friends – Page 6 – three good words

November 7, 2014November 7, 2014

saving grace, 4

Everyone was at table, eating, drinking, passing bowls and platters two and fro. There was usual talk of the marketplace gossip and what was left of the tales about the Governor’s Ball. Mrs Bellamy repeatedly left the table to see to Father Claireborne and his guest upstairs. Ariane sat by and ate in silence. She listened and answered if she was asked a question, but was otherwise quiet, until even John noticed and asked if she was under the weather. ‘No, she was clumsy and fell on her way back from the market,’ Mrs. Bellamy explained. Her look showed clearly what she thought of that. Ariane looked to her plate.

‘Does your arm still hurt?’ Tenny asked, looking concerned. Tenny was the woman who came to help with the washing. Her arms were dark as oakwood and strong, her hands large and leathery like a man’s. She was a jolly woman, short, almost squat, with a loud laugh. She often stayed longer than she first promised, unwilling, Ariane felt, to go back to small room she called her home down towards Port Augustine’s ‘disreputable corner’ as Mrs Bellamy called it. Ariane often wanted to ask Father Claireborne if Tenny couldn’t move into the small room out back that wasn’t much more than a place of storage, hardly used. She did not know how to ask though, since Tenny did always talk so much, and Ariane knew Father Claireborne liked it quiet during the day, so he could read his books and write his sermons.

It was when Tenny asked that Ariane realized she was indeed rubbing her arm, the one that man-thing had turned so sharply it had hurt all the way to her head. Ariane folded her hands in her lap and shook her head, Mrs. Bellamy saying, ‘Don’t worry yourself, Tenny, it’s just a bruise and it will heal soon, won’t it my dear?’ she smiled, stroking Ariane’s cheek. Ariane nodded and finished her plate, asking if she could be excused right after. She left the table when her mother gave her leave, and did her best to leave the kitchen by the back door as unhurridly as she could.

Ariane stepped onto sanded path snaking across the lawn, and at first walked one way, then the other, before passing towards the gate, slowly, carefully, her eyes fixed on the green. flowers 5 She was not certain if she should go and see if the tomato and carrot were still there. Officer Turlington had said there was a dangerous criminal on the loose. The man-thing had looked feral, mad even, and he had told her, no, commanded her to keep still and all without words. Ariane finally reached the gate and lingered. From where she stood she could see nothing red or orange in the green grass, but it was rather tall, and who knew if they weren’tcarried away by some feisty bird or whatever else came by. But if she walked out now, would it not be foolish? God knew what would happen, and if she shouted no one would hear, not the way they were talking and laughing inside.

Ariane hesitated, but common sense won over curiosity in the end. She could not forget that feral look in those eyes, clear yes, neither blue nor brown nor grey nor black, but somehow colourless in the bright light. It was out there, somewhere, all grunts and growls, and it had turned her arm so. She would be foolish to underestimate what else it could do, feral as it was. And so very dirty.

Ariane finally walked back to the house. She would eat one of the pastries she knew her mother had made for Father Claireborne and his guest. Mrs Bellamy never minded if Ariane ate one as long as it really only was one. Walking around the house, Ariane saw that the side door stood ajar, the one used for deliveries, but that was not surprising, her mother was always complaining how everyone forgot to close it. Luckily, the larder was the door next to the kitchen, she would not have to face the others again. Ariane could still hear the talk and laughter inside, stepped to the larder, opened the door, and – Holy Mother of God.

There it was, again, as feral and dirty as before only standing now, stuffing its mouth with freshly baked bread and those parts of the chicken her mother had layed aside for tomorrow. The man-thing stopped the moment she opened the door. There was a moment or two without a heartbeat. Ariane did not know if to talk or scream. Right then, the door to the kitchen opened, Bert’s voice booming out. Ariane closed the door to the larder and made to walk out, nearly walking into Tenny who laughed, ‘There you are! Lend me a hand with the washing later on, yes? I can never hang those sheets on my own.’ Ariane just nodded and Tenny went out through the delivery door, John, Bert, Mel and Wesley following her right after, putting on their caps, Bert thanking Mrs. Bellamy loudly for his supper, it was as always ‘exquisite’. ‘You stop those lies, Bertram Mahoney!’ Mrs Bellamy shot back. ‘Ah, Mrs Bellamy, why can’t you accept an honest compliment?’ ‘Honest? Ha!’

