The Digger's Rest (40 page)

“
I have seen thee at thy desk, quill in
hand over paper, hidden from his sight, only then able to reveal
thyself to him as thou art. And I have seen the love he bears for
thee in his unguarded heart as he wept for thee before the fair one
in black, vowing to forever relieve thee of thy
loneliness.”

“
Dr. Bramson and Father Javier?” Simon
blurted out.

“
And I have seen that he has kept his
vow to thee, hast he not?”

“
Yes, everyday.”

“
And that thou hast responded in kind,
vowing before me, a priest of another god, to protect him with thy
love and thy life, and that is good.”

The old man took a deep breath, visibly
weakened by the effort it took to see not only into Simon’s soul,
but to speak what he saw aloud. “And now ‘tis time for the wizened
old oak to pass, saddened by the fact that he must bequeath unto
thee a terrible burden; the weight of the ages on an acorn,” the
old man said shaking his head sadly, then looking into Simon again,
pointed his finger at boy’s chest. “But it is an acorn that I have
reared and nurtured, strong in the knowledge that within thy frail
body lies the spirit of a mighty young tree with branches that will
grow toward the heavens that have spawned it, and be able to
shoulder that burden,” and he reached for the box on the table, the
lock falling away at his touch.

The old man removed what looked to Simon like
a rolled piece of cloth, yellowed with age and tied with twine,
crumbling sprigs of holly bound in the knots. The old man touched
the twine and it too fell away as he began to unroll the cloth on
the table before them.

The first part unrolled, Simon could
see it was not just an ordinary piece of cloth but a very finely
needled piece of tapestry. He recognized the style immediately. It
was from the time of William, although with a decidedly English
touch. The old man looked deeply into Simon’s eyes.
“Dost thou see?”
he said in his
soundless voice.

Simon nodded. The first panel was of a
beautiful maiden, ornately adorned, boarding a ship in France. The
uneven lettering sewn in old Latin indicating, as far as he could
tell, that she was Breton, of high birth, and called ‘Alais.’

The next panel was of a ship at sea, wrecked
in a storm, but it was more than that, for in the sky above the
ship were images of whirling fingers appearing to intentionally
whip up the wind and the maiden falling into the sea. The only word
he could make out for sure was, ‘Curse.’

The next panel was of the maiden awash on the
shore, with the words being ‘England’ and ‘Exchange’ or ‘Switch.’
He couldn’t be sure. He looked closely at the figure of the maiden
as she was being aided by rescuers. The expression on her face
was…was strange, different from the first panel, but still somehow
the same.

At first he didn’t get it, so he drew
in close to the cloth to see her face better. She was smiling. And
then he saw what at first appeared to him to be damage in the cloth
and saw what looked like a tail coming from beneath her skirts. The
tips of her ears were exaggeratedly pointed.
“Dost thou see?”
the old man asked in his
soundless voice.

Simon looked up at him questioningly, not
sure he was really seeing what he thought he was seeing.

The old man pointed to the next panel. It was
of the maiden arriving at the castle and being presented to the
Lord of the Manor, the word there was ‘Revelstoke’, and when Simon
looked again at the maiden as she was being presented, it was still
there, the tail coming out from the back of her skirts. The panel
after that was the Lord of Revelstoke presenting the maiden to a
young man, his son, ‘Eadwyn’ and giving him her hand. The word
there was ‘Marriage.’

Simon’s eyes and soundless voice
spoke.
“What does this mean?”

***

Mitch barely made it back from the hospital.
The drugs they’d given him impaired his judgment, then overlain
with his state of mind at what he’d seen happen to Sean and driving
on the wrong side of the road, it took him twice as long as it
would have anyone else. By the time he arrived back at the inn it
was already dark. Ivy was at the podium. He hadn’t expected that.
“Good evening, Dr. Bramson,” she said coolly, without looking
up.

“
Good evening, Miss Farthing,” was all
he could get out, practically mumbling. He stopped in front of her,
not sure what he was expecting. When she still didn’t look up, he
just moved on into the pub; head low, feet shuffling and shoulders
slumped.

