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TS fic: Jim and Blair’s Castle Adventure Part 2/10
By Sealie and LKY
Warnings and disclaimers in Part One
It was dark and dank and wet and the sea smelled different but not wrong. Jim matched one step for two of Blair’s as they headed to the warmly lit building at the end of the road. He could clearly see a painted sign of a pink pig with black bat wings. Blair started picking up speed.
‘They did food. I hope they still do. They did a good steak and kidney pie that I think you’ll like.”
Blair pushed open the heavy wooded door into a tiny cubby, another heavy door opened into the pub. The room was dressed in dark woods and amber lights – it was warm and welcoming and just what a tired sentinel needed. Somehow the light smoke in the air wasn’t even that awful. Quiet conversation, friendly and relaxed, further loosened the travel weary muscles in Jim’s shoulders. Smells caused his mouth to water with anticipation. He followed his guide between circular tables, careful not to bang into men and women seated in old, frail looking wooden chairs. The ceiling was higher than he was used to.
“Pretty crowded,” Blair said. “I see a place in the back.”
They chose a corner table. Sticky rings of beer marked the table top and Jim looked at the surface with a frown.
“Hey, it’s busy.” Blair was reading his mind again. “They’ll wipe it off. You’re gonna love the food.” He lifted a hand to catch a barmaid’s attention, his face lighting with a smile.
“Well, Chief, you’ve got five minutes to order the food and then they’re stopping serving.”
“What?”
Jim pointed to the sign over the bar.
Blair darted away.
Gingerly, Jim sat on the rickety chair, but it was deceptive; it easily held his weight. He settled back with a sigh. This corner was in the food section and there was a ‘no smoking’ sign on the wall behind him; he was happy.
Blair spoke at normal volume trusting him to hear him over the gentle hubbub of speech in the pub, “Do you trust me to order?”
Jim nodded, but deliberately didn’t listen so that it would come as a surprise. For a moment he lost himself in the gentle ambiance. Blair turned away from the bar, he held two pint glasses. Carefully, he wended his way between the tables.
He set a pint glass before Jim. “I didn’t know that they had this on tap; you’re going to love it.”
Jim took the glass with great deliberation and lifted it to his lips. He could smell hops cut with the delicate scent of honey. He raised an eyebrow.
“Go on,” Blair cajoled.
A suffusion of happy hoppyness succoured sentinel taste buds. Jim was converted in an instance.
“What is this stuff?”
“It’s called Waggledance.”
“I can taste honey.”
“Yup, it’s brewed with honey, hence the name – it refers to the dance that honeybees do in the hive to tell each other where the best pollen is to make honey.”
“Is all the beer like this?”
“Nah, you got a hunt it out, but we’ll find it.”
“Hunting?” Sentinels were good at hunting. “Okay, kid. I’m might trust you to order all my meals.”
“Ohhh, the responsibility is mind boggling.” Blair bobbed in his seat after taking a deep drink. “God, it’s so great to be back here. I can’t believe you’ve never been in England.”
Jim shrugged. “Meant to, but something always came up. My old man’s made the trip enough, though. I think Stephen visited a few times. I guess I just figured I’d take a turn later.”
“In your retirement years, right?” Blair leaned forward. “Might be you’re hard wired to stay close to the tribe. I should run some tests while we’re here.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” It was simply amazing how his partner could turn any conversation into an excuse to wrangle more tests from him. “We’re on vacation that means no tests.”
“What! No way, man. This is a sentinel trip,’ he hissed.
“For your ancient sentinel, focus on him.’ Jim patted his chest. “This sentinel is on va...ca...tion.”
Blair slumped truculently in his seat. “Nah, man, this is a sentinel trip, you’re part and parcel.”
“What part of vacation are you not following?”
“Okay.” Blair took a fortifying deep gulp of beer. “Five possible tests a day,”
Jim snorted. “Not in your life time.”
‘Ah, man, what if I need to. You know, it could help you. It does help you. What if I need your abilities on the hunt?”
Jim sort of let out a reluctant sigh.
Blair pounced on the sea-change. “Three tests?”
Jim simply looked at his younger partner.
“One?” Blair said hopefully. He held up a finger. “One?”
Jim hid a smile. He would have accepted three a day. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But I get to pick the restaurants… and you’re paying for the beer tonight.”
“Pants! Jim, I’m a grad student.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“What?”
