Continue The Story: It Was a Dark and Stormy night.

Continue The Story: It Was a Dark and Stormy night. Attention Writers, Wouldabee’s, Wannabee’s, Amateurs, Hacks, etc. etc.

Now is your chance to perceive, pen and publish your punishing purple prose planetwide.
Just take the last line from this, or any post/comment and add your prose. No need for this turkey to come out linearly.

It was a dark and stormy night. The wind howled out of the north like a bereaved banshee, roaring over the moor, funnelling its fuming ferocity down the valley toward the opulent manor.

The gale twisted bits of flotsam, flora and fauna into the frigid air, creating a clammering cacaphony of wretched debris hurling headlong into the walls of the estate as if on some suicidal mission to find refuge.

Inside the manor Percilla pouted. Thurgood and Eason had undoubtedly cancelled their visit, since her butler had informed her earlier that the bridge had been washed out due to the storm.

The only other route was a narrow, twisted trail through the moors of which she was told no sane person would dare venture at night, much less in this weather.
And they could be such cowards at times, she thought, for she so looked forward to a rousing game of whisk.
Oh, bother. Nothing left to do but get tiddly.

She poured the sherry herself, as she had dismissed the servants early. Pressing her voluptuous lower lip to the edge of the glass, she took a long sip of the amber liquid while giving a blank stare toward the immense fireplace.

Percilla watched impassively as the flames flickered fluidly, like dozens of Dante’s dancing denizens, pirouetting upwards to a silent symphony.

She signed, placed the goblet on the table, which now was adorned with a baby's bottom of crimson on the lip of the leaded crystal.

"Can you imagine it?" Eason mused, after Percilla laid the antique document back on the table. "A hidden heir to a European barony, secreted among the Gypsies! And all this time! The year was 1883 - that was over fifty years ago!"

"But, what about this 'Order of the Dragon', eh?" Thurgood said. "In all my university study, I've not heard of such a thing. Percilla, if you really are part Romanian, did not your parents tell you much? I mean, you speak and read it well enough, we see, but what of any stories at all?"

Percilla, her arms crossed over her brest, hugging her arms as if chilled, was pacing up and down the room, framed against the light of the hearth. Her face was a mask of expressionless plaster, no emotion showing through. It was easy, now that her heritage was revealed, to see the dusky heat in her eyes, and where the jet-black mane of hair came from. But the mind behind those eyes betrayed nothing.

"Percilla," Eason asked, almost pleading, "Can you not give us any more, any clue that might help resolve this mystery - "

"Mystery! What mystery, and what clues, Eason?" Percilla suddenly rounded on him, her voice rising in venom. "My raving uncle falls dead on my floor - we find a key in my mother's locket - we dig up a box with a note in it - and what, pray, do you expect to happen? Nothing! I am Percilla St. Cyr, heiress to this manor, and I am NOT some wandering Gypsy-witch!!!" And she punctuated her words with the smash of a chair to the floor.

"Percilla, please, calm yourself!" Thurgood said, moving to her side, and touching her arm; Percilla wrenched away from his grip.

"No, Thurgood! Don't you see! Everything I've been told, and been taught, and everything you know about me, is a lie! That's what this parchment is telling you!"

"Percilla that's quite some leap of logic," Eason came in defending Thurgood. "This means you're not telling us something more, now please, be open and honest with your two closest friends, for if not us, then who?"

Percilla, still puffing hard in her anger, slowly mastered herself and, with effort, began.

"Both of you know the St. Cyr's, an old family dating back several generations in this community? Well, they're everything you've heard - upstanding, charitable, and generous. Until Mommy came into the family, so they told me. Chelsea Westerfield - whose real name was Francesca - was a foundling, adopted by Lord Westerfield, my grandfather.

"Edgar was Grandpapa's son - Mommy and he were half-brother and sister. I know that he knew something about this and how they argued about the "blood awakening" and "the return of the Order" -

"'The blood awakening'. Just like in the scroll?" Eason said.

"Yes, that must be what they were talking about that night," Percilla said.

"Well, there's your answer, isn't it?" Thurgood exclaimed. Edgar knew of your mother's heritage, obviously, and with them dead, it would fall to YOU to claim the inheritance. So he came here to wring the secrets out of you, so he could claim it falsely!"

