Holiday

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Just Old Al
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Re: Holiday

Post by Just Old Al »

20 - No Good Deed Goes Unpunished - Especially When The Wife Is Involved

The next day dawned clear and bright. Al and Ialin, having had their coffee as the sun rose in the east (this was a habit Al was never to lose) were quietly chatting, and with the sun in the sky after its opening act, Al secured the camper and headed into Lockehaven for breakfast.

He really needed to talk to Tina about breakfast service…pastry was all well and good, but nothing beat rashers and eggs.

Entering the Grey Gull, sitting and having breakfast and chatting with Mavis, Al was suddenly stabbed by a spear of absolute rage. It was coming from the pouch on his arm.

Daisy was angry. Daisy was Very, very angry. Al pitied whoever it was she was angry at – and distracted, went back to trying to finish his breakfast, though his appetite was gone.

Suddenly, it occurred to him – the time difference, morning, and her sitting down to read the “PP”…and the interview yesterday.

She was angry…at him.

Oh…dear. Uh-oh. Suddenly he was very glad to be a few thousand miles from his beloved wife, as her temper was a formidable thing even on a normal day.

“THAT MISERABLE USELESS SON OF AN APE! THAT…THAT…DIM-WITTED OVERAGED JAMES BOND WANNABE! I AM GOING TO REND HIM LIMB FROM LIMB AND THEN STAMPEDE ON THE PIECES!”

Edward walked quietly from the kitchen and over to the nearest phone. Dialing a number from memory, he waited patiently until the person on the other end picked up.

“Good morning Miss Katherine – this is Edward at the main house. Could I speak to Master Buck please? Thank you.

Master Buck – I sincerely request that you call your mother at your soonest opportunity.”

“Why? What’s going on, Edward?”

“Have you had the pleasure of reading the “Paranormal Press” this morning? If not, please navigate to the Canada section and Local News – and examine the articles bylined “Lockehaven”. I will wait while you do so.”

“Oh…my…God…I take it Momma’s seen this?”

“Yes, sir, she has. A member of her social circle saw the articles this morning and called her to tell her about them. Allow me to let you gauge her reaction.” He walked quietly to the kitchen door, slipped it open, and slid the handset inside.

“…THERE IS NOT GOING TO BE ENOUGH LEFT OF HIM WHEN I GET THROUGH TO CREMATE NEVER MIND BURY..”

Withdrawing the handset, Edward spoke calmly into it. “As you can see, sir, she has read it…and grasped the story between the lines as the parts stating that Al was not involved in the police action are as we know patently untrue.”

“One of these days that damned old fool is going to get himself killed.”


“Yes, sir. What should I do about your mother?”

“I’ll be right there. Just stay out of the circle of total destruction and hopefully she’ll run down a bit. How long has she been going on like this?”


“At least ten minutes. I lost track after she started repeating herself.”

“Damn. Stay out of range – I’ll be right there.”


Buck hung up the phone, and said to Katherine, “You are NOT going to believe this.” He pointed to the screen of the tablet he held. Katherine’s eyes scanned through the article, until her jaw dropped and an “oh…my…God…” escaped her lips.

“We need to go to the house.”

A few minutes later Buck and Katherine let themselves into the kitchen via the back door. Daisy, hair askew, red in the face, was finally starting to run down – the energy needs of that level of ranting finally overcoming her oxygen budget. Rosalita and the rest of the staff were staying at a respectful distance lest they become collateral damage, all of them being well aware of the source of the Mistress’ ire. As Buck and Katherine walked in, Daisy collapsed into a chair, picking up and staring at the tablet that had been discarded on the table.

“Good morning, Momma.” Buck said. Katherine went to buss Daisy, then realizing that might not be a pro-survival move stayed prudently out of arm’s reach.

Daisy answered very quietly and calmly – scaring both of them further. “Good morning. Have you seen the “PP” this morning? Specifically the Canada Local news section? More specifically, the two articles bylined ‘Lockehaven’? “

“Yes, Momma – we’ve seen them.”

“I knew something was wrong day before yesterday – there was a time when Al went DEFCON 1, then calmed, then went DEFCON 1 again. That evening he thought of me for a good long time, and I of him. It was wonderful.”

“Now I know why. That USELESS, STUPID, SON OF AN APE MANAGED TO GET HIMSELF INTO THE MIDDLE OF A DAMN DRUG BUST – and not just as an observer, I have NO doubt.”

Buck tried to calm his dam. “But, Momma, the article did say that Al was only an observer. He wasn’t involved in any of the actions. He was there just by happenstance and had been with the walking patrol that found the meth lab…”

“MINOTAUR SHIT. You know as well as I do that where there’s trouble, ol’ DIMWIT will be right in the middle of it…RIGHT there…” She took a deep breath, then another, and another, her colour coming down as she fought to control her temper.

“While I have no doubt whatsoever that this was inadvertent, I also know quite well that his involvement was to his usual up-to-his-neck levels. First off, he’s Sir Galahad – where there is a wrong to be righted he will be there. Secondarily, if he could help others going in harm’s way – well, you know him.

Third – look at the interview he gave the local stringer. That reeks of a buy-off. ‘No, you cannot run the real story but I’ll give you some column inches the local Chamber of Commerce will appreciate.’ “

“When he gets home he will wish that the drug runners had gotten him. Well, there’s only one thing to it. One thing.”

“He can’t be allowed out on his own. From now on, when he travels I’ll have to go with him.”

Buck and Katherine looked at each other, then Daisy. “Momma, ‘re you sure that’s a good idea? Al’s been all over the world all by himself and he’s been just fine…”

“Yes – and how much longer can he run that streak?”

“Seems to me that it’s never going to run out. You know what he’s done and where he’s been – and that’s what keeps him alive – he knows what he’s doing. Momma, much as you want to protect him, you can’t. He is what he is – and if gangs of killers, drug gunmen, Sphinxes - plural and every other type of apex predator haven’t managed to kill him – it’s not going to happen.”

“Trust him to know when it’s time to run – and he will. Trust him to do what’s right – and he will. Trust him…because you love him.”

Daisy sighed, all anger spent. “You’re right. Anyway, if it had gone truly bad he had the wands – and the mages would have dealt with it in short order. I just wish he’d be more careful.”

“If he had been more careful – you’d have never met.”

“True.”

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

*THWACK THWACK THWACK*

"GEROFF, DAMNIT! What in Hades was THAT for?"

The pixie, hands on hips and a look of annoyance on her face, fluttered just over Clara's dashboard.

"That, mister, was for making your dam absolutely frantic. I know what you felt in the restaurant a little bit ago - and you deserve every kilowatt of that energy. She found out you'd been in the middle of a fight from a newspaper!"

"Look, you annoying pixie, I had NOTHING to do with that. As I was told when I left, "I don't want to hear from you till you drive back in the gates - not before." Seemed like a pretty emphatic statement of intent to me does it to you?"

"Admittedly, but these were extenuating circumstances."

"Hardly. As you put it to me - these things follow me - and the fact that she found that in the paper was sheer bad luck, or one of her cronies who saw it and called her. If I called her every time something odd happened to me she'd be a wreck - and you would have gotten me put into Bedlam."

The pixie - arrayed in greys today - was thoughtful for a moment, then said "Well, true, but -"

"No BUTS about it. Between the shop, MIB, my own natural propensity for walking into trouble and the bunch of paranormal insanity around me the poor thing would be an absolute wreck - what just happened is a classic example.

Taking care of family and being a part of a family doesn't mean telling them everything - sometimes it means keeping yer gob shut and doing what needs to be done - no more and no less."

Ialin was silent for a moment, started to speak, and then went silent again.

"Look, I got pulled into something that could have gotten me killed if badly handled, or gotten my hosts killed - which is worse. I was not going to lie under a rock and let those brave men get hurt out of fear for myself or anything else.

Daisy is my love and my life, but I can't hide to make her happy. She wouldn't want me to. She will understand that as well, when she calms down.

It's the same thing as when I was thinking of an airplane - I wouldn't want to make Cal unhappy. Keeping Daisy reasonably unaware of the low-level crazy is just better."

"Stiff upper lip at all costs, then?"

"No! Of course not! But making someone a wreck over things she can't change...what's the point?"

"The point is the same damn thing your partner told you - that that you share all of yourself - not just the bits you sanitized. Dimwit."

"Now get yer arse back to Blackie's office, borrow a computer and send yer wife two dozen roses and a note 'Sorry - should have told you.' This way by the time you get back she'll laugh about it and not kill you - which is I think her current plan."

She then grew thoughtful and added almost as an afterthought,

"You should send her a rose bush too. It's a lasting memory to be attached to it. Each rose bush will have memories attached, and as time goes on, you both will laugh amongst the fragrant blooms of the interesting times you lived in."

"Will do. And I understand - you're right. Someday I'll get the hang of this."

"Just keep at it, there Goldeneye - you've got the rest of your life to work on it."

Driving from the Gull to Frenchy's was a matter of minutes. Explaining to Blackie took a bit longer.

"Goldeneye - what's wrong? You look terrified."

"Simple - if I don't do something - I'm a dead man!"

"Then do it - what happened?"

"I just found out my dam saw the articles in the PP - and I am a dead man. She is ANGRY."

"Oh..Mon...Dieu! What can I do to help?"

I need to borrow a computer for a few minutes - two dozen roses and a rose bush need to be on the way to her NOW - preferably for delivery today."

"Oui. Rather than doing it online, why don't we go down to the local florist? They can do FTD, and call the local place and make VERY sure this is going to happen. I don't want you to get killed when the drug morons didn't manage it."

"Oui. - yes. Damnit, Blackie, I'm starting to sound like you."

"Bon. You are speaking like a truly civilized individual." Blackie grinned, and said "Deal with the rose bush first, then we go."

"...that's right, two Matisse "Red Intuition" bushes, in pots for temporary handling, delivered to the Alexander Estate - attention Rosalynd Alexander. Yes, THAT Rosalynd Alexander. I need these delivered TODAY - am I understood on that? TODAY!"

The phone made reassuring noises.

"Good. Put a card with them. Write on it: 'Home soon - these are the start of our memory garden. Love, as always, Allan.' Got that? Good, thanks."

Al hung up the phone, and he and Blackie hurried down the street to the local florist.

Upon entering, Al immediately walked over to the middle-aged lady behind the counter.

