ADULT: Meeting Of Minds - Parts 9 & 10a of 22+
Dana Short (DanaShort@aol.com)
Mon, 19 Apr 2004 00:07:11 EDT
Note: Remember how I said the chapters are getting bigger? Well,
for the sake of vaugly approaching uniformity I am going to do
something truly evil today. I am splitting Chapter 10 in half. If you
are like me, and can't abide waiting, send me a mesage and I will be
more than happy to forward you the next part a bit ahead of schedule.
This story may be concidered PG-13 due to both the situation, and
the occasional use of profanity (Chapter 11) when someone was upset.
Please direct flames/comments to DanaShort@aol.com
Please note the story title in the subject line, or your message WILL
be lost to my SPAM filter.
Legal Disclaimer: See first post, or visit the URL below for full
disclaimer. Just let it be known I don't own this universe.
Archive only according to rules mentioned in full disclaimer.
I hope you enjoy the story.
Fully formatted text of Chapters 1-10 available at:
www.DanaShort.com\HL-MOM.htm
========================== ==========================
Chapter Nine
On The Road Again
Its a 2,300 mile trek from Macon Georgia almost straight
across the United States to Los Angeles.
When Eadgils and the world was young, such a journey would
have taken a year. But times have changed, and so the world
has shrunk, even as it has grown.
Even so, while an airplane would make the trek in six to
eight hours, if he were to drive straight through it would
still take over thirty-six hours. While he did not like
the exposed feeling of driving that distance, he liked the
thought of dealing with the security hyperconscious airlines
even less, since it would mean traveling just about naked,
as far as weapons are concerned.
He sat in the car, mapping out the route for a bit. He could
go through Alabama, Mississippi, Tennessee, Arkansas, stopping
in Dora, right on the border of Arkansas and Oklahoma if he
drove all day. Then on Monday, he could push on through Texas,
and New Mexico, stopping at Albuquerque overnight, before
continuing on through Arizona to get to California. Broken
up that way, he would have about fourteen hours of driving
each day. If he kept up the pace, he would be in Los Angels
by Tuesday evening. Assuming, of course, he headed straight
out to Oklahoma now. It was already a bit after ten in the
morning, so decided he'd better get moving. Filling up the
car's gas tank, he got out on the highway, and headed west.
Four uneventful hours later, he stopped in Adamsville,
Alabama for some food, to top off the gas tank, and stretch
aching legs.
Swinging into an Arby's, he parked, and headed inside.
First stop was the restroom, for some much needed relief.
He caught himself just as he started to walk into the Men's
Room. Turning instead back to the Women's Room, he headed
in, and took care of his needs as clinically as possible.
He then washed his hands, and headed back out to the
counter where he ordered a Giant Roast Beef, a side of
Cheese Sticks, and a large drink.
Filling the cup with lemonade, so he wouldn't have to
worry about caffeine, he sat down and awaited his number.
As it was called, a loud group of teenagers came in and
milled before the menu, laughing and joking.
Heading up, he lifted his tray and had just turned to head
back to the table with his drink on it when one of the kids
knocked him from the side.
His tray jerked, and the box with the cheese sticks and the
sandwich leapt into the air, only to be caught by the fast
hands of a dark haired young man standing behind the group
of teenagers.
Eadgils bent over to pick up the fallen, but still sealed
package of marinara sauce, as the young man stepped forward,
holding out the rest of his food.
"Here, Miss, I think these are yours," the guy said with a
soft voice, with a definite southern drawl. But what really
drew Eadgils's attention was the faint, almost undetectable
tingle, signaling a pre-Immortal. Not as strong a one as The
Girl's had been, but unmistakable in any case. Some claimed
new Immortals couldn't detect pre-Immortals, because none of
them ever seemed to do so until they were several hundreds of
years old. Eadgils had always believed it wasn't inability,
but rather inexperience. The signature of a pre-Immortal was
the same as the one of a full fledged Immortal, in all but
strength. Pre-Immortals had very weak Quickenings. Some
times so faint you had to almost be touching them before you
could detect it. But in any case, Eadgils certainly detected
it coming from this young man.
"Thanks", he said letting the boy replace the food on his
tray. Looking at him, Eadgils judged the kid to be in his
middle to late twenties.
"No problem. I sort of saw what was comin' down, and thought
I could lend a hand," he said, looking away from Eadgils eyes
for a second to glance at his hands, still resting where they
had just deposited the food back on the tray, "or I suppose
two, in this case."
