Adam of Albion (23 page)

Now
the connection was starting to come. Jason had been running away from the
concert—Simon must have been there, too. And the woman sounded like Rainy Jane,
the gray-haired lady who prowled the moors and who seemed to have mysterious
knowledge about all his. She’d be easy to take for an apparition, for sure.

Then
another thought hit Adam. Could this be the pathway that the Goddess had hinted
about?  Simon seemed to be exactly what they’d been hoping for—someone who
knew about Orpheus and could help him. Besides—Adam kept getting the feeling
that Simon was somehow more familiar than just the occasional news photos he’d
seen. He still couldn’t place it, but the connection he felt was a good one.

Artemis
seemed to have the same kind of sense about him. She caught Adam’s gaze with a
slight nod. Okay, Adam decided. He was still nervous about letting Barry in on
the secret, but they’d have to take that chance.

“Orpheus
is right here,” Adam said. He unslung the sack and carefully lifted out the
inert little head.

“Wonderful!
What the woman told me was true,” Simon breathed thankfully.

Barry’s
eyes went round, first with surprise, then indignation. “What the hell is
that?” he sputtered. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

Artemis
shushed him, and Simon’s face creased with worry. “He doesn’t look good,” Simon
said.

“He’s
not—he’s wiped out from what he’s been through,” Adam said. “We’re hoping you
can help him—but you don’t look too hot, either.”

“I
had an accident,” Simon said, brushing it off.

But
Artemis wasn’t going to let it go. “What kind of accident?” she demanded.

“A
psychopath tried to stab me, and I accidentally let him. Look, we can work out
the explanations later—we all have stories that need telling.” Including Barry,
Adam realized, who was watching all this like he’d just been clobbered with a
two-by-four. How had he hidden from the thugs?

But
Simon went on. “I’ve been working on a way to give Orpheus an energy charge—I
knew he might be weak when he awoke. But no guarantees—it’s just a theory,
still on the drawing board up here.” He tapped a finger against his temple.
“Now, we’ve got a ways to travel, and we’d better get moving.”

“But
you need a doctor!” Artemis said.

“From
the look of your bandage, my dear, so do you. I’ll manage all right, but
perhaps you’d better not strain yourself any further.”

“Ohhhhhh,
no you don’t! You’re not ditching me, I don’t care how famous and brilliant and
bloody rich you are, Mr. Lodestone. After what we’ve been through, you honestly
think I’ll go to my room like a good little girl and wait for Mummy and Daddy?”
Adam noticed that her outrage made her gain a little color.

Simon’s
face creased again, this time in a smile—and with that, Adam suddenly had it.

 Cristof!
That was who Simon reminded him of. They didn’t really look alike, but they had
the same kind of craggy grin and the same kind of presence—and that was why
Adam had immediately felt at home with him.

“I
stand corrected,” Simon said. “Right, then, team, let’s go. Barry, you’re the
designated driver. I can tell you’re a man to be relied on in a tough spot.”

Barry’s
face lit up like a space shuttle launch. “You bet, Simon—you can count on me!”
Then he paused uncertainly. “Um, where are we going?’

“Back
to the Watching Druids,” Simon said, and raised the scotch flask to his lips.
That wasn’t something Adam wanted to hear—his memories of that place weren’t
exactly fond ones. But the thugs wouldn’t have any reason to be hanging around
there—would they?

Then
Artemis whispered, “Remember what Rainy Jane said about seeking ‘thin spots,’
and the Watching Druids is one of them?” Adam blinked—that was another thing
that had slipped off his radar in all the turmoil. Well, Rainy Jane and Simon
seemed to know a lot about all this, and if they both said to go there, that
settled it.

The
BMW was like a tank compared to last night’s little moped—it probably weighed a
few hundred pounds. Adam admitted that he’d have a lot of trouble handling it,
but that was where Barry’s extra size came in.

“You
ever ridden anything like this before?” Adam asked him.

“Sure,
moron—I’ve got a ton of friends who let me take their classic BMW’s out
joyriding,” Barry hissed back.

