Shades of Red

by K. C. Dyer

  “What a relief. One more night on this floor and I would have probably given up and gone back to my bed for good.”

  The sound of the voice nearly sent her through the roof. She squeaked and dropped her bag, scattering the items at her feet.

  “Geez, Darrell, I didn’t know you were so easy to scare.”

  Darrell was beyond furious. “Paris! What are you doing here? And would you get that light out of my face, please?” She sank to her knees and found her own flashlight, switching it on before loading her other dropped possessions back into her bag.

  “So, you want the long story or the short one?”

  Darrell stared at him in exasperation. “The short one,” she hissed.

  Paris nodded knowingly. “Ah yes, places to go, things to do, eh, Darrell?”

  “What do you know about what I have to do?” she shot back.

  “I know more than you think I do, anyway,” he said quietly. “It’s amazing what a person can pick up around this school if you just listen carefully.”

  Darrell couldn’t believe it. “Have you been listening to my conversations?”

  Paris shrugged and began rolling up his sleeping bag.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” she whispered furiously.

  “Going with you,” he said simply.

  “No — not a chance — no way. There’s no hope of that, so you might as well just pack up now and go back to bed.”

  “He was my friend too, y’know.”

  Darrell was stunned. “How much do you know?” she asked slowly.

  Paris stood up and leaned his lanky frame against the bookcase. “I know you’re looking for Conrad,” he said, keeping his voice low. “And you may think that I’m stupid, Darrell, but I know that when I lost you guys down in the secret passageway that you were not there the whole time. I searched every accessible corridor and you were all gone — including Delaney.” He reached down to pat the dog. “No way you were just lost down there. I’ve been down twice since then to double-check. You were gone, Darrell, I know that for sure. And when I heard you talking last week in the study hall, I figured you might do something about it soon. Now the time has come to tell me all about it. Maybe I can actually be a help.”

  Darrell shook her head, mentally kicking herself for not stopping to find out who had been eavesdropping in study hall that afternoon. “I can’t tell you about it and I can’t take you, Paris. You just don’t understand. I can’t afford to lose you, too.”

  “Lose me? You lost Conrad? I don’t think so, Darrell. I know there’s more to this than you’re telling me.”

  Darrell thought fast. After a moment she nodded. “You’re right, Paris. Okay, you win — I will tell you. But you know I can’t tell you without Brodie and Kate. They are a part of this too. You go get them, and I’ll tell you the whole story.”

  “I have to wake Kate up in the middle of the night? Not a chance,” he said, shaking his head. “Brodie’s at least got a bit of a sense of humour — but Kate? No way.”

  Darrell crossed her arms. “Well, that’s the deal. If you want to know more, go get ’em and we’ll tell you together. Otherwise the deal’s off.”

  Paris thought for a long moment. “All right,” he said at last. “But be patient — this might take me a few minutes.”

  Darrell nodded. “Just don’t wake Lily, whatever you do,” she warned. “I’ll never hear the end of it if she misses some of her beauty sleep because of me.”

  She sat down beside Delaney and ran her fingers through the thick hair under his collar as Paris strode off. “Get ready to run, dog,” she whispered. “Our window of opportunity just got a whole lot smaller.”

  “Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. Okay, boy, let’s go.” Darrell didn’t have the patience to count to fifty, but she figured that thirty was enough to get Paris out of the library and down the hall to the boys’ rooms. Paris would be smart enough to get Brodie up first in order to get his help in awakening Kate.

  She had yanked open the heavy bookcase and shone her flashlight into the dark cavern beyond when she came upon the first snag.

  “I’m going to need to close this door, Delaney,” she whispered. “That stupid Paris has really messed things up for me.” The closed door would at least slow the group down when they came to find her, and by the time they reached the bottom, she and Delaney would have gone through the portal and they would be out of luck.

  “That’s the beauty of this little gig,” she said to Delaney after the heavy door swung closed behind them and they had started down the stairs. “Anybody can have a dog who fetches sticks or rolls over. It takes someone pretty special to have a time-travelling dog.” She grinned at the sight of his tail, wagging on each step as he spiralled down the tightly winding stair.

  At the bottom, Darrell paused to set down the pillowcase. She didn’t want to risk carrying the whole bag. She had carried things both backwards and forwards through time before, but the results could be a bit unpredictable. Wristwatches, for example, disappeared completely, and things like pencils would often take an entirely different form. The most important thing to remember was her roll of peppermints, and she tucked that carefully in her pocket with a number of other essentials that she hoped would safely make the trip.

  At last she was ready. “It’s decision time, Delaney,” she whispered. Which doorway would it be?

  A sound from the stairs made her head snap up. It couldn’t be! There was no way Paris had had time to wake Brodie and Kate and get back to the library, but she didn’t dare wait to find out. Grabbing Delaney by the collar she stepped forward toward one of the doorways to the right. A symbol in the shape of a falcon began to glow hot and red on the frame of the door and she smelled the unmistakeable scent of burning wood. The smell caused her to hesitate for one fatal second, and as she stepped forward a flying figure leapt from the stairs and tackled her right through the doorway.

