The Digger's Rest (29 page)

While Lady Madeline was being given the Royal
tour, picking up an item that interested her here and there,
Sandrine headed more to the back of the shop, not looking for
anything in particular, but interested in what she saw,
nevertheless. She’d learned a great deal about antiques from Lady
Madeline in the last few years, and figured she might be ready to
try her hand at selecting an item or two for herself should it
strike her fancy.

As can happen when browsing an antique shop,
time tends to pass more quickly than in the outside world. Antique
shops, unlike any other kind of shop, have the ability to take one
into the past, just being surrounded by the items, fifty years old,
one hundred years old and often older. One can’t help but wonder
when one looks at an item, who may have owned it in the past, what
they may have been like, or even how they ended, and as Sandrine
wandered aimlessly around Sir Henry’s Boot, she fell under that
very spell, walking slowly, looking at everything
and…wondering.

In the back of the shop she noticed some
free-standing, terrace-stepped shelves crowded with items that were
either not valuable enough to lock up, or of a size that didn’t
require it. She strolled around the first one to her right, mostly
heavy cut glass and crystal interspersed with large pieces of
pottery and large figurines. Then she went on to the next, more
glass, candlesticks, some larger framed paintings leaning against
the step above it.

As she passed by on the right she saw a
beautiful old mahogany box with a small brass plate affixed to the
top. She paused for a moment, then moved on to the other side
taking her to the farthest back corner of the shop. The quiet was
deafening, almost hypnotic as she lazily observed the items on the
other side.

She felt her eyes begin to get heavy and
thought she heard Lady Madeline call to her, “Sandrine.”

She looked around, saw no one and
turned back, continuing her stroll down the stepped display.
“Venez ici, Sandrine,”
the voice
whispered to her. She felt drawn to turn the corner, going back
around to the other side of the step display.

When she got there she saw the mahogany
box again. It was open.
C’est
estrange,
she thought to herself as she went in closer
to see what was in it; a glass ball about the size of a man’s fist,
a crystal ball.

Fascinated, she moved in to take a
closer look. Something moved inside.
C’est
un reflection de lumiere; fantastique!
she thought and
moved in closer.

***

“
I think that’s really more than enough
for me, Mr. Ransom,” Lady Madeline said, following him as he
carried a large terra cotta bas relief bust of Queen Alexandra back
to the front counter to join all of the other objects she’s
chosen.

“
Very good, Lady Cotswold,” Tim Ransom
said as he gently laid the fragile bust down on the counter. “I’ll
have them wrapped and sent over to The Digger’s by
morning,”

A thundering crash shook the floor. Ransom
jumped, startled by the sound of glass shattering that came echoing
down the rows from the back of the building. Lady Madeline jumped,
too. They both turned in the direction of the sound, more crashing
and glass breaking, the sounds of the proverbial bull in the china
shop. The entire shop shook from the vibration, and he ran, Lady
Madeline behind him.

At the rear of the shop, they stood frozen in
their steps, unable to move, paralyzed by what they were
witnessing. Sandrine was on the floor, kicking and thrashing
around, flailing her arms and legs about wildly, her torso
convulsing with a violence they could have only previously imagined
possible, almost acrobatic in its tension. She was foaming at the
mouth, thick white mucus, and her face; contorted beyond normal
recognition, her mouth working feverishly, glass and pottery
crashing everywhere from the unbelievable force of the vibration
she was creating.

Ransom moved first, grabbing her from behind
holding her arms pinned behind her, trying to contain her movements
as her legs shook, kicking in every direction. Her mouth started to
form words, sputtering out from the soapy-looking foam that flowed
from it, she spat and kicked, her eyes bulging with a pressure that
made her look like a raging animal.

“
Lady Cotswold, please help me,” Ransom
called out to the shocked woman. Lady Madeline came out of her daze
and bent down, trying to hear the words coming out of Sandrine’s
mouth. “Lady Madeline, please, her legs,” Ransom shouted, trying to
get her to do something to control Sandrine’s violent
movements.

Lady Madeline startled, then moved. She
grabbed the first flat solid object she saw, an antique riding crop
from the corner of the room and forced it sideways into Sandrine’s
mouth, trying to keep her from swallowing her tongue. A moment
later, Sandrine collapsed, unconscious, the only movement remaining
being the involuntary twitching of her contracted muscles as they
relaxed.

***

Simon approached the small, thatched roof
cottage slowly, standing across the road in the rain…waiting…but
for what he didn’t know. A black wrought-iron arbor framed the
narrow slate stone path that led to the tiny oak and wrought-iron
door, tall holly bushes, gnarled with age, having been wound around
the iron of the arbor on both sides.

“
Come thee, boy, to
me,”
he heard in the air behind his ear. His feet
began to move, crossing the road, stopping only for a second before
he passed under the holly-covered arbor. As he passed under, he
looked side to side. Two great beds of English ivy lined what would
have otherwise been a lawn, and had crept up the cottage to both
sides of the door. The door opened. He hesitated, then took the
handle and pushed it the rest of the way to enter.

The old man was sitting in an ornately carved
wooden chair, like an ancient throne, heavy with symbols etched
deeply into the panels of each side. He was pulled up close before
the growing blaze he was tending in the fireplace, his back toward
the door.

Without turning to face him, the old man
raised his hand, two fingers pointing behind his head. The door
closed. Then the old man pointed those same two fingers to another
carved chair not far from him, close to the fire. Simon’s feet
began to move again until he stood before the second chair.

The old man pointed his fingers down toward
the seat, and Simon sat. They sat there silently for a few moments,
the old man stirring a small pot hanging from a hook in the
fireplace. The smell became strong as he added things that looked
like they might be shreds of tree bark and dried blue flowers from
small piles on a tiny table next to him to the near boiling pot;
pinches of different colored powders and crystals from small canvas
bags next to the piles on the table, sweet mixed with smoky, floral
with earthy. Simon’s head began to spin.

