The Candlestone (5 page)
Bonnie glanced toward Billy, but he had no idea what to say. His mind was shouting, “Danger! Don’t go!” but he couldn’t tell if it was his dragon “danger signals” working or his tremendous distrust of this man who would take away his friend.
Bonnie turned back to her father and nodded. “I’ll go.”
She took his hand and the two walked toward the door. She looked back, and Billy read a message of courage in her face. Tears streamed, but her countenance remained stoic, her chin firm once again. It said, “No good-byes. I’ll be back.” Then she silently mouthed words that Billy read easily—“Trust me.”
Dr. Conner shifted the laptop case and buttoned his sport jacket. “I’ll purchase her immediate needs and send for her belongings. Thank you for taking such good care of her.”
When the door shut, Billy jumped up from his seat and ran to the front window in the living room. Dr. Conner and Bonnie slid into the car, and Bonnie lifted the visor on the passenger side. Before the motor started, she held up her fist, clearly displaying her rubellite ring. A few seconds later the car disappeared around a corner.
Billy plodded back to the dining room. Seeing every eye set firmly on him, his tangled emotions swirled in a dizzying array of hate, love, anger, and compassion. He balled up his fists, his rage growing to overwhelm all other feelings. He just had to let it out, somehow blow off steam without blasting fire. He started with a whisper. “I can’t believe this!” His voice then grew with every word, spelling out his anger in face-contorting passion. “I just let a monster take her back to her nightmares! She told me how scared she was of him, and I didn’t do anything about it!”
His mother and Walter joined him. She rubbed his back, and Walter smacked his fist into his hand. “We’ll get that creep,” he said, his face aglow in crimson. “My dad will figure out what he’s really up to.”
Mr. Foley gripped Billy’s shoulder and squeezed it hard. “We may have quite a battle on our hands, so we have to keep our heads on straight. It won’t help for you to lose your temper.” He pulled the diskette from his pocket and turned toward Walter. “Call the professor. I’ll need help examining the photo.”
“Got it!” Walter hurried for the phone.
Billy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Could you ask him to bring the sword again, Walter? I want to take a picture of it.”
“And get some more practice, maybe?” Walter asked as he punched in the phone number. “If he brings the other sword, I can spar with you.”
Billy’s mom massaged his neck, pressing her strong fingers into his taut muscles. “That’s a good idea. It’ll do you good to practice and get your aggressions out. After listening to that fraud, I’d like to get a few hacks in myself.”
“Practice didn’t help us keep Bonnie here, Mom. I mean, I’ve been training like crazy, you know, to battle like a knight when the time comes. But now this guy just waltzes in the door and waltzes right back out, taking Bonnie to who knows where, and we just let them go.” He leaned over and whispered, careful to keep his sizzling breath away from her ear. “I was so mad, I could’ve turned him into a giant French fry right in front of everyone.”
“I know what you mean,” she whispered back. “And I’d have supplied a gallon of ketchup. But I don’t want you getting put away for murder.”
“No way. Who’d ever believe it? We could’ve just called it a case of spontaneous combustion.”
Billy leaned over Mr. Foley’s shoulder and blinked at the image before him. The hospital photo filled the computer screen, a large flat panel display sitting prominently on Mr. Foley’s mahogany desk. Something was wrong, but Billy couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Walter burst into the office. “The great guru of graphical gawking has arrived!” he announced as Professor Hamilton followed him inside.
Billy shoved Walter’s chest. “How long did it take to dream that one up?”
Walter grinned and shoved him back. “About two seconds. It beats ‘the cat’s pajamas has arrived,’ doesn’t it?”
“Just barely.”
Professor Hamilton handed each boy a sword. “Shall we get our aggressions out in a profitable manner, gentlemen?”
Billy grabbed the Excalibur replica and opened the double French doors that led to the rec room. As soon as Walter was ready, Billy lunged forward and their swords clanked together. He positioned himself near the office entrance, hoping to watch Mr. Foley and battle Walter at the same time.
Mr. Foley extended a photo of Bonnie’s mom to the professor. “I e-mailed the hospital image to a friend of mine, Fred Hollings. He’s a real techno-geek who’s trying to start a computer company in the industrial park. He might be able to tell if this pic’s authentic or not, but he’s out of town right now.”
