The Hunt for Excalibur

18 The Fallen Knight

Twenty kilometers away, a luxury sedan was pulling up to the Callany residence with its beams switched off. Only the sound of crackling loose stones and glass under the pressure of its tires could be heard, but in the howling gale, it became part of the dead night serenade. None of the residents were alarmed or awoken by it, and that included the Callany household.

“Drive on. Park around the corner,” Yiannis told his associate. “We do not want to be so obvious.”

The car idled onward for another half a block and halted I front of an unkempt play park of sorts. In the occasional moonlight that permeated through the passing clouds, the skeletons of seesaws and slides formed an ominous metal graveyard. Through the spider legs of the merry-go-round, the distant Glasgow city lights blinked as the two men got out of the car with stealth silence.

Moving swiftly, they walked over the wet grass to minimize the volume of their stalking. They had instructions to secure the house and all within it, and to bring the occupants to where Court was kept. According to the major’s sinister strategy, Court would be more forthcoming with information on the missing scabbard once he saw his family worked over. One thing about Major Rian was this — the man had no reservations about torturing women and children if it meant an end to his means.

Putting his finger on his lips to gesture to his accomplice, Yiannis motioned that he was going around the back. His partner, a childhood friend called Kostas, was very familiar with the pattern of infiltration they used. It was not their first abduction together. Both men were highly trained in Pankreation and several other close combat styles, which made the use of guns during abductions unnecessary. In fact, the omission of firearms avoided harsher charges should they be caught and arrested.

Having spent a few hours during the day doing reconnaissance, they knew the set-up of the house and all the inconspicuous possible access points. The dark house would hold no surprises now that they knew the layout of the place. Everyone inside seemed to have gone to sleep after the petite brunette left earlier the night before.

Kostas took his place at the bottom of the front porch steps, waiting for his partner to do the honors. Yiannis slipped around the back, loosening the frame of the small dish room. It was a small offshoot from the larger kitchen, an enclosed room where the sink was fitted next to the fridge and washing machine. Once the frame came loose, he carefully removed it along with the rubber edging and placed it quietly on the meager grass and mud. With swift athleticism, Yiannis breached the large hole and landed a bit hard inside.

Brian was in his room, having been unable to get any sleep. His grandfather’s absence was of great upset to him, especially after the worrisome day he had endured. The women of the house told him that he did not have to go to school today, which was a great relief for the troubled boy. However, the release of tension did not afford him rest. Perhaps it was a good thing, because he was the only occupant of the house who heard something out of sorts coming from the kitchen.

Thinking it was one of the ladies, young Brian figured it would be a good time to charm one of them for some hot chocolate. Again, he listened at his bedroom door, but he heard no more from the kitchen, which only pressed him to investigate. It was strange, he thought, that the lights would be off while someone is in there, so Brian opened his door slightly to peek.

Only blackness met him at the far end of the hallway, so he stepped out to go and see. Brian tugged up his loose pajama pants as he sauntered over. When he looked up, he saw something that stole his breath instantly. Both his hands grabbed at his face in terror as the massive dark figure slid past the window, where the slight moonlight illuminated the empty hole. He heard soft footsteps coming straight towards him. Whoever it was did not see him in the pitch darkness and was headed for the front of the house. Quickly, the boy’s reactions compelled him to dart sideways into the bathroom, just in time. The dark figure passed unperturbed, unaware of where each door was off the corridor.

Brian’s small body was quaking when he heard the locks click one by one on the front door, the familiar creak it made when opened and the subsequent footsteps of another intruder. Under the shelter of the porcelain sink cabinet in the bathroom, the boy curled up, hugging his legs and listening. Suddenly a light went on in his grandmother’s room, closely followed by the light in his mother’s room. Moments later came the horrendous sound of his mother and grandmother’s screams, sending the young boy’s heart into overdrive as he softly wept.

Blows were heard before the awful silence of the women’s cries for help. Muttering between the assailants terrified the boy. He could hear Pam’s voice quivering as she begged for her life.

