LKY wouldn’t let me use the ‘F’ word…
Jim and Blair do old England
Jim paused at the door of the loft, trying to figure out the cadence of the physical signs that he was sensing. Excitement he understood. Well, the heavy breathing first made him think that the little goober was up to something else, but then he realized that the jumping up and down was entirely unrelated. The “oh my god1” “Oh my god!’ kind of sat in the general thought where he was first going but the scent told him something else.
Jim turned the key in the door, and let himself into his home. Blair came to earth with a final bounce.
Ah, Jim, noted, National Geographic was on the television.
“Jim! Jim! Jim!” Blair pointed at the screen. “ Look!”
Jim rolled his eyes heavenward, National Geographic – that explained everything.
“Jim, I think I might have found a new sentinel!”
“Sandburg –“
“No, wait a second, man. Listen to me. The stone image and the Eye. Why didn’t I see this before? My God! I’m an idiot.”
Jim closed the door with a soft snick and promptly turned out Blair’s ramble. He was tired, dead tired. The sort of exhaustion that makes a man wonder why he ever went into law enforcement in the first place. Dealing with projectile vomiting, a toner explosion – that was not his fault – in Rhonda’s copy machine, an irate police commissioner and thirteen cub scouts on a surprise tour of the police station was too much for one man to handle.
Jim headed for the ‘keeper of the cold beer’ and opened the door. Twisting off the cap he started nodding his head as if he were listening.
There was something soothing about the rhythm of Blair (as background noise) but actually having to listen to him burble after a long day was a nightmare all in itself. Jim debated with sort of slipping in a whining: ‘ the toner kind of made my skin tingle’ to get the grad student off his weird sentinel track.
“The sensory imagery is there, man!” Blair was saying.
Jim wondered if the kid could converse without finishing a sentence in an exclamation mark.
“Look,” he interrupted, ‘do you want to just slow down and give it to me straight. Pretend I’m a freshman or something. I’m not following you, Chief, an after the day I’ve had – you know, I don’t give a snowballs...”
The kid abruptly segued into sympathetic, understanding. “Oh, Jim. Big Guy, what… er… I’m.. what kind a day have to had. I’ve had an amazing…. Look…”
Holding up a free hand, because he was not setting down his beer, Jim tried one more interruption. “Frankly, Blair, unless your amazing announcement involves me getting away from my current life for a few weeks – and I mean a total change of pace here because I’m considering a stunning career in Tupperware sales – I’m not interested. Get my drift?”
Blair smiled angelically.
Which should have been the first clue that Jim had made a very stupid statement.
******************
Jim sighed as the 747 lifted off the ground.
When had he lost control of his life?
“Jim, you’re so going to love England. I know the weather’s sort of iffy, but I just know we’re really on something, ya know?”
“Riight.”
“I’m just glad we had our passports in order. Coz smuggling into a country is not something I want to do again. Did I ever tell you about the time…”
~*~
The plan droned on towards the setting sun or was that the rising sun. Jim wasn’t too sure that Sentinels should travel long distances, wasn’t he supposed to be a local phoneme or something. He ground his teeth; damn, that would have been a good excuse to get out of this damn trip. The student traveler par extraordinaire complete with ear plugs, eye guard, hooded top pulled up and over his head and down over his chin, chamomile tea, two blankets (the extra acquired from the effervescent air hostess), shoes removed and his anti-deep vein thrombosis socks in place was deep, deep, deep in the land of nod.
Jim was wide awake.
Mentally, he debated the pros and cons of a delicately applied elbow.
He couldn’t sleep. He was bored. They were in cattle class. There was no room.
He was going to get cramps and die. It smelled. Blair had taken his socks off.
They so were flying back first class.
A snort and huff. Blair lifted a corner of his mast and rolled his head to stab Jim with a concerned look. “What’s the dial on, Jim?”
The whisper was soft, too light to be heard beyond the two of them as they flew at some thirty thousand feet above the globe. Yet Jim’s ire rose to the altitude of their jet. Why couldn’t he just relax like the others on the plane? He’d watched as all the fellow passengers had migrated through the long lines of security. He’d picked up no gun oil traces or explosives around them.
Jim squirmed in his seat. Always the cop. Even if he hadn’t been a sentinel he’d probably worry about stupid things happening around them.
But then again, if he wasn’t a sentinel, Blair wouldn’t be putting up with him.
“I’m fine.”
“What is it?”
“It’s … eight.”
“Okay,” Blair said patiently, sitting up. “Let’s start with some breathing, slow and calm. In through your nose and out through your mouth. Take it in over a count of five.”
Blair rose up in his seat as he demonstrated, hands brushing his chest as he inhaled. Jim duck low in his seat – thankful that it was late in the night and the lights were down.