"He did say, that he wanted to be here at the awakening," Percilla said.

"So," Eason reasoned, "with Edgar's pursuit of you, he thought the time to claim it had arrived. But what is involved in the claim?

"I couldn't begin to tell you, Eason," Percilla said, "because this was all a forbidden subject. I haven't thought much about it. Mommy and Papa both died years ago, during the influenza outbreak. Papa was weaker, you know - The war weakened his constitution."

"Did they keep no diaries, no journals, Percilla?" Thurgood thought. "After all, a person's thoughts are properly set down in writing..."

"Thoughts in writing... well DONE, Thurgood, once again!" Eason exclaimed. "We need thoughts in writing - information! What do we have? We know there is an knightly Order of the Dragon, and it's based in a region of Europe, the continent, obviously - and there are no more direct heirs to the title, but we have an illegitimate connexion - no, Percilla, I will not apologize for the proper term - with a legal claim, which is obviously what this document was meant to establish! This isn't so much a contract - it's a title, a deed, even a will! Percilla, you might just have claim to be The Baroness Sibiu'! Can't you just imagine!"

Thoughts in writing... well DONE, Thurgood, once again!" Eason exclaimed. "We need thoughts in writing - information! What do we have? We know there is an knightly Order of the Dragon, and it's based in a region of Europe, the continent, obviously - and there are no more direct heirs to the title, but we have an illegitimate connexion - no, Percilla, I will not apologize for the proper term - with a legal claim, which is obviously what this document was meant to establish! This isn't so much a contract - it's a title, a deed, even a will! Percilla, you might just have claim to be The Baroness Sibiu'! Can't you just imagine!"

“I, - I-” Percilla visibly shuddered. “Cannot. Not - “
“Try, my sweet, TRY,” Thurgood insisted. “It is thoughts in writing-information we need! journals, diaries, even memories-”
“Stop it!” she shouted, her voice rising in a fatigued anger. “Stop it all!”

The slow seconds of silence that followed unmasked a palpable tension within the room, mixed with a seemingly visible up welling of conflicting emotions.

“It has,” Eason said finally, breaking the stiffening mood, “been a very - long day.”

“Yes,” Percilla said, almost as a sob, “it has.”
A feeling of fatigued relief swept over the trio. Eason, with effort, took a deep breath and said slowly, “May I suggest - that we retire for the night.”
Percilla looked as though a weight had been lifted from her soul. “Yes,” she gasped, “yes.”
“Thurgood nodded in a slow motion, then interjected, “Perhaps we should meet the day after the morrow. That will give us all time - to collect our thoughts - to regroup.”
“Excellent idea cousin,” Eason replied in a voice wearied by the days events.
“Yes,” Percilla repeated, in almost a whisper.

The cousins bade Percilla a good evening and rest, and after Thurgood stole a quick brush of Percilla’s cheek with his lips and whispered something to which she ignored, they both ventured outside toward the waiting carriage.

They sat in silence, each clocked in their private thoughts as the driver snapped the reins to motioned the horses to task.

Thurgood’s thoughts were first that it had, indeed, been a very long day. However there were encouraging prospects for an enormous profitable one.
Though he had rather deep ingrained emotions and prejudice toward the lower classes, so long as the dear Percilla maintained secrecy, what was it to matter?
For he well knew, as did his cousin, that though they were both of moderate wealth, Percilla’s estate was vastly superior in terms of overall assets, of which she shall receive in it’s entirety in a few short years. And adding to his rising elation was this latest episode. of the seemingly distinct possibility of her being this Baroness of whatever. And of course with it would be even more affluence. And one, as he so often stated, can never be too rich.

Thurgood, basking in this potential windfall, yet succumbing to an attrition in strength, closed his eyes and listened to the rhythmic clip-clop of hoofs upon cobbles. Yes, it had been a very long day.

Eason too had thoughts of his own but of a different nature: that of the personal commitment he had made to see this thing through, more for his own state of mind than for the others, and what his path would take after said task is completed. Then fleetingly to Percilla, to whom he furtively hoped would be even a gossamer glimmer of change, of connection to what he aspired to be her true nature. And that, he reflected with much regret, has been once again been dashed.