This went on for too long. Ariane stood, listening, her heart racing, until finally, thankfully, John asked when they should return for tea, now that the weather looked like rain by evening. John and Bert liked to sit in the kitchen and drink cups of tea like gentlemen while it rained and stormed outside. They told wonderful stories then, stories of pirates and wild chases, sunken ships and hidden treasures, islands full of gold that only appeared at the full moon, and wells that were filled with gemstones. Together, John and Bert were storytellers fit to entertain any king’s court.It was why Ariane liked rainy days. Then she could just sit and listen to John and Bert tell their stories, her mother shaking her head at ‘all that nonsense you’re putting into the poor girl’s head’, though she never stopped them.

If John said it looked like rain, then it would rain, John was ‘an excellent predictor of weather’ as Father Claireborne said. Ariane had hardly seen the clouds while she was at market, but now that she thought if it, it had looked a little silvery while she was outside. Dogs could not smell in water, but they could smell in a house. What if they found the trail before it rained? What if the came all the way here? And if they asked her? Would they know she was lying? For she knew she should at least tell her mother, but first John and the others had to leave, and they did finally, all of them, with Ariane waiting in the hallway, between doors, not knowing what to do next.

One last look into the kitchen showed Ariane that her mother had suddenly disappeared. Where – ah, there, the quiet screech of a pump. Her mother was out back, fetching more water. Ariane stayed as she was, the kitchen door open, and her eyes fixed on the larder. Finally her mother returned, and Ariane summoned her silently, despairing with her ‘What is it? Why don’t you just tell me?’ before sighing and following Ariane’s silent plea and joining her. Body tense, hands trembling slightly, Ariane opened the larder door.

‘What is it?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked. ‘Ariane, what is the matter, why show me the larder in this silly way, you know – ’

Mrs Bellamy stopped and stepped in, walking to one of the shelves.

‘Those rascals! If I ever catch them, if I ever see them with my own eyes, may God forgive me, but they will get such a thrashing as they’ve never seen – !’

Mrs. Bellamy could hardly contain her anger. The third roast chicken had disappeared. Ariane stepped in with her mother and saw Mrs. Bellamy smile at her grimly.

‘Well, it’s good you saw it, your eyes have not gotten bad,’ she said. ‘I was already getting worried, it’s not like you to trip on the Hunting Trail.’
‘Look,’ Ariane said instead, pointing to the ever fastened larder window.

Turning, Mrs. Bellamy made a noise that sounded like a curse, something she only ever did when the food burnt in the oven.

‘To steal from God’s house is already – but to purposely break in! Have they no piety!’

Ariane did not answer. The glass was shattered, the window swung open at its hinges. The man-thing had not spirited itself away, she was not suffering from what Father Claireborne called ‘hallucinations’. Her mother was already climbing the stairs to the Father’s apartments when Ariane realised what this meant. Where was it now, the feral thing? She imagined it running into the green with a roast chicken. Well, at least it finally had something to eat.

Father Claireborne entered the larder, saw the destruction and shook his head. He looked out of the broken window and sighed, ‘I will have to have speak with their parents,’ which surprised Ariane who had always thought Father Claireborne was ignorant of the occasional thefts from their larder by the Holborns and Gellards, two families of many children and little means. Usually it was pastries and the boiled sweets Mrs Bellamy saw no sin in eating. As it seemed the Father was well aware of the occasional disappearance. He patted Mrs. Bellamy’s arm as if to calm her.

‘Don’t worry Mrs. Bellamy, I will see to it. This has clearly gone too far.’And with that, both left the larder, Ariane following them silently. Closing the door, she wondered. Where had the man-thing gone? Was it still about the house? Was he in fact, just a room away? And if so, should she not tell her mother at least? Father Claireborne? But once told, they would call the officers and that would be the gallows for him. The thought alone made Ariane feel a murderess. So far she did not know of his transgressions. Yet maybe Father Claireborne knew something of what Officer Turlington had said. She really should say something. At least to warn them of the feral creature hiding around the house.

