Keeper of the Black Stones (23 page)

By the time we got home, my hands ached from holding onto the door,
and I thought Paul might throw up. We hadn't slowed for stop signs, traffic signals, or other cars in the last twenty minutes, but we'd made it back safely, and in half the time it should have taken us.

More importantly, I had a plan.

“Your car's gone,” Paul said as we pulled into our driveway. He was right; the body of Reis' car, along with the glass, plastic, fiberglass, and metal that had exploded across our driveway only hours before, had been gathered up and carted off the property. The driveway was empty, as if nothing ever happened.

If I'd thought about it, which I hadn't, I would have expected cops, a bomb squad, and half the neighborhood in our yard, courtesy of Mrs. Grey. We didn't get gunfights or grenade launchers very often on this street, and it should have drawn a crowd. Instead, the neighborhood was quiet. Doors were shut, curtains drawn. Just another Monday morning in Lebanon, New Hampshire.

“I called a clean-up crew for damage control,” Reis answered casually. “Just some friends of mine. We don't have time for a three-ring circus right now.”

“Cool,” Paul whispered.

Reis reached up to tap the garage door opener on the visor above him, and we pulled into the darkness of the garage. The heavy metal door banged shut behind us and darkness descended, leaving us in the soft glow of the single bulb swinging overhead. For a moment we sat, eyes straight ahead, mouths shut, staring at the back wall. Then Reis broke the silence.

“We don't have much time.” He looked at his watch and turned to face me. “Are you alright?”

I stared back at him for a moment before replying. “Am I alright? I'm sitting here wondering if I can believe a word of this–if
any
of us can–and you're asking if I'm al
right
? Are you
serious
?”

Reis looked away, then nodded as though he'd reached an agreement with himself. “If you'd asked me two days ago, I wouldn't have been alright either. I wouldn't have believed a word of this. But I can't ignore what I've seen and
heard here. And if we're going to do this–really do it–I think we all have to believe, at least a little.” He cast me a sideways grin and winked.

I hadn't thought I was waiting for his approval, but at Reis' words the world started moving again and my brain kicked back into gear.

“Right,” I said, jumping out of the car. “In that case, enough of this sitting around and waiting. We have to get moving.”

Paul, who'd been crushed between Reis and I, tumbled out of the car behind me. “Where are we going? What're we going to do?”

I walked quickly around the car and met Reis at the door to the house. I glanced up at the older man, then back at Paul.

“Our homework. I have a plan, but we need to know what we're getting into.”

“Absolutely,” Reis said with a faint smile. “Good man.”

Paul whistled quietly. “I'm in, Batman. Where do we start?”

“Paul, get to anything with an internet connection. We know where we're going and when, so at least that's a start. Download as much information as you can on the Battle of Bosworth, and put it on your phone. Get into the War of the Roses, too. The players, the families, the time period. We need to know the outcomes, so we know where to go and what to do. Get anything you can on the people. How they talked, what they ate. I know a little, but we need details. We need to fit in as much as we can when we get there.”

I had walked through the kitchen toward the stairs as I talked, unwilling to waste time standing around. Now Reis grasped my arm gently and broke away from Paul and me, moving toward the front door.

“Wait, where are you going?” Paul asked

Reis turned. “If we're going to go jumping into the past, I want to go prepared. I'm just going to grab the things we may need. In the meantime, don't answer the door, and stay out of sight. We've already had one set of unexpected visitors today. We don't need another.”

Paul gulped at the reminder. “How do you know they won't come back once you leave?”

Reis stood quietly for a moment, thinking. He shook his head. “I don't know, not for sure. But I'd be surprised if they did. Whoever it was came for Doc, or you.” Reis looked back at me and I held my breath, meeting his eyes. “I hurt them, and they'll need to regroup. Then again...” He paused, then decided. “There are things I have to get. I won't be gone for long.” He nodded quickly in my direction, then turned and walked away.

Paul and I stood in the kitchen, watching the door close behind Reis.

“Do you think he'll come back?” Paul asked quietly.

I nodded. “I know he will.” I moved toward the stairs, ready to start my part of the research. Paul turned toward the door.

“Okay then, I'm going home to grab a few things myself. Do some research. When I get back, I'll be ready to go.”

I stopped, surprised. “What do you mean? You're not coming with us.”

Paul turned to look at me, hurt. “What do
you
mean? Of course I'm coming with you.”

I shook my head. “Paul, this is nuts. The only reason I'm going is to save Doc. The only reason Reis is going is to protect me. There's no reason for you to come along and risk your life.” I paused, but plunged on. “I can do this without you, Paul. I don't need you to–”

“Jay, you and Doc are my family,” Paul interrupted. “I haven't seen my dad in over two years, and my mother…” Paul shrugged. “Well, let's be honest, we're not exactly the Waltons. You're the brother I
should
have had. I'm not going to let you go running off into trouble without me. And I'm sure as hell not sitting at home while you have this great, life-changing adventure.” He gave me a crooked smile, but I shook my head. Paul was like a brother to me too, and there was no way I was going to let him head into danger.

“But–”

Paul cut me off before I could formulate an answer. “But nothing,” he said slowly. “I'm your best friend. If I were going, you'd go with
me
.”

He was right, and I nodded unwillingly. “I hadn't really thought of it that way,” I said quietly.

Paul snorted. “Of course you didn't, but you should.” He sighed. “Jason, I'm going. I'm not letting you jump into the past without me there to watch your back. Deal with it.”

He turned without waiting for an answer, and walked quickly to the door.

“Paul,” I said quietly. He turned, his eyebrows raised in question, and I shrugged. “As long as you're coming along, do me one more favor. Look for my grandfather in the historical records. The Earl of Oxford. Find out where he'll be and how he gets there. When we get to the past, we need to know how to find him.”

