Order of the Black Sun Box Set 8

by Preston William Child

  “Ah,” Nina replied. She had no other retort to the vague assumption of the teacher, but she did not like it one bit. It felt as if the skinny Miss April knew something she was not disclosing, but Nina had no tactic to dig for more right now. The teacher’s statement, referring to the Order of the Black Sun, coincided with the other peculiar thing Nina saw that first day at the school.

  ‘The children knocking on the desk in applause,’ she thought to herself. ‘Never before had I seen something like that from children, let alone Scottish children. A distinctly German thing, to knock on the desk, coming from a bunch of pre-teens in a UK school?’

  As the bus pulled away from the university to deliver students and faculty to Gracewill Primary, Nina felt that familiar twinge. To her, the boy with his engaging stare and interesting obsession was the only good spark in the impending darkness of Miss April’s secretive web.

  7

  Heirloom

  Glasgow was draped in a golden glow as the morning traffic began to plague the pre-dawn peace. For once, the cloudy atmosphere was absent, a portent of the strange day to come. Commuters crowded the city from all sides and Nina felt as if she had not slept in days, even after her full ten hours of dead sleep since she clocked in at 8pm. Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped her wet body in a loose thick towel and left a trail of wet footprints across the thick carpet of her room. With a world-weary sigh, she reached for a dented pack of Marlboros and pulled a fag from it.

  The click of her lighter offered a great deal of relief, knowing what came next. Nina suckled gently at the end of the cigarette, closing her eyes to savor the rush. “Oh God, yes,” she whispered as she exhaled long into the sunrays that penetrated the window. “Nicotine orgasm.” Smoke bordered the shape of the light falling across Nina’s gleaming shoulders and face, her eyes rapidly darting under their lids.

  When she opened them, she was disappointed to see the foggy pollution and the rushing cars populate the entire view from her vantage. She scoffed and pinched the fag between her lips as she poured water into the coffee maker, waiting for the gurgling choke of the mechanism. The morning cold was beginning to sting her moist skin and chill the soles of her feet.

  “Fuck,” she complained, ripping off the towel and throwing it over her shoulders, tightly pulling it to her body. Trying to keep warm, Nina was shaking her body like a Sixties cage dancer under the towel, waiting for the toaster. Eventually it took too long and she headed back to her bed and pulled her suitcase from underneath.

  “Just the sweater. Just the sweater and the Eskimo boots,” she muttered, watching her cigarette bounce as she spoke. While Nina was salvaging what body heat she had left, she thought about the Brian boy from the museum trip and how he knew about things like torcs. It made her smile. She sucked on the last bit of the fag before crushing it in the ashtray. Today was Miss April’s designated day of show-and-tell for History Week and after the young Brian mentioned the Celtic piece of jewelry, Nina was eager to see what he would bring to class.

  Much as Miss April and her creepy manner bothered her, there were only two days left of the easy money week in Glasgow and Nina was beginning to see the end of the tunnel, behind which was a trip back home to Oban. She direly needed a month off, just to close off the year’s insanity.

  With her fag exhausted, she got dressed and had two slices of toast with black coffee. Hopefully the sun would warm her once she was outside, but for now not even the hot coffee could help her stop shaking. Perhaps there was more to Nina’s tremors than just the cold. Usually, this happened when she was subconsciously agitated or felt apprehensive for whatever reason, but Nina chose to blame the cold.

  Just short of nine o’clock, she arrived at school and met up with Miss April in the parking area for faculty, located conveniently outside the administration building of Gracewill. Under a forest of domestic trees, the cars of teachers and staff lined up in all colors.

  “Good morning, Dr. Gould,” the shrill voice chimed like a bad hangover through Nina’s skull, but she kept her poker face on.

  “Hey, good morning,” Nina sang back, praying for the day to fly by. “I hope I am not too late with these suggestions for a project?” She handed Miss April a dossier with some sites the teacher could suggest during lessons for the children to augment their history education.