As Thurgood melded into the seat, head slowly bobbing in a state of stupor, Eason gave a long, slow yawn.

For it had been a very, very long day.

After bading the pair a good night, Percilla quickly retired to her bedroom. Undressing herself, she foregoed her night clothing and with movements reminiscent of one much older than she, climbed into bed.

The coolness of the sheets against her base flesh, normally a refreshing sensuality, did nothing to diminish her mood. As she attempted to grasp the starting of slumber, words, emotions and memories came flooding back.

I am NOT some wandering Gypsy-witch!
I am NOT!

I am not . . ..

As the fatigue of her body overcame her senses, she drifted off with those words cling to her mind like vines upon an ancient wall.

Soon she was asleep.
For her, it had been a very, very long day.

However the trident of partners were not unique in this.
There was another who shared their primary thought.

One who, though a vast world apart from these three of high station, the day was as just as long. And whose pursuant actions of this period was to bring to those who discovered the parchment an element of depth, danger and discovery to which they could have never imagined.

Who had started out this day, as he had on all days, up before first light, then after a beggarly meal, off to his sustenance producing labor.
As a small child, he, along with others of his kind to whom certain specific abnormalities in appearance occurred, were placed within this foreign community, given names that would accommodate the deception, along with essential language, manner and custom training.
And taught in great detail and depth of the prophecy.
Which, along with specific instructions, were long since buried in his memory under years of mundane toil and hardship.

So it was that when approached in the late morning by a well dressed Gentleman who requested his services, these were the last things on his simple mind.
At first, when the Gentleman recited his request, the impact did not register due to the abstract way in which he addressed these classified words.
However as he witnessed the reaction of the Gentleman to his answers, long hibernating remembrances came flooding back.
First of which was on how silly these words were. Then, as the Squire offered payment for his information, the impact and ramifications of such hit him full force.

It was the prophecy. The Prophecy!

And when the Gentlemen’s demeanor took an abrupt change toward his person, it not only stirred additional theophanic memories, but gave him a further confirmation as to the validity of the teachings.
He then departing from the Squire, hid his handcart and made his way to a ridge to observe the activities below. As he watched and listened to snatches of conversations, including names, that emanated from the rather improbable group, Mircea recalled two proverbs, one in English, the other in his native tongue:

The Lord works in mysterious ways

Devlesa araklam tume

And so it was that when the cousins arrived at their adjacent estates, a small group of dark featured men, perched on a bluff, observed their movements with intent eyes. After the pair had departed into their homes, one of the men mounted a horse and with a fast gallop took off toward the north.

And so it was that when the cousins arrived at their adjacent estates, a small group of dark featured men, perched on a bluff, observed their movements with intent eyes.

After the pair had departed into their homes, one of the men mounted a horse and with a fast gallop took off toward the north.

* * * *

Eason awoke slowly, stretching like a cat caught in a sunbeam. The time between closing his eyes the and the tangled ring of the wind up alarm came quickly, attesting to the depth of his slumber.

Yesterday’s respite from the mystery at hand was sorely needed: he spent much of that time sequestered in his room, his mind in a tumultuous cycle of thoughts, past and present. The serendipitous nature of their progress in this quest, Percilla’s admission of her mixed heritage and his own revelations of who he truly was and what he, at last, wanted in life.

In addition were a myriad of thoughts relating to the continent.

The great war, which consumed so many millions and the following influenza epidemic which, tragically, killed even more.
The postwar misery of Germany, hit hardest by the global depression and endured unbelievable inflation and political turmoil and the subsequent rise of Fascism and militarism.

The somewhat baffling postwar reaction of the French and their misguided, in his opinion, dependence on the defensive fortifications they called the Maginot line.
And in the east, the massacre of the Romanov family and collapse of the monarchy and the rise of communism, pogroms and purges.

But primarily in his mind was the muddled turmoil and the the rather mystical qualities of the recently unearthed document. This Order of the Dragon, restoring Elizabet’a Szilagy’s rightful place, the blood awakening , land beyond the forest - it was all so confusing, so delusive, so incredible.

However! This was another day, and since night’s slumber had cleared his mind and greatly enhanced his mood, he looked forward to a day that held promise of sunshine, warmth and adventure.