"I need to send two dozen roses to an address in the States - and I need them delivered today, ma'am."

"No problem, Al - we can do this. Give me the address, and I'll put it right into FTD and then call the local shop and make it happen. Someone at home upset about your adventures?"

Al looked at Blackie, who shrugged in a Gallic fashion. "Goldeneye, I'm just mayor - I can't get service like this. You, mon ami, are truly blessed." He then chuckled and gestured to the lady behind the counter.

"Yes, my wife is very angry that I've gotten into the middle of what didn't happen..."

"Oh, we can't have that! You didn't do a great thing out there when you didn't help Scout and Trooper..."

Al passed over his credit card and said, "Two dozen longstem roses and a card - and on the card 'Life got interesting again but I am hale and hearty. Love and always thinking of you. Al.' "

"Right away if not sooner. Check back with me in an hour or so and I can let you know when she'll have them - or if I can catch it right she'll have them by then. Can I put on custom delivery - it will go faster?"

"Do it. Capital idea. Thank you."

Leaving the shop, Blackie and Al parted, Blackie wishing his friend luck in avoiding further matrimonial stress. Al headed back to Clara, and from there back to his campsite for a quiet sit by the ocean - he had some love to send to go with the roses.

Once back, he settled in his usual spot in the Adirondack chair with a cold drink, and contemplated the sea. Sitting, relaxing, thoughts on his dam, he drifted to sleep, hat over his eyes and sun warm on his shoulders.

Daisy could feel his thoughts again – he was thinking of her. Still somewhat angry with him, she made to ignore it, but the warmth seduced her as his love always did. She settled again in her chair in her office and closed her eyes, basking in his affection, and sent hers back to him.

As she sat, a sense impression came through to her...roses – the scent of roses. Two scents – one of rosebushes outdoors under a warm summer sun, and the other of a crystal vase of roses in the center of a room, filling the area with warmth and fragrance.

It was as though they were walking in a rose garden, each with its own scent, each with a story to tell. She could almost feel his hand in hers, his affectionate gaze on her face. They walked together for a long time, then his presence faded, slowly, dreamily.

The telephone on her desk rang, breaking the reverie.

“Mistress, there’s been a delivery for you.” Edward’s voice said in his calm, sedate manner.

“Roses – and rosebushes. In red.” Daisy spoke without thinking.

There was a slight gasp, and a pause. “Yes, yes to both. Madam, pardon my asking, but – “

“He told me.”

Another gasp, and a silence. “Very good, mistress.” Edward hung up the phone, and turned to Rosalita.

“She knew. She said he told her. How?” Edward was quite perplexed.

Roaslita reached for the cross she wore, gripped it, and said a prayer to the Virgin for her mistress and the madman she’d married. So lucky, so rich, and in such a short time….so blessed.

“Edward, don’t ask. When God dances, the music isn’t for us to understand – and God is dancing for those two.” With that, she went to the scullery for a vase for the roses.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Holiday

Post by Just Old Al »

21 - Quiet Morning Conversation, And a Busy Day

Saturday, early, Al was up. Off to the facilities, he returned to the warm, steamy atmosphere in the camper that bespoke of coffee.

Press ritual completed, he relaxed in his spot by the ocean and contemplated the day.

A flutter of wings and a slight pressure on his arm on the chair told him Ialin had arrived to watch the dawn.

“You know where the coffee is.” The pressure eased, and seconds later returned as Ialin returned with her demitasse.

He sipped, awaiting the dawn, and they held a companionable silence for a few moments. Finally, Al spoke, voice low and a trifle wistful.

“I am going to miss this spot. I am going to miss these mornings – and I’m going to miss you, Ialin. I know you’ll be going away after I get back – and I’ll miss you – and your advice.”

“I will never go away completely, Al. I’ll be around to keep an eye on you – and I’ll have my blueprint tube.” She chuckled quietly, and sipped her coffee.

“Do you realize how much you’ve changed? Daisy is going to be very pleased – and so will the others who love you. You’re relaxed, calm, and there’s a tranquility at the bottom of it I’ll lay odds you haven’t felt in decades. Feels good, doesn’t it?

You appreciate your surroundings, you’re not powering along from job to job to job, and you’re appreciating what you have and taking the time to do so. Sunrises, sunsets, stars at night and clouds in the day – you appreciate living again.

A question – a snoopy one, so don’t get offended – before the Alexanders, what were you doing?”

“What was I doing? Sitting in the Gods’ anteroom waiting for my number to come up. I was old, tired, in constant pain and really past it all. I had my business, endless acquaintances, my work and that’s about all. No one mattered to me, and I mattered to no one.”

“And now?”

“No longer tired, no longer hurting – in better shape than I’ve been in decades. Scars are gone, and ready for decades yet. Madly in love, family, more friends – real ones – than I can count, and unceasing wonders before my eyes.”

“Still waiting for your number?”

“Hades, no. Tore up the ticket. The Gods want me they’re going to have to work for it.”

“Good to hear. No sense just existing – not that you’ve ever done that. Do try and stay out of trouble, though – the Gods aren’t quite ready for you yet.”

“Looking forward to tonight?” Ialin asked, a wry tone in her voice.

“Absolutely not. Actually, let me rephrase that – looking forward to a good time, dreading the attention that I’ll attract.

“I’ve always lived in the shadows. When you do what I did the last thing you want is the light of publicity or attention – that gets soldiers killed. You learn to exist without leaving a mark, no trace, and no one knows you’re there. I’m not that anymore, and I leave a VERY big mark now with my loves and the world they’ve introduced me to, but…it’s a hard habit to break – and an even harder one to deliberately ignore.”

“Other than that, yes. I am looking forward to good food, music, good people and a great time. Blackie was talking about dancing – I’m not a great dancer, but I enjoy it – and I hope my dam will forgive me if I drag a mare or two onto the dance floor.”

“I’m sure she will. She and the green-eyed monster aren’t on speaking terms anymore, so she might even forgive you if a picture or two made it home showing you dancing.”

Al shuddered. “No pictures. Not a good idea. I still can’t handle being photographed. Still in the business, and don’t need people knowing what I look like.”

*THWACK!*


“How in Hades did you do that sitting still on the arm of the chair?”

“Trade secret. Al, yes, you are still in the trade, but to be perfectly honest, your spy days are LONG over. I don’t think Carlos the Jackal is after you anymore…oh, wait – he’s in prison! Gee, you’re off the hook! Who’d ‘a thought?”

“Bloody grackle. Yes, you’re right. Depressingly so. How come you’re right so often?”

“With you it’s easy pickings.” She smiled smugly, and lifted deftly as Al’s hand swung through the spot she’d been in a moment before. Settling back she giggled. “Naughty, naughty – no playing ‘Whack The Pixie’!”

“Then don’t be rude. Seriously, you’re right – my enemies such as they were are long gone – the habits of decades are hard to break – but tonight I will.”

“Seriously, you need a picture with you, Scout and Trooper for your office wall. When you get low – and you will, that’s just you – you can look at it, and at your majordomo, and the pictures of your family – and remember their times. It will help keep the Black Dog from the door, as Winston Churchill used to say.”

“Good idea.” With that, a beam of radiance struck from the eastern horizon, as the Sun began to peep from his bed. Quieting, the two sipped their coffee and enjoyed the spectacle.

Off to breakfast in town, Al made his usual rounds, then went back toward his campsite for some serious leisure. However, first the work needed to be done.

Shelburne was his first stop – the laundry he’d found before served his needs again, and the enforced stop let him tidy up the ambulance. He spent the intervening time collating his receipts for souvenirs – an inch-thick stack of paper. Let’s see…liquor, four bottles, wine 12 bottles, jewelry, candy, books, maps, toys…Oh, my, there was going to be some duty to pay…

Cleaning done, cabin tidy, all shipshape he parked back at the campsite and walked up to see his host.

Knocking, he entered…to find Ben behind his desk. Turning, Ben greeted the old soldier.

“Al, my friend! Good to see you – I know you’ve been busy! Quite the time you’ve had! Everything OK?”

“Everything is stunning – but I’m afraid I’m going to be leaving tomorrow.”

Ben nodded. “I suspected so. Hopefully, you’ll be back again – you know where we are – and our friends in the town certainly won’t be sad to see you back.”

Al nodded. “I know – I’ll miss them as well – it’s been a lovely time especially after we got past that little misunderstanding at the beginning.”

Ben started to ask a question, then stopped, then started again and finally stopped. “I do NOT want to know what that lot had running around in their heads. Something tells me I am far better off that way.”

“Hardly. A nicer lot of people I’ve rarely met – they’re wonderful folk. We speak the same language.”

“Bad French?” Ben said, taking a shot at the mayor. Al laughed, and said “No. Horses. We all understand them…very well.”

Ben stared at him long and hard. Finally, he said, “I will take your word on that – good to see it all worked out. Going to the party tonight?”

Al laughed. “I’m not supposed to know about that – I’m going to Armand’s house for ‘a quiet dinner’ before I leave.” Ben laughed, then said, “I figured you knew anyway – I’ll assume that means yes?”

“Certainly – I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I do need to settle up my bill, though.”

“No worries – it’s minimal.” Ben totaled up his tab, and Al passed over his credit card.

“Got time for a cup of coffee?” Ben inquired, as he passed over the slip for a signature.

“Certainly. Rest of the day for me is logistics – just wanted to get this out of the way so I don’t need to wake you if I’m going to make the ferry.”

“Good enough. Have a seat, make yourself comfortable, and I’ll have it in a minute.”

The next hour was spent in conversation, two expats reminiscing of life, loves and common places and times. Finally, Al got up, pleading a need to rest. “If I’m going to be any use at ‘dinner’ tonight, I need to get some rest. Got a long way to go tomorrow, and days to travel. Many thanks, Ben.”

“You know where we are. Always a spot for you.”

With that, Al trundled back to his campsite, took off his boots, and laid down on his bunk, back doors and window open to catch the air. Within moments he was asleep – the quiet, peaceful sleep of the untroubled mind.

Ialin popped in, settling to the counter top with a quiet whir of wings. “Younger all the time. Good to see, better to feel. Good for you.” With that, she sat, quietly, and watched the old man sleep.

Hours later, with the sun closer to the horizon, Al awoke. He was momentarily disoriented – the green walls, locker above and the lowering sun cast crazy shadows his mind refused to process for a moment. However, clarity soon returned, and he swung off the bunk.