“Mummy,” he wailed softly in the stink of the small cabinet, listening to his mother’s helpless pleas. Somewhere in there, he could discern her saying, “My son, but he is at a friend’s house.”

Then Brian heard a deep male voice answer angrily, “But he was here this afternoon. We did not see him leave. You lie to us. If we find him, we break his neck.”

“He left out the backyard, for God’s sake!” she shrieked impatiently. “They have a project to finish for tomorrow, so he is staying there!” Pam was not a sharp woman, but she had street smarts. Brian too. He knew that his mother raised her voice to alert him, to direct him what to do. Much as the boy wanted to save his matriarchs, he knew he was their only chance of notifying the police.

Brian heard the two men converse in a strange language before another blunt crack affirmed that his mother had been disabled. In his mind, he screamed, hoping that he did not just hear his mother being killed. All that kept him calm, was hoping that she was just knocked out. It frustrated young Brian that he could not understand what the men were saying to one another. How would he know why this was happening? How would he know what they planned to do with his mum and grandma? Tears warmed his cold cheeks as he watched through a crack in the cabinet, how the two men carried out the ladies.

Stiff with fear and cold, Brian listened for the door to shut before he carefully crept out from his hiding place. First he had to make sure that they were really gone, after which he stole to the front room window and kneeled. Peeking over the windowsill in the dark spare room, his eyes followed the big ogres down the next three houses. He had to react quickly or he would lose his mother and grandma forever, he reckoned.

Slipping out the side window of the enclosed porch, the boy used his knowledge of the area to hop the yards of his neighbors to see where the men were taking his family. It saddened him that their clothes had blood on it and that the cruel men did not even cover their bodies to carry them in the cold. “Bassa scums,” he growled as he came to the end of the second yard. He could go no further, but Brian could see their vehicle. It was too dark to get the license plate, but he had enough information, as long as he could get help soon enough.

He headed back to the house to get some proper clothes on, lamenting the lingering dizziness that still plagued him since the lightning incident. But there was no time now to worry about ailments, Brian told himself. His grandfather was missing and his ill grandmother would not survive the ordeal. He had to get help, no matter how his skin hurt or how his feet cramped up. Brian pulled on his jeans and put on a sweater under his windbreaker jacket. Tying his shoelaces was a bit of trouble, as he could not focus in the haze of the spinning room. He was by no means well enough yet to venture out, but Brian was not a prissy child, especially where it concerned his family.

He put on his thickest socks and briskly rushed to his mother’s room, where he had kicked off his shoes the previous evening. On the bedside table, he saw Pam’s cell phone, which he promptly took and slid into his jeans pocket. From under her bed he retrieved his shoes and started slipping them on. By now, his tears had ceased. Shock and sadness had now become desperation and focus. This was not the time, he knew, but Brian could not help but assume the role of one of his beloved knights — Gawain.

“I am coming, Mum,” he said, still sniffing from the panic and the cold. “I will save you.”

Brian tied his shoe, thinking of going to Mrs. Lomax next door to ask for help to get to the police station. His hands began to shake and his ears started ringing. From all sides the room closed in on him in a cloudy blackness, something he knew from one time before when he fainted at school.

“No,” he moaned, hurrying to get his shoe tied. “No! No, no, not now!”

The black cloud drew closer to his face as the room gradually vanished. Brian jumped up and made for the bathroom to wash his face. Last time cold water helped him avert a fainting spell. Hissing like a thousand rattlesnakes, his ears felt frigid and his fingers started to sting. “Pins and needles,” he huffed, trying to keep his eyes open. “Oh no, please, no. Pl-plea…,” he slurred as his eyes drowned in inky black.

Limply, the boy fell into the bathtub, still trying to hold on to the shower curtain, but his body gave in. From the mild resistance of his grasp, his body swung round and Brian fell with his temple against the edge of the tub. Where he was suffering a fainting spell, he was now knocked unconscious. In the cold white bath his little wiry body came to rest, not stirring after that blow to the head. His mission was lost and his armor dinted.