After a hearty breakfast he set out to gather his cousin for the trip to Percilla’s estate.

Though this was not to be, at least not as he had exactly envisioned, for on arriving the butler informed him that Thurgood had left the evening before last and had not returned until a few hours ago, with specific instructions not to be disturbed.

“No doubt doing his best to reduce the quantity of spirits in the county,” Eason thought dryly. But no matter. Keeping his promise, he would venture to Percilla’s alone.

He decided to take the trip on horseback rather than use the motorcar: the more leisurely pace would give him time to enjoy the ride, take in the the sights of the country and take in the fresh air.

And he mounted up and directed his steed toward her estate, one of the men on the rise who was on watch snapped open a spyglass. Confirming the description of the rider, he barked an order, to which another walked a few steps down the slope, away from the road and raising his hands, signaled to another on a distant hill.

* * * *

After a time Eason arrived at, then crossed, the newly repaired bridge which led to his destination. Meandering along the path which cut through the dense forest, his mind adrift, it was the horse that first spotted, then reacted with a sudden halt to a white haired man sitting in the middle of the lane.

“I say there,” Eason shouted. “Do you require assistance?”

The man looked at Eason with his dark eyes but remained silent.

Eason dismounted and approached. “May I assist you, sir?”

“Please,” the man said,in a remarkably strong voice, as he rose.

Then, with his voice lowered, he continued, “With a silent answer.”

The man’s stare took Eason aback. It seemed as if this elderly leather faced man was visioning straight into his soul.

“The Order of the Dragon,” he whispered with intent. “Elizabet'a Szilagy. The blood awakening.”

Eason froze.

It was as if this man had sudden command of his body, mind and soul. He could do nothing but stand at mute attention.

Finally, after a few seconds but what seemed like an eternity, the elderly man nodded slightly and turned away, breaking the spell.

Eason, with relief, took a deep breath.

“Tell me,” the man said, with a more pedestrian tone in his voice, “the one who revealed to you the coded words that enabled you to find the document. Is he alive?”

It took a moment to register. Percilla’s Uncle Edgar.

“Ah,” Eason replied with hesitance, “No. I am afraid he succumbed shortly after.”

It was the man’s turn to register relief. “As it is written,” he said, in a voice slightly higher than a whisper.

He then extracted something from his pocket and held it out to be received. Eason obliged, and the man dropped a coin in his open palm.

It was slightly larger than a half crown and tarnished with age.

It had MDXXXLXXXIII inscribed in raised letters which conformed to the curvature of the coin, and below, in smaller type, Devlesa araklam tume

Eason held it at arm’s length as if it were alive. The man reached out and turned the coin over to reveal a rather intricate etching of . . . a Dragon.

Exactly the same as the one on the box.

“Keep it with you always,” the man said. “It will confirm those you can trust.”

The man reached out and with a calloused hand closed Eason’s fingers around the coin.

“Go with her. Protect her. She needs you.”

And with that, the man strode quickly into the the forest.

Eason pocketed this strange coin and with mechanical motions and his mind whirling like a dervish, mounted his horse and galloped to his destination.

* * * *

The butler instructed that Percilla was in the waiting room. Eason entered and found her setting next to the fireplace, document in hand.

“Percilla!” he exclaimed as he approached her, “The strangest thing has just occurred.”

She looked up from the parchment.

“This man - well, it was so frightfully strange. I don’t know quite how to explain it to you - “

He thrust his hand in his coat pocket and produced the coin.. “He gave me this.”

“Yes,” she said softly, “I know.”

“You know?” But how?”

She looked at him in a way that he had hitherto never seen before. His mind, already grappling with the mornings events, screamed for a momentary respite.

“I need,” he stated with a tremble, “A sherry. A very large one I think.”

He went to the spirit carriage and filled a large bandy snifter to the brim. Downing more than half of it’s contents in a single gulp, he refilled the glass and cradled it in his hand.

Percilla went to his side. As he went to speak, she placed her forefinger against his lips, like a mother gently silencing a child.

“Perhaps,” she said, motioning him to the settee, “If I conveyed to you what happened earlier it would clarify things.”

With the feeling of her soft touch still lingering on his lips, Eason sat as instructed as Percilla began to relate this morning’s events.