“About damn time you woke up. I was going to poke you with a stick if you went on any longer.”

Startled, Al asked, “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough. You don’t twitch anymore. No more dreams, no more nightmares, it seems – not even mild ones. Am I right?”

“You are. Not all the time, sometimes they come, but not as bad as they have the past six months. They seem to be fading again, and continuing to do so.”

“Good. I’m not your shrink, but this is a good thing. Let this be a lesson to you – don’t get this way again.”

“Lesson learned. I do seem to be getting them internalized and digested – not a bad thing.”

“So, what’re you wearing to the party?” Ialin, legs draped over the counter edge, eagerly asked.

“Got a dress shirt, trousers and proper shoes here – likely they’re a bit wrinkled, but that’s going to be it, I think.”

“Al, wear your khakis. No one else is going to dress up I suspect, and who knows, Mavis might have at you again. Khakis might be safer. Anyway, no fedora and no khakis and that silly bunch of equines might panic.” She grinned wickedly.

“Also – tonight – just have fun. Forget the trip, forget everything and just have a good time. You are so disgustingly honorable even if you dance with every girl there the first thing you’ll do is tell your wife about it. Just have fun. Get pictures. Collect memories – and live.”

“Yes, ma’am! I will follow orders.” All too grinned wickedly, and started to unbutton his shirt – then stopped. “Do you mind?”

“What – are you worried I’m going to see that birthmark on your butt?”

Al sputtered. “Now that is entirely too much of a liberty, young lady…” only to notice the pixie lying on the countertop laughing uproariously.

“SCORE! I have been waiting to use that for the entire trip! SCORE!” Still laughing uproariously she disappeared like a soap bubble, with her laughter fading into the distance.

Showered, shaved, fresh khakis and all Al secured Clara and headed off to town. The pixie, after her embarrassing riposte about his posterior, was nowhere to be seen – but Al had no doubt she was nearby.

Stopping in at the store, Al dropped off Clara to have her tanks filled and walked into the store.

“Need some groceries - I’m headed out tomorrow, and I don’t want to shop on the way. Can you let me have three steaks, a few pounds of assorted luncheon meat, and a pound of cheddar for sandwiches? I need a loaf of bread, eggs and some mustard, as well. Oh, and let me have a pound of back bacon, sliced, if you have it.”

“Sure – hate to see you leaving, but yes, let’s get you stocked up with good food! Grab your bread, mustard and stuff and I’ll prep the rest. Be just a few minutes.”

“By the way, you never answered my question.”

“What question’s that?”

“Where’s ‘Centaur Field’?”

“Right out past the pitcher in baseball, Al.” The young man behind the counter whinnied a laugh.

“By the way, where’s your uncle? He told me to meet him at his place for dinner, but he didn’t bother to tell me where that was – prob’ly figured I’d find my way here.”

“He warned me you’d be in – was mad at himself he hadn’t thought to tell you. One of the things about a small town, eh – you expect everyone to know everything.” He laughed, and said “Simple enough – he’s right down Howe St, just after Spruce. Look for his old Caddy – easiest way to find the place.”

Groceries aboard, Al headed off toward the evening’s entertainment. Navigating through town to the Mayor’s house, he noticed wryly that the streets here had become almost as familiar as Maple Plain at home. It was typical – no matter where he ended up he’d always made it home. This time, however, he had a home to return to – and that was calling him more and more strongly.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Holiday

Post by Just Old Al »

22 - A Party And A Parting

Pulling up in front of the Mayor’s tidy cottage, Al noticed the similarities to Maple Plain – the small, well-kept houses, tidy properties and comfortable surroundings. Could use more trees, though – not a surprise for a coastal town, he thought.

A thought struck him – he got out of the ambulance, got into the back and hurriedly stripped off his shirt. He then unwrapped the Drow knife from its packaging, and slid the chain over his head, neatly hanging the knife under his arm in its usual position.
“And what the hate is THAT for?” Ialin was standing on the counter, arms crossed, tapping her toe.

“That is for later. I HATE goodbyes. ‘There is no goodbye – we will always meet again, even if beyond the Veil’. Can’t STAND damn goodbyes.”

“I understand. You remember how to work that thing?”

“Check me.” Al re-donned his shirt, then stood and thought strongly at the knife. A chill formed, and Ialin nodded. “Worked like a charm. No one else would have seen you. Now dispel it.”

Another effort of will, and the chill dissipated suddenly.” You’re good. Now go have fun.”

Al walked from the back, locked the door and turned to be greeted by the tall, dark mayor.

“Goldeneye, bonsoir! Glad you found the place – I felt like an idiot this afternoon when I realized I hadn’t given you directions.”

“No problem, Blackie – I had to stock up my groceries anyway so your nephew directed me. Worked out just fine.”

“Bon. Let’s get in the truck – we’re going over to the UCC Church hall for a “church supper”. Don’t blame me for the idea – this was Scout and Trooper’s planning. Good thing you were out there with them – with this level of deception they’d have gotten shot – and I told them so.”

Back in the truck they motored over the few blocks to the UCC Church – a tidy white structure with an attached hall. The parking lot was full other than a space to the side sufficient for Clara’s girth. Backing in, Blackie hopped out, and Al secured both doors.

“Act surprised.”

“To the level of wetting myself, or with simple facial expressions do?” Al quipped, to Blackie’s laughter.

They entered the double doors of the hall, and pandemonium erupted. It seemed like half the town was there – an estimation Al found out later was about right. Cheers erupted, with a chorus of “For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow” or the attempt at one.

Al cringed, but stood it good-naturedly until they attempted to lift him onto the stage. “I’m not dead yet! – I can do this!” he said, and strode to the stairs and up. It wasn’t the lifting he minded but that someone would find the Drow knife under his shirt.

Blackie, who had come up the other side, waved for silence – and when that failed, a bellow of “TA GUELE!” did the trick.

With the quieting of the crowd, Blackie went into operation, raising up his aspect as the mayor of a small town.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome, and welcome to our guest of honor – Sergeant-Major Allan Richer from Minneapolis, Minnesota, late of Her Majesty’s forces.

Why are we throwing a party for a Yank – even a British Yank? Well, reason one is that any excuse for a party is a good one.”

The crowd laughed, and Al had a good view of the consummate politician in his friend – he was good at working a crowd. As the laughter died away, Blackie continued.

“More seriously, I’m sure you all know about the events of last week – and the things that DIDN’T happen.

While out on patrol with Sheriff Fraser and Deputy James, Sergeant-Major Richer DID NOT take it upon himself to reconnoiter suspicious activity in the patrol area at great personal risk to life and limb, allowing the officers to remain in full combat readiness if it was needed. Once the threat was determined, he DID NOT work with the officers to plan a method of dealing with the threat with a minimum risk to life and limb for both the officers in question and the arresting officers from adjoining jurisdictions.

He also did NOT construct an explosive device from a water bottle and rifle cartridges to provide a distraction for the offenders and that any reports of such a device are grossly exaggerated.

NOT due to his skills and quick thinking the offenders were captured with no loss of life or injury to anyone involved.”

Al was shocked. This was NOT the agreed-upon story. Alarmed, he saw the PP stringer in the crowd, and the stringer noticed his gaze. He held up both hands in the time-honored gesture of “I know nothing!” and smiled back at the alarmed old man.

“Because of this, we are NOT going to award Sergeant-Major Richer with an award for bravery, quick thinking, combat skill and the willingness to put his own life on the line even though unarmed and not equipped for a combat situation.

Sergeant-Major – please come forward.”

Standing at rigid attention, Al marched forward, pivoted and stood firmly before the mayor.

The aspects had changed, here – the comfortable friendship had been put aside for the moment, and this ceremonial aspect took its place. Sheriff Fraser passed the Mayor a small brass and silver box, with inscriptions on its cover.

“Please accept this box as a symbolic token of the Freedom Of The Town of Lockehaven, Nova Scotia, Commonwealth of Canada, along with our sincere thanks.

The box contains one round of .50 BMG ammunition, so that should the Sergeant-Major ever feel the need to blow something up again, he will be well equipped to do so.” With that, the Mayor handed the box to Al, taking his hand and shaking it firmly.

“Mister Mayor – I don’t know what to say…”

“Then you’d better think of something – because they’re about to demand a speech. In any case, Al, you deserve this no matter how you feel about it.”

The applause started – loud and long. Al felt his face colouring as he stood at rigid attention. The emotions washing over him were almost overwhelming, warm, affirming, and infinitely welcoming.

“SPEECH! SPEECH!“ the crowd called, led by his friends Scout and Trooper, egging on the crowd to the immense discomfort of the elderly soldier. At the edge of his hearing he heard a giggle that sounded altogether too familiar and hoped she stayed out of sight – he had enough things on his hands at the moment.

Well, two can play at that game, Al thought to himself. This is going to get entertaining.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Andrew, James, Armand…” and the crowd laughed. Feeling more confident, he shifted to command mode – this was an old role for him.

“Really, there is nothing to say here. I sincerely appreciate the honor being paid me here – it is not often one in my former profession lives to collect the medals he’s given.

I did what was necessary – I helped these fine gentlemen of the law to do their jobs, and stay safe while doing it. No more – no less. There was no heroism here, just the wish to keep my friends safe using the skills I practiced in my former profession.

Against them and their confederates with a little help from me, the drug-running ba – er, bad men never had a chance.

In any case, I thank you all sincerely for the accolade you’ve paid me – and I will hold it in my heart forever. Thank you.”

There was a silence for two, no three heartbeats. Then the crowd applauded loud and long, with added catcalls, shouts, whistles and whinnies.

Mayor L’Heureux stepped forward. “And now that the speechmaking is over, let’s eat!”

The applause was loud and long again, and Al relaxed as he headed for the food line with everyone else. The lights in the hall came up, and music started on the audio system as a bright background to the chattering crowd.

Blackie, standing behind Al, said “That went well – just the right amount of words, and all of them heartfelt.”

“Indeed. Now, what’s for dinner?” With that, the two joined the food line.

Plates loaded, they sat at the center of one of the long tables. Al was hardly able to eat – his notoriety over this incident as well as his background (spoken of carefully here as some of the crowd was not paranormal) made him an exotic attraction in the small town.