“Keep
your eyes on the road, okay? No screwing around with your phone this time.”

Barry
shot him a disgusted glance. “Are you kidding? With Simon Lodestone on board?”

Great,
Adam thought—it was fine to dump a bike with just
me
on board. But he
couldn’t really blame Barry for feeling that way.

Barry
clambered into the seat and wisely started making a dry run through the clutch
and gears to get the feel. Luckily, the bike’s original kickstarter, which
would have taken King Kong to stomp down on, had been replaced with an electric
one. They ought to be able to get it going, if they could just
keep
it
going. It must have been ridden off-highway, Adam noticed—its beautiful
metallic black finish was layered with reddish brown dust, the same kind that
that the moped had picked up on the dirt roads last night.

Then
his gaze spotted something puzzling. The dust seemed to be peppered with small
tracks, like from birds or rodents—except they had a long thin almond shape,
and no claw marks. Raindrops, maybe? But those would leave splotches and
streaks, and these looked pressed down into the dust.

Almost
like footprints made by tiny, moccasin type shoes.

Then
an obvious question occurred to him. With Simon in the shape he was in, how had
he managed to handle the big motorcycle?

Simon
was cradling the flask against his chest, his eyes half-closed.

“Simon,
I don’t want to disturb you, but—” Adam hesitated.

“Not
at all—I’m just conserving my energy,” Simon murmured. “What is it?”

“How’d
you get this thing here?”

“I’m
fuzzy about that. After I was stabbed, I went into a fog. Truth be told, I was
blacked out a good part of the time. I have some memories, but I’m not sure if
they’re real, or dreams, or hallucinations. I do seem to vaguely recall
careening around like I was on a Wild Mouse ride—I must have been driving on
instinct, but too out of touch to realize it. By the time my mind started to
clear again, I was here.”

Adam
nodded—but he was thinking about those tiny lights he’d seen at the old church
last night, when Jason disappeared. He stepped over to Artemis and leaned close
to her ear.

“Are
there any fireflies around here?” he asked quietly.

She
gave him a look that clearly wondered if he’d gone crazy—what kind of a
question was that, at a time like this?

But
she said, “I don’t think so. I’ve never seen one, anyway.”

“Any
other kinds of bugs that light up, anything like that?”

She
shook her head slowly, still giving him that look.

Then
Barry hit the starter button, and the big motorcycle came alive with a roar
like a fighter jet taking off, then settled into a smooth, throaty growl. This
machine meant
business.

“Come
on, you dorks,” Barry yelled over the noise. “Me and Simon are waiting.”

Artemis
and Adam rolled their eyes—
me and Simon?
But Barry looked happier than
Adam had ever seen him—grown up, determined to shine in the eyes of the most
important person in his world, who not only was sitting right beside him, but
depending on his help. It was a major turnaround from the bored, spoiled kid
Adam was used to. He hoped it would stick, both for Barry’s sake and his own.

“Simon’s
right about you, cuz,” Adam said, giving the new Barry’s ego a boost. “When the
pressure’s on, you’re a rock.”

“Yeah—good
thing I was around, or else you guys would be dead in the water.”

Well,
new Barry still had the bluster, but if he got them to the Watching Druids
okay, Adam could happily put up with that. He climbed onto the bike behind
Barry, gripping fistfuls of his jacket on each side and snugging his thighs
around the broad leather seat like it was a saddle. Artemis carefully lowered
herself into the sidecar between Simon’s knees, trying not to jostle him, but
his eyes opened wider and he made a little “uh” grunt.

“I’m
sorry, I’m so sorry, oh cripes,” she said breathlessly.

“Quite
all right, love—glad to have such a charming young lady to snuggle with. I just
need to readjust a bit.”

Barry
kicked the bike into first, gave it some throttle, and started letting out the
clutch. In the next seconds, the difference between a machine like this and one
like the moped came crashing home. The big BMW lunged forward like a bucking
horse raging out of a rodeo chute, with the front wheel trying to jump up in
the air and the rear spraying dirt. Only the sidecar, like training wheels on a
bicycle, kept them from doing a somersault. Simon’s eyes were closed again, his
face looking ashen.

