Chris Karlsen - Knights in Time (23 page)

“Yes, for money. A tidy sum too.”

Stephen’s irritation with Alex vanished with his news. Money made a big difference.

Esme wouldn’t have to worry about losing her job should the opportunity to kiss again present

itself. He’d pay her. No more living off Alex’s charity. Hopefully, the sum gave him the

opportunity to find a place of his own to live and provide for himself in every way.

“How much is a tidy sum?”

“Ten-thousand pounds.”

“Pounds?”

“Pounds are what our currency is called. I know the figure doesn’t mean anything to you.

There’s no viable means to compare the cost value of necessities centuries ago to their cost now.

But it’s enough to give you a measure of independence for quite some time.”

“I’ll take my money.” Stephen stuck his hand out.

“It’s been wired into my account. We’ll have to open an account for you at the bank.”

“Bank?”

“Esme can explain. We’ll take care of the transfer tomorrow.”

“I don’t want Esme to go with us.”

“Do you distrust her for some reason?”

“No,” Stephen said in quick response. The last thing he wanted was for Alex or Shakira to

grow concerned over Esme’s honesty. “I trust her completely. I just prefer this business to remain private.” When the time was right, he’d tell her about his good luck.

Gravel crunched as a car drove up the driveway and stopped by the trailer. The engine

shut off and the door slammed.

“Is it Esme?” Stephen asked.

“Yes. We’ll talk more later about the bank.”

After a couple quick, light raps, the trailer door opened. “Hi-hi,” Esme said. “Oh dear, am

I interrupting?”

“No,” Alex said. “I’m leaving.”

“I was about to have a bowl of cereal when Alex came by,” Stephen said after Alex

closed the door behind him. “Would you like some?”

“No thanks. What’s up with the sword?”

“It’s mine. A man from a Paris museum took this and my armor from me in the hospital.

Alex got my sword returned but not the armor.”

“May I handle it?”

“Certainly.” He presented it to her with two hands, one under the blade and the other

under the hilt, like an honored gift.

“I’m no expert, of course, but this looks authentic,” she said, taking the sword from him.

“Is it the sword you believe you carried into battle?”

“I more than believe. I did carry it on the campaign and at Poitiers, where I was injured.”

She moved away, past where he stood, toward the drawing room. He followed and she

stopped in front of the large window.

“What are you doing?”

“I need better lighting and the morning sun pours through this window.” She was quiet for

a moment—then asked, “Stephen, the injury you believe you received at Poitiers, did it cause you to drop your sword?”

“I wish you’d quit using the term ‘believe’ as though my reality can’t possibly have

occurred. In answer to your question, yes, I dropped my sword when I was unhorsed. Why?”

“I don’t know what it’s called but the half-moon piece by the cross-guard...”

“The chappe.”

“Beneath the chappe on one side bits of grass and dirt are stuck. I’d like to send the

scrapings for analysis and comparison to a current soil sample from the battlefield area.”

“There’s nothing to test. Dirt is dirt.”

“But there is. Experts can do radio-carbon testing on organic matter. The modern soil will

show residue from fertilizers, acid rain, and organic matter from more recent plants. Do I have your permission?”

“If it pleases you, it pleases me.”

“I need a jar from your cupboard.”

Stephen shrugged off her plan and picked up his bowl. “Fiddle, my cereal is mushy now.”

Esme came back to the table. From the sounds, she’d dug out what she required and

rewrapped the sword. “I put the sword away. Are you ravenous or can you wait a couple of

hours to eat?”

“I can wait.”

“Good. Let’s go to Cheltenham. They have a store that sells aides for the sight impaired.

We’ll grab a bite at a pub afterward.”

Stephen didn’t move. “I heard a car when you arrived. Does Tony wait outside for you? If

so, you may forget taking me to the store. I will not ride with him.”

“I came in my own car.”

“Is the man gone from your life? Good riddance if he is.”

