by P. D. Kalnay
“Nice to meet you, Jack,” Mr. Ryan said. “How long you going to be staying?”
“The next four years?” I looked to my grandmother for confirmation, and she nodded.
“Well, the food is good here,” Mr. Ryan said. “The place is a little far from… almost everything though.”
“I noticed on the drive in,” I said. “It looks to be forest for miles. How far is the nearest town?”
“Over ten miles,” Mr. Ryan supplied. “Lastbridge isn’t much of a town. Unless, you have an interest in grocery stores or volunteer fire departments.”
I didn’t.
“That’s it?” I asked.
“No.” Mr. Ryan chuckled. “There are also two gas stations.”
Great I’m trapped in the middle of nowhere, I thought. Still, there was an eerie forest to explore.
“I might spend my time exploring the forest,” I said. “There’s lots of that.”
“The forest is off-limits,” Gran said. “You’ll stay on the property.”
She didn’t sound too flexible on the subject.
“How big is your property?” I asked.
“Ten acres surrounding the house and the outbuildings,” Gran said. “The forest is privately owned conservation land—trespassing is not permitted.”
I let the subject drop; figuring there was no point in arguing with my grandmother, and expecting I’d have no more supervision at her house than I’d had for the first fourteen years of my life. Trespassing and exploration of the surrounding woods could be done discreetly.
“What do you do for a living?” I asked Mr. Ryan to change the topic.
“I’m a security consultant,” he said. “I’ve been doing a job in the area for the last month and half, but it’s almost wrapped up now.”
“What kind of security?”
“All kinds.”
The way he said it told me that was as much as I would get.
“Are your parents staying here too?” I asked Ivy. Most kids didn’t have absentee parents like mine.
“No,” Ivy said. “They are not.”
Then she returned to eating her dinner. What a miserable–
“Ivy is in my care for the summer months,” Gran said. “Perhaps you’ll find each other acceptable playmates.”
What? Gran expected me to play with a snotty little kid on top of everything else. That’s not going to happen, I thought.
“I don’t know anything about babysitting kids,” I said. “And I’m not interested in learning.”
Mr. Ryan smiled, Gran gave me a flat stare, and Ivy… she looked ready to spring across the table and stick her fork in my eye.
“You and Ivy share the same birthday,” Gran said. “So babysitting won’t be necessary. Ivy is a petite girl, but no younger than you are.”
I took a better look at Ivy. She could be my age, she was little, but not… undeveloped.
“Have you finished staring yet?” Ivy asked me. She turned to Gran. “I have no interest in spending time with this boy!”
It was looking like it might be a long summer.
***
I met Gran’s cat on the way back to my room following a round of pre-bedtime tooth brushing. Her cat was entirely black, had smooth, thick, shiny fur, and it was huge. It looked big enough to have bobcat in its family tree. The cat brushed up against my leg as I stopped at my bedroom door. It certainly seemed friendly enough. Petting the big cat, I felt momentary sympathy for the mice foolish enough to trespass in Glastonbury Manor. The cat purred under my hand and nuzzled me with its forehead. Never having been allowed a pet, it was a novel experience. That’s how my first feline relationship began.
Gran’s cat showed up at random after that. Sometimes, it sat in my lap while I messed around on my computer or drew in my sketchbook. Other times, the cat slept next to, or on top of me. I usually pushed it off. Gran’s cat was heavy! I’d never really understood why people had pets before I met the cat. Now I knew… it was almost like having a friend.
Chapter 3 – Knights in the Library
For the next few days it rained, and I spent most of my time playing video games, watching movies on my laptop, and working on a model plane. I rarely saw Mr. Ryan or my grandmother, except at dinner, and only bumped into Ivy sporadically (which was more than enough for me). She was my age, and you’d think it would be nice having another kid around to hang out with. It wasn’t. Ivy was a total jerk. She was staying with Gran for the summer, but I didn’t know why. Ivy wasn’t a regular boarder like Mr. Ryan or a relative like me. As I understood it, her grandmother and my grandmother were old friends, and Gran was looking after her for the summer. Ivy was a snotty, stuck-up brat. I didn’t know the details. The few times she had spoken to me, Ivy had tried to order me around like her personal butler. The first time I saw her—I thought she was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen—but that was before she opened her mouth. After less than a week of living in the same house with her, she didn’t seem pretty at all.
