The One

by Kristin Vayden

  “Just enough to remind the prisoners of what they would never see again.”

  “Lovely.”

  “It’s like poetry.” Kirby grinned and led on.

  After the dungeon, we explored the main hall — where hundreds of swords lined the crimson walls — and then we toured the hall of the jewels.

  “Those can’t be the real ones,” I whispered as I was practically blinded by the reflection of light from the brilliant gemstones.

  “You’ll never know.”

  “True.”

  “Ah, here. This is the true treasure.” Kirby paused before a glass encased rock.

  I kid you not, it was a rock. Sandstone no less.

  “Uh, Kirby… it’s a rock.” I whispered the word, afraid that maybe if I said it too loud, people would hear.

  I had seen their dungeon.

  I wasn’t going to take any chances.

  “You can read, can you?” Kirby gave me a terse reply and nodded toward the inscription.

  “The stone of destiny? Like the sword in the stone?” I asked, then turned back to read the inscription.

  “Not quite, but a similar concept.” Amusement was thick in this tone.

  “Shut up, I’m reading.”

  “Slowly. Let me help you.”

  I growled, but he started to read out loud.

  “Since the mid 1200’s, every Scottish King was crowned on this stone. But Longshanks took it to London, built a throne over it and kept it there for the next several hundred years. Every English monarch since it was taken has been crowed on this very stone. In fact, the last was Queen Elizabeth.”

  “You and the English.”

  “Bloody thieves.”

  “Nice to know you get along now.”

  “We do… most times.” He shrugged. “What else did you want to see?” He released my hand and tucked his hands in his pockets, walking slowly as I matched his stride. My hand felt chilled, missing his warmth. Rubbing my hands together, I tried not to think about it.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Did the dungeons scare you?” He asked, his blue eyes twinkling with a dangerous glint.

  “No.” I narrowed my eyes as I studied him.

  “Good.” He nodded once and picked up the pace toward the exit.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Mary King’s Close,” he answered, his grin widening till he looked like the big bad wolf.

  “Do I want to know?” I asked.

  “Maybe.” He shrugged.

  “But the castle! Isn’t there more to see?” I called out, jogging to catch up with him. Curse him and his obscenely long legs.

  Even if they did look smoking hot in his relaxed fit jeans.

  Pulling my gaze up, I blushed as I made eye contact.

  “I see why you’ve been so slow.” He shook his head, his eyes twinkling. “You’ve been studying my arse the whole day. For shame, Merry.”

  “Was not,” I grumbled, knowing that I had been caught red-handed, and there wasn’t much I could say or do. Of course, the one time I stared, he caught me.

  Okay so maybe it wasn’t the first time… but still.

  He didn’t need to know that.

  “You have dirt across your ass. You might want to clean that off,” I commented, passing him by and heading toward the gates.

  “So that’s how we’re playing it, huh? Verra’ well,” he replied, his tone thick with amusement.

  Ignoring him, I crossed my arms to keep my hands away from the biting wind that started picking up speed.

  “So what is this Mary King’s Close thing?” I asked when Kirby caught up and we started down the Royal Mile.

  “Just a wee bit of Scottish history.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “Ach, it is.” He winked.

  “Why did you wink?” My suspicion grew.

  “Why not?”

  “You’re not telling me the whole deal, are you?”

  “Do you even know what a close is?” Kirby turned the question around.

  “I know what you doing, you’re trying to distract me.”

  “So you don’t know. I figured.”

  “Fine. What is it?” I asked, tossing my hands up in a defeated gesture.

  “That’s a lass. Way to admit your ignorance.” He spanked me on the ass.

  I growled.

  “Easy now. So, a close is basically what you American’s call an alley.”

  “Oh. So basically we’re going to Mary King’s Alley?”

  “In a way…” He shrugged.

  “In what way, exactly?”

