The Royal Stones of Eden (Royal Secrecies Book 1) (33 page)

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Peter was on time on the next day. He arrived early while it was still dark. He brought some items that would pass for clothing for them both. He had two cotton shirts without collars. For each of them, he brought a two-tone stretchy belt with golden clips, to hold up plain, labelless jeans. Dirty single laced boots were included in a drawstring bag. Peter also brought a small shovel and a frying pan.

“We don’t want to kick up a row, you know?” Haj spoke but saw Peter’s confused face after he spoke the old lingo.

“I have been a fan of old western movies, and I was trying some jargon out on you.”—it was no use as Peter did not get it.

“In any case, I must warn you about what we are doing. Did you bring the stones?” Haj asked.

Peter acknowledged that he had brought the pink and purple stone and the white stone, the ones that Arthur had given to him in England. He then placed his stones, at Haj’s bidding, inside the embedded safe.

“This is a strange place, a place where there is no correctness or properness in speech. We may be called names that might offend us—especially me. Bring me that gold stone in the back of the safe,” Haj said.

Peter then came back with a gold stone in the form of a small globe.

“This metal is called a stone of prophecy because it predicts one’s future. This stone can remain round or flatten into fine plates of gold. As it is not gold, it is not a heavy metal and can be easily carried in the pocket. It may flash gold to indicate the direction of impending danger. It may also flash in order to serve as a guide. It will flash quickly for danger and slowly for guidance.”—Haj had spoke of magic before to him, but Peter still felt the amazement when Haj explained the magic of the stones. It was as if he heard it for the first time.

Haj explained that the metal only flattened when a message of importance was shown to the user. The messages were always in the user’s own language and understanding. The present shape of the stone was spherical, and it slowly flashed in the direction of the salmon stone. The stone in the vice was set up by Haj prior to Peter’s arrival that morning.

They both changed into their authentic clothes and then grabbed their bags. After the familiar cloud had reformed, the same charmed words were spoken once again. Like a flowing and predictable current of water, Haj believed that repeating Dred’s words would take him to the same place that Dred was at, he relied on the navigating power of the royal stones.

“Sacramento! 1905!” Haj attempted to clear his mind and allowed the stones to take control.

Haj and Peter stepped through the portal. Haj was the only one that carried the stones. Peter carried the heavier load. He lugged a bag over his shoulder with their supplies.

They stepped into the bright sunshine and warm heat of California, and immediately they began to breathe in the fresh hot air. It was alive with the smell of earth and grass. They looked at the portal to their right. It faded, and it startled Peter. After the cloud had disappeared, he was fully concerned.

“How do we get back?” Peter worriedly asked. He shielded his eyes from the glaring yellow orb in the sky.

“Don’t worry! I have the stones of travel with me. Hold out your arm!”—Haj reached into his leather satchel that he had around his neck. He retrieved a syringe and asked Peter to roll up his sleeve.

“This will protect us both. I had mine this morning. It’s a sardius stone juice mixture that will protect us in the event of our murder—” He paused and added, “—or our possession.” Peter did not care for these words of doom by Haj.

“Oh bloody hell! Now you want to drug me. Sod off!”—Peter had picked up some words from his mates at school. They seemed to express the appropriate feelings for such an off-the-cuff moment.

Haj had to threaten Peter. He threatened to leave him alone if he did not agree to take the potion. So Peter reluctantly agreed to the drug. As the pink fluid flowed into his arms, he squirmed as the warmness reached his head in a matter of seconds. “Bugger!” Peter yelled.

“Let’s just entertain the thought that I believe you, Haj. You know, about being King Arthur’s son. How old am I right now?”—Peter wiped off some drops of residue from the withdrawn needle and rolled down his sleeve. Peter referred to a conversation about his mother’s prior transference to a time in the future. As she was with child, there were unique consequences of the action. Cai, or the later named Peter, did not age in a normal fashion after birth. Cai had become Peter over many years.

“You did not start aging normally until you were close to sixteen years old, according to Merlin.”—Haj wondered if he should have referred to him as Uncle Willie instead. Haj bent down, tightened his bootlaces, and pressed ahead. He looked down at his globe for his guidance.

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The smoke was thick in the wooden shack and full off the smell of urine, tobacco juice, and male groin sweat. The bearded men at the gambling tables had fingernails full of mud and clothes painted with dirt. They had just returned from the mines nearby. They had spent a laborsome day and a half digging underground and collecting minerals, although most of the real and easily accessible golden treasure was bled dry.

Dred fit in and was hardly noticed. He sat at one of the poker tables, looked at his newly dealt hand, and tried to extract information concerning Mattie’s gold mine.

“Her name is Mattie! Have you seen her?”—Dred spoke to the dealer across the table as he continued to stare at his own cards.

Everyone in the shack that Dred asked had denied knowing anything about Mattie. This irritated Dred more than once. For every empty answer, his eyes glowed with a faint red color. The men that were full of whiskey failed to notice the abnormality. They frequently turned to off-color jokes that failed to amuse Dred. And after about an hour of this, he finally threw down his cards and walked out of the shack, into the cool night air of a small unnamed town near Sacramento.

A man followed Dred out of the saloon. He called out, “Hey, you! Hey, mister!” Dred was not used to being called and chose to ignore him and continued to walk away. Dred walked over rocky gravel and spots of dead grass toward a hill not too far from the saloon. It overlooked the long sluice below that was set up to filter the sludge of the mines and isolate the precious gold.

