The next day Sailor received a telegram from Mowsel. It read: “COME TO ENGLAND WITHOUT DELAY STOP WILL MEET YOU AT THE GRAPES STOP.” We assumed he had information regarding either the Fleur-du-Mal or Susheela the Ninth and booked passage almost immediately, using our Egyptian passports. The voyage was uneventful and we said little to each other for three days. Finally, over dinner on the third night, Sailor said, “Gentlemen, it has become obvious to me that it is time for us to part. Your thoughts are drifting elsewhere, and they should, it is common. But do not let your thoughts dwell for a moment in despair. Much was learned in Egypt, especially when Ray became ill.”
“Thanks for remindin’ me, Sailor,” Ray said. “That virus nearly killed me.”
“And that is my point. It nearly killed you, but it did not. You lived and recovered completely, Ray. That proves some Meq have resistance, even after becoming ill. Who and why is more difficult to determine. It may have something to do with being Egipurdiko. Unai and Usoa’s baby was Egizahar. Perhaps it is because you are older. I do not know, I am speculating. Mowsel will have an opinion, to be sure.” He paused. “I understand your yearnings, both of you. Do not apologize or defend. I know Ray wants to find the truth about Zuriaa, as do all of us.”
“I have got a question or two for Opari,” Ray said, giving me a wink.
I only wanted to go home and Sailor knew it.
“Zianno,” he said, “I think you should visit Opari as well.” His “ghost eye” closed slightly. He twirled the star sapphire around his forefinger, then added, “From England, I shall be going east. I intend to find Zeru-Meq, no matter his objections. I also have a question or two and this time I want the answers.”
Now the docks of Southampton were in full view in front of me. I leaned over the railing and looked back out to open sea. It was my birthday and I knew I would be going home soon. Home with more questions than answers, but at least I would be going home. The thought was soothing and I let it extend and evolve into the belief that bad luck and bad news were behind us. I was wrong.
Once we were through the formalities of entering England, Sailor led the way to The Grapes, a pub for workingmen and sailors just beyond the dock gates. The door stood wide open and a man wearing a floor-length apron was sweeping the floor. It was still early morning and the pub was empty except for one, Trumoi-Meq, who sat on top of the bar with his legs crossed. He wore his dark blue kerchief and a blue beret, which he removed as we entered the pub. Half in shadow, half in light, he was not smiling and there was the image of death in his eyes. “Come with me,” he said, hopping down from the bar and heading for the door. The man sweeping the floor ignored us completely.
In silence, we walked at a leisurely pace through the streets of Southampton until we reached Watts Park and the stone Cenotaph honoring servicemen killed in the Great War. An overcast and windless sky gave the park a feeling of quiet grace and peace. A familiar figure stood with his back to us, reading the long list of names chiseled into the stone. He turned and smiled, but it was a weak smile and his eyes were sad. It was Willie Croft.
“Hello, boys,” he said, even though he was Giza and the youngest among us.
Each of us said hello, then I asked, “Did you know many of those folks, Willie?”
“No, Z, didn’t know a one. Brave lads, though, every one of them.”
“Has something happened, Willie?” Sailor asked bluntly.
Willie started to answer, then turned and glanced at Mowsel. “Mowsel, why don’t you tell them while I bring round the limousine.”
Willie walked away in his unusual, almost stumbling gait. Mowsel waited until he was out of sight before looking at Sailor. “It took me three weeks to locate you this time, old one. No doubt due to an unexpected misfortune, I assume, but that story must come later.” He paused a moment. “I am sorry to say Daphne Croft is dead, as well as Tillman Fadle. Willie did not want to bury either of them without us present. It was a desire Daphne had put in her will and also expressed to me years ago. I gave her my solemn word it would be so.”
Sailor let out a long sigh and said, “Yes, yes, I agree entirely. We all owe them both a great deal.”
“More than that,” Mowsel replied.
Sailor looked Mowsel squarely in the eye. I could tell they were each recalling events and situations they had experienced at Caitlin’s Ruby, not only during Daphne’s lifetime, but in all the lives of the Bramleys and Fadles going back four centuries to Caitlin herself.
“Again,” Sailor said, “I agree. We must be there.”
“I never did get to know the lady,” Ray said quietly.
“What happened?” I asked.
Mowsel looked up at the low gray cloud cover above us, then toward the west and a small sliver of blue sky on the horizon. “Apparently, about a month ago, sometime in the early morning, Daphne sat down to write a letter, a letter she never finished. While in the act of writing, she suffered a stroke. She remained alive, but unable to move or speak. All day she lay there. You are asking yourself, where was Tillman Fadle, no? The great irony is he had been in the garage since dawn, breaking down the engine of the limousine for repair. Finally, sometime around dusk, Tillman discovered her lying on the kitchen floor. He dragged her to the garage in order to drive her into Falmouth, but of course the limousine was unavailable. In desperation he used Carolina’s black coupe. This vehicle he had never driven and it was missing a headlight. On a curve only two miles from Caitlin’s Ruby, he lost control. I doubt he ever saw the rock wall approaching. They were both killed instantly. Daphne was found still inside the coupe and Tillman had been thrown over the wall. I was in London at the time. Once I was informed of the accident, I wired Owen immediately. He broke the news to Willie in St. Louis and Willie arrived in Cornwall ten days later. Since then we have been waiting for you.” He stopped talking and rubbed his face with both hands.
“Are you ill?” Sailor asked.
“No, of course not,” Mowsel said. “Are you mad, you old hound? I am tired…simply tired.” He looked to his left, scanning the street. “Hail Hadrian, there is Willie now. Cornwall awaits us.” He put his arm around Ray’s shoulder and started walking toward the street and the big limousine pulling up to the curb. “Now, Ray, you must tell me what happened in Egypt.”
“Do I have to?” Ray asked with a straight face.
Mowsel smiled, exposing the gap of his missing tooth. Then he slapped Ray on the back and laughed. “Make it up if you so desire, Ray. Fact or fiction, it often makes little difference, no?”
Though we were all weary from travel and disappointment, the long drive to Cornwall and Caitlin’s Ruby was beautiful and relaxing. The car was loud, but solid, with good suspension and Willie drove at an even pace. It often felt more like we were in a large boat rather than a limousine. Willie made certain I rode up front with him. I found out why two hours into our journey.