She was in the midst of her morning stroll in the garden when she heard a haunting yet familiar melody emanating from behind the bushes.

The euphony struck a distant and pleasant chord within her memory, and as it increased in volume, far from frightening her, it served not only to both relax but fire her anticipation as to its origin.

Then an elderly lady appeared, hunched from age, humming the tune.

“Dear Child,” she addressed Percilla, “Do you recognize it?”

Why yes,” she answered calmly, “Yes I do. My Mother used to hum it to me when I was - a child.”

The Lady gave a soft smile, then looked deep into Percilla’s eyes. “and do you remember, my Dear, these words?
“The Order of the Dragon
Elizabet'a Szilagy
The blood awakening?”

“Why - yes, “Percilla said, suddenly mesmerized, “I - I do. I remember now. I heard them as a- a child. My Mother . . . And on this document - we discovered . . .”

“Then she gave me this.” Percilla said, and pushed back her sleeve.

She exposed a leather lace around her wrist, which was affixed with a small ring to a circular band of silver. The silver band held a coin.

An exact duplicate of the one Eason now possessed.

Percilla then continued. “She told me other things. Things I recall from long ago.”

She paused for a moment, deep in thought, then continued in a slow voice.
“When I was little, my Mother used to sit with me at night and tell me stories to put me to sleep. Fairy tales, King Arthur and the knights of the round table, and many more such wonderful works.
I used to dream that she would continue to talk to me long after I had fallen asleep. Different things, mysterious things, secret things that only we shared. And Eason,” Percilla effected another pause. “I now know that she in fact did.”

Eason sat in silence, not wanting to break the mood. For despite all than had transpired, his only thought at that particular moment was this new and unique aura about her. And with it, that she looked lovelier and more desirable than he had ever seen.

“Though I cannot,” she continued,”tell you exactly what she told me, nor can I at this time tell you why, I can say for certain my Mother knew this would happen.”

“She - did?” he managed to get out.

“Yes. These is - was this bond between us that I did not understand. Now, somehow, I do.”

She reached out and grasped Eason’s hand. “And I accept - and I am comfortable with - the fact that I have Romany blood within me.”

“In other words, Gypsy,” he stated.

“Yes,” she answered. “And you, Dear Eason. How do you feel about me being a Gypsy?”

“I does not matter,” he said clearing his throat, “what I, or anyone else thinks. But in truth, It matters to me not what is in your blood, but what is in your soul.”

She squeezed his hand and smiled in such a way that he had, like her aura, never seen before.

He stood up and went to the carriage for a refill.

”It matters to me not what is in your blood, but what is in your soul.”

As he filled his glass, he thought, “That is not how I speak. Those are not my words.”

And he reflected, with embarrassment, that her admittance of being half Gypsy would have indeed upset him, though not nearly as it would Thurgood.
Except for the additional inheritance that is. For money was, is, and will always be foremost in his cousin’s mind.

But it would have had an unsettling effect. Would have, in past terms, before that day - yes it was that day, that day at the Fayson’s bog, before he had conversed with that - that peat cutter?

Yes, that was it. But why? Why the change? Not that he regretted it, for he felt that in some unknown way it had opened a much sought after door to maturity and even - possibly - wisdom. But why? How?

A now too familiar confusion settled in. In an attempt to shake it off, he turned to Percilla and said,“So. What do we do next?”

She looked at him in that new way that he was rapidly becoming accustomed to. “There is a train leaving late afternoon. We can ticket a sleeper car and arrive in London by mid morning.”

“However, Dear Eason, I wish you to think about this. I do not want in any way to attempt to convince or cajole you into coming. It is up to you.”

“I made a commitment,” he said, verbalizing for the first time this decision, “that I would see this through. And I shall.”

“Are you sure,” she asked, “that you do not want to think about it?”

“I have,” he replied, “And at this time may I assure you that I am not in this for monetary gain. It is for many reasons. Personal reasons.”

I know,” she said, and gave a slight nod.

“Oh,” he had almost forgotten, “What about Thurgood? He is in on this.”

“I spoke to him,” she answered. “Yesterday.”

“Yesterday? But we were to have used that day apart to-”

“I know. He came over. I shall tell you later when we have more time.”

