Echoes Through the Mist: A Paranormal Mystery (The Echoes Quartet Book 1) (26 page)

“Force is it? There is not force enough that will save that piece of shit and why are you protecting him anyway?”

“Swear the oath as I ask or I will have you read out from the pulpit on Sunday. Don’t worry about the reason. Father Fahey will believe whatever I make up.”

“What! You wouldn’t.”

“I will do whatever it takes. I will involve the church, I will invoke the Hagan, I will talk with your lovely wife, but you will swear this oath, so do it as a friend and we’ll have done with it.”

“You are a hard and evil man and probably a pagan, Julian Blessing, that you would bring down the saints in heaven and the devils from below and if that wasn’t enough you would cause me own wife to lash me with her tongue.

“Hard you have become since you’ve come among us and evil since you took up your unholy practices with the help of that witch. Not even your most recent activities,” and Sean paused for dramatic effect, “seem to have moderated you, now, have they?”

***

Arriving in Dublin, Julian’s first stop was the Irish Nationwide Building Society on the Grand Parade. After that, he took a taxi to the Bank of Ireland where his business was conducted in less then an hour. From there, it was only a short walk across Westmoreland Street to Trinity College. After receiving directions, Julian found Professor Reginald Bragonier in one of the vast lecture halls before a packed house.

Julian slipped into a back seat in a top tier and watched as the professor demonstrated how much he loved teaching and how much he cared for his students.

“Mr. Hanraty, I am sure you are a secret Scotsman sent among us to break the spirit of Irish university students and their sainted professors. I know this because no one could know less about Irish history then you. Sit down.”

“Miss Fitzsimons, tell us all, if you would, when the first people came to Ireland.”

A short, red haired young woman with glasses and a well-you’re-certainly-an-eejit look about her, stood. “10,000 BC. The earliest settlers arrived in Ireland in the Mesolithic or Middle Stone Age period. It is believed they crossed by land bridge from Scotland and there is evidence to support that postulation. These people were mainly hunters-gathers who...”

“Ah, that is lovely,” the professor said. “Mr. Hanraty, what have you to say to Miss Fitzsimons?”

“I have to say she is a up-sucking little toady who…”

“Oh, do shut up Hanraty. You are a tedious boy.” The class laughed with the exception of Miss Fitzsimons.

A bell rang in the distance and the denizens of the lecture hall began to pack up their things. Professor Bragonier raised his voice and said, “Read all of chapters five through seven and be prepared to discuss, in detail, what archeology has to say about these early settlers. I will give you a hint – the Ceide Fields of County Mayo. Now go and be well.”

The hall emptied as Professor Bragonier gathered his books and papers and stuffed them into his ancient valise.

A voice rang out from the top tier of the lecture hall that startled the old man. “What is this and why is it in Ireland?” Julian asked and removed the Roman sword from his pack and held it by the pummel with the point down. He was still in shadow but his arm and the sword caught the light from a nearby long narrow window.

The professor peered into the darkness. Although he couldn’t see the detail, the unique shape made the sword easy to identify. The professor’s manner became guarded. “Where did you get that?” He tried to keep the excitement out of his voice, but Julian could feel the anticipatory thrill building in his friend, the professor.

Julian said, “Please answer my question first, if you don’t mind.”

“Do I know you? There is something about your voice that is familiar to me. Tell me stranger, what manner of man are you? What is your name?” The professor said.

“Sorry, Professor Bragonier,” Julian taunted. “To learn more, you first must answer my question.”

Although tired of the game, the professor was drowning in curiosity. “What you have there,” the professor said, “is what remains of a Gladius or Roman short sword from the early empire, I should think. Gladii were two-edged for cutting and had a tapered point for stabbing and thrusting. A knobbed hilt with ridges for the fingers would have provided a solid grip. That bit looks to be missing from your specimen. Why it is in Ireland is impossible to tell for certain. I do not trade in conjecture. Facts are my game.”

“Well then, it would seem you are the man I am looking for.” Julian worked his way from the top tier toward the professor’s desk being careful to stay in the shadows against the wall as long as possible. It wasn’t until Julian stepped onto the raised rostrum that Professor Bragonier’s face split into an infectious grin, and he rushed around his podium to grasp Julian by the hand.

