by Anna Kyss
Kiernan startled, paused, and then seemed to recover, leading her out of the hostel. She wondered what had caused his unusual reaction.
“So, this is your very first trip to London?”
“This is my first trip outside of the United States. And my first solo trip anywhere.”
“Brave and adventurous—what a becoming combination.” He watched her, staring just long enough to make her avert her eyes. “The city is ours, so let me know what is high on your list.”
“It might be fun to let you choose one of your favorite spots.”
“Excellent idea!” Taking her hand, he led her to the river where towering buildings lined both banks. He flung his arm in the direction of the water, announcing, “The majestic Thames, waterway of kings and queens.”
She was standing next to one of the world’s most famous rivers, and she became aware of the sloshing water, the briny smell, and the ship horns sounding in the distance. Kiernan led her onto a bridge where she observed several other bridges crossing the Thames. “Is that Tower Bridge? It’s amazing from here.”
The bridge in the distance was aglow, and the city skyline’s lights brightened the night. She had arrived. She was finally in London.
Kiernan took her hands, singing, “London Bridge is falling down…”
“This is London Bridge? Two amazing sites crossed off of my list.” She kept forgetting to pay attention to the sites, though, with those blue eyes gazing at her.
Still swaying their hands back and forth, Kiernan leaned closer. “I see an amazing sight as well.”
He released her hands, lifting his hand to her cheek. Brushing it softly, he murmured, “A very pretty sight.”
The knife appeared in his hand, and Meghan screamed…
*
Meghan awoke to the sound of her scream still echoing in the stone room. The cold reality of her current danger had replaced fond memories of their London Bridge date. As her heart quieted, she looked around the chamber.
The fire had died, leaving only glowing embers. In the windowless room, she was unable to guess the time. She lay on a large, comfortable bed. Someone had tucked in the covers around her, for she had no memory of doing so herself. Who would have done that for her?
“Kiernan?” She squashed the tiny ray of hope that emerged. He was the reason for her predicament. She rose from the bed. A tray of food sat on the small table next to the armchair. Touching the pot of tea, she found it still warm. Meghan wondered who had bothered. She ran to the door, but it remained locked.
She paced back and forth, reviewing her options. Growing frustrated, she realized how many obstacles she faced: stone walls, no windows, and a solid wood door locked in position with a strong deadbolt.
Her stomach grumbled. She didn’t want to take advantage of her gift, especially since the bestower remained unknown, but she couldn’t resist the scents of berries, vanilla, and peppermint. The hot tea, blueberry scones, and fresh fruit provided a temporary distraction. As she bit into a second warm scone, she hoped poison wasn’t on the menu. The hunger pangs disappeared, leaving her grateful she had something to eat.
Sinking into the armchair, Meghan stared blankly at the fireplace, trying to devise a plan. “Stone walls, no windows, solid door, deadbolt,” repeated in her mind, but she felt the itch of an idea trying to break free.
A cold breeze blew across the room, and she shuddered as she sipped her tea. The itch became stronger. She urged herself to think. “Stone walls, no windows, solid door, deadbolt… fireplace!” Another draft engulfed her, as she rushed to the hearth. The last of the embers were fading.
Crouching, Meghan studied the fireplace. Fortunately, the castle-style opening was of an ample size, as opposed to one of those tiny Americanized fireplaces, such as in her home in Oregon. A large man could easily fit in there. She peered into the lengthy chimney, which disappeared into blackness as high as she could see. Would she be brave enough to make the climb, knowing she would be in pitch dark? Her only other choice seemed to be to sit and wait for Kiernan and his father to return. That definitely wasn’t an option.
She poured the remnants of the tea over the dying embers and watched them hiss and steam in protest. There was just enough room for her to stand without burning her feet. She reached one finger up into the opening, barely touching the stone. Warm, but not too hot. She placed her full hand against the stone, which reminded her of a sidewalk on a warm, sunny day.
