will come running; they’ll just—” Walter suddenly stopped. A blank expression covered his face.

  Ashley poked his ribs with her finger. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

  Walter stared straight ahead. “I just realized . . . if all those things happened, no one would even notice the difference.”

  Hartanna broke through the clouds and zoomed downward in full daylight, hurrying to conceal her presence in the woods below. Billy and the professor held on, bracing themselves for a sudden landing. Having found an open space in the canopy of beech and ash trees, she settled to the ground with a surprisingly soft touch amid an enormous flurry of wings.

  Billy and the professor climbed down, dropping to the mat of dead leaves with a muffled crunch. Hartanna stretched her long neck toward a western slope. “My old cave is nearby, but it’s too close to populated areas now for me to use.”

  A twig popped somewhere in the forest, followed by rustling and the sound of running footsteps. A pair of hands parted the thin branches of two short trees in the distance, revealing Bonnie stepping high over a muddy patch. With her wings now hidden in her backpack, she glided through the remaining brush with ease. When she looked up, her eyes brightened. “Billy!” she called. “I heard Mama coming back, but I didn’t expect to see you!” She greeted him with a warm hug. “I’m so glad she found you!” She then hugged the professor and stepped back. “Did you enjoy your ride?”

  The professor pulled down his sleeves and squared his shoulders. “Indeed we did. Quite exhilarating!” He ran his hand through his tousled hair. “But I seem to have lost my favorite beret.”

  Bonnie’s head drooped as her smile faded away. “Did you hear about Clefspeare?”

  Billy snapped a stick under his hiking boot. “Yeah, and wait’ll I tell you what happened during the night where we were staying.”

  “Save your story for a moment,” the professor said. “First we must find our way to civilization and back to our rental car at Cadbury.”

  “A town is close by,” Hartanna said, “but I cannot safely fly you there. It is not more than a half hour’s walk, and I saw a major road running through its center, so finding transportation back to Camelot should not be a problem. Since I am able to sense Clefspeare’s presence, I will continue my search for him before the trail gets too cold. When you get to your car, make haste back to Glastonbury and alert Sir Patrick.”

  The professor raised his hand to his chin and gazed blankly at a heavily knotted old tree. “Yes . . . We must go to Glastonbury.” He grabbed his cell phone from a belt clip and punched in a number. “William, I’m calling your mother to see if she is able to meet Ashley and Walter at Heathrow. It’s a six- or seven-hour drive from Glasgow to London, so she could get there in plenty of time. You must prepare for your mission while Sir Patrick mobilizes our men to help Hartanna search for Clefspeare. Our veil of secrecy has obviously been torn to shreds, and any delays may further endanger our efforts.” He paused, lifting the phone to his ear. “And our lives.”

  Chapter 4

  THE COMPASS

  Ashley unlocked the hefty briefcase and opened the lid. With careful hands she pulled out what looked like an old-fashioned hourglass, except that the glass enclosure separating the top and bottom circular platforms was rectangular and had no constriction in the middle. Four, foot-long wooden dowels surrounded the glass, one at each corner of the rectangle, and one of the rectangle’s glass faces had tiny hinges on one edge as though it could act as a door to the inside.

  Next, she drew out a black cylinder, which she attached to the top of her hourglass gadget with a quick twist. The cylinder, about double the thickness of a hockey puck, carried four protruding springs on top, each about six inches long with a marble-sized plastic bead swaying back and forth at the upper end.

  Walter narrowed his eyes at the strange device. “That’s Apollo? The top looks more like—”

  “A hockey puck with springs for hair?” Ashley interrupted.

  Walter fumed at her correct guess, but he kept his face relaxed. “Something like that.”

  Ashley popped the beads off the springs, gathering each into her cupped hand. “I put the beads on to make it look like a toy so security wouldn’t ask a bunch of questions, but they never even noticed it. The wire coils are antennae that serve to transmit and receive data.” Ashley pulled two headsets from the briefcase and handed one to Walter. “Put this on. It’s wireless, so you don’t have to plug it in anywhere.”

  Walter stretched the headset’s saddle apart and slipped it over his head. “What am I supposed to be listening to?”

  Ashley put on her own headset and placed the hourglass device on the seat tray in front of her. “You’ll see.” She flipped a switch on the side of the communications “puck,” and a barely perceptible whirring emanated. She then tapped her jaw with her finger. “Are you there?”

  Walter adjusted his heads
et. “Of course I’m here.”

  Ashley put a finger to her lips. “Shhh! Not you. Karen.”

  A voice crackled in Walter’s ears. “Sorry. I was in the kitchen making breakfast.”

  Walter closed one eye and reached for Apollo. “You’re talking to Karen through a high-tech hockey puck?”

  Ashley batted his hand away. “Karen, how am I coming through?”

  The scratchy voice returned. “There’s a lot of static, but you’re hitting six on the meter. Not bad.”

  “I expected the static,” Ashley replied. “Walter’s doing mental somersaults, so he’s probably jamming the circuits.” She smiled and gave Walter a friendly shove on the arm. “I think we’re at about 37,000 feet, but I can’t guess what our electromagnetic reflection angle is. I’m sure Apollo will work better at ground level. We’d better not try a material generation until we’ve landed.”

  Karen’s voice buzzed again. “How about something small? What could it hurt? It only absorbs light, not power. The plane engines won’t feel a thing.”

  “Okay . . . I guess you’re right.” Ashley pressed her index finger on her bottom lip. “Use the same program I wrote when we transmitted from the transfer box to the kitchen. Maybe if you keep Gandalf away from the power grid, it’ll work this time.”

  “Don’t worry. He hasn’t set a paw in the computer room since the infamous tail-fire incident.”

  Ashley rotated Apollo until a rectangular metal flap on its base faced her. “Good. Let’s try sending the button again.”

  Walter sat up straight and pushed the headset tight against his ears. “This is cool! Beam the button up, Scotty!”

  Ashley slid the metal flap to the side and spun a tiny dial. “She can’t hear you, Walter. Just watch the bottom of the glass enclosure.”

  “I’ve got you locked in,” Karen buzzed. “Are you ready?”

  A light flashed down from the top platform, illuminating the inside of the glass rectangle, a strange, sparkling light, thick and green, like an electrified, emerald mist. The lights from the airplane’s overhead panel dimmed, and a shroud of gray shadows enveloped their seats. Seconds later the sparkles congealed, falling to the bottom of the glass rectangle, a shimmering green snow shower in a crystal cage. The particles spun around at the bottom like water swirling down a drain, throwing off their jade pigment and finally settling into a small, round disk.