Eadgils stifled a groan, and instead smiled at the boy's
attempt at humor.
"Anyhow, my name's Patrick." He continued, his eyes again
leaving Eadgils face, to proceed in a swift, but
unsuccessfully surreptitious scan down and back up Eadgils's
body, hesitating both times in the region of the chest.
Feeling an unfamiliar flush, Eadgils said "Well, Patrick,
mine's Sue, and I just want to say thanks again."
Turning, and resisting the urge to run, Eadgils headed back
to his table, sitting deliberately with his back to the
counter this time.
He had taken the first bite of sandwich, opened the marinara,
and was about to dip his first cheese stick, when Patrick
stepped around into view, holding a drink cup. "I was
wonderin' Miss Sue, would you mind if I sat with you? I
don't mean to impose or nothin, it's just, I dunno. I know
it sounds corny, but I feel like I should know ya'all for
some reason. I know I don't, heck, I ain't even from 'round
here, I'm from Montgomery, just passin' through on ma way to
Memphis. If you don't want me ta bother y'all, just say so,
and I'll leave ya 'lone."
Eadgils hesitated. He had a good idea what it was that was
attracting the young man to him, and he didn't think it was
all just Sue's good looks. Just as an Immortal could sense
a pre-Immortal, a pre-Immortal could sense an Immortal, if
they knew what to listen for. Considering the strength of
his Quickening, he had no doubt that on some level the boy
in front of him was feeling the force of Eadgils Quickening,
and quite possibly he was responding to it. Also, there was
what he saw almost as a duty for the older Immortals to give
a helping hand to the new ones. He had gotten help himself
from Ralas oh so long ago. Without that one's sage advise,
he was sure he would not be sitting here now. Actually, he
thought with a giggle, as he nodded at Patrick, he really
wasn't sitting here now. Sue was. But the meaning was still
the same.
"So," Eadgils said as Patrick sat opposite him, "What are
you doing heading to Memphis for?"
"Lookin' for a job, mostly. Got kin up there, hoping they
can take me in, and that a new town 'll give me a better
shot. Lost damn-all but my shirt back home. How bout you?
You live 'round here?"
"Nope. I'm on my way back home. California." Eadgils replied.
"Darn! You're not going to try and be a TV star are ya?
You're sure pretty enough, if ya don mind my sayen so, but
all I ever hear are bad stories about folks who try that."
Stifling another giggle, Eadgils answered, "No. At least I
don't think so. I haven't really planned on what I'm going
to do once I get there. Lay around the house for a bit, get
in touch with some friends, evaluate my life, and make a plan,
is actually what I was thinking at this point. I'm sort of on
vacation from my job."
"Woah. So what ya doin' in this place?" Patrick asked.
Eadgils couldn't help but smile, as he answered, "Eating
lunch," while waving the dipped, but still uneaten cheese
stick with a grin, "Or at least trying to."
Patrick got a sheepish look on his face, then looked over
Eadgils's shoulder, and said "Oh, ma food!"
As they ate, Eadgils was able to draw a somewhat sad story
out of Patrick.
Born and raised in a relatively poor family in Mississippi,
he went away to college in Alabama, where he studied Computer
Sciences. Degree in hand, he got a nice well-paying job at
an up and coming dot-com. Life was great, and Patrick
married a local girl he had been dating while in college,
bought a nice house, and started to live his future.
But he and his wife could not get pregnant. Finally, they
went to see some specialists, and several costly tests
later, it was determined he was shooting blanks.
Literally the next day, he found himself locked out of the
building where he worked. It seemed the company had gone
bankrupt and hadn't bothered to tell anyone. Word was he
shouldn't expect much of a final paycheck either, assets
would be liquidated, and eventually the monies raised would
be divided amongst the ex-employees on the basis of what
percentage they were owed. That process could take as much
as a year, however, and would likely yield less than 10% of
what he was owed.
Five months and three missed mortgage payments later, and
it was looking like the house was a goner as well. He still
had not found a real job. His wife was literally harping at
him so much he finally agreed to take a job at Radio Shack.
Two weeks later instead of the much needed unemployment
check, he received a letter informing him that since he now
had a job, he no longer qualified for Unemployment. It was
that same night when his wife told him she was pregnant,
and leaving him for her new boyfriend. At least he wouldn't
have to worry about Alimony.