Question after question was fired at him over his dinner, and good-naturedly he answered them all though it severely impacted his usual abilities as a trencherman.

After dinner and more conversation, the dancing began. The music was a varied mix from slower dances to the latest club beats – and the person orchestrating the mix gave everyone plenty of chances to participate.

Al found himself dragged from his after-dinner tea on several occasions, to participate in the dancing. One eager matron after another hauled him off to the dance floor, to waltzes, a tango or two and others, much to the amusement of his friends still sitting at table.

“You are going to be in such trouble when you get home – your dam is NEVER going to forgive you for dancing with all these lovely mares!” Blackie laughed, though quietly.

“Oh, I will tell her – I keep no secrets from her anymore – it’s just easier that way. To be honest and knowing your culture – she’ll be happy I did and want to hear all about the party.”

With this, he touched the pouch on his arm and thought of her for a moment – the sending of love and thoughts had become automatic by now and he enjoyed taking full advantage of it.

Late into the night the party went on – singing, dancing, drinking for those who chose to (but nothing to excess) and merriment was the order of the evening.

At one point Al was shocked – a well-dressed lady came up to him, and asked if he cared to dance. She looked familiar and Al wracked his brain to think of her name…till he realized it was Mavis!

“Certainly!”

As they toured the dance floor in a waltz, she asked “So, whad’ya think of our little town, eh?”

“Mavis, I will be perfectly honest. If I had found it before I met my dam, I’d be moving here to stay. I love it here, and the only thing making me leave is that I miss my family so.”

She smiled, lighting up her face. “Glad ta hear it. You need ta come back sometime – and bring yer dam. We’d love ta meet her, and we promise not ta make ya play soldier again.”

“Deal.”

Not too long after that, Al realized he was tiring, and the time was growing late. Needing to be on the road very early tomorrow to catch the ferry in Yarmouth, he needed to leave.

From his point near the facilities, he looked cross the hall. His friends were talking, drinking pints of beer, and having a marvelous time. The dancing was still going on, the thudding beats of club music and the younger set having taken the floor.

Al sighed, contented. With an effort of will he felt the chill of the Drow knife’s protections, and carefully wove his way through the celebrating crowd to the exit. Stepping into the cool and dark of the late evening he drew a deep breath and looked up and the sky, appreciating the twinkling of the stars after the bright lights of the hall.

Walking over to Clara, he dug his keys from his pocket, and inserted the key in the lock – which was already unlocked. Puzzle, he opened the door, and the interior light came on.

Sitting in the passenger seat was Ialin – Al was very surprised. Even more surprising were the two boxes sitting on the driver’s seat – the driver’s seat of a truck he knew he had locked.

“Scout and Trooper have been here – they found the driver’s door unlocked. Shocking that – absolutely no idea how that happened.”

“Thank you.”

Al opened the smaller of the two boxes – a small, finger-jointed wooden box with a sliding lid. It contained a paratool, cousin to the one destroyed in the blast in the forest. He removed it from the box and examined it.

On the side, in a simple but elegant script, the words “Best regards – Scout and Trooper” were engraved. A piece pf paper was under it – a note with the words “You said we owed you a paratool – use it in good health.” It was signed by the officers with their paddock names.

The second box was much larger, and of the same handmade finger-jointed construction, with silver hardware gleaming against the dark hardwood. Al opened it, and drew a long breath – of sheer awe.

Gleaming black against gold silk was an Army 1911 pistol, and alongside it cleaning tools and spare magazines – presently unloaded but with the butts of bullets protruding in rows from pockets in the silk.

On the lid of the case, readable with the box open, was a brass plaque, with the following words etched and lacquer filled.

“To Freeman Sergeant-Major Richer, with the regards and respect of the people of the town of Lockehaven, Nova Scotia, Canada.”

Below that was etched the signature of Armand L’Heureux, and the incorporation seal of the town.

Along with the pistol in the box was an envelope. Al opened it, and withdrew several sheets of paper. The ones on top were the Canadian permits to allow him to possess and carry the .45 in Canada – all made out by the proper authorities and dated the day before – suspiciously without his signature on any of them.

The last was a letter – hand-written on the stationery of the sheriff’s department.

It read:

“Dear Goldeneye,

Please accept this pistol in the spirit with which it is given – to express Trooper’s and my sincere thanks for your help out there in the woods. That could have gone very many different ways – and all of them bad. With your help he and I will live on to fight again – an outcome for which we and our families are all sincerely grateful.

Yes, this is the one you carried in the woods – we thought that would be the one you’d prefer. We did have the armorer deal with the sights and you were right – they were awful.

Also, we did clean it.

Yours always, Scout and Trooper. “


And the signatures of the men were below.

By the end of the examination Al’s vision was cloudy – his eyes were dripping tears, staining the silk of the box lining. He closed the box, moving both of them to the passenger’s seat, where Ialin perched on them.

“Quite an evening.” Ialin said, quietly, respecting his need for the moment to compose himself.

He climbed into the driver’s seat, settling onto the comfortable vinyl and securing his harness. With that he turned, and rested his hand on the boxes, Ialin scooting over to allow him access.

“That could have all gone wrong – all badly wrong. So many outcomes, and no way to be sure. I don’t feel like I deserve all this acclaim for just doing what I do well.”

“Do it well or not, you did it. You could have hung back and done nothing, and innocent centaurs would have died. I KNOW THIS.

Al looked at her in the glow of the internal lamps. “You know this?”

“I do. I also know that you being you, you would not have done anything but what you did. Before you think of it, no, I was not manipulating you or doing anything like that – it was all you – honest, true and real. No more, no less, as you said in there. Nice speech, by the way.”

“I thought I heard you laughing in there.”

“I hope you didn’t mind me coming along – I had to see the shades of red you were going to turn when they did this to you.”

“Horrible pixie. Terrible pixie. Nasty pixie. I’m glad you were there. Thanks for coming along. Now, we have places to be – shall we go?”

“Do, let’s!”

With that he started the Diesel, and pulled quietly from the parking lot, headed for his campsite.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Holiday

Post by Just Old Al »

23 - Murphy Is Such A Witty Little Bugger

The next morning before dawn, the old ambulance waddled out to Route 3 and headed West toward Yarmouth – and the road home. Al was eager – he’d been away too long and though the touch of his dam’s heart to his was comforting, he wanted to hold her in his arms again.

As he drove, thoughts of his family filled his mind. He eagerly anticipated passing out the presents he was bringing along – Castela would love the clothes and chocolates, and Atsali would flip over the books. Katherine wore little jewelry, but the pieces he’d chosen would suit her style and colouring well.

The miles spun away under the wheels of the truck, with the GPS clocking them off and offering routing as needed.

Soon, the truck was in line at the port, awaiting the departure of the ferry. Along with all the other vehicles, it crawled into the echoing steel hold, to be secured in its spot, not to move till the other shore was reached. Gangways up and hull portals closed, the ferry eased out, headed for the US several hours distant.

Al, for the first time on his trip, found himself completely at loose ends. Cut off from Clara and her stock of comforts, he found himself wandering the decks of the ship, enjoying the sun and wind, but somewhat bored.

A scan of the ship’s store turned up loads of tourist tripe, but no books worth reading. Bemused, bored, he was suddenly struck by an inspiration. Buying a notebook, he settled himself at a table in the main area with a cup of abominable industrial coffee and the book, dug out his Cross pen, and started to write a long-deferred journal entry.


Holiday – at sea between Yarmouth NS and Portland, Maine, USA.

I‘ve turned a corner – instead of heading away from home, I’m now headed back toward it. Ferry to Portland, Maine, then South to I-90 on I-95, then the long haul west. With luck and Gods willing, I will be home on Thursday night or perhaps Friday.

This trip has been a fantastic tonic – and its success I can lay at the feet of my traveling companion and muse Ialin. There is far more depth there than the silly little pixie – I hope to divine those secrets before we part company.

Who are her “bosses” as she calls them? Why was she sent to be my companion? I doubt her to be a compatriot of the Elves – her English is too modern and colloquial, though her slang is a bit dated.

I am endlessly curious, but I will not pry.

The trip itself, however, has been a stunning success in its aim – which is to return me to the land of the living. With Ialin’s help, I’ve reconnected with the world and its beauties – and started enjoying them again. I am not perfect at it – the old obsessions do return in unguarded moments – but as she says, I have the rest of my life to get it right – and if I do – so much the better. The pain, the fears, the nightmares – all fading away. They’ll be a long time going, but with care for myself I need never experience them again – a situation devoutly to be aspired to.

If I find myself mentioning Ialin over and over again it’s inevitable – I don’t think this trip would have been a success without her as a guide.

For what was supposed to be a simple holiday this has been a most eventful trip. While the whole intent was to “slay dragons that would not slay back”, the dragon content with teeth on this trip was higher than it should have been. Between that prat in Hampton, NH at the truck stop to the morons in the woods in Nova Scotia (unfortunately all armed) life could have been quite interesting – in a fatal way.

Thankfully, my skills did not fail me, and I was able to win through – in the first case with the help of that beautiful Drow knife from Safyr, and in the second through good old stalking skills. The Drow knife would have been a blessing in the second instance, but as I was not expecting to walk into the middle of a firefight situation I hadn't brought it. Ah, hindsight...always 20/20.

However, all of that is behind us, and we're walking the roads toward home. I confess I'm eager to be headed that way - love traveling, but home and people to return to is a new one for me. I've never had a home, and people both close and extended to come back to, so I'm excited to return to them. Actually, not so much them, as her.

All I can see is her face, hear her laugh, and the longing to be by her side grows stronger every day. Soon enough I'll be there - not going to rush things. Still miles to go, sights to see and thoughts to ponder.

More on the morrow, then. Coffee is empty and bladder is full.


Closing the notebook, he put it away in his map case, stretched and headed out for a turn around the deck.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Engines growling, tires shrieking on the deck plating, the queue of cars went one by one up the ramp toward customs and the town. Al, rowing his way slowly across the deck with the gearstick and clutch, cursed the ineptitude of tourists in vehicles.

Reaching the bottom of the ramp, he shifted into first, double-declutching as was his habit, and treaded downward enthusiastically on the accelerator.

With a roar, Clara’s 4WD took hold of the ramp and climbed it like the experienced boarder she was – till she was half-way up.