November 7, 2014

saving grace, 3

Ariane helped her mother set the table, dress the salad, and make sure the roast chicken and other delectables were as Father Claireborne liked them. Unlike other Englishmen, or so Mrs Bellamy said, Father Claireborne had a taste for good food and knew to give high praise when a meal was done well. Today the Father had a guest however, so Mrs Bellamy was agitated and curt with her commands. Once all the platters and bowls were brought up to Father Claireborne’s private office where the meal was to be taken, Mrs. Bellamy returned in calmer spirits, ready to feed the rest of the house.

John Mallory, the gardener, came in right then. He was tall and dark as night, with eyes so white they almost shone in his face. John took care they had enough potatoes, parsnips, pumpkins and cabbages in the garden, and saw to it that the lemons and oranges grew well. That way Mrs Bellamy could make her famous lemonade whenever she wished, and order ice in time for the wonderful sorbet she always made on Father Claireborne’s birthday.

Grey-haired Bertram Mahoney walked in after John, calling out ‘Hurry up lads, they’re not going to wait.’ Bert who liked to talk of his home in that faraway place, Ireland, where there was ‘real weather’ and rain fell sideways. His blue eyes grew dreamy then, as he sat back and puffed on his pipe, talking about The King’s Arms where it seemed men only went to drink and brawl and misbehave themselves. Mrs Bellamy did not approve of tales of The King’s Arms, which was one reason why Bert enjoyed telling them. He was always teasing Ariane’s mother like that, and Father Claireborne never stopped him, but then Bert and Father Claireborne had known each other for very many years. Once Father Claireborne was appointed at Port Augustine, Bert followed a year later, ‘ready to settle’ as he said. Since he was very good with wood and glass, he made sure the house and church remained in order, never mind if it was ‘an ungodly Protestant place’, Bert still prayed to the Holy Mother Mary.

Standing in the kitchen door, Bert called, ‘Come on, lads, what are you waiting for?’ again, and finally young Mel and Wesley came in, quietly, removing their caps just like John and Bert. They were five and six years younger than Ariane, and did everything Bert told them, learning all they could from the Irishman, and John as well, for ‘a man should know his way around the garden,’ as Father Claireborne said. Mel and Wesley’s past was one of those terrible histories you found so frequently on the islands. Bert had ‘bought them off a man in Antigua’ three years before, he had had to sail down on business. Bert never said more about Mel and Wesley, and the two boys hardly ever talked anyway. They were brothers, and stayed together at all times, sharing a room and a bed in the small house Bert called his own. Ariane had seen it herself when she once brought Bert a book Father Claireborne wanted him to have. She had asked Bert why the boys didn’t have their own beds and Bert shrugged, ‘They didn’t want them. Plain refused.’ Then he added, ‘I wager they don’t want to get separated again.’

From what Bert hinted on if he did talk about Antigua, there had been more brothers and sisters, and a mother, but Ariane still did not know what happened to them. Bert did not offer to tell, and she did not know how to ask. She knew of Antigua, she had heard the stories, she knew which islands were nightmares, which colonies further north were utter hell. She knew in whispers and tales told in secret, she knew in the bulletines Father Claireborne sometimes read and made him gloomy for a whole day. Now at nearly seventeen, the Mississippi had become a place of terror for Ariane, the delta synonymous to Hell, pockets of hell fire littered all across the Spanish Main, Antigua being one of them, so she did not know how to ask Bert about what happened there. It was enough to see how quiet the two boys were, standing together now, Mel with his eyes to the floor, and Wesley alert, watching everything carefully. Both would not say one word through the entire meal, but Ariane had come to accept it. They ate well at least, and Bert made sure they stayed healthy and clean. Ariane knew John and her mother made sure to know where they were at all times, and Father Claireborne took care they learnt their alphabet and their sums. It was, Ariane felt, the best one could do after all that happened to them.

They were free now though, at least they were given that mercy. They were now equal to all other Freemen in Port Augustine. Like Father Claireborne, Bert was a staunch believer that no man should own another, though where Father Claireborne saw such ownership as a deep sin against the Lord on High, Bert was far less religious. As he told Ariane once, ‘No one on this blessed earth owns anything, lass. We just stay for a while and then move on. Anyone trying to tell you anything else and I swear on me own mother’s grave they’re trying to sell you something. Don’t ever trust a word they say.’ Bert never said who ‘they’ were, but from how Bert always talked about them, ‘they’ sounded very powerful and very dangerous. He did give Mel and Wesley a last name though, Callaghan. Apparently it would throw a man Bert knew into all kinds of torment to know that ‘two little Negroes were carrying his perfect name.’ Every time Bert said that, he grinned wide right after and sighed satisfied as if he accomplished something.