Jed was at the bar. “The usual Dr. Bramson?”
he asked smiling, sounding as bright as ever.

“
Yeah, please, Jed,” Mitch
mumbled.

“
Rough day?” Jed asked, putting the
glass of beer in front of him.

“
You could say that,” Mitch said,
letting out a long whistling sigh and looking around the bar. “No
Deck tonight?”

“
He’s not feeling too well, so I’m
covering his shift,” Jed replied shrugging.

“
So how is Sandrine making out? No one
but you has seen her for days?” Mitch asked, remembering the
oddness of her attack.

“
She’s…well…better; still sleeping most
of the day from the medication. As long as I keep the curtains
drawn, she seems more like herself. She’s been asking about Lady
Cotswold, though. I didn’t know what to tell her so I just said she
was busy at the dig and tired when she came in. I don’t know how
long I can keep lying to her,” he said, seeming to look to Mitch
for an answer.

“
Just tell her that you love her, Jed,”
Mitch said bluntly. Jed looked at him, his eyes astonished but
sparkling.

Ah, to be young and in
love,
Mitch thought to himself. Everyone can see it
but themselves.

“
You know?” Jed asked, struck by the
direct hit to his heart.

“
It’s been all over you since you laid
eyes on her. She’ll soon forget about Lady Madeline. Trust me,”
Mitch said, his words and thoughts on his sleeve from the effect of
the drugs. Jed blushed and walked away, stopping to look back
briefly at the man with long hair and his head down.

“
Yes, sir,” Jed said under his breath,
nodding as he walked away.

With his head still down, his hair
hanging so no one could see his face, Mitch thought,
Physician heal thyself!
and waved his
fingers in the air to let Jed know that more drinks would be
required.

For the next few hours Dr. Mitchell
Bramson, star of the stage and screen known as the art world, was
helpless, feeling completely and totally alone. All he could think
of
was Jack. Jack would know what all this
means. Jack would know what to do. Sandrine falls into an
unexplained fit; Lady Madeline mysteriously disappears, Malcolm
loses his fucking mind and kills some poor gay boy; Sean Donnelly
gets struck dumb in some sort of religious mania right before my
very eyes. Hell, it seems Simon doesn’t even want to be around me
anymore. What the fuck is that all about? And it all seems to have
something to do with this fucking dig. Could it really be cursed
the way King Tut’s tomb allegedly was? It can’t be. It’s the
twenty-first fucking century, for God’s sake. What do I do, Jack.
Please tell me.

“
Jed, can I use the phone to call New
York, please? Put it on my tab.”

***

It was two o’clock in the morning in New York
when the phone rang at Alida’s desk. “Dr. Edgeworth’s office,”

“
Alida, it’s Mitch.”

“
Oh, Dr. Bramson. It’s so good to hear
jour voice. I’m so glad jou called,” she said nervously.

He didn’t like the sound of her voice.

“
Alida, is everything alright there? Is
Jack alright?” His heartbeat flew to racing.

“
He’s at the heart doctor now. He’s had
two episodes lately. He seems okay when he comes out of them, but
Dr. Bramson, he’s been so worried about jou, and I’ve been so
worried about him.”

Mitch thought his heart would stop in
his chest.
God, please don’t let him
die!
raced through his head.
Jack, please!

“
I want to come home to be with him and
I feel…” Mitch said into the phone, wanting to cry. That was all
Alida Ruales heard before the buzz told her they’d been cut
off.

***

The old man thought for a moment before he
spoke. “During the time of William, he forced the young men of
noble birth to marry young French women of noble birth to ensure
their families’ support in the continuance of his rule. A Breton
maiden was chosen for the heir of Revelstoke,” he said, pointing to
the panel of the ship wreck. “But the maiden died in the sea,
murdered by a demon that took her likeness and married the young
Lord.”