He fell into a depression, stopped even going in to work,
and just hid in the house, drinking the last of his money
up as fast as it came in. When the phone company cut off
the service, at least the bill collectors stopped calling.
Unfortunately, the people from the bank decided to serve
him the foreclosure papers in person, so that didn't help
as much as one might think. His car had been repossessed
about the same time he'd started pimping batteries for Radio
Shack, so when they literally threw him out of the house (ok,
they threatened to have him arrested if he didn't leave on
his own.) he had nothing left. Just a bag of clothes. That
was when he decided to catch a ride to Memphis. If nothing
else, he could leach off his uncle for a while, and hopefully
he could find a new job in a new town. He certainly couldn't
do much worse than he had.
Eadgils shook his head. If ever there was someone on a
bad streak, it was Patrick.
Looking down at his tray, he noted with dismay he had
managed less than a third of his sandwich, and only two
of the now cold and yucky cheese sticks. But he felt
quite stuffed.
"Well, it was nice meeting you Patrick, but the time has
come for me to hit the road again. Maybe I'll see you
around sometime. Good Luck!"
"Ok," he said, standing and lifting his tray as well, then
suddenly looking around in panic. "Crap! Where are those
kids?"
Whirling, he tossed his tray back on the table and ran for
the door.
Looking out through the window, Eadgils could see someone
tossing a brown canvas suitcase out of a car, and drive away.
Patrick made it outside before the suitcase stopped rolling.
Bending over, he picked it up, only to have the handle break
loose on one side, causing the suitcase to swing back towards
the ground and slide along it opening the zipper and spilling
the contents into the dirt.
Eadgils had to fight an insane urge to laugh, the whole
scene looking like something Laurel and Hardy would have
staged in one of their films.
As Patrick bent down to start gathering his belongings,
Eadgils made a decision. He could give the boy a lift to
Memphis, he supposed. After all, picking up strays was
something he was always good at.
Taking a deep breath, Eadgils headed on outside, and called
to Patrick, "Need a new ride?"
Gesturing to the car he added, "I'll be passing through
Memphis this evening, so I can drop you off, if you want."
Patrick looked up in amazement, then said "I'd be much
obliged, Miss."
"It's Sue, ok?"
"Ok Sue."
========================== ==========================
Chapter Ten
Memphis Mayhem
It was close to 6:00pm when they finally reached the
outskirts of Memphis.
Eadgils was ready to drop off Patrick, fill up the gas tank,
and push on. He still had half of Tennessee, and all of
Arkansas to cross, almost 300 miles to go to reach Dora,
where he planned to stop for the night. If he got moving
again right away, he would make it sometime between ten and
eleven that evening. A bit ahead of schedule actually,
despite the late start.
Patrick gave Eadgils directions to his uncle's house.
Pulling up out front, he watched as Patrick got out of
the car, and walk up the driveway towards the house.
As he put the car back in gear to start his search for a
gas station, a bathroom, and a bit of fast food to eat on
the road, a police car came screeching around the corner,
lights flashing, and siren howling. Eadgils pulled the car
over to the side to let the police have the right of way on
the residential street. The first car was followed by a
second, as the first swept past Eadgils, only to screech to
a halt in front of Patrick's Uncle's house.
Eadgils shut off the engine even as the second car blew
past him, its brakes screeching.
The cops in the first car had gotten out, and were
shouting something at Patrick, who stood on the driveway,
holding his suitcase in his hand.
The police yelled something else, and Patrick with a
dumfounded look on his face lifted his arms up away from
his body, even as the second car screeched to a stop, and
opened its doors.
The officers from the first car had drawn their guns, and
were still yelling at Patrick. It was at that point the
remnant of the handle on Patrick's suitcase decided to
finish the escape it had begun in the Arby's parking lot.
Patrick's hand and arm jerked, as the suitcase started to
fall towards the driveway. At the sudden motion, one of
the cops pulled his trigger. Patrick followed his suitcase
to the driveway, a shocked expression on his face as bright
red arterial blood spurted into the evening sunlight from a
gash in the side of his neck.
"DAMNIT!" Eadgils yelled in his car. Even from this
distance, he knew Patrick had no chance. The bullet
squeezed off by the spooked cop must of clipped his
carotid artery. He would bleed to death before anything
could be done.
Eadgils could now hear one of the officers from the
second car yelling at the ones from the second, while the
other one ran to Patrick's prone form where it lay on the
concrete, blood pooling and running into the grass.