The professor studied the image on the computer screen for several minutes, zooming in on numerous details and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He alternated between the photo display and the Internet browser, poring over dozens of web pages. Billy’s mother and Mrs. Foley entered the rec room, whispering to each other while they watched their sons practice. Finally, Professor
Hamilton cleared his throat. Billy stopped his sword in mid-swing, letting it drop to his side, and everyone crowded into the office.
“It is my opinion,” the professor said slowly, “that the image is indeed a genuine digital photograph of Miss Silver’s mother. The facial features in the image are too close a match to the other photo to be counterfeit. Such a fake would be extraordinarily difficult to manufacture.”
Billy hiked the sword up to his shoulder. “So Bonnie’s mom really is in a hospital in Missoula? Dr. Conner was telling the truth?”
“Oh, no. I didn’t say that at all. I’m quite sure he was lying.”
“Lying?” Mr. Foley repeated. “What do you mean?”
“He told the truth about this being a photo of his wife.” The professor pointed at the computer screen. “He lied about the time. This photo was taken at least four months ago.”
Chapter 3
Billy let his sword dangle from his fingertips until it finally dropped to the floor. “Four months ago, Professor? How do you know?”
“Yeah,” Walter added. “That wouldn’t be long after Bonnie came to West Virginia.”
“The flowers in the vase give away the season,” the professor said calmly, pointing at the screen again. “They are glacier lilies, which usually bloom from March through July, perhaps as late as August, but certainly not in January. It’s not likely that a local florist cultivates such wildflowers in the dead of winter, so I deduced the date by logic.”
Billy’s mom tapped her head with her finger. “You just happened to know so much about glacier lilies, Professor?”
The professor waved his hand in friendly dismissal. “Oh, no. I have only recently learned about your West Virginia varieties, and I’m not at all familiar with those from Montana. I am, however, quite proficient at horticulture in general. The British wildflowers are exquisite, and I enjoyed them immensely in my home fields. I merely noticed the lovely flowers in the photo and searched the Internet for a match. With my current knowledge, finding the species was not difficult.” The professor pushed the eject button and handed the diskette to Mr. Foley. “It’s a simple matter to alter the date and time stamp on a computer file. Dr. Conner took an older file and renewed it on his computer, apparently with this kind of deception in mind.”
Billy smacked his fist into his palm. “So he
is
a liar! I knew it!”
“Yes, William. And I would think a man who would deceive us would not have Miss Silver’s best interests in mind.”
Billy’s mom picked up his sword and extended the hilt toward him. “Billy, let’s get packed and make a flight plan. We’re going to Montana!”
Billy grabbed the sword and pumped his fist. “Now you’re talkin’!”
“How many passengers can you fit?” Walter asked. “I’ll squeeze into a suitcase if I have to.”
Billy pushed Walter’s arm. “As if I’d leave you behind.”
Walter raised his eyebrows and his cheeks sagged like a young basset’s. “Can I go, Dad?”
Mr. Foley whispered to his wife, then tapped the professor on the back. “I’d feel better, Prof, if you’d go along. They might need you to help figure out what’s going on.”
Professor Hamilton stood between the two boys and pretended to bump their heads together. “Of course. With all of my students in Montana, I would have no one to teach here.”
Billy’s mother laid her hand on Mrs. Foley’s shoulder. “We have room for everyone.”
“I’ll go wherever my husband goes,” she replied, giving his hand a squeeze.
Mr. Foley stroked his wife’s hand lovingly. “I have a trial tomorrow, but I can make calls from here and do a little more detective work. If the trial ends before you get back, we’ll hop a flight to Missoula. I don’t expect it to last more than a day, but you never know.”
Billy’s mom discussed the flight arrangements with the Foleys and shared her strategy for packing. While he listened, Billy noticed the professor’s gaze resting on him, and he stared back at his steely gray eyes, as if caught in a gravitational pull. The professor seemed to be searching for a light in a dark cave or for the correct turn in a dizzying maze. Was he looking for an answer to a question? Maybe he was trying to reveal one of Billy’s carefully guarded secrets.
The others in the room buzzed quietly about several issues, leaving Billy relatively alone with Professor Hamilton. The professor broke their silence and whispered, “Will you trust me?”
Billy pulled away from the professor’s mesmerizing gaze. He drooped his head and kept his eyes on his old tennis shoes. The right one pressed its toe into the floor. “I . . . I do trust you,” he finally said, looking up again, “but some of the secrets aren’t mine to reveal.”