John, Bert, Mel and Wesley greeted Ariane and Mrs Bellamy with silent nods before they sat down at the large kitchen table, Bert saying happily, ‘That smells wonderful, Mrs Bellamy, what’ll you surprise us with today.’ Mrs Bellamy told Bert to stop trying to flatter her with such insincerity, and their usual banter began. John sat by in silence and listened with a faint smile, while Ariane poured out water for Mel and Wesley, Mel who was tracing the grain of the heavy oak table. It was a massive thing where everyone reconvened in the evenings, even Father Claireborne, who said it made little sense to sit in solitude up in his office when there was such merriment and joy in the kitchen.

If John was in the proper mood, he would take out his guitar, a beautiful instrument he was gifted by his former Master’s wife when he became a Freeman. She was a duke’s daughter who knew how to play by a Spanish artisan at her father’s court, and so had taught John since he was a child. Once anyone heard John play, they knew why the high lady took such time to teach him. Ariane could spend whole evenings just listening to John play on his guitar. When she closed her eyes, it was as if an angel was playing, yet it was John, John who was as dark as night, John Mallory who was actually Juan de Majorca, ‘John from the large island’ as he once explained, John Mallory whose English still had that Spanish accent, which was why he never spoke when Officer Turlington was near. John who was dark as night and played like an angel sent down from on High to make them remember that there really was Someone watching.

They would sing the songs they knew when John began to play, Ariane showing her skill and Mrs Bellamy sometimes singing the beautiful French ones she remembered, never mind how melancholy they were. Father Claireborne himself knew quite a few, joyous songs of praise, and slow, sombre songs of longing, not to mention Bert who had many more songs than he was allowed to sing by Father Claireborne and Mrs Bellamy. They were apparently not for children’s ears, never mind how Bert started grinning.

It was such things as these that made Father Claireborne very unlike other Fathers Ariane had heard of and knew. Ariane always felt that his house was truly a house of God, for in it all souls present, man, woman and child, were at peace. There was joy, there was laughter, there was song, and they all had good clothes to wear and enough food to eat. It was, Ariane knew, the best of fortune to know such a house as one’s home, and to have it’s master be such a man as Father Claireborne. The Father was a stout man with dark hair still thick and full about his head, he had a hearty laugh and a handsome smile, though he could look like God himself come down to take furious vengeance when he was thunderous, but that did not happen often. Mostly when someone scavenged his herb garden again where he was still trying his hand at strawberries.

Ariane liked Father Claireborne very well, as did everyone in Port Augustine, and it was good that he would still have many years to pray for the parish, for despite the grey at his temples, Father Claireborne was hardly past forty. It was he who had taken Ariane’s mother out of the desperate situation of widowhood when Ariane was but two years, and installed her as his cook when he was appointed to Port Augustine. Some thought his choice immoral if not outright sacrilegious, but since Mrs. Bellamy was a widow and had shown herself to be good Christian woman with an unshakable Christian faith, those who would talk evil soon hushed their mouths. Now no one in the small town questioned that the holy man and his cook lived under the same roof, with John, Bert, Mel and Wesley as their constant helpers.

November 5, 2014February 9, 2015

hook, line…

Not PG rated

Word was out. Chris ‘Dizzy’ Leroy was out of the clink, his boys were already waiting. Tall enough to try for the pro leagues if he’d ever had a head for school, Chris was muscular too, inked up nice, he always went to the pros. Everyone called him Dizzy, he no longer remembered why, just like no one knew he never liked it.He was Chris, but the only person who called him that was his Gran, Gran who opened her arms wide when he walked up the stairs, smiling ‘My boy’s back’ before hugging him with her tiny arms. Said nothing about how strong the woman was though. Dragged him down the street once, nearly tore his ear off, hollerin’ how often she told him to get back when the lights came on, he had no goddamn manners. That was Gran though, tough as nails. Best woman on the whole fuckin’ planet.

Friday night, and Tala was out clubbing with her girls. It was just them, no guys, they were going to have some fun. Tala was in the best mood. The week was good, her boss praised her for finishing the project perfectly in record time, and she meant it too. Nobody looked pissed, she was getting ‘genuine feedback’ as they called it. She could see that they were taking her seriously now, she really did know what she was doing. Those night courses really were helping, it was good that she followed through with that.