Fuming
with anxiety, Barry pulled the clutch back in, steadied the bike, and tried
again, a little more smoothly this time. Gradually, lurching like a drunk, they
started on their way.

Barry
got the hang of it pretty fast, and he drove slowly and carefully, hunched over
the handlebars with a level of concentration that Adam had never seen in him
before. In a few minutes, they were cruising along at a fairly smooth, steady
clip. And luck was with them—they made the precarious ride without being seen.
Artemis knew a way to get to the Watching Druids over back roads, and by now it
was getting dark, especially along the maze of narrow, twisting lanes lined by
tall hedges. Out here in the country, on a Sunday evening, there was nobody out
and about, anyway.

Simon
settled down, with the help of a couple of more slugs from the Scotch flask,
and he looked like he’d nodded off. But Adam noticed that his lips were
moving—twisting and grimacing as if he was arguing with somebody in his
sleep—although there was too much noise from the bike to hear his words.

With
the roundabout route and slow speed, it was a good half hour by the time they
passed the ruined old church and climbed to the hilltop where the concert had
been held. Tonight, it looked as deserted as the end of the world. But the road
ended right there, and the only way to get to the great stones of the Watching
Druids themselves was on foot, another fifty yards of traversing the hill’s
steep slope. There were several paths, but they were all narrow and
rock-studded—no way could the big, cumbersome BMW make it across them. Simon
was in no shape to walk, and trying to carry him would torture his wounds even
if they could manage it.

He
was lying back quiet again, his eyes still closed. Barry cut the engine, and
the kids climbed off the bike, stiff from chill and teary-eyed from the rush of
wind past their faces.

“Any
ideas, geniuses?” Barry said.

“What
we need is a wheelchair,” Artemis said.

“Oh,
sure—there must be a place to rent one around here.” Barry’s sarcastic tone was
back—no doubt he was worried that he was going to fail in the eyes of his idol
after all.

“Barry,
you were terrific, getting us here—now try using your head instead of just
grumbling,” she sighed. “We just might already
have
a wheelchair. Adam,
you’re the mechanic—is there any way we could use the sidecar?”

Adam
blinked in surprise—that hadn’t even occurred to him.

“Let
me check it out,” he said. He knew these bikes usually had toolkits under the
seats. It took him a few seconds to find the latch, but when he lifted it up,
sure enough, there was an oilskin pouch with an assortment of wrenches, and
some other gear including a flashlight. He bent close to examine the point
where the sidecar connected to the motorcycle, shining the light and feeling
around with his fingers. It seemed like there were only four bolts that he’d
need to pull—although they’d obviously been there a long time and under a lot
of tension, so it wouldn’t be easy.

“Well—I
might be able to get it off the bike,” he said. “But it’s still only got the
one wheel, on the outside. The other side would just drag on the ground—we
couldn’t go anywhere except in circles.”

They
all stared at it, with a familiar
so close and yet so far
feeling.

But
then Barry said, “Hang on a second.” He stepped to the outside wheel of the
sidecar, got a grip on the frame—then lifted the whole thing a few inches off
the ground!

Adam
was knocked out—he knew Barry was strong, but not
that
strong.

Barry
set the sidecar down again, carefully so as not to disturb Simon.

“Okay,
I think I can be the human wheel on the other side,” he said gruffly.

“Fantastic!”
Artemis exclaimed. “Look, why don’t you go scope out the paths and find the
best one? I’ll stay here and try to help Adam.”

Barry
nodded, eager again now, and lumbered off toward the hillside.

Adam
gave her the flashlight and got to work, forcing himself to be calm. First and
foremost, don’t strip the bolts, he commanded himself—if that happened with
even one of them, then it would take a cutting torch to do the job. He found a
can of WD-40 and gave them a thorough spraying to cut the rust, and let it soak
in while he went through the toolkit to find a socket and end wrench that would
fit.