  “You’ll find out, but we’ve gotta pick up the pace. Seriously, is it possible for you to move those little toothpicks you call legs any faster? ’Tis like walking with a tortoise.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere,” I said with heavy sarcasm. “If I jog, will you at least shut up till we get there? And no more short leg jokes.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “No… there is no try. Only do.” I pointed at him, quoting Yoda and waiting.

  “Fine. Can we go now?” He pointed down the street, and I jogged to keep up with his fast pace. Sure enough, as we traveled down the street I’d see small alleyways with a plaque that would read ‘Close’ over it, with someone or something’s name. Signs that read “The Real Mary King’s Close” with red lettering, sinister and bold, started to point us toward a small alleyway.

  “I have a feeling I’m not going to like this.” I gave Kirby a dark look of annoyance.

  “I’ll protect you.”

  “Whatever, you’ll use me as a human shield. Wait… why would you need to protect me in the first place?”

  “’Tis nothing.”

  “You’re a lying bast—”

  “We’re here! You can rein in.”

  “I’m not a horse.”

  “Maybe it’s because you remind me of an old nag.”

  “I’m going to—”

  “Two for the Close,” Kirby addressed the lady at the ticket counter, and I shut my mouth. The woman was dressed in a historical dress, her hair braided and pulled back.

  Kirby led us into a gift shop, which confused me, but most things he did confused me so I wasn’t exactly surprised. I scanned the shop, my gaze sharpening as I saw several figurines, key chains, masks, and dolls of the same dark, hooded man. I’d seen it before, somewhere but I couldn’t remember where. He wore a mask that looked like a bird’s head with a long beak extending over where his nose would be, and either a black cape, or a red one.

  Creepy.

  “That’s John Paulitious. He was the famous plague doctor. He died from the plague as well, but thought that the costume would protect him from the illness.”

  “Really?”

  “We Scots were a bit superstitious… most of Europe was during that era.”

  “I guess I never thought of it. So Mary King’s Close, it’s about the plague?”

  “More or less.”

  “Could you be more cryptic?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me rephrase that, could you be more annoying?”

  He grinned, leaned forward showing off his white smile. “I’ll surely try.”

  “Lovely.” I breathed, trying to focus on the irritating man rather than his sexy smile.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “IF I COULD have you all gather over here!” A woman dressed in a historical costume called out, and we all walked toward her. She opened a roped off door, checking our tickets as we all filed into the dimly lit room.

  “This is a little eerie,” I whispered as I walked close to Kirby. The scent of old, stale air assaulted my senses as I waited in the small room with about thirty other people.

  “Welcome to Mary King’s Close! I’m Jonnet Nimmo, Mary King’s youngest daughter. I’ve lived here in the close since I was seven years old¸ and will be taking you on the tour this evening.” Her thick Scottish accent rolled about the room, making it seem smaller yet taking a little of th
e creepiness from the situation.

  “So it’s actors?” I whispered to Kirby.

  “No, she’s several hundred years old,” he whispered back, his face expressionless.

  “Ass.”

  “You’re the one that asked an idiotic question, Merry.” He playfully pushed me with his elbow.

  “Fine.”

  The tour guide, Jonnet, started again, asking us to be careful about the steps, the dust, and such, and then she started to lead us down a small staircase to the underground.

  “You didn’t say we were going underground.” Shivers started giving me goose bumps as we went down, down, and down into a dimly lit underworld. Tall buildings lined the narrow street, lamplight filtered through the overly still air but what was the freakiest was looking up and not seeing the sky.

  Buildings… no sky.

  “Where the hell are we?” I asked Kirby.

  “Under the Royal Mile,” he spoke slowly, drawing out each word.

  “Could you make that sound more creepy?”

  “I could try—”

  “No. I’m good.”

  Jonnet took us through several streets, describing how this was once a thriving central economical part of Edinburgh during the 1600s. The buildings held shops on the bottom and residences on the higher levels. The highest level was owned by the wealthiest — like the penthouse — but it was the best real estate for one reason.

