The Hunt for Excalibur Read online

  The Hunt for Excalibur

  Order of the Black Sun - Book 23

  Preston William Child

  Tasha Danzig

  Copyright © 2017 by Preston William Child

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Best Laid Plan

  2. A Reluctant Accomplice

  3. Seizure

  4. Glasgow History Week

  5. The Walking Gem

  6. Brian, the Inquisitive

  7. Heirloom

  8. Fencing

  9. A White Lie for the Greater Good

  10. Quagmire

  11. Impervious

  12. New Acquisition

  13. Who’s Your Guinevere?

  14. Serendipity

  15. Meet the Callany’s

  16. The Blissful Boredom of Sam Cleave

  17. Court’s Intuition

  18. The Fallen Knight

  19. Gathered for the Feast

  20. Getting Acquainted

  21. Liberation of Caliburnus

  22. Wiles and Whims

  23. Crow’s Nest Sense

  24. Lost

  25. Court’s War

  26. Clarity

  27. Imprisoned

  28. Mordred’s Courtesy

  29. Morning Glory

  30. Pendragon’s Fury

  31. Bendera’s Way

  32. Londale Street

  33. Like the Lady of Shalott

  34. Excalibur

  Prologue

  The island was undefended, yet many had died in the initial attack. Two days into the occupation, it became evident that the landscape was ideal and the inhabitants easy to subdue, therefore leading to instant hoisting of German flags. Fear ran rampant among those who chose to stay after the evacuation, but they hoped that adherence would profit them mercy.

  Four years on, the islanders had become accustomed to their occupants, although most of the Jewish citizens were dispatched to concentration camps by now. Other islanders had to suffer under the greed of Nazi garrisons, full of soldiers who had to be fed. These intruders annexed all fishing and agriculture, leaving the islanders starving. Rations were garnered for the soldiers first, and this caused a lot of subdued resentment among the islanders.

  Ronald Hall was a widower, having lost his wife to pneumonia while she was pregnant a year prior. At thirty years of age, he was already tasting the bitter essence of life, but his older brother, Colin, cheered him a great deal with his eccentric recklessness. They elected to give the Nazi’s no morsel of fear on their part, although they kept within the rules as not to be picked out unnecessarily. Their town had come to a crisis, and the two brothers decided to foolishly brave the bad weather on October 13, 1944.

  When the night was ripe and the weather so foul that no man would walk there by choice, the two set out to the former town hall, where the German Luftwaffe had settled their headquarters for Guernsey. Curfew was imposed between 11 p.m. and 5 a.m., which only proved the amount of trouble Colin and Ronald would be in, should they be discovered. All the two brothers wanted to do was to relieve the German stores of some food, in order to help their neighbors – Jewish families still living there, as well as those exploited by the alien monsters for their farming production.

  “Hurry,” Colin whispered to his trailing brother, his blond hair whipping in the cold gusts. They crawled up the hillock from where they could examine the guard stationed. As planned, they split up at the base of the low hill, using the surrounding tree line to advance towards one of the three smaller entrances to the building hosting the Nazi officials.

  “Meet you at the tower base,” Ronald told Colin, who nodded affirmatively.

  Each managed to find a way into the storage rooms, where the guards did not walk in this weather. Above them, only mounted security lights revealed any movement to the eye, their beams only displaying the showering rain that gleamed as the droplets fell through the light. On occasion, some cruel commandant would force one of the troops to walk that way in the pouring rain, but the Hall brothers even had this timed right.

  Ronald was the first one to make it out. He waited at the tower base, a ruin several meters from the town hall. The path was relatively safe, as the shadows cast by the tall trees impaired visibility from the roof of the guarded building. He waited in the heavy downpour, the sack in his hands growing heavier by the minute as it took on the water.

  “Come on, for God’s sake,” he murmured under cover of his collar, shrinking his body deeper into the shelter of the branches. Finally, he saw his brother careen forth from the building, making straight for him. On his back, he was carrying a bag of provisions that weighed him down greatly, but what brought sheer panic onto Colin was what was on his tracks.

  He ran right into Ronald and screamed, “Run! Run, Jesus, just get out of here!”

  Without question, Ronald obeyed the order and scarpered into the wet grassland on the other side of the trees. On Colin’s heel were two Nazi’s, shooting at them. After managing to break in undetected, they certainly made a calamitous exit. Their only saving grace was that they knew the terrain better than the men occupying it. Under a leaning oak, they took refuge to wait for the soldiers to pass and hopefully give up the search.

  “They are going to kill us. Oh my God, we are going to die,” Ronald whispered to himself.

  “Shut your mouth, Ron!” his brother shoved him. “Just be quiet. Under those uniforms, they are just men, after all. They are going to get too cold to run after a few canned goods and medicine.”