“Pants. You said pants.” Jim eyed him through the bottom of the beer glass. “What’s that?”
Blair laughed. “We’re going to have so much fun.” He settled back.
Ah, oh. Lecture-Blair had arrived. True to form Jim was treated to a short speech on local dialect and slang. Jim was wishing for his white noise generators half way through. He’d already curbed the man’s test schedule; he didn’t have the heart to explain the ‘no lecture’ zone he planned to build around his person while in England. Blair took a breath and Jim jumped in.
“Explain this thing you saw on the TV again, Chief? I’m still confused about the Roman part.”
Blair switched subjects like a pro. ”You remember the program.”
Yeah, National Geographic; Blair didn’t actually need any encouragement.
“National Geographic. The presenter was at the Museum of Antiquities in Old Newcastle. That program was interesting, but they were in front of the …”
Jim remembered. Behind the doddery old professor, pontificating on some old statue of a river god which had been dug up, had been a selection of grave goods and statues and crap lying around for what Jim assumed was ambience. There had been a relief of a Roman figure. Blair had been taping the program for posterity and had insisted on multiple viewings of the three second background snip to confirm what he was seeing.
Blair had seen an old Roman sentinel. Or more accurately he had seen a warrior figure with additional symbols that could be construed to represent senses. There was a single eye, a hand, the nose was rather worn looking, but hey – Blair had insisted at great length – you had to consider the wear and tear. Two thousand years could do a number on stone. Blair had insisted the funny oval shape had been an ear. Jim had to agree the mouth was clearly a mouth, after all it had a tongue sticking out.
Even with his typical scepticism, Jim had a feeling Blair was on to something. Simon had reluctantly allowed the last minute vacation plan to go through and the airlines had only charged fifty bucks penalty for booking a frequent flyer ticket at the last minute.
“Your food, sirs.’ The waitress set two full plates on the table.
“You got a rag?” Jim asked.
“Ah, sorry.” Both men picked up their plates allowing the young woman to wipe of the table with the cloth from her apron pocket. “I’ll go get your cutlery. Do you need any condiments?”
“Can I get some ketchup?” Blair asked, she nodded and moved away.
“What have you got me?” Jim leaned over and sniffed suspiciously. He smelled rich meaty gravy, steak and something else which was powerful and somehow smelled dense. His mouth watered. The French fries were chunky and a warm, golden brown; they bore no resemblance to the etiolated fries purchased in McDonalds.
“Steak pie and chips.”
The waitress couldn’t come back fast enough with the knife and folk. Jim captured a fat French fry with his fingers. Not too hot. He dialled down his touch and cranked up his taste as he bit.
Baaaby.
Blair laughed. “I ever tell you you’re a pleasure to watch at the dinner table? You do a great buttermilk donut look, too.”
The waitress returned with the tools required to eat the meal. “Shaddup.” Jim nodded his thanks to the woman and dove in with gusto.
~*~
In spite of the fact his body had lost eight hours, Jim slept through the night without a problem. Travelling with Blair Sandburg was exhausting.
The sky was a battleship grey; rain was imminent so they dressed appropriately. After dinner last night they had walked to a small grocery store for milk, butter, jam and a loaf of bread. The selection hadn’t been great, but it was enough to tide them over until they hit a larger convenience store.
Blair slathered butter on the toast. “We’ll get Prof. Dicksee’s car out and go into town after breakfast.”
Jim shrugged, he was easy. The butter wasn’t salty enough. He stuck his bottom lip out and decided to compensate with jam.
“How’s the insurance going to work?”
“There’s a rider.” Blair waved his hand. “I spoke to Kenneth and he said that he’d put us on Bessie’s insurance. We owe him some money, though.”
Jim shrugged. “Excuse me? Bessie?”
“That’s the name of his car, man.”
“Bessie? What sort of name is Bessie?”
“It was his wife’s name. She died a while back; I think he calls all his cars Bessie. The last one I borrowed was a Range Rover.”
Visions of a manly-man Range Rover rose in Jim’s mind. “What’s he got now?”
“Not sure.”
They finished their breakfast and wandered out the front door. An attached, single story garage snuggled next to the main house. Blair tossed a few keys around on the ring and fit an old skeleton key into the lock. With a turn of his wrist the lock clicked and Jim waited to see their ride.
