Chris Karlsen - Knights in Time (8 page)

Stephen begrudgingly agreed in part. He’d eaten well, his bed was the most comfortable

he’d slept on, the folks he’d spoken with were kind. He didn’t trust the doctors though, not about his lost eyesight.

“The one who calls himself Monette, I believe he is truly a surgeon. The one called

Berger; I suspect he is no surgeon but a necromancer. Did they tell you I am blind?”

“Yes.”

“Berger did this to me.”

“He didn’t. He’s not a sorcerer,” Guy said.

“You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

Maybe Guy was guessing. Maybe they’d taken his sight too and convinced him otherwise.

“How badly injured are you?” Stephen asked.

“I’m not.”

“You are in good health?”

“Yes.”

Not injured.
Resentment welled inside him. Guy had somehow known about the knight,

beware the black cat on a field of
orange
, he said. The warning was meant to help a friend, but Stephen couldn’t keep the bitterness at bay. If Guy hadn’t warned him, left him to his fate, then he would’ve died in all likelihood. And in his heart, he wished that had been the outcome. His life was forever changed, while Guy was as he had always been.

Stephen took a moment to collect himself and not let his anger taint the conversation.

“They tell me it is permanent, my blindness. But you remain unharmed. How is that?”

“It is part of the same strange and long story Basil and I will relate on the trip home.

“A man who said he was from a musee, whatever that is, stole my things. I want my

sword returned to me. He can have the armor, my surcoat and chausses as well, but not my

sword.”

“We have his contact information. We’ll get your sword. If you’re ready, we’ll go.”

Stephen pushed the anger from his thoughts. His friends had come and he was leaving this

strange place at last.

“I’m ready. There’s nothing for me here.” As he reached for his cane, he wondered how

much there was for him at home.

#

In the corridor, Guy took him by the elbow.

“I appreciate your attempt to assist me, but let go—please. I am capable of walking the

hall.” Stephen worked the cane the way Juliette had instructed, side to side, while Guy and Basil walked behind him. Past the nurse’s station, he stopped and waited for the whoosh of the

impressive doors that opened without touch.

“Our king should have these,” he said and stepped through.

He’d gone four strides when Guy warned, “Watch out, there are stairs directly in front of

you,” and grabbed him by the arm.

“Don’t.” Stephen tore from the grasp. “I must learn to do things on my own. He used his

cane to feel the depth of the rise and then took a tentative step forward. He found his way to the flat path without incident.

“Stop. This is a dangerous spot. You have to let us help you now,” Guy said. Stephen

sensed they flanked him.

A carriage of some kind went by in front of him at a speed no carriage he knew of could

travel. Nor was there the clatter of hooves or grinding of wheels. He’d witnessed carts and

carriages with runaway horses rushing down a road. Never were they so fast as to generate a

wind like the one that blew over him. He’d jerked back and shamefully gasped like a woman. The

carriage fouled the air in its wake. It didn’t stink as bad a tanner’s shop, but it left the air smelling sour and heavy.

“What manner of carriage passed?” he asked.

“Stephen, do you remember how you got to the hospital?” Guy asked.

“I fell into one of several dreamless sleeps I experienced these past days. I have no

recollection of the journey.”

“A special steel carriage brought you from the field to the hospital. Another type of steel

carriage like the one we’ll ride in just drove past. The unfamiliar ride may disturb you. You must trust us when we say you are safe.”

He didn’t like the sound of the last.

“Ah good, the limo driver saw us,” Guy added.

A moment later, there was the crunch of grit on the ground. Stephen sensed the presence

of a large carriage in front of him. Something...a door...opened and slammed shut. If it was a

door, it didn’t sound wooden. No thud. It too, must be steel.

“Monsieur Lancaster, Monsieur Cherlein,” a new voice said and the opening sound

repeated.

Guy urged him forward a couple of steps, then placed a hand on Stephen’s head and

started to press down.

Stephen pushed his hand away. “What are you doing?”

“You need to duck or you’ll bump your head on the doorframe.

