by Greig Beck
Matt rubbed his chin and turned away for a moment to let his mind work. “He said Priam grew hideously old before his eyes.” He turned back. “Remember the words of the scroll: the curse of age will not afflict them as long as they remain with him. And Priam obviously wasn’t with him, whoever that was, anymore. So he began to age.” He hiked his shoulders. “And with him, where exactly?”
“The Fountain of Youth?” Eleanor’s eyes glittered.
Rachel folded her arms. “So, Clarence speaks to a real-life Trojan king, and then took off for somewhere in Canada and then the Middle East in search of Noah’s mythical healing waters – the so-called Fountain of Youth?”
“I wouldn’t expect you to believe or even understand it with your closed policing mind, Agent Bromilow.” Eleanor’s eyes went back to Matt. “But you do, don’t you?”
Rachel’s jaw jutted momentarily. “I’m just posing the question – that’s my job – and by the way, why Canada?”
Eleanor tilted her head. “There are far more questions than that. But that is a good place to start, my dear. In a note, Clarence said he had come across a clandestine group, or maybe even a person, that seemed charged with the protection of the secret of the wellspring. He thought they could be dangerous.“ She lurched forward, her eyes blazing. “It seems he was right.” Eleanor laid her head back, and Greta reached forward to place one huge palm on her forehead.
The nurse smoothed Eleanor’s hair. “We’re nearly finished for the day.”
“Just a little longer, thank you, Greta.” The old woman straightened herself in the chair and seemed to draw on the last of her energy reserves.
“Clarence also thought that this group was operating right here, in America. He knew they were watching him, but couldn’t ever spot them. He even employed a private investigator to do some background checking. He produced quite a detailed report.”
“I want that report.” Rachel said. “What happened to him, the PI, do you remember?
“I do remember; he vanished of course. Either paid off, went into hiding, or more likely murdered. It seems some secrets are determined to stay just that.”
“I want that report then.” Rachel lowered her brow.
“I just said, both the report and the investigator vanished. It was like the earth opened and swallowed them up.” Eleanor then waved Rachel away, and faced Matt.
“And even after this, Clarence still went?” Matt asked.
“Oh yes. ‘The son shall show the way,’ he kept saying,” Eleanor had a dreamy look in her eyes. “When he brought the scroll home; it was something he believed was a vital clue. It ate at him.”
“The son?” Matt frowned. “The son of God; that fits the biblical profile.” He paused lost in thought for a moment.
Eleanor closed her eyes; she seemed to be fading. “After that, Clarence became concerned for my safety. He fortified our homes and employed more security. But he still went. The danger just made him more determined. It convinced him that there really was something worth finding.” Her eyes snapped open and she turned to Rachel. “Obviously there was.”
Rachel tightened her folded arms. “Well, it seems someone is going to a lot of trouble and taking a lot of risks to keep this quiet. Murdering two entire families, just because you wanted to remove all traces of Clarence, is an extreme step. If we hadn’t been able to recover the chip from the destroyed phone, there’d be nothing but a robbery-murder to investigate.”
“You need to find them,” Eleanor said.
“Yes.” Matt rubbed at his chin. “I guess at least now you finally know what happened to Clarence. That must give you some sort of closure.”
Mrs. van Helling’s eyes grew granite hard. “Not by a million miles, Professor Kearns. Clarence was the love of my life, and to find out he had been so close, and to have him trying to get home to me and then have him die so horribly, rips open old wounds and hurts more than you can know.” She leaned toward him, making a small fist. “Find them.”
Matt sighed. “I think this is where Rachel, ah, Agent Bromilow, comes in. Not sure I can help with that.”
“There is certainly a job for the authorities to bring these people to justice.” She struggled in her chair, and Greta helped her sit upright. “But Matthew, if Clarence was here, right now, he would look you in the eye, you, a fellow explorer and seeker of truth, and he would say: find out what happened. And find out why it happened.”
Matt exhaled. “Eleanor, sometimes the truth is, well, not as truthful or illuminating as we’d like it to be.” He turned. “I’m not going back to the Middle East. I’m done there.”