“What the *hell* is that?” Jim nearly shouted as the door lifted.
Blair laughed out loud. “What do you know? Kenneth is getting fuel conscientious. Who would of thought?”
“I’m not driving with my knees under my chin, Junior.”
“Might be up around your ears, man.” Blair walked into the roomy garage, skirting around the Tonka Toy car to its rear. “Where’d the rest of the car go?”
Jim sighed. God, if they were even bumped from behind they’d be killed. There was no back seat. There was hardly any front seat. “We’ve got motorcycles back home bigger than this.”
“Can’t wait to get a photo of you climbing out of one.” Blair snickered.
“Sandburg!” Jim pushed a finger toward his guide. “Don’t even go there! What the Hell sort of car is it!”
Blair squinted at the logo. He laughed. “It’s a Smart Car. It’s probably for inner city driving.”
“Thank God we’re in another country – nobody’s gonna see us.”
Blair rubbed his hands together. “So I guess I get to drive, since you’re offended and all.”
Jim held out his hand palm up. “Think again. Mario Andretti.”
“Aw, man.” He dumped the keys. Jim paused a moment, actually trying to figure out the logistics of the hideous little car. Reluctantly he opened the door. He could only hope that the seat would go far back.
~*~
Blair clung to the seat belt, a death grin on his face as they careened down the road. “Car! Car!”
“I see it, Sandburg.” Jim was having a good time. The challenge of keeping left, shifting with his left hand and remembering which pedal did what was better than thirty minutes of killing zombies on the X-Box. “You having a nice vacation?”
“I’m rethinking this entire tri- PEDESTRIAN!”
Jim was calm. “I see him, Chief. Stop wetting the seat over there and check the map again. We’ve got to be close.”
Blair grumbled about some obscure point system for sentinel driving that involved different scores for targets that could run fast as he consulted the map unfolded in his lap. “Ah, we can look for parking anywhere.” He glanced up. “There’s one.”
“Shouldn’t we actually *see* this castle?” Jim asked as he slowed.
“It’s close enough, man. You want to see some of the city, don’t you?”
“It’s raining.”
“And that’s different to home, how?”
Jim ignored Blair and the parking space continuing down the road in Tonka the Tiny car. They chucked a left down a narrow alley, cutting through a one way system onto another parallel road. Horns blared.
“There’s the Keep!” Blair screeched. “Parking!”
Taking pity and rather impressed with the aerobic workout that Blair’s heart was getting, Jim pulled a hand brake turn into the parking space. Tonka slipped between the wide parking lines like a knife through hot butter. There was space to spare. “I might buy one of these when we get home. I’ll keep it in the glove box as a spare.”
“I need a beer.” Blair fell out the open door, tripping onto the cobblestone road. He stood up, a hand on the small of his back as he glanced around. “There’s got to be a pub around here somewhere.”
There was and Jim treated his friend to a strong ale. The place was older than dirt and wouldn’t have lasted twenty seconds with an American fire marshal back home. Still, he shelved the part of his brain that looked for danger and decided to get with the spirit of the adventure. They were in England, for God’s sake. No serial killers or no mad bombers in sight. They were just two guys on vacation, hunting down an old stone sentinel. Not even Blair could find trouble on this trip.
“Jim.” Blair drew glyphs in the froth on the top of his beer. “You do realize that you can’t drive anywhere for a while now you’ve had a beer.”
“You can’t either, Einstein. How long did we park for. Oh, silly me,” he intoned, and then said singsong, “All day since we’re going to the Museum of Antiquities.”
“What’s the point of having to come out of the Museum and feed the meter, man?”
“You know, I’m going to insist on one day when we do what I want to do,’
“I took you to the pub last night, and I didn’t insist on the Roman Fort, did I?”
“Quit griping and drink your beer.”
~*~
Blair peered into the glass. “What time is it?”
Jim consulted his watch. “A little before twelve.”
“A bit early for drinking.”
Jim shrugged expressively. “If you figure it right it’s four in the morning. Consider we’ve had a night on the town.”
Blair took a healthy gulp. “We have to go to the Keep now.”
Jim would have preferred to stay out of the grey drizzle and drink robust beer in a warm welcoming pub. He glanced out of the window at the looming, grey dressed Keep. They were going to be in there for hours.
“How much money did you put in the parking metre?” Jim asked.