The front door of Patrick's uncle's house opened, and
three people came out onto the porch, and looked on in
wonder at the scene unfolding before their house.
One of the women seemed to recognize Patrick, and with a
scream, ran off the porch and over to the officer who was
kneeling over the body, speaking into his radio. The
officer dropped his radio to land in the pool of blood,
and turned his efforts to restraining the woman who was
trying to reach the body.
As Eadgils opened the door and climbed out of his car, he
could hear the officer from the second car saying "Maple
street, not Walnut! And what were you thinking drawing
your weapons!"
"I told him to stop and drop the box, he just turned
around and looked at me, then when Paul said to raise
his arms, he did so, but he still had that darn bag in
his hands. I'm sure Paul didn't intend to shoot him,
but heck, even I jumped a bit when he jerked and dropped
the bag. He could have been going for a weapon. We
knew he was armed!"
"No, you idiot, the perp over on MAPLE is armed. This
poor SOB, ah screw it. Talk to I.A.D., I quit." The
officer said, turning to start securing the area.
The second cop from the first car, the one who had shot
Patrick, now stood in front of what Eadgils took to be
Patrick's uncle, trying to explain how he came to shoot
the man's nephew.
Regardless of the fates of the officers, Eadgils knew he
wasn't going to make it to Doris that night. He would
be in Memphis for at least this evening. He would need
to find a hotel.
An Ambulance silently pulled in from the far end of the
street as Eadgils stood off to the side of the crowd
which had congregated around the scene. By this time,
several other police cars had also parked all over the
place, nicely blocking the middle of the street.
Police were taking pictures. Some of the uniformed
officers helped move police cars out of the way so the
Ambulance could get near the body.
Eventually, they transferred Patrick from the driveway
to the Ambulance, and the vehicle drove away.
Eadgils in the meantime had headed back to the car,
maneuvered it through the slalom course made of the
parked police vehicles, and had rounded the corner,
then turned right onto Maple, and passed another smaller
cluster of police cars, before stopping just short of
the corner. Thus, he was in a position to make a right
turn and follow the slow moving Ambulance as it emerged
onto the street and headed away from the area.
Keeping a discreet distance, Eadgils thought perhaps a
Law career might not be so objectionable, after all he
was already acting as an Ambulance Chaser. Why not get
paid for it.
The ambulance finally turned into a Hospital parking
lot and Eadgils followed, obtaining a ticket and
parking the car in the public area.
He approached the Ambulance, trying to sense the
strength of Patrick's Quickening, while the driver and
his partner got out and went around to the back, then
removed a covered stretcher which they pushed on into
the hospital.
>From what Eadgils could feel, Patrick was not only
still dead, but it would be a good while before that
condition changed.
Deciding that was likely for the better, he returned to
his car, and pulled back out onto the street. Since it
was under five minutes, he didn't even have to pay.
A bit up the street, he found a Days Inn. The sign
said "Vacancy", so he pulled in and parked the car.
A quick trip to the lobby, and he had two adjoining
outside rooms on the second floor, left side. Paid for
again in cash, but they had taken a copy of Sue's Visa
Check Card to cover any incidentals. They promised it
would not be processed unless there were additional
charges for the two rooms.
He went ahead and moved Sue's new suitcase full of
clothes into the first of the two rooms, opened the
connecting door, then went around to the second room,
and opened the connecting door from it's side as well.
Next off, he shuttled the Laptop case up to "his" room,
set it up, and logged on.
The news was covering the accidental shooting of a man
locally. No additional information was available at
that time, other than the person shot was declared dead
at the scene, and an internal investigation was underway.
He checked his email, received a confirmation from the
trustees that his instructions had been received, so he
sent a reply, thanking them, and thus resetting the
clock by another day. On that note, he also sent a
message off to one of his foreign investment banks,
resetting their own clock. It would be a shame if he
lost his investments just because he was dead.