Now it was Friday, and Tala felt like partying, celebrating, simply enjoying herself, and going out with her girls was just the thing. The club was great, the house was packed, everyone was having such an awesome time Tala just felt happy. Then she turned and saw him. Great build. The kind of chocolate skin that made a girl lick her lips. Ripped. You could see it past that shirt. And a calm face, the kind of seriously handsome dark face with eyes that just sucked you in. She looked a little more, then she stopped. Her Moma told her to stay away from them. No matter how good they looked. ‘They like sugar, girl. The better they look, the worse they are. You need to look out for your health with that head o’ yours. It’s just too good to waste on all that honey that don’t keep your stomach full.’ Or the other one, it was last weekend actually, they were out shopping and of course her Moma caught her looking at Will Delaney who was picking up some ice and had grown up to look real good. Tala got, ‘Stop givin’ him those looks,’ for that. ‘Next thing you know he’s hangin’ around my porch like some lost puppy. What? Look at him. Best way to get yourself big, and I ain’t talkin’ about fat. And a Delaney too. All talk and no sense, those boys. Why’re you still lookin’? Didn’t you hear anything I just said?’ So Tala, dancing in the club with her girls, Tala turned back to her drink and didn’t look again.

Chris had decided it was time to see people. He hadn’t been with a woman since he was out of the joint, and he wanted to see some again. There was this new place everyone was talkin’ about so he decided to join. He had to get back to normal, remember how it was outside. It was his second time now, the first time he was in juvi at fourteen, Gran nearly killed him after. This second time it was either three months for him or six years for Dwayne, his cousin, who talked him into driving that bullshit car… just thinking about it got Chris to the wrong side of angry. He’d known it was bad. He just didn’t think Dwayne was that fucking stupid. Still, it was six years for his cousin, if he didn’t say nothin’, so he spoke up. Dwayne got two, he got three months since he’d been steady since Gran nearly put him in a coffin after juvi, but the Feds had to do something, and the judge knew it.

Anyway, he was out now, finally, the air smelled real again, and there were women everywhere. Chris didn’t want to rush it though, push it too fast and suddenly you had a set of claws in your back you never saw coming. Or some thug who decided you’d looked at his girl wrong. So Chris hung back, watched first, loving what he was seeing. The place was packed up tight, and the women… yeah, this was – what the – There, again. That girl, dancing. Fuck… Everything, just everything about her was… He wanted to feel that ass in his hands, all round. He wanted those legs around him, he wanted her naked and wet, fuck, he’d fuck her so good, she’d never want anythin’ else – there was no way he was just gonna stand around and do nothin’.

Chris walked up to her when one of her girls went to get more drinks. He stayed to the side and watched her, he didn’t want to come on too fast , but fuck she was… He waited till she looked. She did and smiled, shyly. She had style. There were no guys around her, and she only danced with her girls. When they left the floor he sent her a drink, something simple but good and she appreciated it, smiling at him and raising her glass. He could see how her girls worked her to do something, how she looked and got all shy again and smiled. He helped her by walking half the distance. Finally, she came over. She said Hi, and he nodded, said what he had to say, what her name was, who she was with. She told him, smiling like that, still shy. He wanted to peel that top off her and see those tits that were just waiting for his mouth, fuck they were… Her skin looked… he’d forgotten how perfect, perfect really was.