The old man rolled out more of the tapestry.
The next panel was of a female, naked with a full tail, haunches
like a lion, talon-like claws, many arms and large, webbed wings
standing in front of a mirror and smiling, one hand on her stomach.
Under the image was a word Simon didn’t recognize, ‘demoness.’
Crouched behind the mirror, unobserved by the creature, was a
youth, a page of the castle, the name ‘Peter’ sewn under his
image.

The next panel showed the youth, on his
knees, bowing before the elder Lord Revelstoke, gesturing with his
hands as if he were telling the Lord what he had seen. The word
‘Father’ was sewn underneath the image of the elder Lord.

***

“
How long do I have, Dr. Heidt?” Jack
asked somberly.

“
It’s hard to say, Dr. Edgeworth. A few
months, a few weeks if you don’t take care,” the young doctor
replied. “Each of these little attacks weakens your heart
significantly. It’s imperative that you retire immediately and let
me schedule the surgery as soon as possible; and whatever you do,
do not, DO NOT allow yourself to get upset or stressed. Actually,
I’d like to admit you today and do the surgery on Friday,” he said
making it a point to look Jack straight in the eyes so Jack knew
how serious he was being.

“
No thanks, Doctor. I’ve lived my whole
life like a man and I intend on dying like one, not a vegetable or
a cripple. Thank you for your advice, but I have some important
things to attend to,” Jack said stoically, putting his shirt and
jacket back on.

***

When Jack Edgeworth arrived back at his
office at the Museum, Alida was anxiously waiting for him. His
color was bad and his nerves were stretched beyond their limit. She
saw the look in his eyes and she knew.

She got up and ran to him, putting her arms
around him. “I love jou,” she said, crying.

“
I love ‘jou,’ too,” he said holding
her tightly.

That night he had to take a
tranquilizer to get to sleep. Even the warm, soft comfort of
Alida’s body next to his wasn’t enough. He listened to the rain,
pounding on the roof top. He looked up and could feel it on his
face, but everything was so black. All he could make out was the
outline of the buildings as he looked around.
“Jack,”
he heard a woman’s voice whisper from
very far away. He started walking toward the sound of the voice
somewhere over in the distance. Damn, his feet hurt, and he looked
down. He had no shoes on. He was still in his pajamas and he was
all wet.

Where am I?
he
thought, unable to stop his feet from moving. But instead of
getting weaker from the exertion of walking, he seemed to be
getting stronger. He saw lights, bright, colored lights not too far
away, and he heard music making him step up his pace. He’d heard it
somewhere before. It seemed to be calling to him, leading him to
where he thought he needed to be.

A figure appeared coming from the
direction of the lights, like a thin sliver of blackness coming
toward him, cowering from the rain. He was drawn by the lights. He
knew he had to get there, but he didn’t know why.
“Mitch! Mitchell!”
he called out.
It’s Mitchell, he thought, walking faster toward the figure. But
the closer he got, the smaller the figure got. Suddenly the figure
wasn’t alone any more. The street was lined with people walking
slowly in the rain on both sides of the street. He couldn’t tell
one from the other. They were all dark and wet, collars up and
heads down.

Soon he was passing them by. He looked but he
didn’t recognize any of them, men, women and children, old and
young, all races, all sizes. He was in the middle of them. A figure
walked by him; a woman, her long hair wet and plastered to her
face. She looked up at him and he saw her eyes, those green feline
eyes, haunted.

“
They want our boy, Jack. Please don’t
let them,” she whispered as she passed and kept walking.

He turned his head to follow her. He was
alone. She was gone, and so were all the others; nothing but
blackness and mist rising from the street.

“
Mitchell!” he cried out as he opened
his eyes.

Alida was wake next to him. “Yack, what is
it? Are jou okay?” she asked, deep concern in her normally shining
dark eyes. She had his pills before he could ask for them. He got
up and started pacing.

“
Alida, my love. I need you to help me
one last time. I’ve got to see him…before…” and he sat down, his
head in his hands. “I’ve got to see him, one last time. I’ve never
told him that I loved him,” and he started to cry. “I need you to
help me get to England.”