I walked quickly up the stairs, thinking. This was the first time I'd been alone in days, and the emptiness of the house echoed around me. I paused, listening to the familiar creaks and groans. This place had been my second home for as long as I could remember, and when my parents died, it had been a natural and easy transition to move here. In a time when the world itself seemed wrong, things in this house were familiar, comforting, and dependable; always in the place that made sense to both the object itself and those around it. It was, after all, the home of a physics professor. Everything had a certain order, reason, and location, put there according to the unendingly organized–and logical–mind of my grandfather.

I stopped mid-stride, one foot on a higher stair than the other, my eyes fixed on the hallway in front of me. The unendingly organized and logical mind of a physics professor. Of course. Suddenly I was running up the stairs toward Doc's room, my mind racing. I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it before. Doc had been traveling into the past for months, interacting with the people there, building a life with every trip. And he would have gone prepared. “Measure twice, cut once” was one of his favorite mottos. No way
would he have gone trudging into old England without doing his homework first. And he always wrote everything down.

I just had to find it.

I skidded to a halt just outside his room and threw open the door. The rich, familiar scent of English Leather aftershave hit me like a ton of bricks, and I gasped.

“Try not to skimp on the aftershave there, Doc,” I muttered to my absent grandfather. “Never know who you might meet on the roads of old England.”

I snorted at my own joke, then walked to the old oak desk in the corner. It was the obvious place to start, and Doc had never been good at subtlety. Throwing open the drawers, though, I found only old photos of my dad and grandmother, miscellaneous receipts, a broken compass, an autographed copy of a paperback novel, and a signed Ted Williams baseball card enveloped in hard plastic. I glanced twice–and then three times–at the baseball card, and made a mental note to come back to it when I got home. The only other item in the drawer was an ancient bronze pocket watch, colored and pitted with age. It had an engraving on the back from my grandmother, which read, “My love for you is timeless.”

I smiled, then paused, rubbing the engraving with my forefinger and closing my eyes. This was Doc's watch. I'd seen him carrying it when I was younger, and even had a blurred memory of him teaching me to wind it up. The heavy, rounded edges pressed against my palm as my hand clenched, and I opened my eyes. This watch had gone to my father at one point, and made its way back into the desk at his death. It had been here, waiting for me, this whole time. I unclenched my hand and glanced down at the watch, then took a deep breath and wound the key on the side. This was coming with me. I dropped it into my pocket and smiled. I'd always had a thing for watches. I could watch gears turn for hours on end. More importantly, though, clocks could tell you the time. Especially ones with manual winders, like this one had. Where–and when–we were going, that would definitely come in handy.

Plus it was a piece of Doc–and my dad–traveling with me.

Traveling.

I slammed the drawer shut on that thought and rotated the swivel chair, searching the room for other potential hiding places. The place was pretty stark–a bed in the center of the room, with two nightstands at the sides. A large chest rounded out the room's décor, but I'd been through that before, and knew that it held only socks, boxers, and old shorts. If I was Doc, and I wanted to keep things organized … I stood resolutely and walked toward the closet. I didn't think he was hiding anything under his bed, and this was the only other option.

I threw open the door of the small walk-in closet and glared around. Long-sleeved shirts and dress pants hung along one bar, evenly spaced and organized into color blocks. Above the racks, stacks of sweaters and t-shirts, many still wrapped in their original plastic packaging, lined the wooden shelf that stretched the full length of the closet. In the back of the small room, dozens of skirts, blouses, and dresses clung to their familiar corner. My grandmother's clothes, kept in their place despite the fact that she'd passed away years earlier.

Nothing that looked remotely like a sword, shield, or suit of armor. No boxes of research, either.

I walked quickly into the closet, muttering. It was here, somewhere–I could almost feel it calling to me. “Come on, Doc, throw me a bone,” I mumbled.

I moved his clothes from side to side and pawed my way frantically through an old leather briefcase and two cardboard boxes filled with record albums from the ‘60s and ‘70s, searching aimlessly for something that looked important. Then I dropped to my knees and began pulling the lids off the shoeboxes. After two or three boxes, I slowed down and started paying more attention. Most of the shoeboxes were clean, and starkly empty. Even the tissue was gone. On the sixth shoeless box in a row, the would-be home of size 13 Timberlands, I found what I was looking for.

The box held a stack of neatly typed, paper-clipped, and labeled papers. Doc's handwriting stood out in bold red ink at the top of the first page.

“Fifteenth-century living,” I read. “Oh my God.” My knees went weak and I collapsed abruptly, unable to support myself anymore. This was what I'd been looking for, but looking and finding were two completely different things. Finding research like this brought the whole thing into bright, startling reality. A reality that even the stone hadn't encouraged.

Still, I didn't have time to back out now.

I pulled the papers out of the box and leaned over them, running my hand over the Table of Contents. It was the organization of an academic mind, and no mistake. My eyes ran down the list, looking for a place to start.

“History, Traveling, Hygiene, What to Wear, The Law, The People, Currency, Dialogue, Basic Essentials, Royalty Protocol, and Pray, Work, and Fight,” I read quietly. Doc had left me everything I needed, right here.

I turned to the first page and glanced at the material. The text read like a tour guide to Medieval England. Each page was meticulously spaced and typed out, with generous margins. Doc's handwritten notes filled the empty spaces. The breath caught in my throat at his familiar, well-spaced printing, and I swiped at the moisture that appeared suddenly on my cheek, thinking that I needed to mention to Doc that he had a water leak in his closet. Leaning forward, I began to read.