by J. P. Rice
“Your secret is safe with me, sir. She did scream at the top of her lungs, though,” I said, trying to cheer him up.
His silent response told me I needed to change the subject. “Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself?”
“Tell you what. Since you bought me the good stuff without putting up a fight, I’ll tell you something most people don’t know. I used to belong to Sir William Wallace. Maybe you’ve heard of him?” he asked, his Scottish accent growing thicker.
“Of course, I’ve heard of him.”
“I fought right alongside him too.” He sniffled, then the floodgates burst open and he sobbed uncontrollably. “I can’t hold it in anymore. It was my fault. It was all me. I started all the trouble.”
He sniffed in a deep breath and gathered himself. “Sir William only wanted to stab Young Selby once to teach the rapscallion a lesson. But I was young and stupid. A real hothead. And I kept stabbing until the son of the English Governor was dead. It was all my fault. I was only supposed to be a ceremonial dagger. Why did Young Selby have to insult us?” he whined.
I couldn’t believe a dagger had stronger emotions than I did. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. Wallace was a hothead too.”
“Sir William, please.”
“Oh, so sorry.”
“Just a sensitive area for me. That’s why I don’t tell anyone that I’m a ceremonial dagger or a Sgian Dubh. I don’t think anyone’s on my trail, but you never know.” He sniffled and went on, “Before he met his demise, Sir William hid me away, under the shade of a mossy boulder, wrapped in a dirty white cloth. And I stayed there for about five-hundred years.”
“You think I could get another swig of the good stuff?” Gareth requested.
“I’m trying to drive over here.” However, I really wanted to hear the rest of his story. I grabbed the bottle and unscrewed the cap with one hand. Using the bottle, I nudged Gareth’s blade flat on the seat. With one hand on the wheel, I held my thumb over the opening of the bottle. Guided by moonlight, I poured out the liquid and it trickled onto the blade, the fat golden drops sliding off immediately and soaking into my seats.
“All right. Back to the story.” I put the top back on the bottle and focused on the road again.
“Right. Where the hell was I?” He thought for a few moments and cried out, “Oh, yeah. So I stayed under that damn rock for five centuries until a young peasant found me. I was sold a few times and ended up in the possession of a man named, John Henry. He took me to this faraway land called America.”
Gareth belched. I didn’t know how, but he did. He continued, “Next thing I knew, I found myself on the back of a cart loaded with a swathe of weapons. Scared silly and a million miles from home, I was sold to a tribe of Native Americans. The Cheyenne. A beautiful people.” He was getting choked up and tried to fight it off.
He cleared his throat and spoke dismissively, “You know what, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. You heard enough about me.”
He went silent and about a minute later, I said, “There’s a lot of stuff I don’t like to talk about too.” It was a stupid line, but I thought he needed to hear something reassuring.
“It’s not. Oh hell. I can’t stay away anymore,” Gareth babbled. He sighed mightily. “I want to cash in another one of my demands.”
“And what would that be?” I asked, hoping this would be an easy request.
The dagger said, “You need to take me to the Senator John Heinz History Center down on Smallman Street.”
“Not a chance. We’re like five minutes from my house. And that’s all the way across town. And it’s closed.” I wouldn’t be surprised if smoke was shooting out of my ears.
He blew up and yelled, “Then we’ll have to break in.” He paused and spoke in a calmer tone, “Look, do you want me to tell you about the death cards or not?”
With anger coursing through me and my shower so close that I could feel the steady stream of hot water on my shoulders, I jerked the wheel and turned the vehicle around. I shoved my foot against the gas pedal. “You’re lucky I’m a nice girl.”
He laughed. Why did everyone laugh when I said that?
I hauled ass over to the History Center. The six-story cherrystone building was accented by a neon sign on the top floor of the building. The Heinz logo replete with a tilted bottle of ketchup that extended above the roof sat high above the entrance to the building.
