Avalon by Stephen R. Lawhead Read Free Book Online Page B

into town. Consequently, they arrived at the station with only minutes to spare and dashed to collect the tickets. Presenting himself at the ticket booth, the clerk said, “Middle initial?”
    “What? Oh,
A
— James A. Stuart.”
    “Your destination?”
    “London — King’s Cross.”
    “Somebody with you?”
    “A friend,” he said, jerking a thumb at Cal.
    “These are yours then.” The clerk slid two tickets under the glass. “Enjoy your trip.”
    James scooped up the tickets, and the two headed for the platform where the train was waiting. Once they were rolling through the countryside, Cal, propping his feet on the opposite seat, said, “So tell me, what’s this all about then?”
    “I already told you — it’s to do with the estate.”
    “Yeah, so? Did the solicitor turn up something?”
    “Something turned up, but I’m not sure what.” Suddenly reluctant to rehearse the scant details leading up to their present situation, James simply told him, “Apparently the answer awaits us in London. I honestly don’t know all that much about it myself.”
    Cal regarded him dubiously for a moment, suspecting there was more James wasn’t telling him.
    “Um,” James said, “it’s sort of a long story. I’d really rather not go into it all right now. Can we just leave it at that for the moment?”
    “Whatever you say, Sonny Jim. So far as I’m concerned, it’s a free weekend in the big city. I even put on a new shirt,” he boasted, tugging gently on his cuffs. “Wine, women, and song — here I come.”
    The train sped through a rain-streaked countryside, and the two occupied themselves talking about the annual village stag hunt; Cal, for the third year running, was to act as gillie as well as organize the prizes. When the lunch hour rolled around, they swayed to the buffet car and bought beer and sandwiches, which they carried back to their seats. Cal took a nap after that, and James soon dozed off, too, sleeping through a minor mechanical hold-up at Crewe, and awaking only when the train pulled in at New Street Station, Birmingham, where four businessmen in smart blue suits got on and started ringing up wives and girlfriends on their mobile phones.
    The sky was already growing dark by that time, the short winter day fading quickly into a gray murky half light. James caught a last lingering glimpse of ruddy color low on the horizon as the train came out of the city, and watched it until the twilight closed in. He sat looking out the window and wondering what in heaven’s name he was doing.
Have I become so desperate to hold onto my little bit of land
, he wondered,
that I will clutch at any straw
?
    Yes, he concluded gloomily.
It has come to that
.
    The train pulled in at King’s Cross. They disembarked with the businessmen, and walked to the head of the platform where James paused.
    “What now?” asked Calum, stretching his neck.
    “Somebody’s supposed to meet us.”
    “And who might that be?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “For a military man, you don’t really have this goose chase under control, do you?” Cal shook his head and chuckled.
    “Not really, no,” James conceded, growing increasingly perturbed for having allowed himself to be so easily led down the garden path. He was just about to suggest they go and try the phone number on the card, when they were approached by a slender, dark-haired youth. His solemn expression made him appear older than he was, and his bearing gave James to know he was a soldier or had been; he had seen the sober look and clipped walk far too many times not to recognize it now.
    The young man walked directly to where the two stood waiting. James could have sworn he almost saluted. “Captain Stuart?” It was not so much a question, as a statement of fact.
    James acknowledged his terse greeting, and said, “This is my friend, Cal — Calum McKay.”
    The young man nodded at this information, and said, “This way, sir. I have a car waiting.” He reached