“Oh, enough to last until after six.”
Jim took a fortifying gulp of beer, draining it to the bottom. “Another beer and a packet of chips, first.” Yes, he was the designated driver, but since they were going to a Museum with Blair Sandburg -- on a sentinel hunt -- he could have one more beer, he was going to be as sober as a judge by the time they headed out.
Dutifully, Blair headed to the bar to get seconds. Jim kept a weather eye out; there was a guy propped out at the far end of the bar who was focussed inwards on some deep dark resentment as he nursed a dark ale.
Blair returned with beer and plastic wrapped sandwiches. “I got you chicken with stuffing and I’ve got cheese and pickle.”
Jim shook his head. How could anyone put a pickle in cheese? Yet another example of Blair's 'when in Rome' zest for life. "Tell me more about this Museum? Castle?"
Blair took a deep drink and carefully wiped his upper lip with his thumb before unwrapping his sandwich. "It's so cool. The place was built late tenth century. One of the sons of William the Conqueror, I think. It's actually amazing that so much of it still stands. We're going into the Keep." The capital letter was obvious.
Jim found his sandwich tasty. The bread tasted as if it had been baked that very morning. "What's a Keep?" he asked after swallowing.
Blair didn't wait to swallow. He talked with one hand guarding Jim from any flying food. "Consider it the strongpoint of the castle, Jim. The commander of the garrison would live inside. Plus there's chambers for the King and Queen, even a chapel. Now it’s also a museum." Blair waggled his eyebrows. "They say it's haunted."
Ghost – oh no, the reprehensible little brat was going to run tests.
“Ah ha ha!” Jim waggled a single finger. “One test a day. You better horde that frugally, Chief, and use it wisely.”
Changing the subject, somewhat gracelessly, Blair offered up his sandwich. “Try it: cheese and pickle.”
“No.”
“Oh, go on. It’s not gherkins, well I think that it might have gherkins in but it’s more piquant with a touch of sweetness.”
“Who’s the sentinel?” Jim snarked.
The man at the bar banged the wooden table top emphatically. “Amanda, another beer.”
“You’ve had enough, Mr. Turner. It’s not even lunch time.”
“Give me the damn beer,” he growled, leaning over the bar and making a drunken sweep at the barmaid.
Jim rose to his feet as the young woman jumped back.
“Come on, sir. Give the young lady a break.”
“They’re all the same,” he garbled. “They say that they’ll give you what to want and then they don’t.”
“Calm down,” Jim said evenly.
The man lurched off his chair and made a ham-handed swing in Jim’s direction. Jim caught the flailing swing and used the momentum to spin the man. The drunk squawked as Jim neatly pushed him face down on the bar.
“Getoffme.”
“Calm down, you’re scaring the young woman.” Jim kept him in a crushing arm lock.
“Miss, you want to call the police?”
Her face twisted unhappily. “Mr. Turner’s wife just left him.”
“That doesn’t excuse him threatening you.” Jim gave the perp a shake. “Looks like the lady's giving you a break, pal. Why don't you walk it off?”
Blair stood near, looking ready to assist. They had the attention of all the bar's patrons. The barmaid twisted a thick towel in her hands as she watched.
“All right, jus' turn me free, damnit.”
Jim stepped back, ready to move in quick if he needed to. With a wave at Blair to make the kid back away should the drunk prove even more stupid than Jim already believed, they waited. The man tossed a crumpled bill onto the bar and left.
“Thank you,” the barmaid said with a sigh. “He's really a nice man. He's just upset, a wee bit?”
Her accent was as charming as her face and Jim couldn't help but smile back. The bar's occupants returned to their own business, the drama curtain closed.
“Jim Ellison,” Jim said, sticking out a hand. “This is my friend, Blair Sandburg.”
“From the States?” She shook his hand and then took Blair's. “On holiday?”
“Yep, I'm a grad student, I've come to view one of the statues in the Museum of Antiquities.” Blair scrabbled in his pocked, pulling out a scrap of paper. “I've got an appointment with a Dr. Bourne.”
She nodded her full bangs bobbing in her eyes. “He comes in here every Friday as regular as clockwork with his postgrad students for lunch.”
“Cool. Don’t blame them.”
Her face lit up in a grin. “My granda's the caretaker of the Keep. Tell him that 'Manda said 'hi' and that I said you should be allowed in the catacombs.”