People were going to be wondering about Blair.
“Come on, man. In out.”
Growling, Jim made a feeble attempt.
“You know, if you’re not going to even try...”
Jim muttered truculently.
“Don’t be such a grinch. Do you want to sleep?”
Jim tried, he did, really he did, but it was embarrassing.
“Nobody’s watching man,” Blair said, reading his mind (Jim didn’t like it when he did that). “In fact a bunch of people have used meditation to get to sleep, it’s not unusual. It’s not impacting on your masculinity.”
“Kid, shut up, I’m trying to meditate.”
Comically, Blair slapped his hands over his mouth. “Excuse me,” he mumbled.
Jim searched for strength. Why did he even bother to get the upper hand with this misfit in the first place? Verbally paring with Blair was risky when he felt a hundred and ten. He should know better than try it when he felt…
Better. He felt much better. Jim felt an eyebrow lift in surprise, recognizing Blair’s smug look. “Okay, fine then. How about you go shut up before you wake the rest of the plane?” Jim pinched the earplugs into place and made an elaborate show of getting comfortable. Still he had no problem hearing his guide mutter in answer.
“I was sleeping, Jimbo, remember?”
***********************
Heathrow was impossible. Lewis and Clark the Explorers couldn’t have stood a chance, with or without a ‘Corps of Discovery’. They needed to move from international to domestic. That meant following the lines through customs. Blair forged ahead like the well seasoned traveler that he was. Jim wasn’t a naïve traveler; he had been plenty of places, but with the army, not commercially. Army was different.
Jim trooped along with the rest of the cattle, all that was lacking was the border collies, then again that was the ladies with the short skirts and the men with the moustaches watching them. Why were they all moustached? Weird.
Another escalator and other concourse.
Jim turned to go down an escalator and Blair caught his elbow.
“This way, man.”
“But…”
“We’re going to customs, that way’s outward international flights – We’ll be going that way in a fortnight – that’s two weeks, man.”
They shuffled into a queue (line) toward the customs booth. Blair pulled out his passport and waved it, indicating that Jim needed his. Rolling his eyes, Jim pulled out his pristine, well-looked after passport.
Blair’s was dog-eared.
Jim watched his partner lean against the high counter and schmooze the customs officer like a cowboy bellying up to a bar, at home and settling in. The customs officer lasted for a brisk thirty seconds before breaking into a reluctant smile at something Blair had said. They continued along in a manner that reminded Jim of two old friends catching up.
“Next.” The order was sharp and impatient.
Jim’s turn had arrived and while Blair and his officer chatted, Jim got grilled one booth over.
“Name?”
“James Joseph Ellison.”
“Reason for visit.”
“Vacation.”
“How long are you in our country?”
Jim took a moment to contemplate the implied tone. What? Was he suddenly a Viking Marauder bringing his ship into a moonlit bay to ravage and pillar?
What did Blair say? Jim intoned, “I’m here for a fortnight.”
“Where are you staying?”
Crap! “I’m staying with a colleague of my partner?”
An eyebrow rose heavenward.
“I’m a cop. My partner - he’s over there - Sandburg has a friend in the North East of England. He’s letting us use his place. The address is.”” -- Jim snapped his fingers. “--Professor Dicksee, at Spittel House, in some suburb of Garthside upon Tyne. You’ll have to ask Sandburg.”
Shit, this was embarrassing.
The officer slowly passed the passport through the reader.
With a sigh worthy of a man who had just accomplished the unachievable, Jim accepted his passport and quickly moved to join Blair.
“We’ve got time for a coffee,” his self appointed tour guide announced happily.
“Do the words ‘jet’ and ‘lag’ even exist in your world, Sandburg?” Jim grumbled.
“Yeah, yeah, you need coffee.” Blair ensnarled one of Jim’s arms and pulled. “Come on, my treat.”
“Do they even do coffee over here? I thought it was tea.”
“Starbucks is an epidemic. Tea’s all right. I can get you a proper tea.”
“What’s a proper tea?”
“They put cream in it – well weird.”
“Coffee,” Jim intoned.
“I’ll even try and see if I can score you a donut.”
Dutifully (yah, right), he followed Blair through the labyrinth – ending up in Gate 5. It smelled kind of weird, sort of old, tired sweaty bodies. He allowed Blair to conduct him to the far corner of the large windowed room and be plonked down next to a sad looking rubber plant.
“Watch my laptop.’ Blair set it on the floor at his feet. Jim realized that Blair had placed them next to the only power point in the whole waiting hall. There was a Costa Coffee at the opposite end of the hall. Blair headed towards the Temple.
Jim could smell pastries.