“Did
you hear Simon talking?” Artemis asked quietly.

“I
could see him, but I couldn’t hear—anything you could understand?”

“No—but
I don’t think it was just babble. I actually think it might have been Gaelic. I
don’t know much of that—it’s something I want to learn—but my father’s family
is from Scotland, the part that used to be the old Celtic kingdom of Dalriada.
Some of our relatives there still speak it, so I’ve kind of picked up the
sound.”

Talking
in your sleep—in Gaelic?
That
was wild.

But—Gaelic
was the language of the Druids, right? And Rainy Jane had told them that the
stones here once communicated with MaelTarna—did that figure in somehow? There
seemed to be a lot of connections floating around, but he couldn’t put them
together.

He
started working at the bolts, fitting the socket over the heads and tapping the
ratchet with the heel of his hand to get it started. Two of them loosened up
pretty easily, but the other two were tougher. One of them finally gave way, at
the cost of a couple of skinned knuckles, but the last one wouldn’t budge. He
gazed around helplessly, wishing he could find a cheater, a long piece of pipe
to slip over the ratchet for better leverage. On a ranch, there was always
something like that around, but these Brits were so damned tidy that the entire
area looked like it had been vacuum cleaned.

Then
Simon, who still seemed out of it with his eyes closed, started muttering. It
sounded like he was still carrying on an argument with whoever was there in his
mind. The kids strained to hear the words—now they sounded like English, but
with an accent from a much earlier time.

Suddenly
he erupted, almost in a roar: “
No!
Free him from this shadow of menace
that gathers over him! How many have I already seen led to slaughter? And now
the knife twists yet again—one of my own blood has turned traitor! Do with me
what you like—but I’m sickened, and I want no more part of it.” For several
more seconds he was silent, as if he was listening to an answer. They stayed as
still as icicles, with only a nervous glance between them—both remembering what
the Goddess had said about a young knight in great danger.

Simon
started talking again—growling back to the voice that only he could hear.

“Aye,
perhaps he
is
the one, and this will be the last time—or will it? But if
the heavy hand of destiny lies on him, there’s no escape from that. So be it,
then—I’ll do what I can. Though it tears my heart in two, give me the strength
to protect him from that snake I entrusted with my secrets.”

Simon
jerked the Scotch flask to his lips so hard he looked like he was going to bite
its neck off, emptied it, and hurled it clattering across the rocky ground.
Maybe that woke him up—his eyes blinked open. For a few seconds, he looked
confused. But then his gaze focused on Artemis and Adam, and he gave them a
faint smile. If he had any memory of what he’d just said, there was no sign of
it.

“How
are you feeling, Simon?” Artemis said, smoothing back his hair like a mother
feeling a sick child’s forehead.

“Never
better, love.” But he wheezed out the words and he looked really feeble, as if
his outburst had drained the little energy he had left.

He and
Orpheus were very much in the same situation, Adam realized.

She
turned abruptly back to Adam. “What can I do to help you?” He interpreted that
correctly as a polite way of saying:
Come on, the clock’s ticking—get back
to work!
He could only think of one thing to try with that final bolt—it
increased the risk of stripping it, but he didn’t see any choice.

“I’m
going to find Barry,” he said. “I need him to kick down on the wrench while I
hold it in place.”

Her
face took on that determined,
Don’t treat me like a helpless girl,
look.
“
I
can do it perfectly well,” she said. “Just tell me how.”

Adam
exhaled. He wasn’t up to arguing with her. “Stand on the seat, and when I get
the socket in place, stomp your heel down on the ratchet,” he said.

“Always
knew these Doc Martens would come in handy some day,” she declared, climbing up
on the bike and positioning a heavy boot above the bolt.

Adam
squirmed underneath it on his back and set the socket, with the handle
horizontal.

“Okay—go
for it,” he called up to her.

She
stomped down so hard that the wrench went flying out of his hand, close enough
to his face to almost take a few teeth with it.