  The sun.

  With the buildings as tall as they were, people on the lower levels only captured brief glimpses of the sun, and lived in the shadow of the buildings most of the day.

  The song, ‘Wide Open Spaces’, kept playing through my head as I listened to her talk. She led us into a small room. “This is a typical middle class home.” She gestured to the room.

  “As in only this room?” I asked Kirby.

  “As in, yes. This one room, and if they had a cow, it was in here too.”

  “Ew.”

  “T’was the way things were.”

  Jonnet’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “And with no indoor plumbing, the bucket of… waste… would be dumped at two times during the day, down the slightly angled street.”

  “Say what?” I whispered hoarsely.

  “They’d simply call ‘Gardy-loo’ and dump away. Of course there were set aside times for this, seven in the morning, and ten at night.”

  “Oddly enough, it’s why we call it the loo, when we refer to the toilet. Gardy-loo — going to the loo.” Kirby shrugged, as if it wasn’t appalling.

  “I have no words.”

  “That’s a first.”

  We traveled down the street, and I couldn’t help but think of all the… waste… that had littered the streets. Good mercy, no wonder the plague went viral!

  Okay, okay. Bad pun.

  But still!

  “The average life span of a man during this time was about thirty five years old, and was often cut short with the breakout of the plague.” The tour guide called over the crowd as we entered a small room with wax people in various states of torture from the plague.

  “So if the life span was thirty-five, you’d only have a short time left to live.” I jagged Kirby with my elbow.

  “Hilarious. And you’d have no teeth so I’d not talk, lass.”

  After glaring at him, and swiping my tongue across my teeth after that comment, I glanced to the room. The sight of the creepy plague doctor with the bird mask had me wanting to hide behind Kirby.

  “I hate that guy,” I mumbled, rubbing my arms with my hands to heat them from the goose bumps that broke out.

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t have liked ye either… if he weren’t dead several hundred years ago. Really, Merry? I took ye for a wee bit of a braver heart. I was sorely mistaken.” He clicked his tongue.

  “I am brave. This is just creepy. Being brave is different than simply being creeped out.” I couldn’t pull my gaze away from the wax figure of the doctor, with his hand raised over a little boy. I half expected him to come to life.

  “Boo!”

  I jumped, squealed, and bumped into the large man beside me, earning a glare. “So sorry.” I lifted my hands in surrender, but he simply sighed and walked toward the retreating form of the tour guide.

  “I hate you,” I seethed to Kirby who was trying — and failing — to hold in his laughter, and stormed off.

  “Do not,” Kirby countered, completely unaffected.

  “You’re right. It’s worse than hate,” I said with a deathly calm.

  “You look slightly deranged. It’s okay, I expect it from you.”

  “I’m going to—”

  “If you’ll all file in here and take a seat, we’ll have a short video on the history of Mary King’s Close.” The tour guide interrupted my threat.

  I stalked into the room, taking a seat and sighing overly loud when Kirby sat beside me.

  The lights dimmed even lower, and the movie started. Eerie music floated through the sound system as the narrator gave us a short history on the plague, the famous doctor, and how they would dispose of the dead. Tension was thick in the air. Like watching an old Alfred Hitchcock movie, you knew it wasn’t real but you couldn’t feel like it wasn’t real. The logic didn’t overrun the emotional state that lured you into the dark shadows of history. The doctor with the bird costume leaned over a boy, and it grew silent in the room. “Be gone!” The doctor yelled abruptly and the tour guide slammed a wooden bar against the table at the same time. I screamed, jumped, and tried to calm my racing heart as it tried to pound through my chest. Thankfully, most of the crowd reacted the same as I.

  “Not funny,” I scolded to myself, even as I heard Kirby’s soft laughter.

  “You almost jumped out of yer skin.”