A loud POP came from under the bonnet, with the stench of Diesel and a massive vibration – and the loss of a significant amount of the engine’s power. Cursing, Al jammed the transfer case into low and upshifted, trading RPM for torque with the stricken engine. The howl of the turbocharger was heard as the engine’s RPM rose despite the vibration.

Clara crawled up the ramp and onto the quay, howling like a banshee. Once on the flat Al stopped her, upshifted and limped forward, feathering the clutch to deal with the missing torque. Staggering, vibrating, the Diesel kept running, unhappy and stinking of raw fuel but still functioning after a fashion.

Behind his head, Al heard a voice. “What in Hades happened to Clara?”

Al spoke hurriedly, nursing the stricken ambulance along and trying to keep it running despite its wound. “First off, we’re within the customs zone – unless you have a passport tucked away there pixie stay out of sight. Clara’s had an engine failure – from the sound and the feel of it – and the smell – she’s lost an injector line or an injector. We’re running on three cylinders, right now.”

Dripping fuel, the ambulance lurched forward in the queue till it reached the customs post. Al handed out his customs declaration and his credit card along with his passport.

“Where are you going?”

“From here to the nearest parking lot to figure out what just blew up – eventually, home to Maple Plain, Minnesota.”

“Do you have liquor and spirits over the allowed amounts?”

“Yes – it’s all there on the customs form.”

“Do you have any firearms?”

“Yes – the model and serial number along with my license number for both US and Canada are on the supplementary forms.” Al had been quite thorough with his paperwork, trying to avoid issues. Damn Diesel….

The customs officer looked over the amounts on the forms, handed Al back his forms and credit card, stamped his passport and said “Have a nice day, sir.”

“Don’t I owe…?”

Looking straight ahead, the customs officer said “Mr. Billens says hello. Please pull ahead.”

Utterly bemused and QUITE amused (Billens was getting a bottle of that whisky for this) Al rolled off, looking for a place to pull over. Taking a right onto Commercial St., he rolled out, accelerating slowly with the Diesel making an unholy din. A quarter-mile down he turned left onto India Street, then into an empty lot on the right.

Setting the parking brake, he hopped out, opening the bonnet and grunting over the weight of the spare. Looking in, he cursed.

The engine compartment was splattered with Diesel fuel, and the high-pressure line connection for #1 injector was spurting Diesel from its connection to the injection pump. Cursing fluently, he shut the engine down, and opened the underseat locker to access his tools.

As he was leaning into the cab, an anxious voice asked, “How bad is it?”

“Not sure. It can be anything from a fractured line – trivial, really – to a broken outlet on the injection pump – at which point we’re on three cylinders till I can get a pump and pull the engine apart to replace it – or pay someone to. I’ll know in a few minutes – need to pull the line.”

Turning up the volume on the truck’s stereo, he climbed onto the bumper and began to undo the fittings on the line. As he did, he studied the arrangement – quite tidy, really. Line clamps to hold things in place and stop vibration, all except…there.

Well, that’s odd. Al climbed into the cab, set the truck in neutral, checked the brake for security and started the engine. Hopping out and getting back under the bonnet, he revved the Diesel, watching the lines and the injector pump.

Laughing, he got back down, shut off the Diesel and went back to work. A voice by his ear asked, “Okay, so what’s funny?”

“Murphy is such a witty little bugger. The way the line routing is set up on this engine is for its installation in a combine harvester to drive the mechanism – it’s set up to run either at idle or at full bore pushing a BIG hydraulic pump – nowhere in between. This means it’s a tough engine, but it runs in one spot or the other – at a constant RPM under load. The engine in a boat does the same thing. Airplane, nearly ditto – one RPM for a long time.

A car or truck is completely different- the RPM is changing all the time.

Mr. Engine here had a harmonic vibration in its injection lines at one RPM. In the combine it wouldn’t matter as the engine would see it only when powering up and down. There are clamps to stop the lines vibrating at full bore – but they missed that harmonic – and didn’t clamp the lines to keep it from vibrating.

The vibration eventually work hardened the lines – and BANG.”

With that, Al came out from under the bonnet with the offending line in his hands. Examining it in the bright sunshine, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Line’s cracked. That’s good – means the pump is good and the line is a simple part to replace.

The only problem is – with what?”

Ialin, visible now, and sitting on the rim of the steering wheel, said thoughtfully “I assumed automatically that this was one of the items you’d have brought along, knowing you. I assume not?”

Al nodded. “For my old 2.5D I’d have had a full set of them, because that engine was notorious for fracturing Diesel pipes. That’s how I knew what this was – I’ve felt that before. For this engine? No.”

“Or – we roll the dice.” Al dove under the hood and bolted the line back in place, then started the Diesel and bled the line so that the injector on the damaged line could fire as best it could.

“We’re going to find a hardware store – and I’m going to show you a trick I learned a LONG time ago.”

Ialin snickered. “I recognize that tone of voice. You’re enjoying this.”

He chuckled slightly, surprising himself. “Actually, yes I am.” I just thought of an old fix – did this on a stationary Diesel in an emergency situation. Near as I know, it was still working when I left. Mind you, it was a much older design and lower pressure, but not impossible.”

Somewhat mobile, the ambulance and its occupants headed into downtown Portland, still shuddering and unhappy but mobile. Back onto Commercial Street, then on instinct Al turned onto St. John. A mile further on, his eye was caught by a large sign, proclaiming “LOCALLY OWNED – MAINE HARDWARE” and adorned by a lobster brandishing a claw hammer.

Chuckling, Al pulled the unhappy ambulance into the parking lot, locked the doors and admonished the pixie to “guard the store”. With that he headed into the store, mind running ahead of him as to his needs.

Ialin, sitting in the passenger’s seat chuckled quietly. “Now he’s in hog heaven – he’s got a mechanical issue to deal with that no one else would be able to fix without spares – and he’s going to do it with a raid on a hardware store. Gods bless him…he’s back.”

Entering the hardware store, he buttonholed a clerk, and was directed to the welding and brazing supplies. Here, he bought an air-propane torch that would work from his cooking gas cylinder, cleaner, stainless-steel brushes and a package of silver solder with the requisite flux.

Toting his prizes out to the truck, he drove it into a far corner of the parking lot. Removing the line, he then stepped into the back of the truck, disconnecting the cooking-gas cylinder from its mount and bringing it inside.

“All right, MacGyver, what are you up to?” Ialin was amused – this was going to be a treat to see. Al was raising up his aspect – the engineer was in full possession right now – and rested and sharp to boot.

“Simple. The line has a vibration fracture – and at 140 atmospheres duct tape is not going to work to seal it. However, silver solder - or silver braze as I was taught to call it – has a rupture pressure far in excess of requirements to hold the high-pressure of the line.

So, we’re going to fix the line. If I had a spare I wouldn’t think twice about chucking this line straight into the bin – but we’re not exactly in the Midwest, where AHI dealerships are every 10 miles. Hopefully, this will get us home.”

Spraying the line with cleaner, Al wiped it clean, then propped it up for soldering.

Taking his skillet, he set it on the sink drain board inverted. The line was clamped to stand upright using two mole grips, and the crack supported uppermost. This assembly was set on the skillet.

Lighting the torch, he played its flame on the damaged area, watching diesel bubble out of the crack and burn. Warming the line gradually, the heat drove the impurities out of the crack. Turning off the torch, he wiped the area with cleaner again, and then dabbed flux onto the cracked area, now supporting the line horizontal to the skillet.

Torch back on, Al played the flame onto the damaged area, warming it and watching the flux. Slowly, the flux melted, then bubbled, turning into a clear glassy-looking mass. With that, Al dabbed into the heated area with the silver solder, itself dipped in flux. When it touched the heated metal it melted, and the solder wicked into the crack with capillary action.

He continued to feed the solder until a puddle formed over the crack, then turned the torch off. Taking the line, he rinsed the heated end in the stream of water from the pump, watching the flux fall away as it sputtered and cracked.

With a kit of warding files, Al sat in the open doorway and patiently filed the solder till it blended with the line, the crack a barely-visible line of differently coloured metal.

“So, how are you betting, pixie?” Al said as he worked. “Pro or con – or when do you think it will blow?”

“Not my field. If you think it will work I’m rolling with it – you do know what you’re doing. However, this has got to get the award for the craziest fix ever done in a hardware store parking lot.”

“Nowhere near…trust me on that one. However, that one got done under fire. All right, then – we’re ready to go in. Why don’t you pop back to the cab if you want to see.”

Al took the line, and ran a fine drill up into the orifice. Convinced it was clear, the line went back under the bonnet and was connected. Starting the Diesel, it ran horribly, lumpily.

Back under the bonnet, he eased the connection to the injector, and air, then Diesel emerged. Nipping up the connection, the engine smoothed, becoming its placid self again.

“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” came from the cab, where Al noticed a very excited pixie sitting on the steering wheel rim and doing fist pumps in celebration.

Laughing, he went in and shut the truck off, then took a hank of steel wire. He wrapped three inches of the unsupported run of injector lines between 1 and 2, binding it tight and wrapping the binding into a solid mass. “That should stop the vibration – and will give the patch a fighting chance. When we get further West we can hunt up an AHI dealership and pick up a replacement – but till then we are mobile.”

“Let’s let it run and purge itself – and let’s get the toys put away. Then – we’re out of here. Think we can make Syracuse tonight?”
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Holiday

Post by Just Old Al »

24 – Westbound And Down

Three more days. The earliest he’d be back was three more days. And even that wasn’t certain, though she knew he was on his way back. She could tell by his emotions – the stones gave her that much.

Daisy wheeled the Bentley through the parking lot of the cluster of shops she’d driven to. She didn’t want to be out, but then again home didn’t feel like much fun right now.

Wandering through the shops seemed like a good way to get out for a while – and stop twitching.

This vacation was HER idea – it’s not like she could say anything else. She was the one who’d threatened him with gunfire, set up the invasion of mages, and made sure everything was perfect so he COULD do this.

He needed it – and she’d have to suck it up. However, mornings were quiet, and her room in the centaur quarters was lonely compared to their bed. She’d given up staying human three days after he left – it was too cold and alone.

As she walked through the antique shops, she kept thinking of him, and her hand strayed to the pouch in her pocket. There were so many things here he’d love for the 1900 workshop in New Alexander – old measuring instruments, hand tools – things that would be perfect – and they kept making her think of him.

The background music changed – a young man’s voice began to sing of travel and lonelieness.