The old man took the pot from the fire
without using a pot holder or a towel, not seeming to feel the heat
coming from what must have been the scalding metal handle. He
strained the mixture in to two tea cups on the lower flagstone
hearth before him; picked up one cup and handed it over.
“Take,”
he said and Simon took
it.

The old man looked at him, peering into
him with those tiny piercing black eyes.
“Drink,”
he said and Simon drank.

The old man took the remaining cup and
drank himself then spoke without using his mouth, words without
sound, as he stared deeply into Simon’s big blue eyes, appearing
even bigger than their natural state from the wonder and the fear
of what was happening to him.
“From whence
doest thou derive thy strength, boy?”
the old man
asked in his soundless voice.

“
From him,”
an
unexpected voice came out of Simon without using his mouth, his
words also without sound.

“
And thou wouldst protect he
that he hast protected thee?”
the voice
asked.

“
Yes, always.”

“
What wouldst thee offer in
return for that gift he hast bestowed upon thee?”

“
My life,”
Simon’s soundless voice said, a small tear slid out of the
corner of his eye.

The old man nodded to himself, a dark shine
coming into his eyes, a relaxed expression mixed with both
satisfaction and relief coming over his face. He reached over and
stuck his fingers in a small earthen pot no larger than a bottle
cap on the small table next to him, then stood up before the boy.
Simon looked up, his eyes never leaving those small black beads the
old man had for eyes.

The old man reached out and touched his
face, his fingers seeming to be whirling in circles as they left
patterns in red, and green, and black on his forehead, cheeks and
chin.
“Thou art an honorable man-child,
Holly, and we are…relieved that you have come to us,”
said the old man with a sigh as he reached again over to his
small table and came back, getting down on his knees.

He pulled Simon’s pant leg and rubbed the
scabbing wound with a thick, greasy ointment, then sat back on his
heels and waved his hand over the wound without touching it. When
he pulled his hand back, the wound was gone.

A look of sadness came into the old
man’s eyes. The voice said,
“Wouldst
thee have me heal thy deformity too,
Holly?

No, please, don’t. It’s who
I am,”
Simon said without words.

The old man rose back to his feet,
nodding again, an even greater expression of satisfaction on his
face. He waved his hand in front of the boy’s face once
again.
“Thou shall not recall us, nor speak
to a living soul of anything connected with us until I call for
thee again. Now sleep,”
the voice said, and Simon
closed his eyes.

***

When Simon woke up he was still in his bed at
the inn, his head throbbing with the ‘You play, you pay,’ residual
of the night before. He crawled slowly out of bed, barely able to
open his eyes and went into the shower, gently washing himself with
a soapy cloth, avoiding bending over which would only make his head
thump more.

Finally screwing up the courage to wash his
lower body, he closed his eyes and bent over to wash his legs. The
soap and hot water didn’t sting as it had the day before. He opened
his eyes and saw that the cut in his leg was gone. His head hurt
too bad for him to make anything of it more than the cut wasn’t so
bad and he had become a good healer, the vitamins Mitch had been
giving him for years finally having a chance to do their job.

Out of the shower, he grabbed his own bottle
of Advil and popped two in his mouth, drinking from the tap before
he got ready to shave. When he looked up, his eyes went wide. There
was something around his neck, a leather string with a green,
stone-like disc dangling from it.

He leaned in close to the mirror and held it
up to look. It was the image of a man’s face looking like it was
pushing through what looked like some kind of foliage.

From somewhere over his shoulder he
felt breath and heard the voice whisper in his ear.
“This will protect thee, and help thee call upon
me in troubled times.”
Simon looked up into the mirror
again to see who was behind him but instead saw only his own pupils
dilate and lids flutter; blackness as he fell to the floor, in a
faint.

***

When he woke up, he got up and dressed as
naturally as he would have on any other day, giving no notice to
the small green stone amulet hanging from around his neck, only
looking at his watch and seeing that it was after noon. He opened
the door to go out, saw the breakfast tray outside his door and ate
before going downstairs as if nothing had happened, excited, as
usual for anything that the day might bring.

BOOK THREE

Human Sacrifice

It's coming closer The flames are now
licking my body Please won't you help me I feel like I'm slipping
away It's hard to breathe And my chest is a-heaving Lord have
mercy, I'm burning a hole where I lay ‘Cause your kisses lift me
higher Like the sweet song of a choir You light my morning sky With
burning love With burning love Ah, ah, burning love I'm just a
hunk, a hunk of burning love

Burning Love

………
As performed by Mr. Elvis
Presley

Chapter XII

OF HUMAN BONDAGE

Love hurts, Love scars, Love wounds and mars
Any heart not tough or strong enough To take a lot of pain, take a
lot of pain Love is like a cloud, it holds a lot of rain Love
hurts, Ooo-oo Love hurts I'm young, I know, But even so I know a
thing or two - I learned from you I really learned a lot, really
learned a lot Love is like a flame, it burns you when it's hot Love
hurts, Ooo-oo Love hurts.

Love Hurts

………
As performed by Nazareth

It was still raining when Lady Madeline
helped Sandrine out of Tim Ransom’s car back at the inn that
evening. It had been a long wait at the hospital and it was only
through the antique dealer’s good graces and quick thinking that
they’d gotten through it as fast as they did.

As soon as Sandrine collapsed from her fit,
he picked her up and carried her to his car, Lady Madeline
following, frantically trying to figure out what had happened. If
Mr. Ransom hadn’t stood there at the Emergency Desk insisting that
they been seen to immediately, she and Sandrine might still be
waiting behind all the others in line with sprained ankles, rashes
and even vomiting.