“I know you are.” She turned and nodded to Greta. The large woman pulled a paper folder from a sleeve in the back of her chair, and handed it to Rachel.
“There is something in Canada. I would think a good place to start might be with the people who tried to conceal the phenomena. They are obviously involved and connected.” Her eyes were suddenly ablaze as she leaned toward Rachel. “Find them, and perhaps find more clues to how and why my husband arrived back here, and wanted to come home to me after all the missing years. What was he trying to tell me?”
“That he loved you,” Matt said.
“Yes.” The old lady’s eyes crushed shut, and after a second she nodded. “I still miss him.” Eleanor opened watery eyes and tilted her head toward him. “You must help me, Matthew. And I will pay you handsomely.”
Matt rubbed his chin. Though the idea intrigued him, the thought of embarking on another wild adventure, where there were people willing to shoot children, was not that attractive at any price. He turned and gave the old woman his best apologetic look.
“You see, I’m pretty busy right now. But Rachel here could…”
Eleanor pounded weakly on her armrest. “It’s a tangled web of ancient clues and false leads. I don’t need another by-the-book investigation, Matthew. I need your analytical mind, and someone who believes in things others would not.”
She rose unsteadily to her feet, and Greta rushed to her side. The old woman pushed at the bigger woman, but still used her as a support. She took a few halting steps toward Matt.
She was tiny, no bigger than a child, and looked like she was about to fall. Matt rushed to catch her, and Eleanor van Helling held onto Matt’s forearms, her bony fingers surprisingly strong.
“Please help me, Matthew. Help me to find out what happened, so I can rest.”
He tried to guide her back to the wheelchair but she clung to him. “Eleanor, I really don’t think…”
“If you’re worried about the danger, it’s too late. They will probably already think you’re helping me. You know what that means?” She tilted her head.
“Oh, good grief.” Matt’s brows drew together.
Her fingers dug in like cat’s claws. “Matthew, I need your help, please. Let me finally put my Clarence to rest. Just go to Canada and have a look for me.” She turned to Rachel. “The FBI will be with you every step of the way; you’ll be safe.” She turned back. “And well rewarded, for little more than a few days holiday.”
Rachel nodded.
Matt felt himself weakening. Money was always welcome, as even though he was a tenured professor, he was still working his way back up the ranks. Added to that, his insatiable curiosity would mean that if he refused to help, he’d never be able to rest knowing that one of history’s most knotted mysteries had been his to untangle.
He steered Mrs. van Helling back to her chair, but she refused to sit or let go. “Okay, okay, I guess I can go with the FBI for a few days.” He eased the smiling woman back into her chair.
Eleanor’s eyes went from Matt to Rachel. “The last time we heard from the investigator he was at Fort Severn in Canada.”
Rachel stared back flatly. “I know it; Fort Severn, located up at Hudson Bay, in Ontario.”
“Jesus, that’s right up there.” Matt grimaced.
“Yep, but at least it’s summer now, so it’s not snowbound. Nothing but fo
rest for hundreds of miles, and as remote as you can get.” Rachel bobbed her head. “If you wanted to hide someone or something, that’d be a good place to start.” She turned to the old woman. “Mrs. van Helling, is there anything else you think we need to know?”
She had seated herself again, but looked slumped and shrunken. “If I think of something else, I’ll relay it to your superiors,” she sniffed.
“That will be fine, Mrs. van Helling.” Rachel said, and Matt could see her teeth grind behind her cheeks.
Matt bent lower toward her. “We’ll report in when we get back.” He reached out his hand and laid it over her bony fingers. “Thank you for showing us around. It’s been wonderful.”
She smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling. “My pleasure, Matthew. It’s nice to have a handsome young man in the house again. Perhaps I’ll even purchase you a new surfboard – a performance bonus.”
“Thank you.” Matt wondered how the hell she knew.
“One more thing – your advice on something.” She hung onto his hand when he went to withdraw it.” She turned to her nurse. “Greta, the scabbard.”