  “You idiot!” She was so angry she just wanted to kick him, but at the last minute she redirected her foot into a nearby wall. “Ow!”

  “Oh, man,” Paris rolled on the ground, his face ashen. “Oh, man. Don’t look Darrell, I’m going to be ...”

  And sick he was, all over himself and the floor and even the wall beside him. Darrell rolled herself out of the way and got wearily to her feet. She popped a peppermint from her pocket into her mouth and looked around the room. They were in a small cottage, very similar to the one in Lisbon, with a major difference. This one smelled beautiful. Well — it had until Paris had christened it. The windows were thrown open to catch a fresh spring breeze, and Darrell could see that they were somewhere in a deep forest. Not a city in sight.

  But first things first. She rolled up the sleeves of her dress and helped Paris to a small stool that sat near the fireplace.

  “Here, put this in your mouth. It’ll make you feel better. I’ll clean up the mess.”

  Paris hung his head in misery, sucking on his peppermint. “I’m sorry, Darrell,” he said humbly. “I just couldn’t let you go without me.” He tried to lift his head and winced at the effort. His eyes widened until Darrell worried they would fall out of the sockets. He didn’t say another word as she swept up the mess that he’d made of the rushes on the floor and deposited the whole sorry pile outside.

  At last he got to his feet and staggered up. “Just a minute,” he said in a strangled voice, and dashed off into the bushes. Darrell could hear him being sick again.

  “Serves him right, the creep,” she muttered to herself as she replaced the twig broom in the corner where she’d found it. “He’s just going to slow me down, and now I have to explain everything to him and look after him. Ugh!”

  After a few moments, Paris returned, still shamefaced. “I don’t know what’s making me sick like this,” he said apologetically. “Maybe if I just sit down for a few minutes it will pass.”

  “It’s time sickness,” she said flatly. “And it usually passes faster if you eat a couple of mi
nts right away. Something in the sugar and the peppermint settles your stomach somehow.”

  “Geez, it didn’t seem to work that way for me, but I’ll try it again,” he said and looked around slowly. “Time sickness. As in — travelling through time?” As she passed him another mint he stared unabashedly at her dress.

  “You look beautiful, Darrell, but can you please tell me what’s going on here? Why are you in that long dress with your hair all done up like that?” He gestured out the door where Delaney lay curled in the sun. “And what’s with the dog?”

  Darrell rolled her eyes. “What’s going on here is that you are causing me nothing but trouble. It’s going to take forever to explain all this to you, and I have more important things to do than to baby you along while I find Conrad.”

  An odd look crossed Paris’s face, and he dashed for the door, retching. He returned moments later, wiping his mouth.

  “Why don’t you just give me the short version, Darrell? And by the way, I don’t buy your peppermint theory. It’s not working for me at all.”

  Half an hour and only two vomiting sessions later, Darrell had Paris briefed and ready to head out on a reconnaissance mission. His head was spinning with the novelty of all he saw about him. “These are the coolest clothes,” he said, running his hands down the heavy linen shirt and wool trousers. “The underwear is a little itchy, though.” He was grinning broadly in spite of his uncertain digestive condition.

  Darrell had to smile. “The itchiness helps you realize it’s not just a weird dream or hallucination,” she said quietly. “And I have to say, you’re taking it better than I did on my first journey. I was scared to death.”

  “Darrell, this is the most awesome thing that has ever happened to me — apart from the barfing part, I mean.” He grabbed Darrell’s hand as they walked out the door. “Thank you so much for taking the time to explain everything to me. I can’t believe it — this is just amazing.”

  He paused to watch the awkward hop-skip step that Darrell had to use to walk on the antique wooden foot that her prosthesis had morphed into over the course of the journey.

  “How do you walk on that thing?”

  She shrugged. “I manage. It’s easier if I have a cane of some sort, but if I can hold onto your arm, we’ll get along okay.”

  “Uh — all right — just a minute.” He dashed off into the bushes. Darrell crossed her arms impatiently, but he emerged in seconds, looking a little pale. “Sorry. Not much left in there now, so it’s not taking as long, at least.”

  She sighed loudly and marched on.

  He lifted his chin defiantly and ran to take her arm again. “Look, I know you’re mad at me. But I promise to make it up to you. I’ve spent a lot of time in woodworking class over the years, and I’m going to carve you the nicest walking stick you’ve ever seen, just to make up for all the trouble I’ve caused.”

  “Forget it,” said Darrell flatly. “We’re just not going to have time. We’ve got to figure out where we are first and then find out where to locate Brother Socorro. And even if we manage all that, we still have to find Conrad, if Socorro will lead us to him.” She softened her tone a little. “You’re going to have to be my walking stick for now, okay? Besides, if I keep my hands on you, maybe you won’t be able to mess things up any more than you already have.”

  They crossed to the edge of the small clearing in the trees.

  “Which way do we go now?” asked Paris.

  “That depends,” said a lilting voice behind them, “on where you would most like to find yourself.”

  “So tell me anew how you came to be here?” The young woman’s dark eyes sparkled at Paris.

  “We — uh — we travelled through the woods, and—”

  “And we’d come here because we were told we could find a Franciscan priest,” interrupted Darrell. “His name is Brother Socorro and ...”