“Friend Blessing, ’pon my word it is good to see you. We had not heard anything from you and assumed the Irish countryside had swallowed you up whole. Still, the good Mrs. Bragonier assured me you were in good hands and I take her words seriously. Although you do look a bit shop worn. What have you done to yourself just there?” The professor indicated the scar on Julian’s cheek looking at it through his bifocals. Receiving no reply, he went on, “I must say it gives you that old Heidelberg fencing scar look. Very dashing and rakish I must admit. I’m sure you drive the women mad,” the professor said.

“Anyway, this is my last class for the day. Let’s go across the street to a pub and overwhelm ourselves with strong spirits while we catch up and you can tell me all about what you’ve brought me.”

“We can do that in a bit, Professor. Do you have an office? We need someplace very private and preferably very secure to talk.”

“I do, but what is this all about?”

“It is about history, Professor – discovering it and making it.”

“Ah, my dear Blessing, you have been too long among the heathens of Ireland. You’ve begun to think like them, dribbling out your information with diabolical slowness. I expected you would be able to withstand the Irish onslaught, but alas. Life is a great sadness you know.”

The professor hurried down a corridor and with his longer legs Julian followed at an easy pace. At the end of the hallway, they found themselves in a small room with a pleasant view of Nassau Street. Within the embrace of the arms of an upholstered chair were stacks of books.

The old man unceremoniously dumped these onto the threadbare Persian rug. He turned briskly and cleared space on his cluttered desk. “Come along, man. I’ve not got years and years of life left in me. Take a seat and show me what you’ve brought for I know you’ve brought me something of value.” The professor’s eyes sparkled.

Julian again produced the sword. The professor was mesmerized for a moment before caution set in. He moved quickly to the door, locked it, and then returned to his desk and Julian’s find.

The old man took the tang between two fingers and carefully inspected the blade. Rust had eaten deeply into the surface, pitting and discoloring it, but still he was stunned into a contemplative silence.

“Professor, a question if you don’t mind?” Julian asked.

Deeply distracted, the professor said, “Of course, old man, of course.”

“How did something like this find its way to a cave on the eastern coast of Ireland?”

“Huh? Oh, any of a dozen ways really. To be sure this is an interesting find, but it could have washed up on the shore through currents of various sorts then been carried inland by some locals who thought to hide it for later sale. Alternately, a lot of other invaders have come and gone from Ireland. Many of them had dealings with Roman Britain. It is possible it was left when the invaders left, it may have been traded for goods, something like that.

“You’ve avoided naming the Romans. Did they ever invade Ireland, Professor?” Julian’s eyes narrowed.

“Invade? No. At least according to the Irish an invasion never happened. They do accept the Romans may possibly have had trading outposts along the coast though. That might account for your find.”

“Professor, what if I told you that I could pin-point a period and state definitively that the Romans were doing more than trading in Ireland? Would that prove helpful?”

“Don’t play the jackanapes with me, Blessing. I need facts, my boy, facts.”

Julian pulled a small cloth bag from his jacket pocket, emptied it into his hand and stacked up a column of Roman coins on the old man’s desk.

Professor Bragonier’s hand trembled as he reached for the topmost coin. He scooted around his desk and located a magnifying glass. Easily seen were the motto PAX AVGVSTS C and the profile of the Emperor Vespasian.

“These are in remarkable shape, Blessing. Still this really doesn’t indicate anything other than a trading post.”

“Come and sit, Professor, I have a story. It is one I need to tell and it is one you need to hear.”

***

Julian told his story with an eye to what his audience would appreciate from the perspective of history.

“Two hundred thousand more coins? A dozen more swords? If anyone but you told me this story, I would not believe him. Still, I wonder if…”

“The number of coins is an estimate, but I can say it is conservative. I didn’t want to disturb anything I didn’t have to. What do you wonder, Professor?”

“Ah, I need to think and we need to conspire. For that we need a pub. Follow me.”

***

The professor ordered claret and Julian asked the barman for Guinness. They secured for themselves a table in a dark corner. Julian set the drinks down and found Professor Bragonier staring intently into the middle distance. The old man required every detail, so Julian began his story again.

At the end of the tale, they sat and drank in silence until the claret was gone. The professor rose without speaking and wandered off in a distracted way toward a corridor behind the bar.

Upon his return, the older man was resolute. He had come to a decision – the sort of decision that would make a career or leave it in tatters.