  “Why, that is wonderful of you, Nina, thanks!” Miss April wailed happily. She looked sincere in her cheer as she flicked through the copies and recommendations. There was not a sign of the ever so slight tone of secrecy from the day before, which both confused and relieved the historian. Nina rubbed her hands together.

  “Oh, yes, let’s go into the staff lounge for some warm cocoa, hey?” Miss April proposed, pointing to the two-story brown brick building with the folder Nina had given her.

  “Aye, sounds good,” Nina agreed. “Might catch my death out here in the sun, if the irony of that does not kill me first.”

  “Ha!” Miss April cackled. “It is rather odd, right? First day of sun and ten bloody degrees colder. Go figure.”

  The two ladies made some small talk with the faculty members in the lounge, enjoying the toasty atmosphere. Nina tried to look interested, but she was bored shitless. To her surprise, she found that she could not wait for the class to start so that she could get out of this circle of hens, talking recipes, education and tennis. It dawned on Nina that time spent with Purdue and Sam, along with other masculine parties most of the time, was beginning to wean her from female conversation. In fact, being in the company of normal women, average women, downright irritated her.

  There was no sign of Principal Willard, she realized. She would have preferred making small talk with him far more than the clucking women. Finally, the bell went and Nina’s spirits lifted instantly.

  “Ooh, thank God,” she sighed, rolling her eyes back.

  She was met with some disapproving looks, but she did not care. Nina scoffed awkwardly and walked toward Miss April, who was in another clique.

  ‘Think what you will, wenches,’ Nina growled inside her mind as she left the stunned onlookers behind. ‘This might be your school, but I am the only one here with a doctorate. Cows.’

  “You ready?” Miss April smiled as she gathered up her stuff.

  “Aye,” Nina sighed, trying to hide her impatience. “How many students will be doing show and tell today?”

  “All of them,” Miss April replied as they started down the corridor. “I have set aside today just for the oral presentations, just as I set aside the field trip day, see?”

  Nina nodded, but she kept her answers short and her thoughts ripe. ‘Jesus, I’d kill for a fag now.’

  Again, as they neared the classroom, Nina could not help but count the hooks lined against the wall, even though they were obscured by articles of clothing hanging from them. Ahead in the shadowed corridor, the children were chatting while waiting for Miss April.

  “Go in, you all,” she ordered while Nina finished counting the hooks.

  “Morning, Dr. Gould,” some of the kids greeted Nina.

  “Hey there,” she winked. “I cannot wait to see what things you guys brought in.”

  One by one, they passed Nina in the doorway. She studied the features of each child, waiting for the familiar boy she memorized at the chapel. He was second to last in the queue passing her, but he did not say hello. To her dismay, he did not even look up at her.

  “Now, settle down!” Miss April clapped her hands, giving her class a few seconds to calm down. “I want you all to take out your items and I will call you alphabetically to come to the front. Now, listen up! We are going to pretend that we are all back from a relic hunt.”

  The bony teacher turned to Nina and pointed. “Just like Dr. Gould here.”

  Nina’s eyebrow shot upward. That was unexpected, she thought, as Miss April continued. “We are going to pretend that we are reporting to Dr. Gould and try to impress her with the historical items we have robbed from ruins and graves and
caves.”

  ‘Okay, you can stop now,’ Nina’s thoughts raved. ‘Passing over that boundary line now.’

  “Do you think you have what it takes to impress Dr. Gould?” Miss April asked them. Behind her smile, Nina felt that same borderline malice she felt after the outing. The class all murmured in response, shrugging, while here and there Nina heard a timorous ‘yes’ from the group. Brian was seated at his desk with nothing upon it. ‘How come he did not bring anything?’ she thought. ‘Surely all families have heirlooms, unless he is adopted or something.’

  “Attwood,” Miss April announced. “Belinda, you are first.”

  The plain little brunette came to the front and delivered a teapot, claiming that it belonged to her great grandmother, that it was handmade by a silver smith and that it came from Sussex. Her presentation did not lend much insight other than those details, but it was acceptable. After she sat down, Miss April checked her class list and called the next surname.