The first part would be the hardest. She needed to pull herself up, but she lacked upper arm strength. If only she had visited the gym more often. The embers were still hot enough to burn her.
Reaching inside, she found a protruding stone to use for a handhold. She pulled herself up until her feet cleared the embers. One foot pressed against the left side of the chimney, the other pushed into the stones on the right. She felt around until she found another handhold. Slowly, she made her way up the hollow rectangle of stone. The chimney narrowed as she progressed, so that wedging herself securely became easier.
An hour later, she groaned. Without a doubt, she was higher, but her arms ached, her legs throbbed, and her body begged for rest. Just when she was ready to give up, her hand touched empty space. The chimney no longer had four solid walls. A perfectly square opening on one wall formed the entrance of a small tunnel. With her legs about to collapse, she pulled herself into the opening that was so narrow she couldn’t even sit. She wondered about the purpose of the tunnel. It was lined with a thick layer of soot. She finally figured it must be a sort of horizontal flue, leading to another fireplace.
She laid on the warm stone, letting her legs and arms relax. The fiery pain of intense exercise slowly dissipated. Lying flat felt so good she didn’t even mind the soot. Meghan blinked to keep her eyes open, but exhaustion from the intense climbing won, and her lids slid shut.
*
Aching legs begged her to stop. Throbbing shoulders screamed in resistance. Running down the lengthy corridor, Meghan knew she needed to make the flight. Sweat trickled down her body as she urged her sore legs to run faster. Breathing heavily, she arrived just as the door was closing.
“Please, wait!” she pleaded, dropping her heavy carry-on.
The gate agent, hair and make-up perfect, scrutinized Meghan’s attempts to smooth her hair and wipe away trickles of sweat. “Well, hurry aboard. We don’t want to keep the other passengers waiting.”
Holding out her boarding pass, Meghan muttered her thanks before stepping onto the airplane. She tugged her over-sized backpack to her seat and ignored the impatient glares of the other passengers.
Meghan struggled to lift the heavy carry-on into the overhead bin. She rarely wished for her five-foot-three frame to be taller, but a few more inches would have been helpful. A second set of hands pushed her bag into the bin. Looking up, Meghan stared into the face of a beautiful boy.
“I was wondering who was holding up the plane,” he teased, his blue eyes twinkling.
Meghan’s cheeks grew warm. As she sat in the seat next to him, her leg brushed against his jeans.
“You were lucky enough to get an aisle seat. How did I get placed in the middle?” he complained, but in a joking way. She noticed he spoke with a British accent.
“Are you returning home?” she asked.
He nodded. “I live in London. My name’s Kiernan. And you are?”
“Meghan… Meghan Kelly.” She really liked his accent.
Running a hand through his long hair, he smiled. “A toast to aeroplane rides and intercontinental adventures.” He held out two beverages.
Funny, but she hadn’t noticed the sodas when they first sat. She took one, and they clinked the plastic cups. The plane headed down the runway, and a few seconds later, they were airborne.
She looked toward Kiernan to celebrate their departure. He leaned close to her. The knife appeared in his hand, and Meghan screamed…
*
Meghan jolted awake, banging her head against the stone ceilin
g inches above her. She grimaced in pain, sucking in the cry she wanted nobody to hear. Her head throbbing, she lay down again. Why did these memories keep tormenting her? They were reminders that the charismatic and likeable person whose company she had enjoyed the past week wasn’t who he seemed to be.
Betrayal so bitter she could almost taste it overwhelmed her. She needed to keep moving. She had the choice of continuing upward or exploring the new horizontal opening. She was concerned about the distance of the upward climb, knowing how far they were underground. The side tunnel seemed more promising, and she wouldn’t have to worry about her muscles giving out.
Crawling was painstakingly slow, but Meghan soon reached the end of the cramped stone passage. A flue led downward, probably into another fireplace. She would still be in the Underground, but hopefully in an unlocked room from which she could flee. She knew the risks, but also the dangers of climbing upward. She could fall, someone might start a fire, or her muscles could fail.