They talked some his name, hers, Tala, Chris, what she was doin’ out with her girls, the dj, the music, the club, until one of his boys crashed in and he saw how she got scared. Ray wasn’t the type a girl like her would look at twice, and Ray just slapped his back and nearly fucked it all up. She went back to her girls, ran back actually, and Chris tried not to show how pissed he was. Fuck Ray. She didn’t look at him again, so he did his best to get rid of Ray and finally could got him to stay busy with some girl whose tits were almost spilling out, but by then Tala was already leaving. Chris left the club and finally called after her out on the curb. She stopped and talked to her girls who pushed her towards him. He said, ‘Sorry ‘bout that. Ray’s some of my old crowd.’ ‘He’s not, like, dangerous, is he?’ she asked, her eyes wide. He wanted to touch her so bad he’d have sworn Ray was a fucking angel if he’d known that would get her to stay. ‘They’re gone,’ was all he said. She looked less nervous, but still nervous. He had to get her to stay with him, so he said, ‘Look. I’d like to see you. How ‘bout you pick a place and I’ll see you there.’ She looked confused. ‘See me? When?’ ‘Now. If you got time.’ She looked back at her girls who were giggling and waving her to stay. ‘Well…’ ‘Pick a place. Any place.’ ‘Not mine,’ she said, looking nervous again. ‘Ok.’ ‘And not yours either.’ ‘Ok.’ ‘I’d say a hotel, but…’ ‘But what?’ ‘I’m not a prostitute,’ she said, and he knew, just the way she said it, he knew this one had brains. He didn’t know why that just made everything ten times better. Brains usually meant trouble, but he wouldn’t mind trouble from her. ‘Never thought you were,’ he said. ‘Know one?’ he added. ‘One?’ ‘Hotel? Know one we could go to?’ ‘Um… yeah. I mean… yeah, I do.’ ‘Ok.’

So they went, taking a cab, she wouldn’t get into his car. They reached the place, he’d never seen it before, though he knew the street. They went in and she smiled at the girl up front who said ‘Tala! Hey, darling!’ She smiled and they whispered and finally she had a card and they went up to the room. There was a mini bar, she said they could use it, so he mixed a Jack with coke, and they were on the couch and she looked at him with, ‘So. What next?’ He showed her. She loved it. She loved it so much she gave him her number the next mornin’.

October 24, 2014October 24, 2014

for once

Natural.

More of an
afterthought
than an
endeavour

more of a
f
l
o
w
than a
pu – shing – through

more of a
silent
surprise
than a planned-out event.

More of an
‘Oh… did we just…?’
rather than an
‘Ok, let’s do it.’

October 20, 2014May 16, 2020

in the field 2

The doors opened, two guests stepped out and they stepped in. In the compartment there was silence and easy lounge music. Alexis didn’t bother to look at her new roommate. All she could think of was her shower. In less than a minute they were at her door, Alexis opened it and dropped everything the moment she walked in. Finally. the sea the sea After booting up her office laptop, she finally found the time to turn and give Mr Russell a good look. Tall, dark and handsome indeed. They probably saw him and coined the phrase. About thirty, maybe a bit older. And he looked as much in need of a shower as she did. It really was way too humid.

‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather shower first,’ Alexis said, ‘unless you have a pressing need,’ she added, not without a little irony. With looks like that she felt he couldn’t be all that touchy, and she’d been looking forward to that shower since three.
‘No, go ahead,’ he said with that accent Alexis hadn’t heard in a long time.

And as always when she heard it, it softened something inside, not much, but enough to notice. Just then her phone beeped loud, twice. Alexis checked, she had a message. It read that Marc, her colleague back home, had sent her the graphs she asked for. He wanted to know if she got them, the servers had crashed again after they uploaded the new program. Now he wasn’t sure if anything reached anyone.

‘On a second thought, why don’t you go first,’ Alexis said turning back to her computer.
‘Are you sure?’ Mr Russell asked, sounding too polite, never mind the accent.

Ah, he rather wished he didn’t owe her this. Well, she’d rather have had her rooms to herself too, but Claire could look like a lost kitten if she wanted to, it was only one night, and so far Mr Russell didn’t look like a psychopath. Added to that she was dead tired. She had no time to argue.

‘I have to check this, so go ahead,’ Alexis said while sitting down at her laptop. She registered shifting and moving behind her, entered the password and heard how Mr Russell walked past her to the bathroom, the door closing with a quiet click. Alexis opened her email and saw that she had received one from Marc, except that it was void of graphs. She called and told him, Marc said he knew, he wanted to make sure she actually got his mails first, and promptly sent her the actual material. They small talked some more, and Alexis mentioned the charity-work she was currently doing for the hotel. With the shower running on the other side of the bathroom door, she felt safe to vent a little.