“Right,” he said, not quite knowing why. “We have things to do before the train departs.” He thought for a moment. “We should pack lightly. Only essentials.”

She nodded, then said, “And a sturdy pair of walking shoes should be included.” She came beside him, reached out and grasped his hand. “I know they told me you would,” she said, “But thank you, Eason. Thank you.”

Her hand lingered for a long moment on his. Then with a smile he bade her farewell. For now.

* * * *

Eason set the horse to a quick gallop as his mind inventoried what needed to be done: packing, instructions to the household help and a short, non revealing, note to his father

. Upon arriving he did the latter first, writing to his Father, who was in India, about him taking a spur of the moment vacation. Then after a few quick orders and advance wages to the servants, he went upstairs to pack.

This took longer that he had thought. So many things, so little room. He finally decided on somewhat drab yet utilitarian outdoor attire.

After finally fastening the bulging bag and securing money belts around his waist and ankle, he stepped back for a final check.

In pausing, the weight of the journey and all of its ramifications came to him.

He went to his dresser, opened the bottom drawer and extracted a revolver.

* * * *

He accelerated the motorcar, spraying gravel and dirt, onto the cobbled road.

Once he reached speed, the drone of the engine and the wind blowing through the open top brought him to a more relaxed state.

He tried not to think about was he had gotten himself into: all that had happened in a few short days, things he would never have imagined in his wildest dreams.

And though he resisted, his mind went to Percilla. How she had changed!

“I know they told me you would,”

“Yes,” she said softly, “I know.”

She knew? How? and They? THEY?

And what will happen after they reach London?

keep your wits about you boy, he said aloud.

In a few minutes he turned and drove the motorcar over the bridge toward the estate.
”It matters to me not what is in your blood, but what is in your soul.”

He reach the area where he saw the man sitting in the middle of the lane. Suddenly, on impulse, he stopped the vehicle.

Then he did something he had never done in his life.

He looked toward the sky and prayed.

”It matters to me not what is in your blood, but what is in your soul.”
He reach the area where he saw the man sitting in the middle of the lane. Suddenly, on impulse, he stopped the vehicle.
Then he did something he had never done in his life.
He looked toward the sky and prayed.

*________________________________*

“Such a difference from this morning,” Eason thought, as he and Percilla were chauffeured to the train station. The clouds swooped down from the north with feverish speed, dark, menacing, accompanied by increasing winds and a rather dramatic drop in barometric pressure.

Percilla sat by his side, with a calm demeanor, projecting a silent confidence. The soon to be inclement weather reminded him of that evening so few days ago, before the storm which had washed out the bridge, cancelled their plans for whisk and had changed there lives. Forever.

So many questions, so many loose ends, the quantity of such which surely would, had he concentrated on it, leave him in a state of dizzying panic.

Yet just by being in Percilla’s presence, observing the way she conducted herself through all this, gave him a somewhat queer yet comforting sense of well being and composure. If was if he was feeding off her, relying on her new found inner strength for solace and continence.

The rain had just to arrived on it’s downward journey to earth as they boarded the train and made their way to the sleeper car.

After securing his traveling case, Eason joined Percilla in the adjacent berth.

“Settled in?”
“Yes, thank you,” she said.
”Well,” he stated, “shall we visit the club car to pass the time”
“I would rather just stay here,” she answered, “But please, feel free to go if you would like.”
“Well then, would you like me to ring the Steward and have him bring some refreshments?”
“I am fine,” she indicated to him with a soft smile, ” though nice of you to ask.”

He sat beside her on the upholstered bench. In he seconds of silence that followed, what would have, in the past, been an awkward situation was replaced by a foreign yet welcomed feeling of congenial relaxation.

Eason was about to comment as such when there was a rapid knock, followed by the opening of the door.

“I say,” exclaimed a voice from outside, “do you mind if I come it?”

He was of average height, thin, dressed neatly in a gray three piece suit. He had a boyish face, light hair combed straight back and a pencil thin mustache over his upper lip.

“Frightfully decent of you to let me join you,” he said, as he sat down facing the pair. “Pettibone’s my name. Alfred Pettibone.”

I do get a tad nervous,” he continued, before they could respond. “Riding on trains and such. An inner ear problem, I suspect. A dreadful nuisance it is, but what can one do?”