That taken care of, he put his mind to his forthcoming
task. From what he could tell walking past Patrick's
body, his Quickening was still quite low. This made
sense, because if his body had bled out, then the body
had to replace the blood before it could restart his
heart, and also his life. Blood was mostly liquid. The
effects of the Quickening, while seeming like magic to
most, followed some simple, hard rules. That liquid had
to come from somewhere. Moisture could be obtained from
the air around the body. In this humidity, any moisture
touching Patrick's skin was almost certain to be absorbed
instantly, but if they placed him in a climate controlled
storage box, such as most morgues tended to use, then the
amount of environmentally available moisture would be
severely curtailed. At that point, the Quickening
wouldn't be able to any more, and would simply have to
wait for things to change. Oh, sometimes it would try
and restart an Immortal who was in a nonviable situation,
it had even happened to him once.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
March 1870, Wickenburg, Arizona
Eadgils was working as a mucker, the person who shoveled
the remnants of trilled and blasted rock from the end of
the mine tunnel into a ore cart, before he and his
partner James, would push it out to where James crushed
it, and sifted it in the shaker box, to extract the gold.
Not that there was much gold in this particular mine.
Eadgils was thinking it was about time to cut his losses,
and head back east. He had other investments, granted,
much longer term, but certainly less laborious as well.
He was about to call out to James, when he felt the
earth shift and rumble. The next mine over was blasting
again. They were supposed to give out a warning before
they set off a charge like that, give their neighbors a
chance to get out just in case...
His thoughts were cut off abruptly; as he noticed
exactly the 'in case' was happening. The last shoring
timber had dislodged from its support beam, and the roof
started to collapse.
Eadgils shoved on the ore cart with all the strength he
could summon, since it was blocking his egress from the
collapsing tunnel.
As the cart started to move forward however, the roof
continued to come down, the shoring timber falling and
blocking the tracks, stopping the cart and letting it
roll back towards Eadgils.
It didn't get to roll far though, because the rest of
the roof came down as well, and as the noise died away,
Eadgils was left in a dark, dusty, and ominously quiet
chamber, too short to stand up in, and too small to lay
down in any direction either. He tried banging on the
wall, to let James know he was still alive, but he
didn't hear any response. Long after his arm started
burning from fatigue, Eadgils found he could no longer
manage to move the pick. "Air is going bad. Damn" he
thought, and then all was silent and still, as Eadgils
died.
Pain was his first reality. Pain of his heart starting,
but more so, pain of hitting his head against both the
low roof and the jagged wall as his body spasmed from
a resurrection.
He was still in darkness, but at least the dust had
settled. It had, at least until he started moving
around again.
The air still did not smell any fresher though, in fact
is bore a distinct stench. But he again tried to tap for
help with his pick. Once more, after an unknowable time,
but a much shorter one than before, his arms gave out,
and he slipped back into death's temporary embrace.
Once more, his head was wracked by the pain of it's
painfully impacting on the walls and roof of his small
tomb, for that was what the sealed end of the mineshaft
had certainly become.
As the pain faded, he determined the stench was at least
better. The air now had a damp, musty smell, more of
mildew than of death and decay. Once more, he tried to
tap for help with his pick, but before long, the fatigue
again overcame him and he slipped away.
"This is getting ridiculous" he thought to himself, as he
again bashed his head against the roof and walls of his
chamber upon reviving. The handle of the pick was slimed
with mildew, but he grasped it anyhow, and again tapped,
trying to get help. After an indeterminable amount of time,
probably short, but subjectively quite long, most of which
was spent envisioning an eternity of waking, dying, and
waking again until the earth itself crumbled around him,
he ran out of energy and drifted away once more.
This time, the entire episode was limited to a sudden
explosion of sharp pain as his convulsion smashed his head
fatally against a protruding corner of rock.
His next return was a bit different. Oh, it started with a
spectacular burst of pain from his head as he once more
brained himself against the wall, but what was different
was his environment. He was now laying in water.
The musty smell was now a mossy smell, although there was no
way moss could grow in the dark. But the water on the floor
was a good two inches deep. Also, he heard a sound. A faint
Clink-Chink, and a sound like water running in a streambed.
He grasped the rotting handle of the pick, and once more
pounded on the wall until the effort killed him once more.
He sat up with a jolt, the convulsive pain of resurrection
shocking its way through his system, and though he expected
it again, he did not hit his head on the way up this time,
only on the way back down.
The air was fresh and clean. There was water running in a
stream nearby, and there were voices as well. He opened his
eyes, and saw light. Not much, as he was apparently laying
on the floor of a mineshaft, with a canvas cover over him.
Pushing the canvas aside, he looked down the slope of the
shaft, and could see it was night time outside. The
interior of the shaft was light by oil lamps. Cautiously,
he got to his feet, noting as he did how skeletally thin he
had become during his ordeal. His clothed were literally
rotted off of him, leaving him in tattered rags. He
shuffled weakly to the mouth of the tunnel, where he
could hear faint voices coming from a nearby camp fire.
