“Please! Please, don’t!” Pam screamed. “I will do anything you want!”
“I have no use for you. You are only here because I made a deal with Brian’s headmaster, you stupid bitch,” he winced, quivering with the thrill of their fear. In the background, they could hear Nina shouting, but her words were swept by the gale, unheard, ununderstood. “Until I hear from him, there is no reason for me to even come down here.”
“Water,” Mrs. Callany begged. “Please, just one pitcher for us?”
There was a pause in the solemn atmosphere. From somewhere above them Nina cried, “Bernard! Be a decent man and give the weaker prisoners some water. You are better than the goddamn Nazi’s whose tracks you are walking!”
“Psychology does not work on me, Dr. Gould,” Bernard called back to her. He knew what she was trying to do, and yet, as he looked upon the mothers and the child, he could not help but consider Nina’s affirmation. Was he really a monster? Could he be a firm chief without resorting to cruelty? Then the question came that had him faltering. As an antiques specialist, was this how he wanted to use his expertise, cultivated through two decades of trade and knowledge?
Something did take hold of Bernard’s reasoning after Nina mentioned his humanity after all. He could not deny it. For a moment, he honestly took stock of what exactly this level of malice would afford him as a man, as a dealer of relics and literature from ancient worlds. He was more than this. Under Major Rian, a Black Sun operative, Bernard had become a decaying relic himself. Years of splendor and passion had been reduced to just another vindictive Nazi personality, bullying the helpless in cages.
“Jesus,” he murmured as he turned his back on his prisoners, letting his gun hand drop to the side of his thigh.
Bernard Somerset had truly not realized how depraved and greedy he had become in service of Major Johannes Rian and his colleagues. ‘All of this happened when that wretched school Principal Willard and his son, Paul, entered the antiques world. Conniving bastards!’ he lamented in his mind, recollecting the moment when his delight for history and its objects was defiled and twisted into a hunt for power and wealth.
“Bernard?” Nina kept at it. Even she knew that aggression would be the worst thing right now, so she tried the gentler approach. “Bernard, give them some water. Come on. They are just people like you.”
Another blow fell in Bernard’s soul.
“That is enough! You think I cannot see what you are trying to do? I am in charge! Me!” he thundered. The Callany women instinctively jumped in fright, whimpering at his sudden outburst.
“I know you are in charge,” Nina cried out. “Otherwise I would not be sitting in a fucking cage right now, would I?”
Bernard looked at the three Callany’s. “Thank her for your slow demise.” With that, he retired to his section of the ruin on the west wall. During the Second World War it was the quarters of Stabsscharführer Martin Hessler, the man who gave the command to terminate those chosen families before Irma had Colin’s killed. Bernard sat in the room and poured himself a glass of brandy. Considering whose room he was occupying, he could not help but compare himself to Hessler — the man who had his lover executed in the worst way — and to think on his own crass decisions about his captives.
“I wish you would just get the bloody sword and be done with all this!” he raged to himself, drinking another shot of brandy. It was seeping through, after all, that this was not who he was and that one truly becomes the company one keeps. The schoolmaster was a prime example. He invited Dr. Gould to attend his school’s history week, knowing who she was, all to get her into the fold at a later stage. He could be amicable towards the people he targeted for strategic reasons. Why couldn’t Bernard?
It vexed him, this clash of morals, but as long as he stayed in the large room that almost remained completely the same in décor and comfort, he could not be confronted with his fickle ability to maintain allegiance with those he served. Figuring that, if he stayed in here, he could not hear the cries of those he was torturing, was a terminal mistake. Bernard would only learn that his victims’ cries could reach him anywhere at anytime, because there was no escaping one’s conscience.
28
Mordred’s Courtesy
Under the threat of Nina’s assassination, and more casualties at the hand of the sinister antiques collector, Major Rian, Purdue had to adhere to Ava’s orders. They arrived at a stylish house in Glasgow before nightfall. Ava and Kostas accompanied Sam and Purdue through the heavy security gate. Neither men spoke a word to Ava as they entered the premises. A man was cleaning the massive pool on the side of the house, while two gardeners were laboring to finish the lawn before the night came. More rain was soon to come, according to the radio broadcasts.
Ava punched in a selection of codes and waited. The overhead camera swiveled to locate the newly arrived guests and a click from the lock on the door allowed them access. Inside, the house was rather mediocre and not as grand as the outside presented. Whomever lived there was a modest person with a love for old paintings, but not much else in the way of style.
“Welcome, my friends,” a man smiled from the open plan kitchen. He had a peculiar mustache that lent him great character, Purdue thought. “I am sincerely sorry that we had to meet under such awful circumstances. I just hope we can get this out of the way as soon as possible.”
“Give me a gun and I can end all of this for you in a minute,” Sam threatened.
The man just smiled wryly. “I will not bother to stick out my hand for introductions, because I would not expect any courtesy. However, I shall introduce myself nonetheless. James Willard, and it is honestly an honor to meet you both, as it was to make Dr. Gould’s acquaintance.”
He gestured for the men to sit. Kostas took his place at the door, as usual.
“How do you know Nina?” Sam frowned.
“She was a guest lecturer at my school recently,” the principal smiled. “Lovely woman.”
“If you admire her so much, how come you are working with her kidnappers?” Purdue wanted to know. Uncharacteristically, the white haired billionaire was abrupt with the schoolmaster.
“That is just an unfortunate necessity, Mr. Purdue,” Willard shrugged. “Things got out of hand with this scabbard business, I’m afraid, and we had to use the lovely Nina as leverage.”
“But you have the scabbard now, don’t you?” Sam protested. “The boy had it with him when your thugs took him and Nina out of my apartment.”
“Aye, yes,” Willard cordially retorted, “but it is not the scabbard we are after, Mr. Cleave. We are looking for Excalibur. It is the only reason why we sough the sheath in the first place. The Warkadur would lead us to Excalibur. And it is regrettable that we had to involve the family of a well-loved pupil of my school, but I suppose my late son is to blame for that.”
“How come?” Ava asked, making herself at home behind the kitchen counter.
“My son, Paul, was supposed to,” he shrugged with some discomfiture, “alleviate the Hall collection of several random items to make it look like a run of the mill break-in. Among those random objects, would be the scabbard of Arthur’s sword, Warkadur. You see, from it we would be able to follow the map etched into the leather by Ronald Hall, indicating the location of where he hid Excalibur.”
“Why would he hide Excalibur? If I had it, I would keep it for myself,” Sam reasoned. Purdue nodded in agreement, as Sam tried to make sense of the sword’s disappearance.
“It is quite simple. Ronald Hall was relentlessly pursued by the SS after he escaped. He feared that they would find the sword on him, the sword representing Britain’s sovereignty, and the patriot that he was could not have that,” Willard explained. “So he hid it, vowing to retrieve it as soon as he could make it to London. From there he would accompany the Allied unit bound for the Channel Islands, and upon defeating the Nazi forces there, he would recover Excalibur.”