We went around back of the long rectangular structure. I searched around for guards and found no one. I set a spell to disable the alarm systems of the museum. Unfortunately, I wasn’t positive it would work.
Regardless, I pushed down on the flat knob, and the alarm didn’t go off, so I leaned my weight into the door. I shoved it gently and prepared to run, but the security system didn’t sound. I opened the door slowly, and pushed myself through, entering the dark building with Gareth in my right hand.
“Up these steps straight ahead,” he directed.
I remained ready to hightail it out of there if we ran into a guard. Although it was a small museum, it housed valuable objects. Some would argue—that because of the historical value and inability to replicate items—many pieces were priceless. So it surprised me that we hadn’t encountered any muscle. Perhaps they relied solely on the alarm system.
Gareth guided us up a few floors and over to a Native American exhibit in the corner. He said, “Right over there on the end.”
I walked up to the end and saw a leather sheath presented on curved display hooks in the wall with a display light hanging above it. A dull, buttery stream of electricity poured down to spotlight the ornate sheath that sat level with my chest. I leaned in for a closer look at the intricate beadwork outlining the tan leather sheath. The alternating soft pink and aqua blue pattern gave it a feminine quality.
“God, you look beautiful. Look at you up there like a model,” he spoke with raw emotion attached to every word.
I turned away. The dagger’s words made me embarrassed that I’d been staring.
The sheath spoke, “Gareth? Is that you?”
“It’s me, Nandita. No need to blush. Sorry it’s been so long. I can’t believe how young you look,” he uttered, starting to get choked up. Looking at them next to each other, I didn’t see how the dagger would fit inside the sheath.
“Thank you. They have some rejuvenating oils around here that you wouldn’t believe. You don’t seem to be in bad shape either,” she joked. She had a soft but rich voice and her words bounced around the open room.
“Uh, Junipher,” said Gareth.
“Uh. Yeah,” I answered.
His rubies gleamed with life again. “You think you could slide me in there and give us a few minutes?”
“Of course.” After their lovey-dovey talk, I felt sleazy as I pushed the knife into the sheath. To my surprise, it was a perfect fit.
I walked away, but not too far away, and lingered near a display of long pipes. It just so happened that I could hear the conversation.
“How did you know I was here?” Nandita asked with reserved excitement in her voice.
“I heard about it last year. I’m heartbroken to see you all alone like this. If you want, we can bust you out. The odd couple rides again. A new life together,” Gareth offered.
“I’d like that, but this is my life now. This museum needs me. My people have been nearly forgotten. I’m proud to be in this display that teaches everyone about the ways of the Native Americans,” Nandita revealed.
“Never thought you’d go for the model life. Just tell me you’ve thought about us. Humor me,” he begged.
Come on, Nandita. He needed this. This was breaking my heart. Tears rushed to my eyes, but the ducts held tight.
Nandita said, “Of course, I’ve thought about you. And it would be wonderful to get back together, but not at the expense of my new calling. I was brought here for a reason. I’m well protected and provided for here.”
I understood Nandita’s side of it, but I was p
ulling for the happily ever after ending. Come on, Gareth. Work that magic you so eloquently spoke of earlier.
“Well, maybe I’m here. You know. For a reason too,” he stumbled over his words, then recovered, “Maybe you’ve been here long enough. Perhaps it’s time to come with me.”
I crossed my fingers. Please, please, please.
“I can’t. It’s tempting. It really is,” Nandita said. “I think we’re just in two different places right now. I can smell booze on you.”
No. I wanted my new friend to be happy.
She went on, “You know what will happen. We’ll get separated again. I’ll end up being sold at a flea market and burned in a bonfire. I need to stay here. I need to carry on the message of the Cheyenne.”
“I understand. I’ll always love you. You know that.” The pain lacing his words caused the tears to break loose and the heartache collected in my throat. Just because I couldn’t have happiness, I didn’t wish that on everyone else. I used to.
Nandita said, “And I’ll always love you. You can come and visit me anytime. Business hours would probably be best next time.”