"I ain't goin back in there 'till the Sheriff gets here
and takes away the stiff. I always said that shaft was
haunted, and we done found the haunt!"
"Now Willie," another calmer voice replied, "There is a
perfectly scientific reason for the lack of corruption
of the corpse. No air. It's been sealed in there all
these years, ain't no way it could rot. Like one of
those 'gyptian mommies we heard tale of, remember?
Thousands of years old, and looking like they was layed
away last week. It's the same thing. It don't make
him no haunt."
"I tells you, I heard him cryin, An I heard him diggin,
Minin he was with a ghost pick for ghost gold. I ain't
goin back in there. No way no how. Charlie can muck
the stuff hisself if he wants to, but I ain't goin in
there!"
"Well, Charlie should be back soon with the Sheriff.
They'll take care of the body. Then everything will be
back to normal. Ok?"
"I just ain't goin in there. Scared me half to death when
I found 'em it did. Damn near 'spected him to open his
eyes and introduce me to the devil hisself, I did."
"Just rest some. Charlie and the Sheriff will be here
any time."
Eadgils decided it was better to be an absent corpse than
an active one, so he turned away from the fire, and headed
off as cautiously as he could towards town, trying his best
not to leave any tracks, despite his lack of strength or
energy.
Eventually, he passed a series of shacks as he approached
the town, and bending to necessity, he crept as quietly to
the windows of several as he passed, and looked inside each
one in turn. From one he stole some bread. From another he
pulled a shirt off a chair just in reach. A third he fished
a tin cup from a forlorn table.
His boots were still marginally serviceable, he now had a
rough shirt which fit him, but smelled worse than he did,
but he would need to find some pants from somewhere, least
he continue to look like the walking dead. He would also
need a wash, and quite soon. He didn't think Wickenburg
would be a very healthy place for him to hang around for
too long, not once his absence from the mine shaft was noted.
Turning towards Morristown, a good eleven mile walk from
the other side of Wickenburg, but it was also in the other
direction from the mine, and he certainly never wanted to
go anywhere near there again.
Continuing his stealthy examination of shacks, he finally
found a pair of wool trousers which looked like they would
normally be a good fit. Given his current condition they
would hang more like a tent, but if beggars can't be
choosers, sneak thieves have even less room for discretion.
He also literally stumbled over a sleeping chicken, and
stooping swiftly, yet painfully, he managed to capture it
before it could raise a ruckus, and snapped its neck.
If he could build a fire, he could eat at least. But first
to put some miles between himself and Wickenburg before
daylight.
When he finally made it to Morristown two days later, he
found out he had been buried in the mine for almost thirty
years. America was at war, and fighting Spain of all things.
Despite his reluctance, after getting a job in Morristown
for a few weeks, earning enough for a new wardrobe, and
putting enough meat back on his bones to look normal again,
he hiked back to Wickenburg, and went back up to the mine.
When he arrived there, one of the miners, apparently Willie,
saw him, let out a scream, dropped his pick, and ran for town.
Two more men, one of them Charlie, the mine's owner came
out to see what was going on.
Eadgils introduced himself as Gil Gilis, Ed Gilis's son.
He said he had heard his father's body had finally been
found in the old mine, and had come by to see to it he was
buried proper and Christian-like.
Charlie had explained that while they had indeed found his
father, that someone had apparently stolen the corpse, and
made off with it while Charlie was off to get the Sheriff.
Eadgils forgave Charlie for losing the body, and asked about
any personal effects which may have been recovered, especially
an old sword which Ed had always kept with himself.
Charlie had indeed recently dug the blade up, somewhat rusted
without having been cleaned for over thirty years, but the
case it had been kept in had protected it all through the
cave-in, it's internment, and recovery.
Eadgils, being able to describe both the case, the scabbard,
and the sword, including its inscriptions was able to
convince Charlie to give it to him.
Eadgils gratefully accepted the "Family Sword", and again
exonerated Charlie for his having lost his father's body.
With his almost seven hundred year old sword back in his
possession, Ed had walked back to Morristown, where he lived
for four years under the Gil Gilis identity until moving west
to San Francisco in 1903.
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The (Thrilling?) conclusion of Chapter Ten - "Memphis Mayhem"
Comming Friday, 4-23