~*~
End of Part Two
Part Three
Warnings and disclaimers in Part One
It was dark and dank and wet and the sea smelled different but not wrong. Jim matched one step for two of Blair’s as they headed to the warmly lit building at the end of the road. He could clearly see a painted sign of a pink pig with black bat wings. Blair started picking up speed.
‘They did food. I hope they still do. They did a good steak and kidney pie that I think you’ll like.”
Blair pushed open the heavy wooded door into a tiny cubby, another heavy door opened into the pub. The room was dressed in dark woods and amber lights – it was warm and welcoming and just what a tired sentinel needed. Somehow the light smoke in the air wasn’t even that awful. Quiet conversation, friendly and relaxed, further loosened the travel weary muscles in Jim’s shoulders. Smells caused his mouth to water with anticipation. He followed his guide between circular tables, careful not to bang into men and women seated in old, frail looking wooden chairs. The ceiling was higher than he was used to.
“Pretty crowded,” Blair said. “I see a place in the back.”
They chose a corner table. Sticky rings of beer marked the table top and Jim looked at the surface with a frown.
“Hey, it’s busy.” Blair was reading his mind again. “They’ll wipe it off. You’re gonna love the food.” He lifted a hand to catch a barmaid’s attention, his face lighting with a smile.
“Well, Chief, you’ve got five minutes to order the food and then they’re stopping serving.”
“What?”
Jim pointed to the sign over the bar.
Blair darted away.
Gingerly, Jim sat on the rickety chair, but it was deceptive; it easily held his weight. He settled back with a sigh. This corner was in the food section and there was a ‘no smoking’ sign on the wall behind him; he was happy.
Blair spoke at normal volume trusting him to hear him over the gentle hubbub of speech in the pub, “Do you trust me to order?”
Jim nodded, but deliberately didn’t listen so that it would come as a surprise. For a moment he lost himself in the gentle ambiance. Blair turned away from the bar, he held two pint glasses. Carefully, he wended his way between the tables.
He set a pint glass before Jim. “I didn’t know that they had this on tap; you’re going to love it.”
Jim took the glass with great deliberation and lifted it to his lips. He could smell hops cut with the delicate scent of honey. He raised an eyebrow.
“Go on,” Blair cajoled.
A suffusion of happy hoppyness succoured sentinel taste buds. Jim was converted in an instance.
“What is this stuff?”
“It’s called Waggledance.”
“I can taste honey.”
“Yup, it’s brewed with honey, hence the name – it refers to the dance that honeybees do in the hive to tell each other where the best pollen is to make honey.”
“Is all the beer like this?”
“Nah, you got a hunt it out, but we’ll find it.”
“Hunting?” Sentinels were good at hunting. “Okay, kid. I’m might trust you to order all my meals.”
“Ohhh, the responsibility is mind boggling.” Blair bobbed in his seat after taking a deep drink. “God, it’s so great to be back here. I can’t believe you’ve never been in England.”
Jim shrugged. “Meant to, but something always came up. My old man’s made the trip enough, though. I think Stephen visited a few times. I guess I just figured I’d take a turn later.”
“In your retirement years, right?” Blair leaned forward. “Might be you’re hard wired to stay close to the tribe. I should run some tests while we’re here.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” It was simply amazing how his partner could turn any conversation into an excuse to wrangle more tests from him. “We’re on vacation that means no tests.”
“What! No way, man. This is a sentinel trip,’ he hissed.
“For your ancient sentinel, focus on him.’ Jim patted his chest. “This sentinel is on va...ca...tion.”
Blair slumped truculently in his seat. “Nah, man, this is a sentinel trip, you’re part and parcel.”
“What part of vacation are you not following?”
“Okay.” Blair took a fortifying deep gulp of beer. “Five possible tests a day,”
Jim snorted. “Not in your life time.”
‘Ah, man, what if I need to. You know, it could help you. It does help you. What if I need your abilities on the hunt?”
Jim sort of let out a reluctant sigh.
Blair pounced on the sea-change. “Three tests?”
Jim simply looked at his younger partner.
“One?” Blair said hopefully. He held up a finger. “One?”
Jim hid a smile. He would have accepted three a day. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But I get to pick the restaurants… and you’re paying for the beer tonight.”
“Pants! Jim, I’m a grad student.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“What?”