“Show me the top and I can handle the rest,” he said, folding his cane, he lifted his free

hand. Guy took it and pressed it to a hard metal lintel. Stephen dipped his head enough to clear the entry.

Guy took the cane from him and instructed him to raise his foot knee height and over to

the left until he found the edge of the carriage floor. When Stephen did, he told him to bend as though sitting on a chair and he’d guide him to the right spot.

“Slide to your left,” Guy said.

Stephen tested with his hand how far he could move. Soft leather, like deerskin, covered a

sturdy but comfortable bench. He slid until his left hip and leg hit a solid surface. Guy and Basil climbed in after him.

Stephen settled into the seat prepared to be jostled as they rode over a rough road.

“Why did the servant call you both by strange names?” he asked after the odd sounding

door closed.

“Those are the names we use now. Do you want to explain?” Basil asked.

Stephen followed the direction of the voice and knew he asked the question of Guy, who’d

chosen a seat diagonal to him.

“I think its best,” Guy said. “Stephen, the doctor told us you refused to believe the year is

2013. This is a shock to you...” He leaned closer as he spoke, close enough for the warmth of his breath to be felt. “But it is.”

Stephen reared back. To hear Guy confirm what the French surgeon said struck like a

lance blow to the chest. Had he been hit with a real lance he’d know how to react. He’d defend, or attack, or evade. For this, he knew no response.

“No, this cannot be.”

“I swear to you on my honor as a knight.”

“You’re telling me I’ve come hundreds of years in time?”

“Yes.”

At a loss for words, he tried to understand how such a thing might happen. Guy and Basil

were friends he trusted completely. Never for a moment did he think they’d lie about such a

serious matter, not even in jest.

Nothing made sense. But then, since the day they’d found him in the field, nothing was

normal in his life.

“How is it you both are here, in this time with me?”

“Do you believe in fate?” Guy asked.

“I used to. I don’t know what to believe now.”

“You were right to think me dead. Dragged from my horse, the enemy blades...well, you

can imagine.”

Alarm seized Stephen. He didn’t fear death, but he feared the prospect of facing eternity

condemned to walk the earth between the real world and the afterlife he hoped existed.

“You are a ghost.”

Before Guy answered, the bellow of a massive beast came from the front of the carriage.

“Merciful God, what animal rides with us?”

“It’s not an animal. Don’t worry about the source of the noise. We’re quite safe. To

answer your question, I’m not a ghost now, but I once was. Basil too.”

Ghosts once but no more? Only in stories did a man or woman come from the shadow

world into the world of the living again. “What happened?”

“When we charged the French knights, Saladin took an ax blow to the chest and went

down. You saw me trapped. Guy tried to reach me. As you know, he was killed in the attempt.”

“That’s how I wound up a ghost,” Guy added. “Basil was destined to die that day, not me,

but my fate became entwined with his.”

“Why did you not leave this earth?” Stephen asked Basil.

“That’s a bit of a story. Leave it for another day.”

“I must know, how can you be alive?”

“Five plus years ago we were given another chance at life,” Guy said.

“This name you go by, Alex Lancaster is your second chance.”

“Yes.”

“And, Ian Cherlein is yours?”

“Yes.”

“This is why you’ve different voices?”

“Yes,” Alex said.

Stephen believed and disbelieved many things during his life. One belief he never thought

carried an ounce of truth was the existence of miracles, having never seen anything close to one.

That’s not to say he hadn’t seen some very unusual occurrences. He’d never forget the day the

stone outcropping took Guy’s wife, Shakira. The sight of her disappearing was forever marked in his memory but he didn’t believe it a miracle. At the time, he had suspected witchery.

Guy and Basil given second lives was a miracle. How might that bode for him?

“You live. You breathe here as new men in a new world. In this world that grants you so

much, can I regain my sight?”

“We’ll consult the best experts, of course, but a cure might not be possible. It’s unlikely,”

Guy told him.