“Yes, of course,” he said, nodding. “I assumed Miss Silver plays a major role.”
“Not just her. She’d trust me to tell you if I thought it was right.” Billy’s ears perked up when he heard his mother mention making their first stop in the mountains, a short jaunt west of town, to “visit a friend and get advice.” The thought of seeing his father again made Billy feel warm, and maybe a little bit scared. The sight of the massive dragon was enough to scare anyone.
Billy managed a weak smile. “I’ll tell you what. I can explain a few things as soon as we take off, but we’re going to stop and ask someone’s advice up on the mountain where we battled Devin. If he says it’s okay, then I’ll tell you everything.” He extended his hand. “Is that a deal?”
Professor Hamilton shook his hand firmly. “I will gladly make that deal, William.” His head tilted and his brow wrinkled. “Who is your friend? I heard the story of the hunter. Are you going to ask his advice?”
Billy laughed. “You mean Arlo Hatfield? No, but I’d like to see him again. I drew a picture of Hambone for him.”
Billy’s mother extended a bag of cheese puffs toward him. “Then bring it along. I’m sure we can arrange to have it delivered.” She offered the bag to the professor. “So, when can you be ready?”
The professor smiled and waved his hand at the bag. “I shall return in less than an hour, Madam.” He pulled his watch from his pocket and wound it. “And, William, I have the mystery book once again. Its properties are quite astounding. I suspect that we will be informing each other about many things before this day ends.”
With Billy in the copilot’s seat and his mother flying the plane, the professor and Walter leaned forward in their two-seat passenger bench. The sound of the buzzing props nearly drowned Billy’s voice. “I can’t tell you everything yet, but basically, Bonnie’s the one who took care of the slayer. She used his sword, and from her description, it looked a lot like your replica of Excalibur. Anyway, she said a really bright beam of light surged out of it, almost like a light saber from Star Wars, and when she pointed it at the slayer, he vanished in a flash of sparks that kind of swirled around and disappeared, like water going down a drain.”
“Just like flushing a toilet, huh?” Walter swirled his finger in tightening circles as he lowered it toward the cabin floor.
Billy slapped at Walter’s arm. “No, genius, not like a toilet. Anyway, that strange stone I told you about, the candlestone, was there on the ground. We think that had something to do with it. What do you think, Professor?”
The professor pulled a pair of old-fashioned spectacles from his shirt pocket and slipped them on. “I’m certain the candlestone is involved, William.”
“Really? How?”
The teacher opened a satchel he had at his side. “Now is a good time to show you the book.” He withdrew a leather-bound volume. The cover was about the size of an eight-by-ten photo, with raised runic characters that looked like a bunch of lines and dashes—nothing like the lettering in the ancient King Arthur lore the professor had used at school. The book’s two covers pressed together a modest collection of parchment, making the volume about the thickness of a notebook computer. The professor opened the delicate binding to the first page and held it on his lap. “There is mention of the candlestone in this book, and it’s a clue to what the verse means.”
“The verse?”
“Yes, there are verses, strange and cryptic. The initial three pages are intelligible. The first one claims the author was Merlin.”
Walter shifted to get a look. “Merlin! That’s so cool! What did he write?”
“I suspect that it’s a journal of sorts, somewhat like a modern diary, but, as you might expect from Merlin, it contains a great deal of mystery.”
Billy leaned around his seat to get a better view of the strange diary. The ragged yellowed parchment held strange looking characters, none of which he recognized as English letters.
“The first page,” the professor went on, running his finger under the odd lettering as he translated, “merely states,
The Musings of Merlin
A Servant of Our Lord, the Christ
A Collection of Prophecy, Poetry, and Pedantry
“The next page adds our dash of mystery. It says, roughly speaking,
As you read, reflect. Though blank to the evil eye, the page will be painted in the vision of the wise, and in the language of his time shall my words come hither. Do not despise prophetic utterances, for they expose and condemn an oath falsely divined. Beware, however, lest you reveal a page before its predecessor is complete. It is the patient soul who finds the desire of his heart.
“And page three contains poetry of an ancient sort in an old variety of English. It starts with a title, ‘To Call a Friend, If a Dragon’s Friend You Be,’ and an explanatory note, ‘Those who call must beware. One who summons lightning from heaven to strike his foes may find his enemies picking through his own charred bones.’