  “Callany, you’re up,” Miss April said. She wore glasses Nina always referred to as catty eyes, which was pretty close to their name – cat eye vintage mod glasses – and it made her emaciated face look even more retro.

  Young Brian stood up, looking quite resolute. He had nothing in his hands. By the way the light fell short in the design of the classroom, he would soon be fully illuminated when he took his place in front of the class. He came walking down from where his desk was, and it was then that Nina noticed something large around his waist. Chuckles and mutters from the children mocked him as he moved.

  “Sir Fartsalot,” Jimmy Leonard teased. The class erupted in laughter.

  “Looks more like the Fae of Tamriel,” Percy Klein hissed, pushing the frail Brian forward. He tripped over the item he dragged with him, but did not fall.

  “Hey! Stop it!” Miss April warned sharply over the curved frame of her glasses. At once Brian Callany locked eyes with Nina. He looked reassured, even proud as he stepped down from the slanted shadow into the light. Miss April adjusted her glasses. “What on earth do you have there, Brian?”

  “A scabbard, Miss,” he answered boldly, again, placing his gaze on Nina as if to say something. She could almost hear his voice in her head.

  ‘Do you see this, Dr. Gould? Do you see what I have?’

  The boy oozed confidence as he took his designated place. Around his waist, he had pulled taut a belt. It wrinkled up his shirt to be tight enough to hold the enormous scabbard fixed.

  “What is a scabbard, Brian?” Miss April asked.

  Without hesitation, his voice and tone revealed another side of young Brian. “A scabbard is a sheath, Miss, that holds a sword.”

  Nina stood in wonderment, her arms folded as she watched in silence. Now and then, Brian’s gaze would find her, but Miss April’s questions kept pulling them away.

  “And where did you find this scabbard? Has it been in your family for a long time? It looks very old,” Miss April pried. It was part of her display of interest, but Nina guessed that the teacher was genuinely fascinated. She turned to Nina. “Dr. Gould, could you come and have a look at this, please?”

  “Sure,” Nina smiled.

  Speaking in a hushed tone, Miss April revealed her thoughts to Nina. “Looks really, really old, like…ancient…old, you think?”

  “Aye,” Nina answered softly as she sank to her haunches to examine the scabbard while Brian answered his teacher’s questions.

  “It has been in my family for centuries, Miss. My grandpa would kill me if he knew I took it today, because it is very valuable,” he declared with a stout nod.

  “You took it without permission?” Miss April gasped.

  “Aye, Miss, he would never let me bring it. It was used in real battles and defended kings,” he assured both ladies. Of course, his boast was met with cynical mocking from his classmates.

  “Bullshit,” Percy Klein coughed.

  “Hey, watch your language or it is detention for you, Klein!” Miss April threatened in her shrill shriek. “Now listen, you can all leave your items here in class until tomorrow if we do not get everyone’s orals done today, alright?”

  Nina could not believe the intricate designs on the scabbard, even though its etched patterns were erratic and crude. This actually had Nina more convinced that it was a raw and genuine article. Usually, the more esthetic items of such antiquity denoted less practical uses, but this item was fashioned by hand and carried traces of immense wear. Even if the boy was embellishing its origins, there were things about the scabbard that Nina could not dismiss. There was something mesmerizing about it.

  She ran her slender finger along the inconsistent patterns and marveled softly. “It is positively engaging.” Nina looked up at Brian and cast a look at Miss April. “Almost…magical.”

  8

  Fencing

  Court Callany could not concentrate on his work – again. His boss and friend, Tony Hamish noticed that the old mechanic was absent minded. He stared at Court through the plate glass window to the workshop. In the office from where he spied, his sister Bekka sat shaking her head. She was Hamish Auto’s administration clerk.

  “What are you finding so bloody interesting about Court, hey?” she asked.

  Tony did not move, but he answered her. “There is something not right at his home, Bekka. I can see it in his ways, you know? Known him long. Known his manner long and I tell ya, there is something very heavy on that old lad that he don’t tell me.”

  “People go through shite, Tone. Deal with it. He does. Past few years, you saw what all happened in his household. That fucking deadbeat son of his and all the pressure with all the mouths to feed. I know you cannae pay him more, but jaysus, I think they cut the line thin every month,” she rambled.