“I’ve phoned Mrs. Bragonier to tell her I am bringing someone home to surprise her. She was quite cross when I wouldn’t tell her who, but that will all be as nothing once she sets eyes on you. As you know she has the Sight, but thank God she can’t see everything. I’m still able to hide a thing or two.”

Julian said, “Professor, let’s assume something I know will go against your grain. Let’s assume that what I’ve told you is all the evidence you have. No research and no resources are available to you beyond what I’ve told you and your experience as an historian. What do we have?”

Julian’s companion took a deep breath, held it then exhaled slowly. “You are a cruel man Julian Blessing. You are right – this goes against the grain. Facts and more facts are what we need, but with a gun to my head I would have to say what we have are several Roman legions at the very least on Ireland’s shores. It is either that or one of the most profound mysteries I’ve met in all my years. And that, my boy, is a lot of years.”

The professor stopped speaking and was staring at the glass in Julian’s hand. His plea was fervent. “Oh, please tell me you have not developed a taste for that,” the old man said indicating Julian’s glass of stout.

Julian thought for a moment, grinned and said, “Ach, stout is it? ’Tis like dis it stands w’me, Professor, darlin’ an mind Oi’ll not be actin’ the maggot w’ya. Well den, Oi rightly have a taste o’ da stout developed actually. Ween a God fearin’ gentleman ’tis tursty, well, stout’s your only man. Ah, sure but that’s only when Oi can’t lay hands on some poitin.”

Professor Bragonier sat slack-jawed with a look of horror on his face while looking intently at Julian. “I was afraid something like this might happen. You’ve gone native on us. Stout is little more than mud in a cup and as for poitin, well it is good enough to run internal combustion engines, but it is not meant for human consumption,” the professor said with a shudder and added, “Though that never stopped the Irish.”

“Let’s be off Julian, before you decide to dance a hornpipe, sing morbid suicide-inducing songs or do something else equally Irish and thus repulsively picturesque. You really have gone native on us, haven’t you? Such a shame.”

***

Bridget became radiant at the sight of Julian but paled as she embraced him and then took his face in her hands. One slender finger delicately touched the angry scar on his cheek. Julian could see clearly with her one gesture, in that one moment, she knew and felt and saw so much.

“My Ireland has changed you, Julian, and the change suits you. You are strong and fit but there are other changes too. I am so glad to see you. My husband kept your identity a secret from me and for that he will pay a mighty price, but for now let us sit and talk as friends.”

“You will both have to excuse me. I have a small bit of research to do before supper. Call me when you are ready to sit down if you would, my dear,” the professor said and kissed his wife’s cheek.

“That assumes you will be invited to supper, husband. On that subject I am still making up my mind,” Mrs. Bragonier answered.

The professor smiled and headed off to his study. The lady of the house began to lead Julian to the best room, but he gently took her by the arm and indicated the kitchen.

“My, but you have been assimilated quickly.” Her eyes were alive. “I can see there is to be no parlor for a fine Irishman like Julian Blessing,” Bridget said and smiled.

“Not when the warmth of a good kitchen is going to waste. Besides, if there is something stronger than tea it is likely to be hidden away in the pantry,” and Julian winked.

“Sit, Julian, and I will fix us tea for that is all you will get before dinner and the fault for that is entirely your own. It will be hours until my husband is ready to emerge from his study unless he has a revelation of some sort. Then it may be days.

“You have set him a task and he will not let it go until he sees the end of it, I am afraid. He has not told me anything about this quest you have put him on, but I will know it all quite soon. While he does his research, you must tell me everything. I must know every detail of what has happened with you.”

“First of all, Bridget, it is an indescribable pleasure to see you. I have missed you more than you will ever know.”

“Indescribable pleasure? Is that what you said? You have been associating with Irishmen of the wrong sort. Nothing else could explain why you would waste your honeyed words on me.”

A twinkle developed in Julian’s eye as he remembered how much he liked this woman. He could not, however, afford to underestimate her. He might have played it differently if he had Ailís on the trip with him. But he had secrets to keep and surprises to spring. He dare not let his guard down for a moment.

His companion said, “As you know I am unreasonably curious by nature and simply must know how you have managed to grow into yourself so fully and so quickly.” The woman with the silver hair and alluring smile touched Julian’s arm and said, “Now tell all so an old woman can have some small enjoyment in her life.”