The tall woman disappeared into the shadows and came back in moments with a long wooden case. It reminded Matt of a hunting rifle case, complete with brass clips. Greta laid it across Mrs. van Helling’s lap. The old woman fumbled with the clips for a moment, before flicking them up, and opening the case. She lifted the contents, and held them out, her eyes on Matt’s.
It was a leather sword scabbard, with a few rounded gemstones sewn into it. She handed it to him.
“Can you tell me the value of this – Excalibur’s scabbard, I believe.”
“Oh my God.” Matt felt like getting down on bended knee to accept it. He held out both hands. Matt knew he shouldn’t take it, but his hands were acting with a will of their own, grasping it and taking it from her.
“Where’s the sword?” Rachel asked.
“Doesn’t need a sword; doesn’t need anything.” He ran his eyes over the tooled leather, and his mind whirled as he remembered the legend. “It was said to have been thrown into a lake by the enchantress Morgana, King Arthur’s sister. But then supposedly recovered and spirited away. Lost forever… and now found.” He turned to her, his mouth hanging in an open-mouthed grin. “Where…?”
“A monastery in Britain; buried beneath an altar stone, and sealed in a metal box that bore the seal of Arthur Pendragon himself.”
Matt squeezed the leather, still feeling its suppleness. He rubbed one of the stones, a sea green emerald the size of his thumbnail. There were also sprays of polished garnet, and some oval rubies. “Priceless.”
“Yes.” She snorted with contempt. “The jewels have a contemporary value. But what else?”
“You’re right; the jewels are not the treasure.” He kept his eyes on it. “It is said to have powers all of its own. In Arthurian legend, wounds received by one wearing the scabbard did not bleed at all and were instantly healed.” He looked up. “It made the wearer invulnerable.”
Eleanor smiled and nodded. “Very good, Matthew. You see, Clarence was obsessed with anything that could restore health… and life.”
He cocked his head. “Was that a test?”
“I like to know who and what I’m investing in.” She smiled.
He went to hand it back, but she held up a hand flat.
“No, it’s yours. A gift.” Her eyes became furtive. “Besides, when I die it’ll just go to a museum. Better it’s owned by someone who can enjoy it.”
Matt ran a hand up the scabbard again. “I can’t accept it.” He held it out to Eleanor, slowly. But his fingertips refused to release it.
Rachel tapped her foot. “Are we about done here?”
Eleanor held up a single hand, pushing it back toward him. “Humor me, Matthew. If it is just a relic, then it’ll be a fine addition to your collection. And if it is more, then I’ll know that you have something besides your good looks and wits keeping you safe.”
Matt grinned, and then nodded. “Well, all right, just for you.” He turned to Rachel, holding the scabbard to his breast. “Now, we’re ready.”
Greta handed him the scabbard’s case and this time he led off toward the elevator.
“Professor.”
Matt turned, smiling, expecting a good luck or farewell from the billionaire.
Eleanor’s eyes were gun steady. “The evil that is in the world almost always comes of ignorance.” She waited.
“… and good intentions may do as much harm as malevolence if they lack understanding.” Matt responded. “Albert Camus.”
She nodded, and continued to watch him as the doors silently closed.
*
“What was that about?” Rachel asked.
Matt shrugged. “Not sure, Camus was a French philosopher, and the quote is about the importance of knowledge in defeating the danger of ignorance.”
“Sounds like she wants you to be on the front line in that battle.” Rachel half-smiled.
“Maybe, but that whole meeting was pretty intense.” He turned to her.
Rachel met his eyes. “Sure was, but enough about fossilized billionaires; it certainly seems you made an impression, getting gifts on your first date.”
Matt held up the scabbard. “Oh, this old thing?” He tilted his head. “We’re just friends, really.” He grinned.
“Well, if she was a 100 years younger, I’d say she was flirting with you. Anyway, Romeo, what do you think about her story?” Rachel watched him.