Life was looking better already.
********************
The taxi driver let them out onto a wet sidewalk. The salt heavy air lifted some of the exhaustion in Jim’s joints. He stood, breathing deeply and sending his sight piercingly into the evening darkness, nearly zoning on the crashing waves of the North Sea.
“Thanks for the ride, sir.” Blair handed over the proper fare and closed the door with a zone-breaking slam. “Ready to see our home away from home?”
“You didn’t tell me we’d be on the coast.” Jim took a surer grip on his luggage and turned to survey the two storey brick building before them. A duplex of sorts with a small flagstone entry to a three step stoop, Jim pondered on the building’s age.
Blair juggled through the set of keys that he had picked up from a postgraduate student during their brief stop at the local University. He held them up before his eyes trying to read a paper sticky pad which said front door.
“This is it.”
The heavy wooden door swung open with a thud.
“Professor Dicksee is on sabbatical in South Africa researching the Popoit tribe. He’s okay with us looking after his house. He didn’t want it empty the whole time.”
Blair dragged his bulging canvas bag into the foyer and dumped it. He drew in a breath. “Whoa, I wonder how long it’s been shut up.”
Jim wafted the door back and forth trying to get some air into the mausoleum.
“It’ll air out, man.”
Reluctantly, Jim entered. He set his suitcase and leather hand luggage on the carpet. “How do you know this guy?”
Blair buzzed by him and Jim had to press against the wall to make room. “Oh, you know. He taught for a year at Rainier. We got to be friends.” The familiar voice was shut out by a thick wooden, paneled door. Jim cranked up his hearing to monitor the answer as he inventoried the entrance. The outside looked like a Currier and Ives etching and the inside matched with ornate lines and dark, mahogany wood.
Jim nodded with acceptance.
“Then I got a chance to swing through Garthside on my way to Scotland a few years ago and I figured, hey, what the hell and I dropped by. We hung out for a couple of days. Damn, the light’s broken in here.”
A steep and narrow wooden staircase with an ornate rail rose to his left. Jim frowned, not liking the pitch and seeing Blair taking a header. He’d have to explain the ‘hand-rail-rule’ to the kid.
“Okay.” Blair crouched down on his haunches, and zipped open his leather backpack. “Okay, I’ve got the map here, I was looking the other day and I think that the old Roman fort next the priory on the mouth of the river might have a relief on the wall might be similar to the one that we can look at in the Museum of Antiquaries tomorrow morning. I really think that we’ll be able to get an idea of the imagery. Okay. Okay. It would be better to look at the real – well, better preserved one - tomorrow morning when the museum opens but in the mean time, this one could be useful. I really want to see if it about a sentinel.”
Jim held his hands in the classic ‘T’. “Chief, we’ve been traveling for 20 plus hours on this little sentinel hunt. I don’t care if my body clock thinks it’s ten in the morning, it’s dark and it’s raining we’re not heading out. I want food and a beer. Actually not in that order beer first.”
Blair looked up from his squat. “Gotcha, feed the need first. We’ll research later.”
“And beer, don’t forget the beer.” Jim stretched his spine and rocked his head from shoulder to shoulder. “You promised me a vast assortment of great beer.”
Blair snickered. “We’ll have to check the car before we drive. Might need to fill the tires or something. Professor Dicksee’s been away for a while.” Blair led the way up the narrow staircase.
“Hands on the rail, Chief.”
“Oh, God. You’re not going to start on that, are you?”
“You take a header and I’ll be the one carting you to the E.R.”
“We’ll just dump our bags in our rooms, and I’ll take you to the ‘Flying Pig’.”
“The what?”
“Prof. Dicksee’s local. I wonder if they’ll remember me?”
‘Probably’ Jim muttered under his breath.
*********************
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 corner. 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. It 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 shoulder. 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 got comfortable in 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 succored sentinel taste buds. Jim was converted in an instance.
“What is this stuff?”
“It’s called Wagglebottom, it’s brewed locally.”
“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 seachange. “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. “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 tube 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 Garthside. 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 for what Blair assumed were for 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 snip to get an idea that what he was seeing was what a sentinel was seeing.
Blair had seen a 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 skepticism, 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 require 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 four times the breadth and a warm, golden brown; they bore no resemblance to the etiolated fries that you purchased in MacDonalds.
“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 dialed 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. Traveling 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 back. “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 picture 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. The chucked a left down a narrow alley, cutting through a one way system onto another parallel road. Horns blared.
“There’s the castle!” 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, 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 sing song, “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.”
“
(NTS can see the guide when they really go and seen it)
“What’s that little gnome on his shoulder?”
“That’s the guide, man.” Blair said his mouth set in a moue of annoyance
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