We had a fight at dinner one night, and the next day we were out in Gran’s huge garden, breaking up the dirt with shovels. Gran has a guy who takes care of the gardens and deals with the landscaping. The manual labour was a punishment. I still didn’t know why I was being punished for not putting up with a spoiled brat. Ivy blamed me.
“This is your fault,” Ivy said.
She stood on the shovel blade with both feet and bounced it into the dark earth. Ivy wore an oversized pair of Gran’s old rubber boots. After hours of gardening, she was looking grubby. I assumed she wore them because she didn’t own any footwear suitable for manual labour. Ivy always dressed as though she were going to a fancy tea party. If she had jeans or shorts (or a t-shirt) I’d seen no evidence of it over the previous week. Her frilly white dress was splattered with dirt, and her long blond hair looked frazzled. She’d even managed to smear a fair amount of dirt down the side of her face. It made her look a little cute.
“I shouldn’t be working like a common labourer!”
And the cute was gone again. I’d spent my life in exclusive schools, surrounded by over-privileged kids, but this little princess took the cake.
“Why don’t you talk less and dig more?” I asked. “I’m almost done my half. If you think I’ll be helping with yours, you can think again.”
It was obvious Ivy had never done a lick of hard work in her life. Truthfully, I hadn’t either, but I was a sturdy guy, and she was downright tiny. I could tell from her expression that she was expecting me to move on to her side of the garden when I finished with mine. Keep dreaming Princess.
“You aren’t?” she asked.
“No. When I finish, I’ll get a nice cold drink, have a seat on that bench over there… and enjoy the show.”
“I have no doubt you’d like to continue staring at me—pervert! Do you think I haven’t noticed?”
I felt blood rushing to my face. I hated that girl. Maybe I’d looked at her a little. She was really, really good looking, but I hadn’t been staring.
“Your face is as much as an admission of your guilt,” she said.
Who talks like that?
“Screw you,” I said, quickly turning my last three shovelfuls of dirt. Then I carried my shovel back to the shed without looking back. I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. As I headed around the house, I heard her last quiet word.
“Pig.”
***
It started raining right after I left Ivy in the garden. I’ll give the princess credit, she kept digging until her side was done. My room happens to face the back yard. I wasn’t spying on her. Honestly. With her dress and hair soaked down, she looked like a drowned cat by the time she finished. She avoided eye contact with me at dinner, which suited me fine.
I went to the library after dinner. Yeah, the house is so big it has an honest-to-goodness library. There are walls of books, a rolling ladder that lets you reach the ones up high, and a huge stone fireplace. The evenings were still cool, and someone, ei
ther Gran or Ms. Mopat, had lit a fire on the grate. I’d claimed the biggest chair facing the fire. The chair back was high, and it seemed more throne than chair. I had a sketchbook in my lap, but I was staring up at the sword and shield hanging above the mantle. I guessed my grandfather was a big collector of antiques because Gran’s house was full of them. The sword looked old and the scabbard even older. I did some fencing during my year at military school, and I’d read up on swords and armour. The sword over the fireplace was a mediaeval broadsword. Not the sword a Musketeer or Zorro would have danced around with. It was a heavy piece of steel that a knight of the Round Table might have carried. The shield was kite-shaped and painted flat black, which I thought boring. You’d think somebody could’ve added a dragon or a lion to spruce it up.
“You checking out the sword?” Mr. Ryan asked.