“Well then, I guess I should go. Love you, Nandita,” he pledged as his voiced cracked.
“I love you too, Gareth,” she returned, but her words held a cold edge.
“Junipher,” the dagger called.
I wiped away the tears, hustled across the floor and pulled Gareth out of the sheath. “It was nice to meet you,” I said to Nandita because of force of habit. I really wanted to slap her off the wall and stomp her out for ripping out my new friend’s heart and playing hacky-sack with it.
“Bye now,” Gareth said, defeated.
Nandita sniffled. “Come back again.”
I dragged my feet across the floor. Gareth groaned as I tucked him into my purse when we hit the steps. It was more than a groan, and it tugged at my heartstrings. It was the final groan of what would likely be the final meeting between the once happy couple.
Darabond had groaned when he turned to leave for the final time. He had been experiencing pain in his knees, and his left foot had stuck in the ground. I knew the final groan all too well.
I didn’t say a word on the way back to the vehicle. He needed a minute. We both did.
Chapter 22
We arrived at my Jeep, and Gareth said, “More booze. More booze. Right now, please. Please, right now.”
“Relax. And thank you for asking before we got in the car.” I tried being nice to boost his confidence. I got Gareth good and drunk, and we hopped in the car.
Mercifully, we headed for my house where my shower was screaming for me. Gareth went silent except for an occasional low-pitched rumbling burp. His eyes were barely noticeable. I marveled at how they changed with his mood.
I figured changing the subject from that bloodbath in the museum was the best route. “Karaoke, huh?” I slapped the back of the passenger seat and spoke enthusiastically to cheer him up, “Fook yeah. What song you gonna sing?”
“Tales of a broken heart,” he said lifelessly.
Well shit, that backfired. “What album is that from?”
“Eponymous. By yours truly.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be sad.”
“I just got fist-fucked by the only woman I’ve ever loved. And not in a good way. How should I react? Dance the friggin’ jig?” he asked rhetorically.
Considering my heart felt like Jell-O, I couldn’t imagine what he was going through. I tried to encourage him. “You didn’t get rejected. She said to come back and see her again. She didn’t mace you, pull the fire alarm or call the cops for a restraining order. It sounded like when you two were separated last time, it tore her heart apart. She’s just trying to avoid that happening again.”
“That’s one theory. Another could be she saw my engravings had dulled, the point of my blade had a tiny nick and I wasn’t nearly as sharp as I used to be. Dollars to doughnuts, she found a younger knife with less wear and tear than the old man you see before you today.” He sighed nostalgically. “I really used to be something, I tell ya. I swear it.”
I never realized a dagger could share the same ridiculous insecurities with a lot of men. “Stop. You’re being foolish. In so many ways. Why don’t you tell me about how you two met? Maybe it will cheer you up.”
“It picks right up with the story I was telling you earlier. I was sold to that Cheyenne tribe in what is now La Junta, Colorado. Oh, I remember it like it was yesterday. The big Rocky Mountains off in the distance were barely visible because of the heavy fog.” He burped. “Oh, excuse me.”
Gareth continued, “Kishori, a young Cheyenne girl, picked me up in one hand and held Nandita in the other. I could barely see her through the ivory haze. Chief Wild Wind scolded Kishori that the two would never go together. Thankfully, Kishori was stubborn.”
He fought away the emotion and said, “We weren’t made for each other. A guy like me and a girl like her. Nobody gave us a chance. We came from two different worlds. A Scottish dagger and a Cheyenne sheath. Preposterous, right? But somehow, we got along and made for a perfect match. Nandita means happy in Cheyenne, and you wouldn’t know it from that serious sheath you met back there, but she was ever the joker.”
He paused for a moment. “I remember when Kishori slid me in for the first time. Nandita said, ‘Hey, watch where you’re sticking that thing.’” He chuckled and savored the moment.