She did not hear anything below, so she began her descent. Finding a secure foothold, she let her body drop a few inches. She would have never imagined descending would be as challenging as the upward climb. Gradually, she lowered herself down the chimney. As she neared the bottom, she became hopeful, and after a few more agonizing minutes, she dropped the rest of the way to the floor.
Collapsing in the ashes, she paused for a moment to allow her breathing to slow and her arms and legs to relax. She cautiously stepped out of the fireplace and froze. It couldn’t be. She hadn’t.
“Ah, so nice of you to join us for our late lunch,” Lord Killian said. “I would have been more than happy to have you escorted through our hallways. The chimney is a filthy way to travel.”
Kiernan sat at the table beside his father. He stared at Meghan with an expression of fear. Why was he afraid? Her body trembled. The physical exertion, the hope of escape, and the disappointment of defeat were all too much. What would happen to her now?
Lord Killian stood and pulled out an unoccupied chair next to him. “Please join us. You must be famished after your exertions.”
Meghan felt her legs moving her to the table. She sat. Lord Killian filled her plate with a variety of delicacies. Kiernan stared down at his plate, as silent as she. The warm, moist towel placed in her hands brought her back to her senses.
“You must want to clean the grime off before eating,” Lord Killian suggested.
For the first time, Meghan noticed how dirty she was. Her hands and clothing were black with soot. The cloth blackened as she rubbed her hands and face.
“I had wanted to continue our stimulating conversation from last night,” Lord Killian said. “It is most fortuitous that you… dropped by.”
Had Lord Killian predicted she would try to escape, knowing the fireplace was the only route? Was that the reason they were dining in this room? Meghan scrambled to think of a plan to keep herself safe.
He continued, “Being as advanced as you are in the sciences, you have surely heard of the dodo bird.”
Meghan forced herself to nod and respond. “I think every child learns about the dodo when they are learning about extinction.”
“And do you agree that the dodo bird should have just calmly awaited its demise? If there was a way to prevent this tragedy, should events have been altered so we could still enjoy this odd and curious bird today?”
She struggled to remain calm. She was worried about her own survival, and he wanted to discuss the dodo bird. On the other hand, knowing his fondness for Charles Darwin, perhaps the diversion would help. “I think people were ignorant about extinction hundreds of years ago. They didn’t understand.”
“Ah, so today it would be handled differently. Such as that lovely bird of your country, the American eagle.”
“Well, yes, when people realized the eagle population was dying, they took steps to protect it.” Her voice quavered at the word protect.
Lord Killian wiped his mouth with a fancy linen napkin. “I understand that one of the reasons the eagle was heading toward extinction was the use of a particular pesticide. Do you agree this pesticide should have no longer been available to the people in order to protect the eagle?”
“Of course. Everybody needed to make sacrifices. The protection…” Meghan sighed. Focusing on science was difficult when she was so terrified. Every word seemed to trigger her emotions: sacrifice, dying, protection. She took a deep breath before continuing. “The protection of an entire species is more important than the inconvenience of a few people.”
Clapping his hands, Lord Killian leaned closer. “I am so glad that we understand each other.”
Meghan understood nothing. What was the purpose of all the scientific talk? Glancing at Kiernan, she noticed he continued to stare at his plate, eating little.
“And now that we have finished our dinner,” Lord Killian announced, “I believe that it is time for a drink.” He reached toward a nearby shelf, procured a single wine glass, and set it on the table.
“Son,” Lord Killian said, “I believe you discussed the benefits of a ‘cup of the vintage’ per day.”
She froze.
Kiernan scowled. “I am not thirsty… yet.”
Her relief disappeared when Lord Killian brought out a silver knife. Grabbing Meghan’s hand, he sliced her wrist, holding it over the wine glass. She bit her lip at the sharp pain and tried to swallow her scream.