“I say,”, he stated, nonstop, “did you notice how scant the passengers are? Why the club car is hardly half full. Not at all like during the war, when one had to fight tooth and nail for a passage.
And outside of us three, there is only an older couple on this car, two berths down. Frightfully nice they are, frightfully nice, however all they wishe to discuss are teapots!
Yes, that is correct, teapots! They are collectors, you see, and travelling to London they are to scour the antique shops to add to their collection.
Not that I have anything against teapots mind you, but it can get a bit tedious if that is all that is discussed, don’t you agree?”

Eason managed to get in a quick, “Well,” before Pettibone extended his thoughts.

“Now Mother, she rather likes to travel on trains. She says getting there is half of the enjoyment. I fearfully wish I had her constitution for such things, but alas, I do not.”

Before Eason or Percilla could respond, Pettibone interjected, “I do however, have a way of taking a bit of the edge off.” He reached in his coat pocket and produced a silver coloured flask.

“Excellent whiskey it is,” he said, thrusting the container to Eason. “My word as a gentleman. “Grateful if you would join me in a drop old Boy. Frightfully grateful.”

Eason saw that Pettibone had a coin pressed against the flask. It bore the etchings MDXXXLXXXIII and Devlesa araklam tume

Pettibone waited, arm outstretched.

He got no response from Eason, so he settled his glance on Percilla, who immediately pulled up her blouse sleeve to reveal her coin. He glanced back at Eason, who followed suit and produced out of his pocket his coin.

Pettibone, in a deft movement of his fingers flipped his coin to expose the Dragon. The pair, in unison, did the same.

After a long moment of silence, Pettibone spoke. This time in a low voice with a serious intent.

“There will be a man, a cabbie, that will meet you at the London station. He will utter the phrase, “Isn’t is a gorgeous day for a cruise.” Go with him.

Pettibone pocketed his coin and handed the flask to Eason. Eason uncapped the container, now grateful for the drink offer.

“This has been a bit of a rush for us,” Pettibone said, in a slightly more relaxed tone. “only had but a few hour notice. But we were expecting as such, so we will manage.”

“I do hope you will forgive me,” uttered Percilla, “But are you - what I mean to say is that you do not exactly look like -”
“Romany?” Pettibone smiled. “A bit. But completely dedicated, like my constituents, to the cause. A rather long story it is, on how I can to possess the bloodline. And a rather interesting one, but I am afraid my time with you is short. I must leave you at the next stop, which we are due to arrive in but a few minutes.”

Pettibone stood. Eason took a quick swallow from the flask, spun the top tight and attempted to hand it back. “You take it, old fellow,” Pettibone said, “I have a feeling you may need it.”

Then in a quick motion Pettibone opened the door. He gave a quick glance too see if the coast was clear. Satisfied that it was, he turned back.

“Two things I must stress to you two. One, use your coins only in response. Always wait for your contact to first produce his.”

A slight pause, then, “If your contacts are true, they will show their coin back-side out first. Please let me repeat. They will first show you their coin back-side out. If they are true.”

“May fortune be with you, my friends,” and before he departed, Pettibone added,
“Devlesa avilan”

Pettibone closed the door of the sleeper berth.

Eason, on impulse and emotion, followed him out. “Mister Pettibone?”

“Pettibone turned.” Yes sir?”
“I - please forgive me for asking this, for it may very well be stepping out of my station,”
Pettibone stepped closer. Eason continued. “I do wish to inquire of something.”

Eason took a deep breath. “I get the feeling that there is more to this than Percilla simply, - how shall I put this, - than an unlocking of true blood and a restoration of an order.”

Pettibone met his gaze and gave an almost imperceptible nod. “You are a fine fellow,” he said of Eason, and slapped the side Eason’s arm gently with an open hand. “Stay by her side. Protect her. She needs you.”

Pettibone then swiftly turned and left his presence.

This brief conversation, rather than satisfy his craving for information, only left Eason more wanting.

Such cloak and dagger! However at least, as he quickly recollected, that subtle nod had given him an a modicum of affirmation to one of his questions. Yes, there was more, much more going on that met the eye.

He turned back to the berth. Percilla, who though all this had remained remarkably calm. And it was with this, as he had repeated to himself many times during these recent hours, he would find strength to curb his wanton curiosity and up welling fear.