“No, we’re still seeing each other. Since you brought the subject up, I don’t want you to

tell him what to do or not do again. You don’t have the right to interfere in my life. Tony and I—”

Her argument was foolish and without merit. He’d disabuse her of such flawed thinking.

“Of course I have the right. He treated you poorly. Not at all chivalrous and needed chastised.”

“Stephen—”

“Esme, it is the duty of an honorable knight to protect where the gentle nature of a lady

keeps her from doing so herself.”

“Oh boy,” she said with a sigh. “Stephen, I am not gentle natured. I am more than capable

of standing up for myself.”

“Perhaps, if you were awake to the need, which you were not.”

“I wasn’t in need.”

“
Honnnk
,” he imitated the horn in a deep, guttural way. “This is the sound of an oversize, pregnant goose, not how a man calls upon a lady. That you allow it proves my point.”

“You can stop right there. I refuse to talk about it anymore.”

“Because you’re wrong?”

“No, because I’m close to strangling you.”

“Hah! Your peevishness with me shows you know the truth but refuse to admit to faulty

female reasoning.”

“Are you ready to go?”

“Yes. As a reminder, milady, before we visit the blind store, I need bigger shoes.”

“Yes, milord.”

#

Stephen pressed the button on the side to hear it talk again as he walked to the shop’s

entrance door.
You are traveling northeast.
“I don’t know where the woman’s voice travels from but I like listening to her.”

He tapped with his cane and turned in a circle as the compass’s lady called out the

directions. He reversed directions and made another circle.

“Stop and let me put this watch on you,” Esme said.

“Finally, a way to tell time.”

She strapped the device to his wrist. He pressed the button, chuckled as the man told him

the hour and seconds, and then pressed the button to hear it again. To break an hour into minutes made sense. He saw the usefulness in such ability. Seconds, as it related to time, he thought both silly and fascinating. Silly because breaking down the minutes into tiny specks of time served no purpose as far as he could tell. But the fact people had achieved the ability to do so fascinated him. Who originally thought to pursue the measuring of time in such detail?

“We’ve got a decent stockpile of aids to start you off. We’ll come back and get more next

week. I’ll make a list.”

“I’m hungry.”

“There’s a pub I like down the road with good food.”

“Pub?”

“It’s another word for tavern.”

“Beer and food, a delightful coupling.”

They hadn’t had to cross any busy streets to go to the shoe store or blind store. The shops

had what Esme called carparks attached. She warned Stephen two large intersections were

between them and the pub.

“Let me help you cross. Traffic is heavy and it’s too easy for you to get hurt if you step

off the curb at the wrong time.”

“No. Thank you for your concern, but allow me the opportunity to succeed or fail on my

own.”

“Stephen, didn’t you listen? If your timing is off, you can get seriously injured or killed.”

“I have my cane and my hearing. I’m not without means to walk without your help.”

He found maneuvering the even surfaces of the streets and sidewalks in the town easier

than walking around the grounds by the trailer and stable.

He stumbled only once, when he entered the pub. A raised strip in the doorway floor

hadn’t been felt when he swept his cane. His foot landed on the unanticipated bump and the toe of his shoe caught. He quickly recovered his balance and tucked his arm before Esme could lend a

hand.

Music with a strong beat played and what sounded like a crush of people talking loud to be

heard over the music drowned out everything else. Voices from all directions, men’s and

women’s were a muddle of indistinct words. Stephen froze as the rush of noise came at him.

“Sorry mate,” a man who jostled him said.

“Over here Stephen,” Esme called out.

“Where?” With all the babble, he couldn’t track where she was in relation to him. Right

and left, his cane banged into objects as he sought a clear path. “Esme?”

He stopped and struggled to slow his shallow breathing and calm down. He thought he

heard Esme call his name and moved in that direction.

He stepped into someone and the awful sound of glass breaking happened close. “Careful

luv,” a woman said. “You knocked my tray and a pint on the floor.”

“Sorry.” He held still again and called out, “Esme?”