“May be surrounded by
A million people
I Still feel all alone
I just wanna go home
Oh, I miss you, you know”


Three more days.

Al sat in a Steak N’ Shake off North Dixie Avenue in South Bend. His mind was awhirl – fuel levels in the ambulance, distance traveled, and general travel details occupying head space where he should have been enjoying the burger and fries he was trying to choke down.

Chewing another fast-food meal (he’d gotten lazy, and he was out of mustard anyway), he half-listened to the noises around him – the conversations, the excited children and the background music.

A plaintive, muted tune began, and a singer lamented at the end of a day, and not being where he wanted to be. Al listened further, his interest in the fast food lost.

“Another aeroplane
Another sunny place
I'm lucky I know
But I wanna go home

Mmm, I got to go home
Let me go home
I'm just too far
From where you are
I wanna come home”


Hmmm.

At that moment, Al was well and truly done with being on holiday. Much as he’d loved his travels – it was time to go home.

With that thought he dug out his phone, brought up a mapping site, and plugged in his current location and home.

8 hours and 8 minutes.

Home was eight hours away – admittedly through Wisconsin, but you can’t have everything.

Wolfing down the rest of his excuse for dinner, he moved swiftly back to the ambulance.

Raising the bonnet, he did a quick check of the systems, and inspected the patch on the Diesel injector line.

All go.

Opening the driver’s door, he crawled back behind the wheel. Eight road hours – figure 12-14 or a bit longer with a stop for a nap or two when fueling. Having resolved his course, Al started the ambulance, powered up the audio system and keyed up a playlist he titled “Wake-Up Call”. With that, the opening strains of Aaron Copeland’s “Fanfare For The Common Man” resounded in the cab, as he wheeled the truck back toward I-90.

From where she was, Ialin felt the shift in mood...or rather, the rush of emotions emanating from Al were overwhelming, crashing in waves.

One would think him a young man on his first leave returning to his sweetheart just from the outpouring of love and longing she felt.

She smiled and looked to the heavens.

"Young enough now my Lord, my Lady? I think they've both grown. It feels glorious. However, that being said, I do believe our young Romeo needs a bit of counseling as to practicalities."

Ialin popped in, a look of concern on her face. “What’s going on?”

A look of amusement and anticipation on his face, Al stated, ”Hang on to your wings, we are going HOME!”

Ialin nodded. “I expected this. It’s been a full, long day getting here from Syracuse – are you sure you can do this safely? Not questioning your decision, just don’t want you to end up in a ditch. As I mentioned before, my healing is sub-par – and keeping you alive after a wreck is just not going to happen.”

He nodded, guiding the truck up the ramp onto I-90 West. Pushing the pedal down he accelerated to 70, and then answered the question.

“Yes, I think I can do it safely. I will make a point of napping when I fuel – and I just had a high-protein meal that should help for at least the first few hours. No one knows we’re coming, and if I do decide to stop – if things get too bad – then no one will be hurt by it.”

The pixie nodded again. “Very well, then. I’m in.” She settled in her usual position, wings waving slightly as she sat.

“Any regrets, Al?”

“None, other than not doing this years ago. Had I taken better care of myself I might not have gotten to this stage – and I wouldn’t have needed your assistance – not that it and your company weren’t welcome, mind you.

One regret is that I put you through some of the grief I did. I was unfit company for man, beast or pixie.”

*THWACK*

“What in Hades was THAT for?”

“Regrets, sadness, that nonsense. DONE. Be done with it – it is astern as you like to say. Just ‘keep it between the channel markers and we’ll be home soon.’ “

“Well, if you insist…”
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Holiday

Post by Just Old Al »

25 – Home Again

Daisy and Rosalita sat at the table in the warm, comforting kitchen, sharing lunch. As they chatted they went over household issues, dealt with ordering and the minutiae of running a large household.

Suddenly, Daisy dropped her fork, the load of salad it contained returning to the bowl with it. She paled, sitting stock still.

“Señora? Are you all right?” Rosalita was concerned – the time away from her spouse had worn on her, and with Al due home in two days, Daisy’s spirits had been a bit low.

Daisy stood, quickly – the chair hit the wall behind her. Then, legs flashing, she ran from the room, through the hall and out the front door.

Alarmed, Rosalita followed.

The front door gaped open, and Rosalita walked to it, concerned.

Her mistress stood by the drive, staring toward the gate. A sound reached her, the growling of a Diesel, and the green bulk of Miss Clara appeared, grinding down the drive in second. It pulled into the drive, and the Diesel shut off.

Daisy was motionless.

Al stepped out and turned, facing Daisy.

She spoke first. “Hello, you.”

“Hello.”

"How come you're out here?"

"I knew. Felt you get to the gateway, and I knew. How…?”

“Drove all night. Ate horrible food, drank horrible coffee, kept moving.”

“Why?”

“Wanted to come home. Missed you.”

“Missed you too.”

Too suddenly for Rosalita to see, the two launched themselves at each other, meeting in a dizzying clinch at a spot midway to where they had been. They stood and held each other tightly, not even kissing, just holding on and rocking slightly.

After that timeless instant they kissed, a long, lasting embrace full of the long-deferred intimacy that their bond had transmitted.

Seeing this, Rosalita turned away and returned to the kitchen, leaving the door open for the lovers to come in. Once again she said a prayer to the Virgin, thanking Her for his return safe and sound, and promising a novena of candles.

Entering the kitchen, she looked at Edward, who had just walked in, and said two words:

“He’s back.”
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Re: Holiday

Post by Just Old Al »

26 – The Masques Are Dropped

The next day, Al rose as had become his habit – before dawn. Lovingly kissing his dam, he dressed, slipped to the kitchen and made coffee. Stepping out to enjoy the sunrise over the treeline, he felt a pressure on his shoulder, and the familiar earthy smell and air currents of his travel companion.

Surprised, he said “I never expected to see you again.”

Ialin, back in mottled Elvish leathers, said offhandedly, “You are not going to be rid of me that easily. However, after we enjoy the sunrise, it’s time for the secrets to be revealed. You have questions, and I have answers – but they need to wait for the light of day.”

That said, she turned, looking at the sky’s slight brightening to the East. As many times before they stood together, ordinary human and paranormal being, and watched the sky light in the East.

Sun in the air, Ialin said, “Why don’t you put the cup back in the kitchen, and come with me for a walk? This is all to be between you and me – and out here is a bit too public for what you’re going to learn.”

“You’re finally going to go naked?” Al quipped.

“Oh, you should be so lucky. Remember, I still have that blueprint tube!” she warned, half seriously.

They walked, heading away from the house.

"Well, you are home, safe and sound Al."

"Indeed. We've traveled more than a few miles, haven't we? Met a lot of very nice people, and a few that were trying to kill us. Made for a nice change of pace."

"Aw, don't be that way, it wasn't all bad, was it?"

"Certainly not all bad. The trip was fantastic, and thanks to you I am far different than I was when I left. Gods willing I will never forget the lessons from this trip, and never go back to what I was."

"I promised you the Truth when your holiday was over. Follow me."

Fluttering along, Ialin traveled down a very familiar path, towards Emerauld's tree house that Castela often played in.

"Well, here we are. I'm sure by now you've figured out you're very well loved Ailean. The Lord and Lady hoped this holiday would heal your spirit, as well as be a balm to sooth away your sorrows, and to show you..."

At this, a soft, green glow enveloped Ialin, growing brighter until Al had to blink.

When he opened his eyes, there stood before him a tall, willowy thin woman. She had long,flowing brown and gold hair, soft grey-green skin, and deep, dark eyes. She was dressed in a long petaled leafy green gown, so long it nearly blended into the ground, and her feet made no noise moving over the ground.

"...how truly loved you are. I also wanted to thank you. Emerauld was grieving, and letting her be here among the trees healed her of many hurts. She and her sister both are Children of the Green as much as your Granddaughter. They are bound to the Earth, and a part of Nature...as am I. Have you not guessed yet?"

"You are the Lady Of The Green. All of this is...you." Al said this with no small amount of awe - while he had seen many wonderful things in the past few years, a manifestation of the forces of the Earth was a new one to him. He continued, awe and joy in his voice.

"Why would you take an interest in the life of one man? I don't understand, Ialin - or is that your name?"

"I am not the Lady, but merely one of her children like you.

Ialin...is the name To'ryll and Uuthli have called me by for a long while, and it's been a comfort.

Do you remember them talking about protecting the willows? Those willows were…my home. I am a dryad – a tree nymph. Without my trees, I am nothing – less than nothing.

My forest was razed for poison...the forest where they had lived as 'hippies', becoming great friends with their little sister and her friend Jet I believe she was called. I'm rather glad Sterling didn't find out about the incident. She's so sweet, far too sweet to carry that sort of grief so young.

To answer, 'old man', you, your wife and your stepson gave them a place with trees...real, honest friendship, trust, a home to return to.

Ailean, you're family. All that is green and good here wept when you decided to leave, as the bond between you and Daisy...it's a part of this place too.
They felt the sorrow of the land, and prayed to the Lord and Lady to help you grow young. And they answered by giving me a chance to help those they call family not lose you.

The woods here have slowly been waking from a long slumber. Do you feel it?"

As she talked, they walked among the woods that Emerauld and Prroul had cleared and cleansed.
Stepping into a small clearing, she looked down in surprise at a stump, clearly freshly planted, laced with fresh green shoots, and wept as she laughed, a green laughter, so bright and full of life.

"Dos ushdui dalharen!"(You crazy children!)

Al found he could understand her outburst, guess at the reason, and simply smiled.

"Give them my regards and tell them...tell them I'll see them around. I'm apparently to be staying put to keep you on the straight and narrow."

Al was a bit stunned.

“First off, they will be here the weekend – I’m having a dinner party. I owe everyone so much for the help on this trip – I want to share it with them. You, of course, are welcome-“

“Yanno, Al, I’m not really the party type. I think I’ll sit this one out. However, I will be there – perhaps not visible but I will be there. I am thrilled to see you attaching again.” At least in speech his companion of the long miles was back – even looking as ethereal as she did.

“As for staying to ‘keep me on the straight and narrow’, I appreciate it, but isn’t that an awful burden for one such as…yourself? Being stuck dealing with a human for however long it lasts?”