  “I do hope you are right,” Ronald sighed nervously, his voice shivering from the cold that gripped him. Their coats were drenched through, but their lives were more important. Soon the dreaded shadows of the German devils appeared in the edge of the mounted security light’s beam. Colin grabbed onto his brother’s sleeve as they both held their breath. In the hellish storm, the wind was muffling the conversation between the two men as they discussed the next course of action. The two British brothers sat frozen in position, watching the Germans’ body language. It appeared that the soldiers had called off the search because of the harsh environment, but as they turned in their tracks to leave, they summoned someone to take their place.

  The Hall brothers glanced at one another, but remained perfectly still. It was not long before the most terrifying sound came to their ears. Thus far, they had thought it only a rumor, but they were about to meet one of the most sinister characters purveyed about among the islanders for years. From afar, the sound grew louder, and even in the absence of the Nazi soldiers, the two brothers clawed at each other in terror.

  “What is it?” Ronald asked Colin, but Colin could not move. In fact, he closed his eyes and prayed. “Colin!” he pushed his brother, but he needed not hear it from Colin, as the dire shape of her came into view, accompanied by the growls of her beasts.

  Colin finally opened his eyes to look upon the horrible shapes, ready to pounce in the light. “Holy shit, Ron, she is real!”

  “Who? Who is it?” Ronald asked.

  His brother gasped, “The woman with the dogs.”

  1

  Best Laid Plan

  Over the course of the day, Court was feeling apprehensive. He had never done something like this before, but he really needed the money. It was Tuesday. Paul, his drinking buddy and instigator from the local pub, were working at the junk yard next to Hamish Auto Repair, where Court was a mechanic.

  B
oth men had families, but Court had to take care of his wife, grandson and the child’s mother, since the boy’s mother could not take care of him by herself. Court and his wife thought it only fair to help out with young Brian, since the child’s father was Court’s son. It was sore to admit, but Court’s son had abandoned his child and girlfriend when he got the news of her pregnancy.

  Court did not raise his boy that way, but his wife insisted that it was not their fault that their son turned wayward. Joe was a grown man and he had chosen his path, one of delinquency, destination regret. They just referred to Joe’s girlfriend as their daughter anyway, as she was close family, and more loyal than Joe, who was blood.

  “You done with Dover’s diff work, mate?” Tony asked. Tony Hamish was Court’s boss only in name, the signature on Court’s checks. Other than that, the two middle-aged men had known each other since early high school at Queen’s Park and kept a close friendship. It was when Court was retrenched from his job at the ironworks that Hamish stepped in to offer his friend a job.

  “Almost, Tone,” Court answered, his oil-stained face wincing under the hoisted up chassis of the Peugeot 406.

  “Been taking a bit long on that, haven’t you? You alright, mate?” Hamish asked.

  “Aye. No worries. My hands are just clumsy today, but I will get it done long before closing,” Court reported, lying to sound far more emotionally stable than he had been of late.

  He could never tell his friend and employer about his personal problems, his wife’s illness and his mounting debt. Court was a proud Glasgow fighter, not some needy sorner, sponging on the charity of others. Another thing he was not was a criminal. Thus far, in his fifty years on the planet, Court Callany had never broken the law, save for the odd traffic fine.

  That was why tonight’s plan had him scatterbrained all day long. Paul was to meet him after work and then they would start on rectifying their respective social situations. Court did not know Paul’s true circumstances, and neither did he care, but he knew that Paul had a solution lined up and that was more than what Court could ever accomplish. He was definitely not much in the way of a planner or executer, but with Paul’s ‘sure thing’, it was worth a try. If the plan worked, he was looking at a substantial amount of money with which he would be able to plug the leaks in his life.

  The smell of oil and rubber filled his nostrils as his greasy hands fumbled at the bolts of the car’s differential. It was the smell of his second home. He loved fixing cars, but it was simply not enough to make ends meet. Tonight he would be introduced to a new kind of employment, if the term could be applied to what Paul from the Pub had planned.

  Several customers had come to collect their cars already, as closing time drew nearer. Wiping his hands on one of his dirty cloths, Court stood upright to stretch out his back. On the other side of the fence, he saw Paul. He was quite hideous to look at. Greasy hair clung to his head in long straight streaks, enveloping a face that had seen better years. Wrinkles sank deep into his skin and his thin lips covered rotten teeth that repelled anyone he smiled at.

  It was unclear to the Court if Paul had done this kind of thing before, but by the looks of him, even back in high school, it was not too farfetched to believe. Sure enough, he sounded as if he knew what to do, and unfortunately that was all Court could count on. The two men nodded at one another in acknowledgement, and carried on with their work. Tony Hamish came marching from the office to talk to Court, looking a bit awkward in the face.

  “Erm, listen, Court,” he started, casting his eyes down to the messy floor. “Just got a call from Connor, and he said he is held up in a meeting. He will collect the car at 6.30, if you do not mind.”

  Flabbergasted, Court’s wringing hands hastened in the cloth. “But we close at six.”