When she didn’t answer, he turned to go. She could find him outside. The more he tried to

retrace his steps, the more disoriented he became. Another person bumped into him but didn’t

apologize. The air grew thick with perfume, the smell of food, and body heat. He’d wandered

deeper into the tavern by mistake. Anxious and self-conscious, he shoved his shaking non cane

hand into his jeans pocket.

Out. He just wanted out.

“The door please. Can someone lead me to the door?” he asked, humiliated he had to beg

such help.

“It’s all right. I’m here, Stephen.” It was Esme. “Come, we’ll go somewhere else.” She

placed a light hand on his elbow and leaned close. He understood she was being mindful of his

pride and tried to not let the crowd see she assisted him.

Outside she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t stop to think how noisy and busy the place is during

lunch. There’s an excellent Italian restaurant at the end of the street. The food will be the biggest adventure there rather than wending your way through the crowd.”

Stephen nodded. “Fine.”

At the restaurant, a woman seated them at what she called a comfortable booth with a

padded bench.

“Is there a bathroom here?” he asked Esme.

“Yes, walk straight about five strides, then turn left and walk another six or so and the

men’s room is the second door to your right.”

“Thank you.”

Stephen followed her instructions and entered the men’s room for much needed few

minutes alone. Inside, he stood quiet trying to calm himself from the pub experience. What did

Esme think? What sort of man shows such weakness to a lady? How could he let a foolish thing

like loud noise twist him so?

He found the sink, washed his hands and splashed water on his face. After drying off

using his shirttail, he took a deep breath and said, “Never again will I let fear beat me.” He spoke the words aloud. Whatever spirits that touched the lives of men, whether good and evil, from now on they’d see only this new strength.

Chapter Twenty-One

Stephen arranged for Mr. Utley to come by on Saturday, one of Esme’s days off. “Thank

you for coming,” Stephen said.

“Please call me Andrew. May I call you Stephen?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’m curious. Why did you want to work with me alone, without Ms. Crippen present?”

“We went to Cheltenham yesterday and she fretted over my safety with the heavier

traffic. Next week, we plan to return. I thought I’d surprise her and show her how I’ve mastered the problem.”

“Good. Let’s go there now and practice.”

Stephen learned to listen to the low rumble of traffic as it approached. They worked on

perfecting his sense of the crowd around him moving forward, which was especially important.

Difficult to determine unseen, Andrew warned of turning cars.

“Use the people as indicators whether vehicles are turning and when it’s safe to cross,” he

instructed. “The busiest streets are lined with shops. The noise level is greater. You must listen harder.”

“I notice when the cars travel with me it stirs the air more.”

Andrew had him practice crossing smaller streets where Stephen couldn’t rely on the flow

of the people close. Then they worked on neighborhood streets where no signals controlled traffic.

He practiced stepping off and onto low curbs and high ones. All the exercises given him, he

performed without trouble.

“Your skill level this soon is impressive,” Andrew said as they walked to his car for the

ride home.

“I have another request.”

“Yes.”

“Teach me to fight. I don’t want anyone to think me a defenseless cripple.”

“I’m not able to teach those tactics. I know a blind Braille instructor who’s taken judo for

a longtime. He can introduce you to his judo masters.”

“Judo, I don’t know what it is, but you say a blind man can learn it.”

“It’s a form of martial art. Sight isn’t required. He says its leverage and developing a

certain mindset, a philosophy of strength and belief in one’s abilities.”

“Please bring him by at your earliest convenience. I want to learn this judo as soon as

possible.”

“Stephen, did someone threaten you?”

“No...just the opposite.”

“Care to explain?”

“No. When can your friend meet me?”

“John, wouldn’t come by your place. You’d go to the studio where he works out. The

lessons aren’t too expensive but they do cost. Should my friend make arrangements with Alex?”

“No, I have money.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Utley said and left.

After he’d gone, Stephen went into the bedroom and pulled the small satchel he stored his