  Tony kept staring, as if looking long enough would reveal Court’s hefty yoke to him. “Whatever it is,” he mentioned under his breath, “it is weighing heavier today than last week when he had to stay late. Something that was already bothering him has gotten worse.” He turned to his sister. “Can you find out what it is? He would rather trust telling a woman.”

  “Tone, I broke his hand the first night I saw him, remember? When I thought he was an intruder? How will he trust me over you?” she protested. “Just go and ask him. You are his employer, you know. He has to tell you.”

  A knock at the other exit rocked the wooden door, finally prompting Tony to pry his eyes from the workshop.

  “Come in, Len!” Bekka hollered. It was the owner of the scrap yard next door, looking for Tony. The mild mannered Len came in, nodding his greeting.

  “And to what do we owe the pleasure, son?” Tony jested.

  “Hello hello. Just dropping by quick. Looking for new help, Tone. If you know anyone reliable, will you shoot me a note?” Len asked.

  “Sure, of course,” Tony replied. “Did Paul resign or have you still not heard from him?”

  “Paul?” Bekka asked, looking surprised.

  “Aye, Paul has not been coming in for work,” Len told her, shrugging. “No calls. Nobody at his shack. I guess employing cons don’t profit much, hey? Next time, I will rather take a rookie fresh from high school and teach him, than to trust a bloody thief or fraudster again. Fuck that.”

  “Makes sense. We will keep an eye out for you, Len,” Tony promised.

  “Ta, mate,” Len smiled. “I have to go. Nobody at the yard, apart from Jack. See you’s around, okay?”

  “Alright, Len. See ya,” Bekka said as the junkyard boss left. She gawked at her brother. “Who the hell is Jack?”

  “His Pitbull,” Tony chuckled. “A bitch.” Now he laughed. “He wanted a male, but she was the last of the litter and he could not afford another one, so he just called her Jack anyway.”

  “Oh God, what a spastic,” she grunted, trying not to smile. “So where do you think that deadbeat Paul took off to this time?”

  “I have no idea, but if you ask me, Len is better off without that git anyway,” her brother said, once again
looking into the workshop. “I am going to ask Court what is hounding him like this.”

  Before his sister could protest, Tony was bolting out the office door like a bloodhound. She chewed her purple grape chewing gum as she watched the two men in conversation, trying to ascertain what the verdict was by body language and failed lip reading. Court shook his head in a nugatory fashion a lot, obviously denying any guesses Tony threw at him. Ultimately, Tony seemed to accept the short answers from his employee and returned to the office. Bekka saw Court stare at Tony’s back as he walked away, displaying a sorrowful disappointment in his face.

  “What did he say?” she pried when Tony came back.

  He shrugged and sat down behind his desk. “Apparently Sue is sick again, but he refuses to tell me what exactly is wrong with her. Typical of Court. Martyr. Makes me sick when people walk around sulking, but will they accept help? No, they have to keep up the pity party.”

  “Shut it,” she reprimanded her brother. “You know Court has a lot of troubles and you know that his wife has been sick before. Cancer sick.”

  “I know,” he replied hopelessly. “Just wish he would cut the pouting and just come out and tell us what is wrong. By the way, sis, have you seen Alan lately?”

  “Alan from the pawn shop?” she asked, surprised. “Are you selling stuff again?”

  “Not me. Court. He asked me for Alan’s number. I am thinking the bloke needs to get some extra money for the coming holidays or whatever sickness his wife has this time round,” Tony speculated. “I mean, is the bonus he is due not enough?”

  “That bonus you pay him buys him a carton of fags and a shot of morphine on the street market, love,” she told her brother outright. “Hardly anything more than what he takes home after his deductions every month. Think about it. Would you be able to live off what you pay Court? People who are not adequately remunerated tend to do shoddy work.” She gestured with her head toward the mechanics slouching around the workshop, looking positively lackluster. “See? If you got paid what they do, you would also have to pawn your stuff to stay alive.”