He recalled an old proverb: All things come to those who wait.

Well, he thought, that would be his motto. At least for the time being.

“Excuse me,” Eason said as he sat beside her in the sleeper berth.

“Eason,” she asked, in that newly found continence, “What do you think the reason for producing the coin first ‘back side out’?”
“That I can tell you,” Eason replied, grateful to contribute.
“Without specific instructions, one would have a natural tendency to show someone a coin face side first.”
“I see,” she replied, accompanied with a slight nod. “Thank you.”

As an added precaution against treachery , he thought, but he would keep that rather disturbing revelation to himself.

“Eason,” Percilla chimed, “What do you say we adjourn to the dining car.”
“Now that you mention it,” he said, his mood shifting quickly, “I am feeling a bit peckish.”

She moved close to him and took his hand in hers, not in a voluptuary way, but in a manner reminiscent of two comrades sharing a common goal.

The narrowness of the corridor prevented them from continuing this union, and after she released his hand he felt, through her - yes, that was it - that he discovered yet another unique feeling.

A feeling that he was needed.

* * * *

After a rather non descript meal of curry and mash, they retired to the sleeper berth.

Eason had procured a rather excellent bottle of claret from the Steward, and they finished off the day penciling crosswords.

Those last few hours before retiring were somewhat surrealistic in that despite their predicament the mood was light and gay, with word placement interluded by delightfully breezy conversation mixed with gentle back and forth bantering.

During a time when Percilla, who took the responsibility of filling in the letter squares, pondered a ten letter word for “brilliantly beautiful,” starting with R and ending with T, Eason mused that if nothing else this journey had made him realize an important item: that despite the transpiration of events in the past few days, the one thing that protruded foremost in his mind was not only the immense change in Percilla, but the atmosphere surrounding them being together. Though he steadfastly agreed to his new found personal agenda of which he would implement once this was seen through, he now would seek and maintain contact with her. For as he - and confident that she had amassed the same feelings - had realized by these neo-moments together, that a special bond had developed.

A bond of relaxing comfort while in each others presence.

A bond of true friendship.

* * * *

The London air was thick with fog and drizzle.

An aromatic presense, as thick as the present haze, and unique to the city, greeted Percilla and Eason as they stepped out from the train onto the station. Both ventured to each other the common belief that if one did not dwell on the origins of such emanating odors, you would get used to it within a time.

It took but a minute before contact was made.

“Excuse me, Sir,” said the cabby, suddenly appearing out of the mist, “But Isn’t is a gorgeous day for a cruise.” It was anything but, which confirmed the signal.

The tradesman motioned the pair to his hanson. After securing their luggage in the trunk, and opening doors for passenger entrance, he, without a word, affixed himself behind the drivers wheel.

The cabbie popped open the glove box and retrieved an envelope. He then directed it toward the back seat.

The coin, back-side out, was visible on the side of the envelope.

As per the newly discovered protocol, Percilla and Eason produced theirs.

The cabbie handed Eason the envelope, pocketed the coin, started the motor and drove off towards the docks.

Contained within the envelope were two boarding passes.

After a rather rapid drive through the crowded streets, they reached their destination.

“You have a bit of time,” the cabbie said as he unloaded their bags from the trunk of the vehicle. “There’s a tea shop just down the street where you can get a bite. It’s a bit worn ‘round the edges, she is, but the tea is hot, the ale’s strong, and they serve a good pork pie.”

Eason reached for his coin purse to pay the man. The cabbie waved it off.

“Devlesa avilan,” he said, then climbed into his cab and drove off.

Eason now thought it a good time to clear up a bit of the mystery.
“Percilla,” he said, after a quick glance to insure he was out of earshot from outsiders, “do you happen to know the meaning of these phrases?

“Why yes,” she answered, “yes I do. In fact,” she took his hand in a manner reminiscent of the way she did in the sleeper car. “I have been waiting for you to ask.”

“The phrase on the coin, ’Devlesa araklam tume,’ means, ‘It is with God that we found you’”

“What these men have said,” she continued, “Devlesa avilan . . .”

She moved closer.

And as her exotic eyes, full of meaning, met his, she whispered, . . .

“It is God who brought you.”

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