The Castle

by J. B. Michaels

  Ivy walked into the dining room. She expected a long, traditional dining table. Instead, there was a fireplace and a small round table in a large room with four tapestries with various depictions of medieval times and the importance of the feast and Christianity. Bela pulled out a high-backed chair for Ivy to sit in.

  The warmth of the fire and the smell of delicious dinner pulled Ivy to sit down with a stranger in a strange land.

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE STORY

  A staff of three servers brought out dinner on silver plates, delectable, traditional American Thanksgiving dinner.

  “I figured that since you were American, this meal would be appropriate.” Bela sat opposite Ivy.

  “I don’t really do the traditional Thanksgiving dinner thing, but thanks. I will eat it, only because I am starving and still waiting for more information from you, my captor.” Ivy gripped her butter knife and held it serrated edge forward. She paused and stared at him then grabbed her warm dinner roll and started to butter it.

  “I am aware of your need for answers. An intellectually capable woman such as yourself would want answers. Ah, would you like some red wine?” Bela signaled a server in a white tuxedo jacket.

  “Water’s fine.” Ivy chomped on her roll.

  Bela signaled. The server poured a big glass of ice water into a silver goblet in front of Ivy. The fireplace crackled in the background. The food tasted wonderful. The atmosphere was warm, inviting, and Ivy struggled to keep her aggression up. The more time she spent in the grand, medieval dining room, the more accepting of her precarious situation.

  “I wanted to wait until you had some food in your stomach before I told you. The reason you are here is because I saved your life, and I need you to save mine.” Bela’s eyes glistened with tears.

  “So, I am supposed to believe you saved my life? I don’t get it. Where the hell am I? I am not in the States, so where the hell am I?” Ivy spoke in between bites of turkey.

  “You are in Scotland. I made the trip to Chicago to ask you if you would accompany me here to the castle. When I couldn’t reach you at your dormitory, I used my resources to track your cell phone, and I tracked your phone to the park on Metro’s campus. I am a friend of your father’s, and he gave me your number. He informed me that you were able to concoct an elixir that cures any and all illness. See, I am running out of time. I need the elixir, or I will die.”

  “My father? I told him about a possible elixir. He doesn’t know that it worked. I haven’t spoken to him since Maeve was… Oh my, what about Bud and Maeve? What happened to them? The killer in the park… Did he find us…them, I mean?” Ivy dropped her utensils and pushed her chair away from the table.

  “I am afraid he did. I was able to spare your life. The killer stabbed the homeless man and medic. The two bodies fell on you and knocked you out cold. That is when I was able to drag you away. I am afraid I don’t know what happened to your two friends. They were engaged with the killer when I was able to drag you away to safety to my rental car. I am afraid, in my state, your body weight alone was more than I could handle.” Bela’s eyes turned red, and he shook ever so slightly.

  Ivy tried to remember what happened in the park. This creepy man might have been lying. He probably was lying. She shook her head, trying to jostle her memory, and rubbed her temples.

  “My friends could be dead. Did you call the police? How the hell do you know my father? Oh, don’t even bother. You know each other from Oxford?”

  “I did inform the police. I don’t know the status of your friends. Yes, your father and I know each other from Oxford. Ivy, my dear, I know this is a lot to process. I can show you to your quarters. The tower was only a temporary arrangement whilst I prepared your actual room.”

  “I want to speak to my father. Please call him.”

  “I will have one of my servants bring you the phone. Please, before you do that, my hunchback is actually a tumor. I don’t have much more time to live. Please do this one thing for me, and you will be free to go. Please.” Bela walked over to Ivy then knelt down in front of her.

  “Don’t do this. Jeez. Get up.” Ivy’s discomfort skyrocketed.

  “Please.” Bela kept kneeling.

  “If you are a friend of Dad’s, I will see what I can do. The phone. Now.”

  Chapter Twenty

  DOVE DIVE

  Bud finally settled into a much-needed rest from the turmoil of the past few days. He slept but in a light fashion, fully aware of the drool seeping from the side of his mouth framed by the scruff of his facial hair that needed proper shaving. He could sleep on planes but never soundly, especially on a plane that flew itself and was preposterously named The Holy Spirit.