‘Russell?’ Marc asked. ‘You don’t mean Russell from Trinity?’
‘Trinity? In Dublin?’
‘No, the one in Beijing,’ Marc snorted. ‘Of course in Dublin.’
‘I’m tired, Marc, can’t expect me to – wait, you mean the Russell from Trinity who wrote about that funeral pyre or what it was they found in Ecuador last year?’
‘Yeah, he was part of the group,’ Marc said, the usual click-clack of his fast-typing fingers still audible over the phone. ‘Yeah, here, Kieran Russell, Trinity College, currently working on the Indigenous Spirit Rituals of Polynesia. I knew I heard that name somewhere.’
‘Spirit Rituals?’
‘Yeah, he’s got this whole thing on spiritualism and how indigenous peoples generally have a link to a non-visible Entity. You know, Karlson’s stuff, life after death, spirits and everything. I think he wrote something on zombie myths, actually. Could be wrong though.’
‘Ok. How long has he been on it? Do you know?’
‘Nope. But…’ more click-clacking from the keyboard, ‘yeah, looks like he’s trying to trace back the roots like Luchovsky -’
‘But Luchovsky’s mad -’
‘Yeah,’ Marc chuckled. ‘Got thrown out of the Vatican last month -’
‘Again? I thought he was banned for life after the crypt?’
‘Nah, cousin’s a cardinal or something. Anyway – this guy’s slant is different.’
‘How so?’
‘Says here, Russell’s about how good old opium for the people’s come to be such big business to day. Lots of heathen cult incorporation, shrines turned to churches, something on the Mars cult – right up Luchovsky’s alley – ’
‘Not much of a Catholic then.’
‘Couldn’t say,’ Marc said, typing on, popping gum. ‘He’s been working with some big names actually – he’s part of that Mexico City network with the pyramid – oh, and he’s worked with our good friend George.’
‘Kaluo?’
‘Yep.’
‘Makes sense,’ Alexis said, hearing the shower pour on. If he could work with George he had to be good. ‘So, what does he look like, exactly?’ Alexis asked, wanting to be sure.
‘Here, check yourself,’ Marc said.

Seconds later, Alexis had a new email, with a link she clicked on. The page popped up showing pictures of a group of faculty, and in the middle of it a familiar face. So it was him, Kieran Russell. Not bad. Not bad at all. Well, at least now she knew who he was.

‘Is it him?’ Marc asked on the other end.
‘Looks like.’
‘Bit good-lookin’ don’t you think?’ Marco mused.
‘Not everyone has to look like Milo,’ Alexis said, which made Marc chuckle again.

Their boss looked like a slim version of Kojak, without the lollipops, and the looks for that matter. Still, Prof. Milos Zetakis was a very able boss and both Alexis and Marc enjoyed working for him. Alexis would have hardly stayed at the department if she hadn’t, and Marc wasn’t someone to tolerate dictatorships.

‘Ok, Marco,’ Alexis sighed, covering a yawn.
‘Polo,’ Marc said on automatic, making Alexis smile.

It was their silly game. Whoever forgot to say Polo had to pay the next round of drinks, never mind if they were on opposite ends of the planet.

‘I think I should stop before my bill eats up my phone,’ Alexis yawned again. Lord, she was tired. Where was the food? ‘I’ll send you everything by, say, tomorrow?’
‘Take your time. Milo won’t be in until day after.’
‘Oh, sweet. Great. God, I’m tired. Sorry, Marc, but I really should go.’
‘Sure. Take your time.’

And Marc was gone. Alexis turned back to her screen. Kieran Russell from Trinity. And he signed in as Mr Russell. Alexis liked that. Most rode on the wave of prestige, and thought writing a treatise automatically put you in a different category of human. Alexis would have preferred Ms Jordan as well, but since Mr Kelly found out what she was doing it was Dr Jordan the moment she walked into the lodge.

Alexis closed the url Marc sent her, opened the files in her mail, set up her field laptop and connected the two computers to process the data she gathered so far. Soon she would have the entire complex in 3D. The past weeks were really only taking measurements and photographs so that she had something solid to work with when she returned home. Then she could finally work on understanding what it was she and Toni had dug up there, Toni who did the wise thing and sped home to his wife and kids once the clouds started showing. pier dark What did they find there, though? An old settlement? A temple? Or something nobody knew about? It was a cooperation with Hawaii State, Toni working on the Islands and Alexis back home, using the gift of the gods named internet to communicate seamlessly. Even so, a few weeks field work were always necessary for Alexis to not lose touch, and now she was on her third week. She had two more to go, and then it would be back to rainy San Francisco again, not that the islands were much better right now anyway, God she was hungry. Really, where was that food?