Bridget took Julian’s hand in hers and set her free hand on his chest above his heart. The jolt was strong and electrical just like it had been the first time but Julian absorbed it easily and returned a fair portion of it to its source. Bridget’s eyes opened wide, the smile melted on her lips and she withdrew startled.

Her eyes narrowed and she said, “Oh my, you are a different man altogether then when we first met, Julian. Different and unreasonably impudent. You should have warned me. I was not prepared for the amount of progress you have made. I will not make that mistake again.

“You have become quite good at protecting your thoughts too. I should have known. When you arrived today, you were indistinct, hazy to me, not at all transparent, as you were when I last saw you. Still, do not think you can get away with it for long. I have ways you can not even dream of and years of experience beyond counting.”

Julian smiled and took both of her hands in his. “Bridget, let me tell you a story.”

***

Bridget watched Julian closely and noted that much had changed about him since they parted. His gestures were slower, easier, more comfortable and expressive. Even his speech had taken on a fluid elegance.

Many of his sharp and hard edges were gone, replaced by a calm, simple confidence. More than anything else, she noticed his eyes and his speech. When he was being fully honest with himself, his eyes and his voice took on a maturity far beyond his years. He was gaining wisdom. She listened intently as he told his story.

Their tea had gone cold long before he reached the end. Neither had taken a sip. Two friends sat in a warm kitchen each lost in private thoughts.

“You have suffered, Julian,” Bridget began slowly. “That much is plain. You have tried to minimize this for my sake and it is sweet of you to make the attempt, but I know the truth of it.

“You may try to keep the memories locked away, but that level of violence and trauma cannot be hidden for long. The experiences of evil, along with the others you have had, have changed you on a fundamental level. That, however, is not the only change, is it?”

She smiled broadly, wickedly. Julian noticed and tried to strengthen his defenses. Bridget continued, “You have come to accept yourself for who and what you are. You have taken responsibility for your valley and its residents. But that is not all that is attractive to you in your little piece of Ireland, is it?” Bridget Bragonier’s smile was knowing and turned her face luminous.

“What do you mean?” Julian answered too quickly. He knew she was on to him and tried every trick he had been taught to close that thought down, to hold it away from his friend.

Her smile broadened further and the lines around her eyes deepened into rivulets of enjoyment at Julian’s intense discomfort. She took pleasure as she watched his mind work and marveled at his skill.

“Save yourself the trouble, Julian. Although you are really quite good, it is too late and while you spin, turn, and twist you only reveal more to me. You might protect your thoughts, but you did not think to hide your heart from me. Could it be our boy is in love?”

“Who is in love, eh?” the professor boomed as he shuffled into the kitchen. With a smoking jacket on over his shirt and tie, half glasses low on his nose and books tucked under each arm, Professor Reginald Bragonier looked every bit the bookish professor of history.

“That would be our friend Julian,” the professor’s wife answered while Julian said nothing. His lips were tight and his face felt like he was standing before a blast furnace, but he would not speak and he would not relax his guard.

“What marvelous news, my boy, simply marvelous. Everybody should be in love. The lovely Mrs. Bragonier has been in love with my good self for nearly, what, fifty years isn’t it and it hasn’t done her a bit of harm. In fact, I would go so far as to say it has made her the woman she is today. By all means, be in love I say.”

His wife turned and looked down her long patrician nose. In a tone that stopped the professor abruptly, she asked, “And you Reginald, have you not been in love for the past forty-six years and has it done you any harm? Has it not made you the man you are today?”

Julian exhaled and his shoulders dropped somewhat. He felt drained and was only too happy to let someone else take the force of Bridget’s intense scrutiny.

“Of course, my dear, how could you think otherwise?” the professor said and smiled bravely.

His smile dimmed and he took on a panicked look as she asked, “Of course, what, Reginald? Of course you have been in love or of course it has done you harm perhaps?”

“My darling, you are twisting my words and you know that isn’t a nice thing to do when we have a guest and…”

“Answer now, Reginald, if you please. You would not want me to misconstrue what you have said, would you? After all, I am but a poor smitten woman, who, it seems, would simply wither if it were not for you. Thank you kind sir for having taken pity on me – and I will take my answer now.” Bridget’s acid rolled over her husband in rivulets.

“Now my dearest Bridget – Hmmm, what was the question again?”