  Bud’s light sleep brought him pleasant dreams of his grandfather. His uncanny and clear explanations of complex scientific concepts, his smile, warmth, and good nature. His love for Bud. The vision of his grandfather soon turned into a nightmarish haze, and his favorite family member began screaming for him. Bud jolted out of his sleep with a howl.

  “Bud! Jesus! Are you all right? It was just a bad dream.” Maeve unbuckled herself from her white leather chair and touched his arm.

  “Apologies, Maeve. Yes, a bad dream indeed.” Bud rubbed his chest.

  “Wanna talk about it?” Maeve asked with a gentle tone.

  “My grandfather. We were together, and then suddenly we weren’t. He started screaming for me. Then I jolted awake and startled you, I am afraid.”

  “You must really have a strong connection with him.”

  “He was the only person in my fated family to fully understand me. When my father would throw sports equipment at me as a kid, my grandfather would hand me a Stephen Hawking book. When my mother would urge me to go outside and play, my grandfather would come take me to the Museum of Science and Industry. He is a lovely man and really my true father figure. So, my intensity at the mere mention of him is as strong as the ties that bind can possibly be.”

  “I can’t wait to meet him. Like you said, the feds said he entered Scotland. Why would he leave Chicago?” Maeve asked.

  “He is of English descent. He has roots in the UK, but our relatives from the UK either moved to the US or have passed away. I haven’t a clue why or how he wound up in Europe.”

  Bud’s stomach dropped. The turbulence hit the cabin hard. Maeve fell and rolled towards the cockpit.

  “Shit! Maeve! Hang on!” Bud struggled to unclasp his seatbelt.

  “Bud, it’s fine. I will be fine! Stay in your chair!” Maeve pulled herself up, and her weight leaned against the pilot door. The plane maintained a steep dive.

  “Nonsense!” Bud finally unbuckled the seatbelt and immediately tumbled toward Maeve.

  “Bud! I said stay!” Maeve ducked and curled up.

  “Sorry!” Bud’s head hit the cockpit door, and his knees pounded into Maeve.

  “Ouch! Bud! We need to get into the cockpit and get control of this plane!”

  “So now we apply logic to this infernal machine?” Bud moved to the side of the door and pulled at the doorknob.

  It opened easily. Maeve entered first.

  The controls were not even moving. The flight stick wasn’t in a forward position, yet the plane still dove sharply.

  “Bud. Get in here. Help me get control.”

  “What happened to ‘have faith, Bud’?” Bud entered, smirking.

  The view from the cockpit gave no indication of position. The grey of the clouds blinded them.

  “Help me pull up!” Maeve gripped the flight stick. The angle of the dive allowed her to put her feet up on the console and pull.

  Bud moved forward, turned away from the viewport, and pushed up on the stick to help her.

  No movement. No change in direction. The perilous plummet continued unabated.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  SCOTLANDING

  The butterflies that zigzagged and bounced off the sides of Bud’s stomach kept flapping their wings rapidly. The d
iving Holy Spirit still hadn’t leveled off despite Bud and Maeve’s best efforts.

  “Maeve, any indication of how much longer we have until this nose dive ends our lives? Perhaps this machine is possessed by unholy spirits!” Bud grimaced and pushed the flight stick harder towards Maeve.

  “The ground is fast approaching. We look like we are going to crash-land into a forest!”

  “I don’t think we will be landing at all. The crash element seems much more prevalent!”

  The cockpit vibrated intensely. The windows rattled. Maeve lost her grip on the flight stick and fell toward the viewport and onto Bud. Her stomach, newly regenerated and muscular, smashed his head against the console’s instruments.

  He was fairly certain he would have a red ring from one of the instrumental displays burned into his cheek. Within a few seconds, the pressure lessened.

  “Here we go. The plane is leveling out! Hurry and buckle up.” Maeve pulled herself up and away from the viewport.