Stephen sagged against the cushioned corner. Living miracles surrounded him, yet none

bringing the miracle of sight touched him.

Chapter Nine

At the airport Alex offered Stephen a hand to help him from the iron carriage. “No thank

you,” Stephen said and climbed out, clumsily but without a problem.

They passed through a structure with automatic doors like at the hospital and outside to an

area where Alex said a private jet awaited
.

Stephen sensed the openness of the area around them. “This is the tarmac you mentioned,

yes? The curious whirring and deep-throated rumble are the other planes?”

“Yes,” Alex said.

On the journey from the hospital, Alex warned him he’d hear what might sound like the

roar of a huge beast. He said not to worry. Stephen was fine with that. A reprieve from troubling thoughts, however small, was welcome. The last few days, he’d filled long hours worrying over

his future.

They walked slow while he searched a clear path with his cane.

“This next part will be a joy to explain,” Ian said to Alex, Stephen assumed, in a tone he’d

often heard Basil use when mocking the men he thought buffoons.

“You do realize I can still hear?”

“Sorry.”

“Trust me, it is no joy to hear the accounts you’ve given me. France no longer has a

monarch and we are now allies. We have a queen instead of a king.” A questionable turn of

events. “A woman on the throne...but you say she has limited power. ‘Tis best.”

He had to admit much of what they told him was good. “I like two of your wonders. The

roads you call
paved
that you claim are commonplace for smooth travel. Most pleasant. And, the carriage we rode in which moves at a speed I cannot begin to fathom. I always favored a speedy

mount.”

“The carriage is called a car,” Ian said.

Stephen didn’t think the difference important. He stopped, knelt on one knee and ran his

hand over the tarmac. “The ground is so even, I suspected we walked on paving,” he said and

stood. “Why is it warm?”

“Paving is made of different material. This is asphalt, which warms on sunny days,” Alex

said as they continued to the
private jet
.

“Basil, care to broach the subject that will be a ‘joy to explain’? You pricked my

curiosity.” Stephen’s cane struck a solid object in front of him. He tapped up and down and side to side. “Steps. High ones by the feel of the rise.”

“Yes, but there aren’t many. By the way, it’s best to call me Ian. At the top of the stairs, a

woman will assist you to your seat.”

“Is this assistance for me alone or does she assist you also?” Stephen started up.

Alex climbed the stairs behind him. “She’s called a flight attendant and is there to serve all

of us in a variety of ways. She brings drinks, or food, or to help with other requests.”

“To serve us in a variety of ways with requests-” He twisted and over his shoulder

wiggled his brows. “She sounds delightful.”

“I imagine she is but not in the way you hope.”

“Pity.”

“Good day, gentlemen.” With a light palm to his forearm, the flight attendant led Stephen

to a seat. He bumped a wall with his elbow and then felt along the surface wondering about the

material. Smooth and cool to the touch, it wasn’t like the walls in the hospital.

“Please let me know if you require anything before we take-off.”

“Madam—or is it mademoiselle, I’m told you can bring food and drink. I’d love some of

both,” Stephen said and smiled up in the direction of her voice.

“It’s Karen. What would you like? I have an excellent ploughman’s lunch tray, or I can

make you an omelet, or a juicy cheeseburger. Would you like coffee, tea, beer, soda? I also have an excellent selection of liquors, if you prefer.”

Stephen turned to Alex who’d taken the seat beside him. “I don’t know what tea or soda

is. They gave me coffee in the hospital. Bitter stuff at first, but it got better by the third day, or I got used to it, not sure which.” He tipped his head toward where he believed Karen stood waiting.

“I’ll have a beer, milady. I am certain of its taste.”

He had no idea what the food dishes she spoke of were, but he was hungry. “I don’t know

any of these foodstuffs she mentioned. What do you suggest?” he whispered to Alex.

“Omelet is French for eggs with bits of this and that tossed inside and folded over. You’ve

eaten eggs like that a hundred times. Try the cheeseburger. It’s minced beef meat with cheese

piled on top. They’re pretty tasty if done right.”