“Pants. You said pants.” Jim eyed him through the bottom of the beer glass. “What’s that?”
Blair laughed. “We’re going to have so much fun.” He settled back.
Ah, oh. Lecture-Blair had arrived. True to form Jim was treated to a short speech on local dialect and slang. Jim was wishing for his white noise generators half way through. He’d already curbed the man’s test schedule; he didn’t have the heart to explain the ‘no lecture’ zone he planned to build around his person while in England. Blair took a breath and Jim jumped in.
“Explain this thing you saw on the TV again, Chief? I’m still confused about the Roman part.”
Blair switched subjects like a pro. ”You remember the program.”
Yeah, National Geographic; Blair didn’t actually need any encouragement.
“National Geographic. The presenter was at the Museum of Antiquities in Old Newcastle. That program was interesting, but they were in front of the …”
Jim remembered. Behind the doddery old professor, pontificating on some old statue of a river god which had been dug up, had been a selection of grave goods and statues and crap lying around for what Jim assumed was ambience. There had been a relief of a Roman figure. Blair had been taping the program for posterity and had insisted on multiple viewings of the three second background snip to confirm what he was seeing.
Blair had seen an old Roman sentinel. Or more accurately he had seen a warrior figure with additional symbols that could be construed to represent senses. There was a single eye, a hand, the nose was rather worn looking, but hey – Blair had insisted at great length – you had to consider the wear and tear. Two thousand years could do a number on stone. Blair had insisted the funny oval shape had been an ear. Jim had to agree the mouth was clearly a mouth, after all it had a tongue sticking out.
Even with his typical scepticism, Jim had a feeling Blair was on to something. Simon had reluctantly allowed the last minute vacation plan to go through and the airlines had only charged fifty bucks penalty for booking a frequent flyer ticket at the last minute.
“Your food, sirs.’ The waitress set two full plates on the table.
“You got a rag?” Jim asked.
“Ah, sorry.” Both men picked up their plates allowing the young woman to wipe of the table with the cloth from her apron pocket. “I’ll go get your cutlery. Do you need any condiments?”
“Can I get some ketchup?” Blair asked, she nodded and moved away.
“What have you got me?” Jim leaned over and sniffed suspiciously. He smelled rich meaty gravy, steak and something else which was powerful and somehow smelled dense. His mouth watered. The French fries were chunky and a warm, golden brown; they bore no resemblance to the etiolated fries purchased in McDonalds.
“Steak pie and chips.”
The waitress couldn’t come back fast enough with the knife and folk. Jim captured a fat French fry with his fingers. Not too hot. He dialled down his touch and cranked up his taste as he bit.
Baaaby.
Blair laughed. “I ever tell you you’re a pleasure to watch at the dinner table? You do a great buttermilk donut look, too.”
The waitress returned with the tools required to eat the meal. “Shaddup.” Jim nodded his thanks to the woman and dove in with gusto.
~*~
In spite of the fact his body had lost eight hours, Jim slept through the night without a problem. Travelling with Blair Sandburg was exhausting.
The sky was a battleship grey; rain was imminent so they dressed appropriately. After dinner last night they had walked to a small grocery store for milk, butter, jam and a loaf of bread. The selection hadn’t been great, but it was enough to tide them over until they hit a larger convenience store.
Blair slathered butter on the toast. “We’ll get Prof. Dicksee’s car out and go into town after breakfast.”
Jim shrugged, he was easy. The butter wasn’t salty enough. He stuck his bottom lip out and decided to compensate with jam.
“How’s the insurance going to work?”
“There’s a rider.” Blair waved his hand. “I spoke to Kenneth and he said that he’d put us on Bessie’s insurance. We owe him some money, though.”
Jim shrugged. “Excuse me? Bessie?”
“That’s the name of his car, man.”
“Bessie? What sort of name is Bessie?”
“It was his wife’s name. She died a while back; I think he calls all his cars Bessie. The last one I borrowed was a Range Rover.”
Visions of a manly-man Range Rover rose in Jim’s mind. “What’s he got now?”
“Not sure.”
They finished their breakfast and wandered out the front door. An attached, single story garage snuggled next to the main house. Blair tossed a few keys around on the ring and fit an old skeleton key into the lock. With a turn of his wrist the lock clicked and Jim waited to see their ride.
“What the *hell* is that?” Jim nearly shouted as the door lifted.