  Bud stood up and turned to look out the plane. In between patches of fog, he could see the tops of the trees of the forest Maeve had mentioned.

  “Oh, there appears to be no airfield amidst the foliage.”

  “No shit, Bud. Will you buckle up!” Maeve secured the copilot’s chair safety straps across her body.

  Bud sat in the pilot’s seat and strapped in. “Well, it’s been rather nice knowing you, Maeve. These safety belts seem rather useless given our current flightpath.”

  The treetops were much closer than just seconds before.

  A loud scrape raked the belly of the plane.

  “We are now hitting the treetops! A rather large hill seems to also be in our path!” Bud yelled.

  “Bud, it would be nice if you didn’t feel the need to do a play-by-play. I have eyes, you idiot. Say your prayers.” Maeve closed her eyes and muttered.

  “Perhaps closing my eyes is the right course of action.” Bud closed his eyes for two seconds before he couldn’t help himself. He had to see what was happening, his mind too curious to not absorb as much as it could in his possible last few moments of life.

  There were many more scrapes and bumps, but The Holy Spirit pushed on. Headed right toward the brown and green hill of death.

  Bud leaned forward.

  “No way.” Bud’s fake English accent dropped. “Maeve, open your eyes and stop muttering.”

  “What?” Maeve opened her eyes.

  Bud pointed.

  They witnessed a large opening appear on the side of the hill. A miracle hangar opened and welcomed The Holy Spirit.

  The plane’s speed lessened. The loud hum of the landing gear unfolding comforted Bud.

  The two monks of the Order had survived their perilous trip aboard an enchanted airplane.

  “We are flying into the hole on the hill. The holey hill! Ha! I must say, I do amuse myself.”

  The darkness of the hill enveloped them. The plane touched down, and the brakes kicked in mightily. Bud’s body rumbled in his chair, and he couldn’t see anything.

  “Have I lost my eyesight due to overwhelming stress? Or is it pitch black in here?” Bud asked.

  “You have not lost your eyesight, drama queen. It’s just dark in here. I can fix that,” Maeve answered.

  The plane came to a full stop.

  A light glowed from Maeve’s trusty crucifix. Bud found himself gawking at her hazel eyes. A particularly unique color they were. Maeve unbuckled her seatbelt and left the cockpit.

  “Wait for me. Don’t leave me here in the dark.” Bud fumbled with the buckle on his seatbelt.

  “After all we have been through, and you are afraid of the dark,” Maeve said from the cabin.

  Bud heard the door and steps unfold. “It is not that I am afraid. It is the lack of control the dark brings that unsettles me, Maeve.”

  “That’s fair and rather insightful, Mr. Hutchins. Didn’t know you were capable of self-reflection to that effect.” Maeve stood with her cross light in the cabin door. A smile cracked across her face.

  “Oh, stop. It is merely a fact I conveyed to you. We haven’t time for psychoanalysis and talk of feelings. Our dear friend Ivy is missing, along with my grandfather.” Bud pushed past Maeve.

  “A fact that originated from self-reflection, Bud. Your ego may not be as big as I think it is, after all.”

  “AH! SHIT!” Bud missed the first step down the steep exit stairs and fell to the cold interior ground of the holey Scottish hill.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  CALLS TO ACTION

  The ringing of an old analog telephone annoyed Bud as he rubbed his head from his tumble down the steps.

  “Maeve, I still can’t see anything in this dark airfield. Could you please be of assistance? It would be greatly appreciated.” Bud stood up and patted his dirty clothes. He realized he’d started to smell worse and worse. The thought of a hot shower comforted him.

  Maeve’s cross light showed the cracking cement of the hidden airbase.

  “The ringing is coming from over there.” Maeve made her way down to the airfield and pointed her light towards a small, rusty shack.

  Bud followed.

  The phone’s incessant ring grew more obnoxious the closer Bud walked.

  The black, dusty, rotating dial phone started to vibrate on the small wooden table up against the shack’s far wall.

  “Hello,” Maeve answered.