Ialin, even as she was, looked quite nettled. “First off, ‘old man’, it is not a burden and when it was asked – ASKED, mind you, I eagerly accepted. This is as much a place of joy for me as it is for the elves, and a solace. Here in the willows I have what I need, and dealing with you is no burden and never will be.

Second, I like you as much as they do. You are as bound to this land as the Alexanders are, now. This is home, and always will be, much as you never had one before. The bell tells you that – and I think that now that you realize it, the bell will too.”

Al said, humbly, “Then I accept your help and companionship.”

*thwack*


“WHAT IN HADES WAS THAT FOR?”

“First off, I still have my blueprint roll.” She giggled, so unlike the pixie but so much the same. “Don’t get all maudlin and formal on me just because I’m not wearing wings and boots.

I am still very much me, and will remind you of your insanities then as now. I don’t think you can GET much younger and more tranquil, but I will certainly enjoy watching you try. I DO, however, expect you to retain what you have – and if you get all driven again, remember me. I will be here to help if needed.”

She smiled, gently, lovingly. “Now, go back to your dam and relax for a while. You’ve had quite an adventure, and it’s time to re-bond with your family.” She smiled again, wickedly, and said in an imitation of his accent, “Go on with ye then!”

He tipped his hat, bowed, and said, “As you wish, milady Ialin.” And when he straightened she was gone – all but a faint fading whisper of her giggle. He looked at the undisturbed place in the leaves where she had walked and stood, sighed, and walked away, wiping a tear as he did.

It was time to bring his lady a cup of coffee, and perhaps a scone…and perhaps take time for a cuddle. He had all the time in the world for that - for everything. After all, he had the rest of his life to get it right.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Re: Holiday

Post by Just Old Al »

EPILOGUE

I – Dinner Party


The house was full, the lights were bright, and the mood was merry.

Tonight was a dinner party – Al and Daisy had invited the people involved in his trip to celebrate Al’s return from his travels – and to give him a chance to share his stories with them.

Dinner was to be a buffet – the sideboard in the room groaning with dishes to suit everyone from vegetarians to the most ardent carnivores. All of it was organic, and anything that wasn’t was labeled clearly to avoid causing issues for the elves.

For Safyr and Emerauld were certainly there, as were many in Club Alexander. The MIB contingent – Brandi and Billens - were in, and circulating with the other guests. Glytch, the ever-irrepressible was in as well, finally out of his cast.

Greg and Annie, he in Hawaiian formal and her looking fantastic in black, were there, sipping a Coke and a margarita respectively, and chatting with Daisy and the family.

Buck, Katherine and the children were there, Kat and the girls wearing the jewelry Al had brought back from Canada. Buck, ever impressive, was again dressed in Hawaiian formal (which was becoming a tradition in the Alexander-Richer household for dinners). So too were Cinnamon and Rowdy, both dressed to suit and enjoying the family get-together as well.

The mages were in – Fergus and Flash in their grey suits, and Sterling in her black palazzo set.

Al and Daisy were dressed to suit – Al in Hawaiian and Daisy as well – in an island dress made from a material with the same print as Al’s shirt. They stood together, Al drinking a ginger ale as was his habit, and Daisy sipping one of the red wines he'd brought back from the Nova Scotia vineyards.

Completely out of character, Al was wearing not only his forearm pouch but had the Drow dagger on, draped to the side, and Emerauld’s dagger on his belt at his waist opposite. His reasoning was that while it might be a bit odd to be armed, he was by-damn going to let them know these things were appreciated – by wearing them. He’d contacted Glytch and Sarge previously, and asked them to wear theirs – and together they made a striking picture with the colourful clothing (Glytch in red fractal) and the dark knives.

The bell rang in the kitchen and Edward emerged into the great room, asking everyone to “Please proceed to the dining room – dinner is served.” With that, the assemblage trooped into the dining room and queued at the buffet.

Seating was informal - other than Al at one end and Daisy at the other people sat as they pleased. As all of them were honored friends the thought of ranking in seating was ludicrous, and happily discarded. Folks sat where they pleased and how they pleased, and the table was small enough that anyone was reachable verbally.

The meal progressed – all enjoying what they wished and how. Glytch, plate already groaning with the rib roast and turkey, returned for a plate of breads and spreads for them. As he determinedly made his way through his plate, he conversed with Atsali, sitting across with her sister and parents.

Brandi and Billens, in next to Glytch, chatted and made friends with the mages, having been introduced before dinner. Sarge and Annie, sitting near Al, made small talk about the goings-on in the Okanogan, bringing Al up to speed on the amusing things he’d missed.

Safyr and Eme had separated, sitting near the mages along with Brandi and Billens. Daisy, at her end of the table, touched the pouch of wands hanging around her neck and between her breasts. When she did, Al’s hand went almost-unconsciously to the purse on his forearm, touching it with the opposite hand.

The look that each gave the other was smoldering and intense – and very much noticed by the mage contingent and the elves – who could feel it.

“Al lu'Daisy inbal biu...ges's valm. Lu'oh xunus nindol sha'nalt - naut nindel Usstan tlun elg'carin.” (“Al and Daisy have an...intense bond. How did this happen - not that I am complaining.”) Emerauld amusedly remarked, noting the smoldering glances making their way up and down the table.

Safyr responded, also amused at the behavior of the elderly couple.“Nindel valm, d'anthe dalninil, uriu zuch tlus gaer.” (“That bond, dear sister, has always been there.”)

Safyr chuckled, and then sobered as she spoke.

“Ol uriu, rilu'oh, doera considerably mzild taga natha valyr d'reassurance. Nind...ssinssrigg...zhah sekene uss areion l'valm. Usstan inbal neitar keffal jalbol saph ol. Lu'gaer zhah mzild taga natha lotha...ssinssrigg...'zil al."
(“It has, however, become considerably more than a manner of reassurance. Their...love...is truly one through the bond. I have never seen anything like it. And there is more than a little...lust...as well.")

Safyr chuckled as well, not because of the behavior of the elderly couple but out of Emerauld’s bemusement with the intensity.

“Nind behave saph waelin serisen, vel'uss lu'lgarr nindol whol l'ust draeval. Ol zhah naut seke whol usbyr d'mina, jhal ol zhah ssin'urn ulu kyorl lu'lu'lgarr xuil mina."

(“They behave like young lovers, who experience this for the first time. It is not true for either of them, but it is beautiful to see and experience with them.")

Safyr looked at Emerauld – eyes a bit misty.

"Orn'la nindel Ilharn inbalus tlus nindol i'dol xuil udossta ilhars."
("Would that Father had been this way with our mothers.")

Near them at table, the same conversation was taking place, from different throats.

“This keeps up, those two will need to get a room – not that they don’t have one already. Damn, it’s almost embarrassing – two folks of their age-“ Flashburn yelped from the simultaneous assault – a snowball materialized near his tender parts, and a shovel-sized hand applied none too gently to the back of his head.

“You, young lad, will keep a civil tongue in yer head – or I will take pains to make sure you do. Remember the part you played in creating what you see – and glory in the fact that it worked so incredibly well.”

Sterling asked her uncle a question. “I’ve never seen anything like this – do you know why it worked as it did? It's almost like a mage-bond.”

Fergus thought, pondering the evidence with his wealth of knowledge. Slowly, he answered, in the uncertain cadence of a man figuring things out as he went.

“Honestly, I am not all that sure. Neither of them is a young one but they approach the relationship as youths would – fresh, clean and with no preconceptions. However, they also bring the weight of their years to it as well, in depth and understanding.

Each brings all they can to it, and rejoices in what the other brings – no discrimination, no choosing – love to love. They act like it’s all new, but that any second might be the last.”

Sterling snapped her fingers, pointing a finger at her uncle. “Club Alexander – that’s it.”

Confused, her uncle asked, “ ‘Club Alexander?’ What’s that?”

Sterling continued. “Uncle, Daisy and Al met – in wartime, or the equivalent of it. When they came together at first, they were effectively under a sentence of death – neither was all that sure they would see another dawn when the sun went down every day. They fought a battle at each others’ side – and both were wounded at that battle – Al severely. It could explain a lot about the way they’re approaching this – the depth, and the eager grasping of every second as young lovers do.”

Flashburn, who’d been tuned in as they spoke, nodded. “There’s a lot sense of that to it. They had to make every minute count, and they’ve never lost that.”

Fergus nodded as well. "Aye, there’s that, but a lot of it is the gent and his missus as well. Neither is a faint-hearted lover, and neither has any speed but full ahead in life. Thankfully, they’ll have that together.”

Dinner finished, and dessert and coffee was distributed along with liqueurs for those who chose to partake. Along with this, the stories began – Al having been far too busy shoveling dinner and making conversation to tell a story properly.

Soon, the assemblage was doubled over in laughter – even the elves, who may not have been quite sure why something was funny but could see the ridiculous in anything – and there was much of it the way Al told his tales.

“…I walked into the restaurant – surrounded by paranormals, mind you – and sat down at the counter…and the ALLLLL moved away from me… Every. Last. One.

I sat there for a good 15 minutes before I asked a waitress – Mavis was her name – for a piece of pie and coffee. She went off, and came back a second later with a big cup labeled ICED COFFEE. Before I knew it she’d dumped it RIGHT in my crotch – ice, coffee and all.

I jumped up, screaming like a banshee, and Round Two of the fight started.

I got my pie.

RIGHT in the moustache. WHACK.”

Al’s audience lost it. Laughing hard, there were exclamations of WHAT? And REALLY? – and more laughter. As it died off, he continued.

“It doesn’t stop there. Pie delivered on target, she finished the job with a can of pressurized whipped cream – all over my shirt front.”

The laughter was as loud if not louder. Greg asked, “So what the Hell did you do?”

“I asked for my check – and got told it was on the house. Grabbing a towel off the counter I wiped my face enough to be able to see and left – as the entire restaurant gave Mavis a standing ovation with whinnies.”

“Thing is – after they spotted the Alexander Diesel in Clara and put two and two together these people all became the best of friends. As a matter of fact Daisy and I have a standing invitation there whenever we want to go – and I was thinking about a month next summer. And no, we will not go in Clara – we will fly into Yarmouth and rent a car.” he said as his wife wound up to state exactly what he’d just refuted.

“Mavis and I became good friends – had breakfast at the diner every morning I was there. Strikingly good dancer, as well, as were most of the ladies there.”