But
the bolt had turned that all-important first fraction of an inch!

“I
think we got it!” he said—and he couldn’t resist adding, “Not bad—for a girl.”

“Pig,”
she retorted, but she grinned down at him between her boots, and they traded
thumbs up signs.

She
hopped off the bike to get him the wrench, then let out a cheering hoot as Adam
unscrewed the bolt and pulled it loose, with the sidecar sagging free against
the motorcycle frame.

He
skootched out from underneath it and eased the axle to the ground. The weight
was all he could handle, even just letting it down like that—no way could he
have lifted it and made it look easy, like Barry had.

“Help
me hide the bike, just in case,” he said. Forlorn as this place was, you never
knew if somebody might come cruising by, spot it, and get curious enough to go
looking for its owner. Hiding the moped last night had probably saved his and
Barry’s lives.

Even
with Artemis pushing too, the big BMW was still no piece of cake, but they
managed to stash it behind a well-shadowed rockpile, just as they heard the
sound of Barry’s footsteps.

“I’m
pretty sure we can make it,” he called as he hurried over to them.

“Right,
then,” Artemis said. “Time for you to be Conan.”

Barry
hefted the free end of the axle, and they rolled the sidecar clear. It looked
like a pram designed by skinheads, with a huge leather-jacketed baby inside.
They started across the network of narrow footpaths to the Watching Druids,
with Barry snorting and straining like a Crusader warhorse, and the other two
pushing. The going was tough, what with the steep slope and the rocks seeming
to reach up from the ground to trip them. Artemis was doing her best, but blood
was seeping through her bandage and Adam could tell that she was getting
weaker. The bouncing wasn’t helping Simon, either—he was trying not to show it,
but they could see him wincing.

“Awfully
sorry to be such a burden,” he rasped hoarsely.

“We’ll
manage,” Adam panted. “Any particular place?”

“The
tallest of the stones. It’s called Manachan, the monk.”

The
entire trip only took a few minutes, but it seemed like an hour of pushing a
boxcar across a field of boulders before they finally reached their destination
and sank exhausted to the ground. There were about a dozen of the Watching
Druid stones arranged in a rough horseshoe shape, with several others toppled
over, and the rest graduating in height to the giant, westward facing Manachan
at center. It was at least twice as tall as Adam, and he could see how it got
its name. It had a weird, twisted shape that did look like a monk, hooded and
with shrouded arms upraised as if in warning—or a curse.

“Splendid—you’re
all up for medals in my book,” Simon murmured, although his wheezing sounded
worse than ever. “Now, if you’ll kindly help me get me out of this contraption,
I need to sit against the base of the stone.”

Careful
as they tried to be, moving was obviously very painful for him—he kept up a
steady stream of curses under his breath, biting them off and starting new ones
before they got going full swing, although the kids could tell that they’d be
very instructive about the kinds of things you didn’t learn in church. As they
eased him down against the Manachan, another strange connection clicked in
Adam’s mind: both Simon and Cristof had been wounded very close to the same
time in this event log, if you set aside the 800 years or so of real time.

They
helped Simon totter the last few steps to the Manachan, and eased him down with
his back against it like he’d asked.

“I’m
flying by the seat of my pants, but I learned something last night that may be
crucial—or at least, I hope I did,” Simon said, talking slowly and with effort
underscored by grim intensity. “Since I was a boy, I’ve studied Orpheus, trying
to learn how to awaken him—working from the foundation laid by great minds like
the incomparable Sir Isaac Newton, who founded The Calculus. Last night at the
concert, I succeeded in that critical first step—only to have Orpheus torn
away.

“After
I was attacked, I don’t know exactly what happened. The man who stabbed me must
have left me for dead, and in the darkness, no one else saw. I suppose I
wandered off in a daze, and ended up lying in this field. Then the woman in the
robe was there at my side. She gave me something to drink, that eased my pain
and freshened me some. She told me that you three had what I’d lost, and where
to find you—and she said to listen to the stones as they sang their ancient
songs.