  The loudness of the receiver enabled Bud to hear Father Quinn’s response: “Great. You made it. How was the trip?”

  “Horrendous,” Bud yelled.

  “It was fun. We made it. The Holy Spirit’s dove-diving was a bit worrisome.” Maeve put her hand out to shut Bud up.

  “The plane does that to keep any radar and tracking system confused. Also, the location of the airbase must be protected as well. Listen, never mind that. You made it. The record label is officially Celtic Movement, the one with the tree symbol. The studio and office is right off Barrowland Park. There is another tube in the airbase. Use that to get to Bannockburn Seminary, get cleaned up, and eat some food. Then head out.”

  “What about Ivy?” Bud asked loudly.

  “Yes, Ivy. I checked Midway and O’Hare airports’ flight departures for any unusual flights around the time Ivy went missing. Sure enough, a private airplane departed from Midway in the middle of the night an hour after you both arrived at St. Pat’s. I even went to the private plane hangar and talked to a friend of mine who helped me register The Holy Spirit. Just two passengers on the plane, the pilot and a supposedly drunken girl who’d passed out from a night of drinking.”

  “Where was it headed?” Maeve asked.

  “Scotland.”

  “Oh dear. That is too close to be a coincidence. Let’s move. We can find her if we hurry.” Bud’s brow furrowed. His impatience grew.

  Ivy Zheng woke feeling rested, better than she had in days. The four bedposts and closed chamber curtains did much to make her feel even more at ease. She still fought the urge to completely relax. Her phone conversation a few hours earlier left her feeling odd. Her father rarely spoke words of affection or love. The fact that he’d said he loved her troubled her. She figured it was because she agreed to help an old friend of his. Still, he never said the word ‘love.’ Her father was a hardworking, demanding man. A great father in many ways but emotionally available, he was not. Most of her emotional intelligence stemmed from her grandparents.

  Ivy sighed and stared at the velvet bed curtains. She didn’t want to get up. The silk sheets. The down pillows. She rolled onto her stomach and closed her eyes.

  A gentle knock rapped on the bedroom door.

  “Coming. Hang on a sec.” Ivy rolled to the side of the bed and opened the bedchamber curtains. She grabbed for her pants still folded over the desk chair, right where she had left them.

  She pulled up her pants.

  Another knock.

  “Almost there.” Ivy buttoned her jeans.

  “No rush. Just wanted to o
ffer you some tea.” Bela’s voice sounded jovial.

  Ivy opened the door, and he held a cup of tea in his hand and gestured for her to take it.

  “Thanks. Okay, my father seemed on board with the situation. He will be calling me back here. I asked him to check into Bud and Maeve’s status. He also wanted me to say thank you again for saving my life for him. The least I could do is help to save yours, but I am no doctor. I am not sure I can remake that elixir or if it will work in your case. The ingredients are rare.” Ivy grabbed the cup of tea from Bela and sipped.

  “Very well. Then that is why I came to see you. I trust you have acclimated to the time change. I want to show you the lab, and I trust you will find we have the proper ingredients here.” A crooked, toothy, rather unsettling grin, spread across Bela’s face.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  UNSETTLED

  Bud and Maeve once again reeled from another trip in another pneumatic tube, one that had a steep rollercoaster-like drop that descended from the hill to the underground of Glasgow proper. They ascended the basement steps of the Bannockburn Seminary which showed no signs of life. Just two long hallways with brick-paved floors and a large Jesus statue showcasing the crucifixion where the halls met.

  “Must all these Catholic buildings be so sufficiently eerie upon arrival?” Bud observed.

  “Hello, hello there. Father Quinn told me ye be comin’ now.” A hearty Irish accent sounded from down the hallway.

  “Another priest. Ugh.” Bud rolled his eyes.

  “Bud! We are on the same team!” Maeve’s eyes were wide.

  “Oh, good, good. Here ya go now. I am Father Kieran.” He handed both of them towels and soap. He was short in stature, wore huge glasses, bald, and held a commanding, yet welcoming presence.

  “Thank you, Father.” Maeve happily accepted the towels.