Blair laughed out loud. “What do you know? Kenneth is getting fuel conscientious. Who would of thought?”
“I’m not driving with my knees under my chin, Junior.”
“Might be up around your ears, man.” Blair walked into the roomy garage, skirting around the Tonka Toy car to its rear. “Where’d the rest of the car go?”
Jim sighed. God, if they were even bumped from behind they’d be killed. There was no back seat. There was hardly any front seat. “We’ve got motorcycles back home bigger than this.”
“Can’t wait to get a photo of you climbing out of one.” Blair snickered.
“Sandburg!” Jim pushed a finger toward his guide. “Don’t even go there! What the Hell sort of car is it!”
Blair squinted at the logo. He laughed. “It’s a Smart Car. It’s probably for inner city driving.”
“Thank God we’re in another country – nobody’s gonna see us.”
Blair rubbed his hands together. “So I guess I get to drive, since you’re offended and all.”
Jim held out his hand palm up. “Think again. Mario Andretti.”
“Aw, man.” He dumped the keys. Jim paused a moment, actually trying to figure out the logistics of the hideous little car. Reluctantly he opened the door. He could only hope that the seat would go far back.
~*~
Blair clung to the seat belt, a death grin on his face as they careened down the road. “Car! Car!”
“I see it, Sandburg.” Jim was having a good time. The challenge of keeping left, shifting with his left hand and remembering which pedal did what was better than thirty minutes of killing zombies on the X-Box. “You having a nice vacation?”
“I’m rethinking this entire tri- PEDESTRIAN!”
Jim was calm. “I see him, Chief. Stop wetting the seat over there and check the map again. We’ve got to be close.”
Blair grumbled about some obscure point system for sentinel driving that involved different scores for targets that could run fast as he consulted the map unfolded in his lap. “Ah, we can look for parking anywhere.” He glanced up. “There’s one.”
“Shouldn’t we actually *see* this castle?” Jim asked as he slowed.
“It’s close enough, man. You want to see some of the city, don’t you?”
“It’s raining.”
“And that’s different to home, how?”
Jim ignored Blair and the parking space continuing down the road in Tonka the Tiny car. They chucked a left down a narrow alley, cutting through a one way system onto another parallel road. Horns blared.
“There’s the Keep!” Blair screeched. “Parking!”
Taking pity and rather impressed with the aerobic workout that Blair’s heart was getting, Jim pulled a hand brake turn into the parking space. Tonka slipped between the wide parking lines like a knife through hot butter. There was space to spare. “I might buy one of these when we get home. I’ll keep it in the glove box as a spare.”
“I need a beer.” Blair fell out the open door, tripping onto the cobblestone road. He stood up, a hand on the small of his back as he glanced around. “There’s got to be a pub around here somewhere.”
There was and Jim treated his friend to a strong ale. The place was older than dirt and wouldn’t have lasted twenty seconds with an American fire marshal back home. Still, he shelved the part of his brain that looked for danger and decided to get with the spirit of the adventure. They were in England, for God’s sake. No serial killers or no mad bombers in sight. They were just two guys on vacation, hunting down an old stone sentinel. Not even Blair could find trouble on this trip.
“Jim.” Blair drew glyphs in the froth on the top of his beer. “You do realize that you can’t drive anywhere for a while now you’ve had a beer.”
“You can’t either, Einstein. How long did we park for. Oh, silly me,” he intoned, and then said singsong, “All day since we’re going to the Museum of Antiquities.”
“What’s the point of having to come out of the Museum and feed the meter, man?”
“You know, I’m going to insist on one day when we do what I want to do,’
“I took you to the pub last night, and I didn’t insist on the Roman Fort, did I?”
“Quit griping and drink your beer.”
~*~
Blair peered into the glass. “What time is it?”
Jim consulted his watch. “A little before twelve.”
“A bit early for drinking.”
Jim shrugged expressively. “If you figure it right it’s four in the morning. Consider we’ve had a night on the town.”
Blair took a healthy gulp. “We have to go to the Keep now.”
Jim would have preferred to stay out of the grey drizzle and drink robust beer in a warm welcoming pub. He glanced out of the window at the looming, grey dressed Keep. They were going to be in there for hours.
“How much money did you put in the parking metre?” Jim asked.
“Oh, enough to last until after six.”