  The young woman gasped. She looked around carefully, and when she spoke, her voice had lost its lightness. “I know of the dear brother,” she said quietly. “And though we are fairly safe here, the trees are filled with hunters and the castle is very nearby.” She looked at them critically. “Let us go inside the cottage and I will tell you all I know.”

  Paris jumped up. “I’ll — I’ll be right there,” he said quickly and fled into the bushes.

  The young woman raised her eyebrows.

  Darrell shook her head. “Bad stomach,” she said with a little grin. “Must have been something he ate.”

  The young woman waited at the door and allowed Darrell to hold it open for her before sweeping inside.

  Darrell took the initiative right away. “My name is Dara,” she said quickly. “And the fellow being sick outside is my — my brother, Paris.”

  The young woman smiled and her face lit up like a beacon. “Une de mes villes favori,” she said merrily. “One of my favourite cities. And yet I have never heard of anyone named for the place, except the famous Paris from Greek mythology, of course.”

  “I’m afraid we have become a little lost,” Darrell said quickly. “Can you tell me exactly where we are?”

  “Of course I can,” came the pert reply. “You are in the gamekeeper’s cottage in the forest of Windsor, and fortunately enough for you, it’s haunted.”

  Paris returned after a few moments away and managed to keep his stomach settled for the duration of the young woman’s visit. She identified herself as Nan Bullen, a lady-in-waiting to Queen Katherine, wife of King Henry VIII.

  “Henry the Eighth,” said Paris. He glanced at Darrell in astonishment. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

  Darrell widened her eyes at him, and he fell silent. Nan watched the exchange with interest, all the while adjusting her heavily ruffled black gloves. She looked over at Paris expectantly. “Do you feel better? You must tell me all you can of Brother Socorro.”

  “He has helped friends of mine in the past,” said Darrell, not sure how much to give away. “The man I am truly looking for may have worked as an assistant to Brother Socorro.” She took a deep breath and decided to risk all. “He helped conversos escape during the Spanish Inquisition,” she said in a rush.

  Nan ducked her head out the window and then carefully pulled the shutters closed. “It took long years for Socorro to escape the Inquisition,” she said quietly. “He was in the clutches of the Inquisitors themselves for many months. But after his escape to England his interests broadened, and since we met, I have found his line of thinking to be very similar to my own.”

  She gestured around the room. “It was convenient for Socorro to use this cottage to help those who needed to leave the area because of persecution. A few well-placed rumours of hauntings kept the local villagers at bay, and since then this has been a safe place to help those in need.”

  She stood up and reached for a small, clothwrapped package she had set on the table earlier. “I’m afraid it is not much, but you are most welcome to it,” she began. “The friar had not warned me of your coming, but I often carry a little something just in case.”

  Paris waved his hand, declining the offer. But Darrell was starving, so she helped herself to the food in Nan’s bundle while the young woman continued chatting.

  After the arduous journey and the work cleaning up after Paris, the grainy roll of bread, piece of hard cheese, and tiny, wrinkled apple tasted like a feast.

  While Darrell ate, Nan stuck her head out of the shuttered window again. “Still no one about, thank the lord. What are your plans now that you are here?” she asked.

  Darrell chewed a mouthful of apple.

  “I am not sure,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I would most like to find Brother Socorro.”

  Nan shook her head. “I’m afraid that will not be possible. My apologies — I should have told you earlier. Brother Socorro is dead.”

  “Dead?” The taste of the apple turned bitter in Darrell’s mouth. “How?”

  “He was taken and killed by members of his own ord
er in France. After the Lisbon Massacre, he was forced to take the escape route through which he had directed so many other souls, and he fled first to Turkey and then here to England. But he persisted in returning to France, and it was there he was exposed as an abettor of heretics. He was put to death by the sword.” She dropped her head for a moment.

  Darrell felt stunned. “I am so sorry,” she whispered. “He was a good man.”

  “He was a saint,” said Nan. “But his work carries on. I myself am very interested in the writings of Luther.” Nan looked at Darrell quizzically. “As a friend to Socorro, you are a follower of the words of Luther, are you not?”

  “I have read of him,” Darrell answered cautiously.

  “So have I,” said Paris from his darkened corner. Darrell jumped a little, having forgotten he was there. “He wrote ninety-five theses of complaint against his own church and was sanctioned for it by the pope,” he said.

  Darrell grinned. “You’ve been paying attention.” Paris nodded. “I have good teachers,” he said quietly. Darrell smiled a little. Chalk one up for Gramps. Nan turned back to Darrell. “Now that you know

  Socorro has passed on, you must keep your thoughts of Luther and his ideas to yourselves,” she said. “There are those that would have you treated as Socorro was, though I sense the times may well be changing.”

  She stood up. “My suggestion is that you find work at the castle. There has just been a terrible bout of sweating sickness through the town, and many of the servants are still ill and are unable to work.”

  She cast a critical eye over Paris. “As soon as your brother is feeling better, come up to the castle. I will see that work is found for you there. And together with the new friar, we can have many talks about the works and ideas of Luther.”