He cleared his throat. “Never down. Even when we were being separated, she told me a joke. When the western expansion started choking off the hunting and farming grounds, the tribe had to sell us. They were starving. I can’t blame them for selling us. And through it all, Nandita never got down and buoyed my spirits most of the time. She was the personification of happiness.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“She was,” Gareth said. “Not that ice-cold piece of leather you met back there. Models always let it go to their heads, right? She might have looked good, but no, that wasn’t the Nandita I know.” He groaned and revealed, “That guy back at that brothel or whatever that was. That wasn’t me.”
“Who was that?” I asked.
“No. I mean, it was me. Just not who I really am. After me and Nandita split up, I went through this phase where I turned into a chauvinist dagger, thinking people respected that. And here I am, how many years later, and I guess I’ve never grown out of it. It’s almost like I forged this false reputation that I need to uphold.”
“I can understand that.”
“People got to know me as the macho man’s man. And if I don’t live up to that, then who am I? And I haven’t even started swearing yet. Wait ‘til I get good and drunk,” he said, slurring his words.
As he rambled on, I wanted to pay attention to him, but my mind drifted back to the case. Gareth’s intriguing story had humanized him and captured my attention, but I’d lost focus on the task at hand. And with all the excitement, I’d almost forgotten about my dragons and missing locket.
We still needed Gareth’s clue to bring down the death card operation. If his clue didn’t help, we would be right back at square one. And we would have wasted an insane amount of time tracking down Gareth. I was little more than a hostage to the dagger’s demands at this point.
Unfortunately, I had to cater to Gareth’s needs and paid attention to him again.
He started getting too emotional about Nandita, so I changed the subject. “So what do you know about John Jenkins?”
“Eh. Not much. Seemed like a good guy who got in over his head. I don’t blame him for sending me to the pawnshop. A lot of people were after him because I opened my mouth in a bar one night. I sure hope he’s all right.”
I didn’t tell him about John Jenkins’ unceremonious demise because of his frail emotional state. “How was he in over his head?”
“He bought me because he knew I was a talking dagger. Paid good money for me. The guy who sold me to him did not know I was a talking dagger. But his friends did. Apparently, t
hey went berserk because they knew I’d seen and heard a few things that could sink their ship,” he explained.
I changed lanes and put the pedal to the metal. “Seems like you were rolling with some heavy hitters.”
“I was for a while. I told John to get the hell outta Pittsburgh. I sure hope he listened. These people don’t play around.”
Since he was drunk, I tried to pry some info out of him. “Why don’t you make it fun and give me some hints about the culprits? See if I can guess.”
“Nice try. Not until my list is complete. I tell you the name and you throw me in a dirty gutter. I know how this goes.” The indomitable son of a bitch wouldn’t budge.
“I’m not going to throw you in the gutter, but you have to look at this from my side. People are dying for no reason. I’m trying to fix that but the longer I wait, it puts more lives in jeopardy. It’s hard to enjoy a night out under these conditions.”
“I get it. And for the record, they were wrong about you being a stone-hearted bitch,” he said. I took the backhanded compliment in stride.
He went on, “I’ll admit, when I realized it was you and the Morrigan who dragged me out of that castle, I was terrified. But you dames are all right.”
“Thank you. I think. You can’t tease me like that and not tell me who these people are.”
“You’ll have your answers in a few hours. I feel bad about the death cards and people dying, but I need to stick to my guns.” A dagger using a phrase involving guns made me chuckle internally.
I was hoping the booze would loosen his lips, but the Scotsman remained firm in his stance. Despite the snowy roads, my lifted Jeep Wrangler hauled ass across town, and finally, mercifully, my house came into focus. My temporary residence had never looked so beautiful.
I parked, and we went inside. The fresh soapy smell coming from the Morrigan made me jealous. She stood outside my kitchen and combed through her knotted hair with her fingers. She asked, “Did everything go well?”
Wearing black sweat pants and a matching hoodie that I’d bought him before we left for Sleepy Willow, Justinian appeared behind Mo.