“It’s weird, but I’ve always found that a myth that manages to bulldog its way into today’s world usually proves to have a kernel of truth. And whether Noah’s wellspring exists or not, what intrigues me is that someone was sure prepared to kill to cover up the evidence that it might.”
“And then there’s Clarence.” Rachel turned back to the doors.
“Yes, intriguing.” Matt looked at the scabbard again. It was supposed to keep the wearer safe, and whether it was true or not, Eleanor van Helling had wanted him to have it. He undid his belt, unlooped one side and then slid the scabbard onto the loops. He redid his belt up.
“There, how’s it look?”
Rachel shook her head. “Like a kid about to head off to a pirate party, but who lost his sword.”
Matt tried to see himself in the silver strips at the corners of the elevator. He turned one way then the other. “You know, Indiana Jones had a whip and a hat. This might be my thing.”
The lift glided to a halt, and the doors slid open. The tall urbane guard was there once again, and he nodded to each of them as they passed by. On the way to the door, Matt noticed people watching them, especially one tall, well-dressed man who made no effort to turn away when Matt saw him looking. Perhaps this was the extra security Eleanor talked about, he thought. It now seemed highly appropriate given what the old woman kept up in her penthouse.
At the door, Samuel waved from the back of the car and got out to hold its door open. He caught sight of Matt’s scabbard.
“Where did you get that?”
Matt shrugged. “People just give me stuff.”
Rachel was looking at her phone. “It was a bribe.”
“Sure was, and I took it.” Matt patted the leather.
“And don’t forget the new surfboard she might buy you.” Rachel seemed to be scrolling through some data searches. “It’s nearly 1200 miles to Fort Severn.” She bobbed her head from side to side. “Flying time, not too bad, and this time of year the airport’s open. No problem.”
“Fort Severn, Canada?” Samuel’s brows went up. “All the way up on Hudson Bay; that Fort Severn?”
“You got it, buddy.” Rachel sighed.
Samuel stood by the SUV door, his eyes still on the scabbard as Matt climbed in. Rachel’s phone rang, and she briefly looked at the screen, before turning away.
“Give me a minute.”
Samuel climbed in beside Matt and shut the door. The window was open and a warm breeze blew in. Sa
muel leaned one large elbow out.
“So, what was she like, the witch of the mountain?”
“Eleanor van Helling,” Matt turned to him. “Old, but still as sharp as a tack. A little weird, but compared to her nurse, she was a lamb. Hey, did you know about all the antiquities she has up there?”
“No, but I’m guessing a lot if she can afford to give something like that away. But then again, she’s a huge donor to American education, art galleries, both major political parties, and a number of other charities.” He looked out the window and up toward the Ritz penthouse. “If we know what’s up there, we might need to check whether it was all obtained legally.”
“Hmm, so she’s using her wealth to buy absolution?” Matt said.
“Using it to buy invisibility, more like. Wealth buys power and influence, and also can cleanse the soul.” Samuel raised an eyebrow. “So, what now? Canada?”
“I guess so. We head up to this Fort Severn and see if there really is someone or some cult hiding up there.”
“A cult? Does Agent Bromilow think that was who was responsible for the murders?” Sam’s brows knitted.
Matt thought about it. “It’s a possibility.” He adjusted the scabbard at his waist, and then undid his belt to slide it off. He angled himself to allow some light to play on its surface – stones of green, red, fiery opaline, and deep burgundy decorated the leather. With a clean it would be magnificent, but to someone who loved antiquity, its aged skin told a story of something that had travelled through the centuries, being handled by a hundred hands in its life, and at one time, by King Arthur himself.
“You didn’t think to get the sword, huh?” Samuel gave him a half smile.
“Nope.” Matt turned to look through the rear window at Rachel who was still talking on her phone. She had her back to them. Down the street from her and coming up fast was a tall figure, wearing a fedora hat pulled down and who looked to be jogging, but instead of a track suit he wore a black suit that clung to a powerful frame.
Matt frowned; something about the person seemed out of place. The man reached inside his jacket and pulled out something fist sized. He worked at it, and then increased his speed.