Dancer? Did I hear dancing? You were off dancing with other mares while I was here?” Daisy mock-pouted, a humorous reference to what had once been a serious problem.

“Well….you know, I had been away from home for a while – and they were very good-looking centaurs…” Al wheedled, while the crowd around the table laughed at his prevarication.

“HUMPH!” Daisy said, sitting back in her chair, arms crossed. Then, two seconds later her acting ability broke, and she laughed, delighted at the farce.

“It was a fantastic place – had a great time there.”

“Until you ended up in the middle of a drug bust in the field – and you without that pretty knife you’re wearing!” Daisy said, and the irritation was still a bit evident.

“You were in the middle of combat – and you were unarmed and unequipped when you had equipment? That is a serious lack of foresight, Al.” Safyr said, severely. “What prevented you from carrying proper equipment and weapons?”

“Sheer politeness on my part – and trusting my instincts. Safyr, it was no disrespect for your gift – but I did not think I was going to be in combat. Near as I knew, this was going to be a day in the forest with two lawgivers – and nothing to worry about other than animals.”

Safyr sat back, the “OK, convince me” expression still evident on her face.

“I was not unarmed – I had Emerauld’s dagger on my belt, along with a pistol – an army 1911 .45 like Greg carries. I was hardly unable to defend myself. I did not see the need for the shadows – and left your gift behind – to my own regret later.”

“What happened – and why were you unaware of the presence of enemies?”

“We were patrolling an area of the forest that normally had no human population – there may have been hunters in season, but at that time there should have been nothing.

We expected to see animals, and perhaps deal with sick or injured ones. So, we were very surprised to run across a chemical stench – the smell was that of humans manufacturing drugs.”

“Poisons,” she spat out.

“Yes, poisons. So, as I could get in and out without sacrificing my firepower (which the centaurs could not as they were carrying Maxi-14s, Greg) I went in to investigate. I sought them out, noted details, and retired – as I was told to do by the chief lawgiver.”

“Then, the chief lawgiver, his deputy and I worked out a plan-“

“BULLSHIT. Tell it as it was, Al, or don’t tell it at all. I read the article in the “PP” – Daisy printed it for me – and that whole thing had your greasy fingerprints all over it.” Greg was adamant – he wasn’t going to let his partner and friend get away with the dissemination here among family.

Rowdy leaned toward his sister and stage-whispered, “Oh, this is gonna be good…Al’s hesitating.”

Focusing a jet of ire down the table at his younger stepson, Al retorted “Oh, GOOD is it? Oh, very well – obviously I’m not getting out of this one without telling the story.

I scouted the area, came back and had turned up a camper pickup with four-wheel-drive – a civilian version of Clara. They were definitely cooking – Greg’s description of the stench was spot on.

The officers were at a loss – they weren’t set up to go in on something like this, and they sure as Hades is hot didn’t want to let it go.

So – we got sneaky. Trooper – Deputy James – ran back to the car at full gallop to call in forces with protective gear from surrounding townships, and I whipped up a little surprise while they got into position and he got back.

I took a dozen rounds of .50 BMG and an aluminium water bottle, and made a bomb. I made a hole in the side of the container with my knife - I apologize, Emerauld, but needs must when in the field.”

Emerauld nodded, and said “What one does in combat one often regrets, but the knife can be easily fixed if need be - I doubt it was damaged. Do go on.”

“I then enlarged the hole to take the brass of one of the .50 BMG rounds as a firing mechanism. The sheriff nearly wet himself when I took a round, put the point in the hole, and drove it in with the butt of my knife.”

“You did WHAT?” Buck shouted down the table. Daisy was just stunned. The rest of the reactions at the table were much the same with the least affected being Greg and Glytch, one who had no doubt done similar at one time or another and the other who knew the physics and would have done the same.

“I had my paratool over the cap, so no chance of setting off the round. It shoved aside the aluminium quite nicely and made a good tight fit.

I cut one of the rounds down into just the butt, shoved that in the hole, and filled the bottle with the powder from the rounds. After that, it was sit and wait till Trooper got back.”

“Once he returned and we had left the time for the other squads to reach position, we made a terrific din. They fired the Maxi-14s and crashed around in the brush, and I set off my party cracker with my paratool and a well-placed round from the .45 to set off the percussion cap.

After that the vermin packed up and ran for it – straight into the arms of the other squads. My mates kept their secret, I stayed RIGHT out of it, and the drug-dealing bastards went down with no loss of life or injury.

Worked for me.”

“Stayed right out of it my ass, you son of an ape. I KNEW you’d been up to something – but I forgive you. Lives come first.”

“Thank you dear. Ialin thought you would agree, though she was quite angry with me for not having brought Safyr’s gift – potential issues or none.”

The two elves stopped dead, smiles forgotten, and looked at each other. Safyr spoke first.

“Xunus Al telanth 'Ialin'? Vel'bol l'Phlith? Lu'oh... ”

(Did Al say 'Ialin'? What the Hate? How..)

Emerauld was shocked – this was completely unexpected, and she began to cry.

“Al, pardon me for interrupting your narrative. You used the name ‘Ialin’ – how do you know it? It's...not a common one this side of the Gate.”

Al thought. There were a few here who knew the story – Daisy being one of them. However, others did not – but Al could see no harm in the reveal, and he spoke.

“Ialin traveled with me on my voyage. When I met her she was a pixie, and stayed that way for the trip. I only found out afterward that she was a dryad – and that she was staying here among the willows.

She was quite taken by the stump – and its growth – and thanks you both for rescuing it from – where it was. How did you two meet her?”

The two sisters were shocked. Ialin – here? Growth on the dead stump?

Looking up, she whispered,

“Senger lu'Jallil, Usstan kyorl dos k'jakr kyorl rin'ov veirne."
(Lord and Lady, I see you still watch ever closely.)

"Excuse me please."

Emerauld left the room, then the house, then with a leap, changed, hooting, and flew into the skies, spiraling down on the air currents until she alighted near the newly formed garden.

The stump she had been readying to become a garden seat for Daisy was not there, though all the other stumps were.

Puzzled, she flew to her camp, and landed on her camp Willow, changing, then clambered down. It was near Castela’s playhouse, and was now alive and green, a young, new willow growing within the heart of the stump, the aged stump slowly belling inward.

She threw her hands up in joy, laughing and crying, then ran back towards the house, changing to Wolf form, then changing just as she got to the door.

Wiping tears, she nodded to her sister, who began to laugh, a musical joyous sound that stopped everyone but the mages dead in their tracks.

Once they were composed, Al continued, a bit nonplussed at the stir his words had caused, but happy his friends were happy – even though he didn’t quite understand it.

“She says she ‘needs to keep an eye on me’ – a situation I wholeheartedly concur in – and she is welcome to be here as long as suits her.” Al continued, his puckish nature coming out for a bit of fun with the elves.

“I do have to ask you, Emerauld, and you, Safyr – why is it Ialin spoke perfectly good modern English but your Common is so – formal?” Al was having them on, of course, and expected a stilted description of the differences between elves and dryads.

Emerauld, upon hearing Al's oh-so-casual question, spoke after a few bouts of giggling.

"Al my friend, like you finally got it together and took a holiday? Far out. Oh, like only because Miss Daisy threatened to shoot you? Groovy. Purging all that Government brainwashing out of you will bring you like, such total peace, man! It's about time you got mellow. You were solid gone for too long man."

She giggled a bit at Al's spluttering then continued.

"Remember the reunion? Sterling's wee bit of drama? It's because Saf' and I were Sterling's childhood 'tree-hugging hippie' friends, and she saw through the glamour to us, really us. Before we found mages sympathetic to our cause to make the medallions, we used make-up to create the illusion."

At that, both Safyr and Emerauld made a 'yuck' face, and Sterling laughed hysterically.

"Al, you should have seen them! I had no clue as a kid that Hippies shunned most of that muck. It was that troweled on Tammy Faye look. But they were so wonderful, it sort of became normal. Then when it didn't look like makeup, I figured they just decided it was too much work. And makeup is really too much, I agree."

"Not that any of you ladies here need it." came Flashburn's helpful reply, "Seriously, this whole room's full of lookers."

He whistled, then grew silent, ducking the expected hand. Instead, another snowball found him, but a small one as he’d been reasonably polite about the whole thing.

"It was...unpleasant," Emerauld agreed.

"We did have to study a bit, read a few books, talked to some old-timers out in California..."

Al took a deep breath, but before he could speak, Emerauld spoke on in an easy manner.

"I dislike slang and contractions, but at times it is necessary to add some for the younglings as they're growing up in this world. Until Half-elves are accepted, we must take care to blend in with this world, and with the kind people that are helping us.”

Changing the subject, she went on.

“I am truly sorry I did not tell you about the deuce...er Clara. It was not so much the poisons within, but the spiritual poisons that made me ill.
It was not until Fergus told me of it that I realised you were not using them as a shield. I hope you can forgive me, my dear friend, for deceiving you."

Al sobered, realizing what Eme was talking about – the encrustations of grief the old ambulance had been carrying.

“I too apologize to both you and Master Prroul – neither of you deserved to have to deal with that – and I had no idea then how bad the old girl was. In any case, she’s clean and thanks to our friends here,” he nodded toward the mages, “she will stay that way, as will our home.”

Al stood, ginger ale in hand, and tapped on it with a dessert fork. The conversations at the table quieted, then stopped.

“Glasses up, please.

To all of you. Because of you all, and the help and gifts,"

He touched the knife, sending a shock of warmth to the Elves, which made them bark in startled laughter, and the pouch at his arm, sending a pulse of warmth to the mages who prepared its contents.

“I was able to come back from my holiday – and really BE back.

I am again worthy of my life, my loves and all of you – and with luck will forever more.

To friends, to family, to life and loves – to all of you.”

He drank, and sat as his friends drank, then applauded.

FIN.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Holiday

Post by Just Old Al »

A last note:

Thank you all for reading along - it's been a fun-to-tell story, and I've greatly enjoyed sharing it with you.

Again, thank you to Dinky Inky for her friendship and the work she put into this tome. It would not have been the same without her.

Lastly, Al isn't going anywhere - now he's just recharged for whatever else life, the Gods and MIB throws at him. Daily on the other hand will likely need to stock up on wine...a fresh, recharged Al is going to be even less able to sit on the sidelines.

Just Old Al.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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