Jim took a fortifying gulp of beer, draining it to the bottom. “Another beer and a packet of chips, first.” Yes, he was the designated driver, but since they were going to a Museum with Blair Sandburg -- on a sentinel hunt -- he could have one more beer, he was going to be as sober as a judge by the time they headed out.
Dutifully, Blair headed to the bar to get seconds. Jim kept a weather eye out; there was a guy propped out at the far end of the bar who was focussed inwards on some deep dark resentment as he nursed a dark ale.
Blair returned with beer and plastic wrapped sandwiches. “I got you chicken with stuffing and I’ve got cheese and pickle.”
Jim shook his head. How could anyone put a pickle in cheese? Yet another example of Blair's 'when in Rome' zest for life. "Tell me more about this Museum? Castle?"
Blair took a deep drink and carefully wiped his upper lip with his thumb before unwrapping his sandwich. "It's so cool. The place was built late tenth century. One of the sons of William the Conqueror, I think. It's actually amazing that so much of it still stands. We're going into the Keep." The capital letter was obvious.
Jim found his sandwich tasty. The bread tasted as if it had been baked that very morning. "What's a Keep?" he asked after swallowing.
Blair didn't wait to swallow. He talked with one hand guarding Jim from any flying food. "Consider it the strongpoint of the castle, Jim. The commander of the garrison would live inside. Plus there's chambers for the King and Queen, even a chapel. Now it’s also a museum." Blair waggled his eyebrows. "They say it's haunted."
Ghost – oh no, the reprehensible little brat was going to run tests.
“Ah ha ha!” Jim waggled a single finger. “One test a day. You better horde that frugally, Chief, and use it wisely.”
Changing the subject, somewhat gracelessly, Blair offered up his sandwich. “Try it: cheese and pickle.”
“No.”
“Oh, go on. It’s not gherkins, well I think that it might have gherkins in but it’s more piquant with a touch of sweetness.”
“Who’s the sentinel?” Jim snarked.
The man at the bar banged the wooden table top emphatically. “Amanda, another beer.”
“You’ve had enough, Mr. Turner. It’s not even lunch time.”
“Give me the damn beer,” he growled, leaning over the bar and making a drunken sweep at the barmaid.
Jim rose to his feet as the young woman jumped back.
“Come on, sir. Give the young lady a break.”
“They’re all the same,” he garbled. “They say that they’ll give you what to want and then they don’t.”
“Calm down,” Jim said evenly.
The man lurched off his chair and made a ham-handed swing in Jim’s direction. Jim caught the flailing swing and used the momentum to spin the man. The drunk squawked as Jim neatly pushed him face down on the bar.
“Getoffme.”
“Calm down, you’re scaring the young woman.” Jim kept him in a crushing arm lock.
“Miss, you want to call the police?”
Her face twisted unhappily. “Mr. Turner’s wife just left him.”
“That doesn’t excuse him threatening you.” Jim gave the perp a shake. “Looks like the lady's giving you a break, pal. Why don't you walk it off?”
Blair stood near, looking ready to assist. They had the attention of all the bar's patrons. The barmaid twisted a thick towel in her hands as she watched.
“All right, jus' turn me free, damnit.”
Jim stepped back, ready to move in quick if he needed to. With a wave at Blair to make the kid back away should the drunk prove even more stupid than Jim already believed, they waited. The man tossed a crumpled bill onto the bar and left.
“Thank you,” the barmaid said with a sigh. “He's really a nice man. He's just upset, a wee bit?”
Her accent was as charming as her face and Jim couldn't help but smile back. The bar's occupants returned to their own business, the drama curtain closed.
“Jim Ellison,” Jim said, sticking out a hand. “This is my friend, Blair Sandburg.”
“From the States?” She shook his hand and then took Blair's. “On holiday?”
“Yep, I'm a grad student, I've come to view one of the statues in the Museum of Antiquities.” Blair scrabbled in his pocked, pulling out a scrap of paper. “I've got an appointment with a Dr. Bourne.”
She nodded her full bangs bobbing in her eyes. “He comes in here every Friday as regular as clockwork with his postgrad students for lunch.”
“Cool. Don’t blame them.”
Her face lit up in a grin. “My granda's the caretaker of the Keep. Tell him that 'Manda said 'hi' and that I said you should be allowed in the catacombs.”
~*~
End of Part Two
Part Three