I hadn’t heard him come in. He stood beside me, also looking up at the sword. Mr. Ryan was a soft spoken man and rarely said anything at the dinner table. I’d been wondering about his scars since the first time he’d passed me a bowl of mashed potatoes. His hands and forearms were crisscrossed with them, and I couldn’t imagine how you’d get those scars. Quiet or not, Mr. Ryan had a slightly intimidating presence, and I hadn’t worked up the courage to ask. I hadn’t spoken to him at all outside of mealtimes, but I had seen him putting empty whisky bottles in the recycling bin. My father drank himself to sleep every night, and I suspected Mr. Ryan did the same. He held a crystal tumbler full of liquor and ice.
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” I said.
“Old too,” he said, not taking his eyes from the sword. “Strange.”
“Strange how?”
“I can’t place it.” Mr. Ryan looked away from the sword and down at me. “I know a lot about weapons, and swords in particular, but this one… I can’t quite place. Your grandmother says she’s not sure where it came from.”
He took a sip of his drink and shook his head.
“What makes it so unusual?” I asked.
“It’s just an oddball. The markings and the design match no period or place I know of, and yet…”
“And yet?”
“And yet I would swear on my life, I’d seen it somewhere.”
I didn’t have a reply to that, and we both continued looking up at the sword for a few minutes.
“Mr. Ryan?” Ivy’s voice said from behind my chair.
She sounded a lot more polite than any of the times she’d addressed me. I hunched up in the chair, trying not to make a sound. With luck, Ivy would go away without realising I was there. Mr. Ryan looked at me, without really looking, and then turned to the door. His smile seemed half in greeting for Ivy and half laughing at me.
“Hello Ivy, how are you this evening?”
I hadn’t noticed that he was drunk when we’d been talking, but watching him now it became obvious.
“I’m well. Thank you for asking.”
“Is there something I can do for you?”
“Perhaps, it isn’t my place to say anything…” Ivy sounded genuinely unsure of herself.
I heard her walk to the middle of the room.
“Say anything about what?” Mr. Ryan looked puzzled.
“I’ve spoken to the mistress of the house. She informed me that you are a great knight and a noble warrior.”
This stop… crazy town. Who wants off? I felt bad about fighting with Ivy. Possibly, she had serious mental issues. I’d assumed she was just a jerk. Mr. Ryan seemed unfazed and ran a hand through his thinning hair.
“I was a soldier for most of my life, and now I’m a private security consultant,” he said. “Never a knight, or particularly noble.”
“Humility is a fine thing, but lies do not become you. Do you think I could fail to mark a Knight of the Order dining at the same table, and living under the same roof? Only a great quest would have brought you here. What is it you seek?”
Mr. Ryan now looked uncomfortable.
“I’m not seeking anything,” he said.
“If that’s the case—will you be my protector?”
“Do you need protection from someone?”
“At this moment no,” Ivy whispered, “but a time may come...”
“If you need my protection, you’ll have it.”
“Will you swear to it?” Ivy sounded serious. Crazy serious.
The expression on Mr. Ryan’s face changed to something colder. I didn’t know why he was playing along.
“When I say I’ll do something, I do it,” he said.
“Of course.” Ivy sounded less confident. “Forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. That wasn’t what you came to say, was it?”
I heard a sharply indrawn breath from Ivy. She was silent for a good minute before she spoke again.
“No. I came here to chastise you. Look at yourself. You’re a drunkard and you’ve let yourself grow soft. Would you be fit protection, should I call on you for aid? You’ve given up the field of battle, and live like an old man, while still hale and well able to lift a sword. I won’t call you coward—I see in your eyes it isn’t so—but I would ask why you’ve allowed yourself to fall to such a state.”
With each crazy word from Ivy’s mouth, Mr. Ryan’s face grew increasingly distraught. It was obvious he didn’t want to upset Princess Nut-job, but didn’t know what to say. Just as I decided I should say something, he spoke.
“There’s nothing worth fighting for,” he said. “I spent most of my life fighting for politicians and corporations, but there was no true honour in it… Now I’ve stopped, and wait.”