  “I know that, Court,” Hamish said in an irate tone, “but he is a regular customer and I am sure you can stay thirty minutes later to wait for him?”

  “Why can you not wait for him?” Court asked. “I have a meeting after work.”

  Hamish smiled amusedly. “What, at the pub?”

  “No,” Court retorted in frustration. “Believe it or not, Tone, I have a life after work, you know.”

  His boss pulled back visibly, mocking his employee. “I am so sorry, Mr. Callany, but without this job you would have neither, would you now?”

  Court had to concede that it was true. He had to be grateful that he had a job, even with unexpected sacrifices such as these, but what he could not tell Hamish, was that his time after work was reserved for something on the other side of legal. He nodded in defeat, looking at the dirt on his hands as he saw the cruel irony in it. Throughout his life, he always found himself trying to wipe away the dirt and grime, using a fouled rag. It was the epitome of his existence to try fixing problem by creating other problems. There it was, always wiping dirt off with more dirt, only bringing forth a different manner of pollution.

  “Aye,” a subdued sound escaped him as he looked at the cloth in his hands. “I will be here.”

  “Good. Thank you, Court. I really do appreciate it, mate,” his boss smiled, patting him on the shoulder before walking away.

  Court was a bit of a superstitious man. His family had a strong Gypsy streak and he was raised with tall tales of curses and fate, even though he had become good enough at hiding it from his wife and children.

  ‘It is a sign, Court,’ his inner self insisted. ‘You are not supposed to go tonight, otherwise this client would not have run late to keep you here. Don’t go!’

  He regarded the wall clock in the work area. It was nearing closing time and soon Paul would be here to meet up with him. What would he tell Paul? Should he lie, he wondered, or should he ignore the warning in the circumstances? To distract him from the moral, and superstitious, debate, Court proceeded to finish the last work and cleaned up. By the time he was finished, it was just past 6 p.m.

  “Thanks again, mate! Have a good night!” Tony Hamish called from the door, car keys in hand.

  “Bye-ya!” Court attempted a smile, but it went unnoticed as Hamish’ back was already turned to unlock his car and go home. Court looked over to the junkyard. The ragged steel plated gates were gathered roughly at the middle by an old chain and padlock, creaking in the Glasgow gusts. No greater melancholy had ever befallen Court Callany as this plague of worry and loneliness, as he stood dead still in the middle of the workshop, smelling the grime and smoke from outside. Torn between his struggle and a criminal solution to his problems, he tried to make a choice. He had until 6.30 p.m to decide what he was going to do.

  By the time the clock reached a quarter past six, he was convinced that Paul was just as reluctant as he, and had probably left for home as well by now. Actually, the thought of being jilted, of having the pub lads laughing at his expense for taking Paul seriously, was a great relief. Even with the rising winds outside, the clatter of the electric roller door at the back was substantial. Court turned to see what caused the noise, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  The darkness in the workshop was soothing and safe, as opposed to the cruel world outside where nobody gave a damn about anyone else. Out there, people were left to fight for their lives and well-being while vultures drained them dry without an ounce of guilt. He zoned out to utilize the solitude to the full for the short while he was left in the bliss of it, not to have to answer, not to have to respond or choose, but just to exist in silent harmony.

  Suddenly the back roller door clanged in a great din of metallic chaos, sending poor Court into a near coma from fright. It stopped abruptly, but as he stared wide-eyed at the door, it started again. From the other side he heard Paul’s voice, “Oi, mate! Are you still in there? I see your car is still here!”

  “Aye, just hang on a minute!” Court shouted. His voice was frail and disappointed, but Paul reckoned it was on account of the fright he just gave the man. “I just have to open the doors.”

  “Why haven’t you come over like we discussed?” Paul
asked from outside. The doors rolled up, giving Court a gradual upward revelation of the man he had hoped had gone home. Court prepared for his expression to look indifferent, so that his accomplice would not catch on to his distress.

  “My boss asked me to wait for this bloke to pick up his car,” Court explained, throwing a thumb back at the newly repaired vehicle. “Won’t be two ticks and we can be out of here, alright?”

  Paul nodded, looking around the place and checking outside if someone was stalking there. Situations like these made him nervous, where plans got changed because of some random event that quickly came up. It was highly suspicious, especially since Court Callany was not the type of man who would even forfeit on a coin for charity. With his hands in his pockets, Paul sauntered round the back of the building, pretending to just be curious, while he was surveying the place for possible police intervention.

  “What is the matter?” cried Court from the roller door.

  “Just looking around, mate. I have never been in this yard before, so wanted to see what is here, you know? Just nosy, I suppose,” he fibbed.

  “What is here?” Court frowned at the openly wrong statement. To him it sounded as if Paul was scouting for stuff to steal, but he dared not say so. “Well, come inside. I don’t want people to think we are still open with my car still parked out front and you waltzing around in the yard. I am wasting enough time waiting for this client running late.”