  “I think my heart almost stopped,” I whispered, almost gasping since my heart was still pounding as though I had run a marathon.

  “I do think yer more entertainin’ than the Close.”

  “Happy to be your side show.” We stood and exited the room. Jonnet held open the door, and I glared at her as we passed.

  “She dinna care,” Kirby added.

  “Well… I feel better.”

  The tour ended shortly after, and as we walked outside, I wanted to kiss the ground. Glancing up I saw the sky, I whispered reverently, “It’s beautiful.”

  “I take it ye don’t like confined spaces.”

  “No.”

  Kirby’s amusement filled the small courtyard and I walked away, irritated and still miserably affected by the rich sound of that chuckle.

  “Ach, so now you learn how to move quickly.”

  “When getting away from you? Yes.”

  “Merry, we both know you run away from me just as much as you run to me. I ken yer secret.” His voice whispered in a thick brogue.

  “Yes, my heart beats for you,” I replied dryly, trying to keep it together. “Where to now? I’m staving.” My stomach rumbled to accent my statement.

  “Hmm… how about whisky?”

  I turned to face Kirby, expecting to see him have some sort of expression that would tell me he was kidding.

  He wasn’t.

  “For dinner?” I asked.

  “Part of it, yes. We are in Scotland. Whisky… it is part of a Scotsman’s very blood.” He pounded his heart with his fist.

  “I’m more of a hard cider type of girl. I had this one from Sweden, it was amazing—”

  “No. Whisky.” He nodded once, took my hand and led me up the street.

  And I do mean up. Since we were still on the Royal Mile, we started back up toward Edinburgh Castle, the elevation taking a steep climb as we made our way up the last half of a block.

  “Why are we going to the castle?” I asked, ignoring the warmth of his hand in mine.

  And the fact that I didn’t try to pull away.

  “There’s a whisky tour—”

  “No more tours.”

  “Don’t get yer panties in a twist. It’s a whisky tour. Alc
ohol.”

  “Then I approve of this tour.”

  “Of course, your highness.”

  We crossed a street, leaving Edinburgh Castle row and taking a slight turn. Kirby paused before a place called Cross Arch.

  “This’ll do. I know the barkeep. If it’s none too busy…” He pushed open the door, leading us into a room filled with dark wood walls, deep green accents and a long bar.

  “William!” Kirby called to the man behind the bar, wiping a shot glass with a bar mop.

  “Church! I dinna believe my eyes! And with a lass, no less!” William shook his head. He was a stout man of at least fifty, with long gray hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. His white beard gave him a grizzled appearance, but his face was lined with the kind of wrinkles someone gets from smiling a lot.

  “Dinna get any ideas, William. This one hates me.” He nodded in my direction, even as our hands were laced together still.

  “True.” I shrugged.

  William’s gaze shot between me and Kirby — Church — and he simply chuckled. “That’s how the good one’s start. What can I get ye?” He set the glass down and braced the bar with both hands.

  “The lass hasn’t tried our Whisky yet—”

  William shook his head, his expression one of disappointment.

  Kirby leaned forward, whispering, “Says she likes Sweden’s cider.” He shook his head.

  William the barkeep eyed me. “So she’s not Scottish, is she? I should have known by the accent. Bloody Americans.”

  “Hey!”

  “He’s right. So, William.” Kirby leaned against the bar. “I’m thinking we need to start her out slow—”

  “With food. The lass needs food.” I released Kirby’s hand and pulled out a menu.

  Kirby plucked it from my fingers, and tossed it behind the bar.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Let Church take care of you.” He gave me a sultry once-over with his eyes.

  “Is there a reason you keep referring to yourself in the third person… Kirby?” I asked, tilting my head and smiling sweetly.

  “Ach, so this one’s known you for a while, eh?” William chuckled. “I like her, I do. Some fire in her spirit. Lass, I’ll be right back with somethin’ for you to eat.” He left chuckling.