“For death?” Ivy asked.
Mr. Ryan shrugged.
“And have you truly no quest in this world?”
“I am looking for something,” Mr. Ryan said. “But I don’t know what.”
“Perhaps… I can aid you in your quest,” Ivy said.
I heard her leave the library, and Mr. Ryan turned back to me.
“She’s crazy,” I said.
“Yeah, maybe.” Mr. Ryan threw what remained of his drink into the fire. The flames flared high for a few seconds, and the ice cubes cracked noisily in the heat. “She’s right though. I’ve let things slide too far.”
Mr. Ryan left before I could say anything else.
Chapter 4 – Down to the Basement
The morning after the weird conversation in the library, Gran, Mr. Ryan, Ivy, and I sat around the table in the small dining room eating breakfast. A lodger at Gran’s received breakfast, lunch, and dinner included with their room. I hadn’t eaten the same meal twice, and all the food was delicious. Ms. Mopat, the tall dark-haired woman who cleaned for Gran, was also the cook. I’d said ‘Hi’ to her in the hallways a few times, and had gotten a nod in response, but had yet to hear Ms. Mopat say a single word. I didn’t know if she couldn’t speak, or simply chose not to.
“Will you be leaving us next week?” Gran asked Mr. Ryan.
Mr. Ryan set down his coffee cup. He looked more alert than he had at our previous breakfasts together.
“No, I’d like to book my rooms for the summer, if they’re available?” he said.
“There’s ample space if you wish to stay. I am expecting several other boarders this summer, but not a full house. I thought you were finished with your contract.”
Gran spread raspberry jam across a slice of toast.
“The job is done except for the mopping up, but I’ve decided to take the summer off and focus on things I’ve let slide.” Mr. Ryan smiled at Ivy. She’d been watching him like a hawk as he spoke. He turned back to Gran. “Do you know of a gym nearby? I’m going to start working out again.”
“There are no gyms or fitness clubs in the area,” she said. “The town couldn’t support one.”
The nearest town was miles away, and, according to the internet, had two hundred and seven residents. I’d researched it, hoping to find something to do, and been left disappointed.
“However,” Gran said, picking up her toast, “
we do have a small gymnasium in the basement.”
“Really?” I asked. What else did the place have?
“Yes, a former long-term guest was quite a fitness fanatic and claimed the gymnasium as his own. No one has opened the room in years. I have many rooms that never get used.” Gran frowned. “He left his heavy equipment. Young Andrew asked if he might store the equipment for a time, but never came back for it. Until this morning… I’d forgotten all about it.”
“I’ll go have a peek after breakfast,” Mr. Ryan said.
“Jack, you’ll help Mr. Ryan clean the room,” Gran said.
“What? Why do I have to help?”
“That’s unnecessary,” Mr. Ryan told Gran. “I’m happy to take care of it. You’re already doing me a huge favour.”
Thank you, Mr. Ryan! I thought. That was a close call. I had an appointment with the surrounding forest.
“Jack will help you,” Gran said with a note of finality. She turned my way. “You left Ivy to finish the garden alone in the rain yesterday.”
“But I already finished my half!”
“A gentleman helps a lady when the opportunity presents itself,” Gran said. “Laziness isn’t a desirable quality in a young man.”
For an old lady, Gran could sure stare you down.
“Fine,” I said.
The worst part was the delighted expression on Ivy’s face.
***
I met Mr. Ryan at the top of the basement stairs. I hadn’t been down to the basement or up to the attic yet. After a week, I still hadn’t finished exploring the three main levels. Something always side-tracked me when I went wandering around the house. The door to the basement was a heavy, ironbound oak monstrosity, opening onto a wide, dark staircase. The stairs looked spooky until Mr. Ryan flipped the light switch. After that, they just looked excessively fancy for basement stairs. I followed Mr. Ryan down. There were a fair number of cobwebs on the wood panelled walls and ceiling. It didn’t look as if Ms. Mopat cleaned the basement.