“Son, do you see how I made a one millimeter cut along the interiotraversal line…”
Watching her thick, bright blood fill the glass was too much. Tears ran down her cheeks, and her arm shook, tiny red droplets missing the glass and soiling the fine white tablecloth.
“Least lethal technique that allows for quick clotting…” Lord Killian continued.
She clutched at her jeans, pulling tightly, until she felt a warm hand take hers. She stiffened, afraid to move. Meghan tried to block out the pain and terror, focusing on a thumb gently rubbing the back of her hand. Kiernan watched her, his eyes filled with pain, as if he were the one being bled.
“Drink!” Lord Killian commanded, and the full glass was placed in front of Kiernan.
With Meghan’s wrist free, the relief was immediate. Blood continued to flow from her wound, which was much deeper than the first, and she grabbed a clean linen napkin to push against it. As the blood soaked through, the ivory cloth turned scarlet. Meghan’s stomach turned.
The empty wine glass clinked on the table. “Let me take her back to her room, Father. She’ll need to rest.”
Lord Killian nodded. Opening the door, he gave instructions to Shade and Chaos.
Kiernan attempted to help Meghan rise. She flinched at his touch. Holding her uninjured arm, he supported her during the short walk across the room.
As they reached the door, Lord Killian’s voice rang out, “It was a pleasure, as always. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, dear Meghan.”
With the reminder of her continued torture, the tears flowed even harder. Shade and Chaos followed them the short distance to her room. All of that effort to escape, and she had gone only a few feet.
Stepping into her room, she noticed an enormous blazing fire. Kiernan lowered her gently into the armchair. She felt even more trapped by the flames.
He reached for her hand and unwound the linen napkin. Looking at the deep gash, he cursed. He took the strange blue bottle from his upper pocket and spread salve across the wound. The bleeding stopped within moments. Kiernan reached into another pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, gently wrapping the wound. Meghan felt her eyes becoming heavy. She fought to stay alert, but was losing the battle.
Kiernan gathered her in his arms and took her to the bed. She didn’t have the strength to protest. Was it the blood loss or the aftermath of her body being marinated in stress and fear that made her so tired?
The last thing Meghan remembered was the blanket being pulled up around her, and the saddest of voices saying “I’m so sorry” again and again.
<
br /> Flight of the Peacock
~ 4 ~
Meghan felt the lightest brush against her neck, then another feathery caress along the bottom of her toes. The brushing became more intense, tickles spreading from her neck to her toes. Her eyes flew open. The tall boy with whom she had danced the previous night was perched on the edge of the bed, holding a long blue feather that flickered against her left foot.
“Wish?” She clutched the covers, drawing her legs underneath herself. The thumping of her heart distracted her from the light caress of the feather as it touched her neck again. “Stop! Leave me alone!”
He jumped backward with an expression of pure befuddlement. “But tickling is great fun. Why weren’t you laughing?”
“You were trying to tickle me?” She stared at him and then looked away quickly. He was still wearing only those leather breeches, leaving the rest of him very exposed. “Why?”
He leaned forward with the feather, trying to reach her belly. “This morning needed a little silliness, and I was getting bored. What other reason is needed?”
Meghan snatched the feather from his hand. “Not fun at all, when you’ve been attacked, cut open, and bled.” She shredded the feather, little blue fluffs flying across the bedspread.
“Oh,” he said, looking more closely at her neck and wrist. “Well, you needn’t worry about that with me. I’m not a bloodsucker. I’m not even a mosquito. Get it? Mosquito, bloodsucker?” He held out his arms and circled the room, buzzing, then fell to the floor, roaring with laughter.
Her heart slowed a little. She still had no idea who was friend or foe, but she couldn’t imagine the silly, giggling boy as a threat. “You said you were bored. How long have you been in here?”
Wish scratched his head. “Well, I don’t quite remember. You were sleeping when I first came in. And I thought it wouldn’t hurt to have a drink of tea, since the pot was still steaming. After that, things began to blur.” He spun around repeatedly.