The wooden water channel began at the top of the hill and reached down to its bottom. The process of hydraulic mining used the ingredient of a liquid metal called quicksilver, but it came with great cost. The quicksilver killed many miners who encountered it or breathed its evaporating fumes when it was burned. Quicksilver, or Mercury, was added at times to the sluice to combine with the gold, which then fell to the bottom of the rinse, with its heavier weight. It was then sometimes burned, to help separate it from the gold.

The man who had followed Dred finally caught up with him. He stumbled as he approached him. His clothes were unwashed and he smelled of liquor. He lit a cigar, and then he told the annoyed Dred something that made him turn with interest.

“I think I know this lady you were asking about, but I didn’t think her name was Mattie. I think her name is Mary.”—before the man could speak another word, Dred held his right hand up—in front of the man’s face—as if to interrupt him.

“This woman—and maybe her family—they have a mine?” Dred asked.

“Yes!”—the man spoke in triumph as if he had given a great gift to Dred. He looked like he was expecting a reward.

“You will take me there!”—Dred’s brow was stern but inviting. The man received orders but no reward.

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Haj stopped before entering, halted by the man’s remark at the door. Prior to this, Haj and Peter felt only the pain of thirst. A few minutes before, they had seen the lights of the saloon, and they had heard the noise of the crowd. They sought only a libation. They were at a shack, at the north side of the mining camp. They arrived nearly one hour after Dred had left the very same place.

“Pardon me?”—Haj was not used to the prejudice and hasty generalization, even though he had warned Peter about it.

“I said, you ain’t going in here, you nigger!”—the old Southern miner repeated his opposition to Haj.

“Haj! Let’s go!” Peter encouraged. Then he quickly grabbed Haj and led him away from the scene. They had no time for prejudice or misunderstanding. They walked away from the shack to look for another source of liquid to satisfy their parched throats. Peter had forgotten the bottled water, and they were becoming desperate.

As they walked away, their attention was drawn to a large campfire that was barely visible in the distance on the western side of the camp.

“Haj, there seems to be a group of wagons over there!” Peter pointed out.

Peter pointed in the direction of a flickering light that illuminated two covered wagons. As they walked toward the wagons and the campfire, the noise of music was heard as it flowed through the air. The closer they got to the camp, the louder the noise became. They heard the sound of clapping and the rhythmic tapping and plucking of several instruments. It was then that Haj forgot about his anger at Peter for not bringing the bottled water. He felt compelled to move closer and closer to the sound. It caused both his heart and feet to skip.

The wagons seemed to be separated from the mining camp intentionally. The western part of the camp was reserved for several corrals of animals. It was also the place where uneaten food was dumped. The wagons were just west of the corrals, in the least desirable place of the camp.

A woman danced around the front of the fire while several others clapped to the beat and sat on the fire’s other sides. Instruments that looked like guitars were being plucked. A white-haired couple showed their glee with their genuine smiles, comprised of missing teeth and unkept gums. The tune was extremely catchy, and even Peter hopped to the music. The sound of repeated claps between several notes continued to intermingle with the music of the strings.

The woman’s attraction to Haj and his attraction to her was like an immediate and rising force. Their eyes met and locked, and Haj was instantly filled with a desire for this strange woman that betrayed his wife in another time. Peter, however, looked at the woman and his face dropped with a look of instant recognition.

A man behind the fire’s light played a concertina, and another one nestled a violin. The music slowed its pace as Haj approached the woman. They clasped hands, and danced in front of a tranquil crowd. No one reacted to the site of the two visitors.

Peter found a place around the fire to sit and watch while Haj and the gypsy woman danced to the sound of the instruments and the snapping of fingers. Peter was approached from behind by a strange voice and was offered a drink and a cup. Peter only understood the gesture and attempted to say thank you with a nod. It was a mug and some type of tea, and Peter drank it quickly. The man in broken English introduced himself as Nikola Vranich, and Peter took the next line.

“I don’t know you sir, but that woman dancing there is named Aysha, my friend Haj’s wife!” Peter declared. Nikola immediately dismissed Peter as a confused or drunk man.

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Dred navigated the mine that the stranger had shown him. The man had long since fled away on foot, after his reward for his information was never obtained. Dred carried a torch, and he followed several paths in the mine until he reached the source of a particular sound that he heard. It was the sound of a metal pick hitting solid rock. Along the way, he ran his hand along the edges of the cave and felt the rough edges that defined his narrow boundary. After he crouched on his last few steps and stepped through a crevice, he reached an open space. It was there that he met Mr. John Anderson.

John was a tall man, with a rugged appearance. He had a thick mustache and curly brown hair. He was surprised by Dred’s appearance and spoke with agitation.

“What the hell do you want?” he demanded.

“Are you the owner of this mine? Is your wife named Mattie?”—Dred approached. He marveled at the protruding rocks and stones from the cave’s walls, and then he sat the torch to the ground briefly.

“I don’t know who the hell you are, so get out!”—John turned away, thinking that Dred would oblige him. Instead, Dred’s eyes lit up a bright red, and Mr. Anderson grabbed his own throat and began to choke himself to death. John turned to face Dred while he still grabbed his throat, his eyes spitting out anger.

“Thank you for your answer, old boy!”—Dred raised his right hand and clenched his fist, which caused a snap to occur within the man’s neck. Mr. Anderson instantly died. He collapsed on the cave floor with the additional sound of his skull cracking when it landed on a sharp rock. Dred had read his mind and had obtained what he wanted from him—this was Mattie’s mine.

In a nearby tent, not far from the cave, there was a restless woman, filled with thoughts about her disappearing husband. She was concerned about the future of her children if her husband failed to return. Her husband had told her that he was going to get a drink. That usually meant that he would do that and gamble as well. She had once spotted her husband coming out of a house of ill repute, but he had denied any involvement other than performing carpentry on a client’s house.