“The actual body of the poem follows.” He drew a folded sheet of paper from his shirt pocket and spread it out over the book. “I took the liberty of writing down a translation, and I added a simple rhyme and meter pattern that the author seemed to design for this poem.”
Come thou bane of devil’s mount
Secure thy fortune in thy breast
Diamonds, pearls, and emeralds count
And rubied crowns upon thy crest
Fly to me O ancient sage
Who gathers light to draw his breath
Proving why the heathen rage
Against thy life, to seek thy death
Darkness hates thy light-filled soul
’Tis truth it shrouds with evil thought
Take thy place, thy dragon’s role
From wisdom’s lake O give me draught
Shall I use yon candlestone
Absorbing light to steal thy fire
If I shouldst lie beneath its trone
Excalibur builds my funeral pyre
God, my lord, do send my plea
To dragons’ ears both far and nigh
Send me help I ask on knee
Transluminate me lest I die
Walter leaned back and propped his head against the window. “Wow! Now that’s a cool poem!” After a few seconds his face puckered up, and he lifted his head again. “What does it mean?”
“I’m still working on it, Walter. Clearly it’s a summons, a prayer to call a dragon, and with the properties of Excalibur and this candlestone becoming clearer, the meaning of the poem is taking shape. I have not decided, however, what ‘transluminate’ means.”
“What’s on the next page, Professor?” Billy asked.
“Remarkably enough, the remaining pages, I’d say fifty or so, are completely blank. It seems we have many pieces missing in our puzzle. And that brings me to my most burning question, William. You haven’t told me what became of the sword or the stone.”
“Oh, yeah. Well, Bonnie couldn’t lug the sword all the way back down the hill —”
“I suppose not,” the professor interrupted, “especially with her knee making her unable to walk.”
“Yeah, right. Her knee. And she threw the candlestone into the woods.”
“If she threw it, then it wasn’t too heavy to carry, I would guess.”
“Well, uh, no, that is —”
The professor folded his spectacles and slid them back in his pocket. “I understand, William. Clarity is elusive when you are honor bound to hide the details. I assume you will tell me more once you have permission from your friend, correct?”
“I want to tell you, Professor, but I really have to wait.”
“Of course you do. It’s clear that the story has many holes that beg for filling. I have deduced that the sword and the candlestone are the keys to the entire mystery, though I do not yet see the purpose of the stone. The sword, however, must be the true Excalibur. It had the power to transform matter into light energy when wielded by one who has a heart made pure by God and—”
The professor halted, his mouth dropping open.
“What’s up, Professor?” Billy asked.
The professor smacked his forehead with his palm. “Transluminate! Of course!” He retrieved his spectacles and tapped his finger on the page. “
Trans
means change, and
luminate
refers to light. The poem uses the word
transluminate
to describe Excalibur’s method of transforming matter into light. I should have thought of that immediately.”
Walter let out a snort. “It’s okay, Prof. What did it take you? A whole minute?”
The professor laughed and laid his palms on top of the diary. “You are kind, Walter to . . . how do you say it? Cut me some slack? In any case, it seems that the mystery is beginning to coalesce, and the clues point to Excalibur. If you could show me the approximate place of its disposal, William, I should like to search for it while you visit your friend.”
“I can only guess and point out the area from the sky. It’s probably within walking distance of where we’re going to land though.”
“Very well. While you are consulting your friend, I shall have a look around.”
After landing on a crude airstrip atop a grassy mountain, Billy and his mother secured Merlin II and joined their two passengers standing by the wing tip. Professor Hamilton studied his handheld GPS while Walter peered over his shoulder. A chilly alpine breeze blew against their heavy jackets, and Billy and his mother began bundling up. The northwesterly winds bent the brown, snow-speckled grass, signaling a renewal of winter’s icy spell.
“I anticipate,” the professor said, pointing down the eastern slope, “that our search should begin about one and one-third kilometers in that direction.” He tucked the GPS under his arm and stretched a taupe beret over his wild hair. “Does that sound correct, William?”
“I think so.” Billy fastened the next to last button on his lined Washington Redskins jacket. The bottom button was missing, lost in his backyard after he tackled his father during a Thanksgiving Day football romp. He pulled a baseball cap out of his jacket pocket and pressed it over his head. “Bonnie could tell you better than I could. I’m just not sure.”
“Very well. It should take about fifteen minutes to get to our starting point, and we’ll search for about thirty minutes. Then we’ll meet you back here in, shall we say, one hour?”
