Ritual Reality
15 Customs
Thursday, 5 June 1969, England
The dreams on the plane made it difficult for Wayne to sleep during the time he wasn’t staring out the plane at the clouds and taking pictures of them. Beside him Judith laughed and pointed out the window.
“Oh look! A cloud. We’re on top of it. Quick. Take a picture.” Wayne had his camera pressed to the window before he realized she was teasing him.
“Hey, I’m not a world traveler like you,” he complained. “I’ve never seen this before.”
“You are now, babycakes,” she said. “Just wait till later.”
But later, Wayne was thrashing in his seat with nightmares.
Fifty naked bodies dancing around the fire, hurtling through the spheres. He held his goddess queen tightly in his arms as their own fire leapt higher than the flames in and around the cauldron. From the cauldron’s depths rose a spirit, eyes glimmering as it took shape, beckoning them toward it. Calling them to their doom. Wayne raised his wards, but the demon slashed at them, reaching through to grasp him. Them. He had to protect her.
“Wake up! Wake up!” Judith was whisper-shouting in his ear. He had to protect her and extended his wards to enclose her. No sooner was she within than she reached to touch the pentacles on his chest and he awoke.
“Swordmaster,” he began.
“Shh. Not here. Come with me.”
They stood from their seat and made their way to the back of the plane. Most of their cast was asleep. A couple of them were playing cards and glanced at them, smiling. When they reached the back of the plane Judith pushed Wayne into the head and locked the door behind them.
“What’s going on?”
“Anybody who saw us thinks we’re joining the mile-high club,” Judith answered quietly. “But in our current state that might be dangerous. We could blow a hole in the airplane with the energy you were generating. Just let me hold you, Unbound. Come down and tell me what was going on in your dream.”
“It was the demon-man,” Wayne whispered. Details were already fuzzing, but he knew he had to protect them from the demon-man.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know what’s drawn him to us.”
“I fought him last night,” Wayne said.
“In your dream?”
“Maybe. It seemed so real. I had power and pushed him away. He wanted the crate. I slept on it last night.”
“Poor baby. It was all a dream,” Judith said, touching the pentacles. Wayne reeled slightly and caught himself on the edge of the sink. Judith sat on the stool in front of him.
“What are we doing in here?” he asked.
“There’s too much pressure in the airplane,” Judith laughed as she unzipped his pants. “We’re going to relieve a little of it.” She pulled his cock out of his pants and sucked it into her mouth.
“Oh god, baby! You found the release valve.”
“Come for me, darling. I’ve never tasted you yet.”
It wasn’t a command, but before he let that sink in, he was obeying.
“There’s good news and there’s bad news,” Jim said. Forty pairs of eyes stared at him from the crowded little bus. They had been crammed into the vehicle with all their luggage in Mansfield. For the last twenty hours, nothing seemed to go right. There was an unexpected six-hour layover at JFK Airport in New York resulting in a missed connection and another four hours at Heathrow. They’d been crammed virtually on top of each other into this bus. Now there was more bad news.
“There are no more buses available,” Jim continued. “That’s the first news. The other two casts are much smaller than ours and were supposed to share a bus. They cleared customs and took a bus each before we even got here. So, it’s going to be cozy for the next couple of hours. Get as comfortable as you can. We should open every other window about an inch to keep fresh air circulating. I can already detect unpleasant odors.”
A general movement among the cast marked the effort. Windows were slid back. No one could find a more comfortable position, though Wayne wasn’t complaining about Judith sitting on his lap. They finally gave up and returned their attention to Jim.
“Second, customs still won’t release our costumes and props. They say there are too many weapons in the box.” Wayne grimaced but tried not to telegraph his disapproval to Judith. Her fingernails dug into his arm anyway. “Mr. Brown, the tour director, has promised they will make it in time for the show tomorrow, but who believes The Great God Brown at this point.” Jim’s skepticism was shared by all the cast by now. “We’ll rehearse without costumes and props. I want everyone to check your luggage tonight for possible substitute costumes if we have to go on without.”
“No!” moaned Carol Nygard. “It’s one thing to play a boy’s role in boy’s clothes. I can’t play Guildenstern in a dress.”
“Dress?” answered Glenn. “This is our opportunity to make an artistic statement. Hamlet in the nude.”
“At least we won’t need the rapiers then,” laughed Chuck.
“And you the judges ware a beary eye,” misquoted Steve.
“Damn you all,” cried Carol. Chuck put an arm around her to comfort her.
“We’re not going to stay in Kendall as we were told. We’re headed to Keswick. It’s about thirty miles farther north, but is supposed to be a delightfully charming little town. That means, though, that we won’t be getting in until about nine tonight. For those of you who haven’t set your watches yet, it’s now six-o-five local.” Several people reset their watches according to the announcement.
“One more thing…”
“He’s really full of this stuff, isn’t he?” Glenn whispered over the seat to Wayne.
“The group is too big for any single hotel in Keswick. We will be split up in three different locations. We’ll work out the room assignments on the way up,” Jim finished. “Now the good news.”
“Thank god,” Wayne said. “I thought he was going to say that was the good news.”
“Dr. Allen has been on the phone,” Jim said. “One of the innkeepers has agreed to make us a late dinner. There’ll be a good meal waiting for us when we get there.”
“Hooray,” chorused a half-dozen weary voices.
“And by the way,” finished Jim, “we are in England. That ought to be worth something.” And, in fact it did spark a bit more enthusiasm as the bus lurched to a start.
“I don’t care about a meal,” Wayne said. “As long as there’s a good bed in my room.”
“Always looking for a place to sleep, aren’t you?” said Judith. “Thought all you needed was a blanket, a pillow, and the stars.”
“Hey, it held great potential. I didn’t exactly go out and hire a clansman to throw darts at us.”
“Well, maybe we can pony up to go halvsies on a room. That would ease the shortage.”
“Save water, shower with my girlfriend.”
“Am I your girlfriend?”
“I hope so.”
“Lover?”
“One and only.”
“Wayne,” Jim said, fighting his way over the luggage in the aisles. “I need to talk to you a minute.”
“Trouble,” Judith said under her breath.
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Do you have a copy of the declarations slip?”
“Yeah. Right here in my camera bag.”
“Along with twenty-eight color glossy photos of clouds on the way to England,” Gail laughed from in front.
“…with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back,” Glenn chimed in.
“You can get anything you want,” they sang in unison until Gail shut him up the easy way.
“Is there a musical accompaniment to everything? I’m going to have to send you back to London,” Jim said. For a moment Wayne thought he was referring to Glenn and Gail, then realized Jim had returned to talking to him. “Apparently, we need a representative at customs in the morning. You packed the box, you know what’s in it, you’re the technical director, you’re it.”
“Tag,” Wayne said.
“Shit,” Judith responded.
“How am I getting to London and why am I going three hours in the wrong direction first?” Wayne grumbled.
“We’ll get settled in Keswick first, then head back to London so you can be there at eight o’clock when the office opens,” Jim answered.
“Maybe I should go, too, since I’m English,” Judith volunteered.
“Dr. Allen has agreed to go with him so he doesn’t get lost or have legal problems. She represents the school.” Wayne felt Judith stiffen and then slump against him. “We’ll change drivers in Keswick and send you back by bus so you’ve got a place to put the crate.”
“Terrific. One more night sleeping sitting up for that damned crate.”
“I’m depending on you, Wayne. I know it’s rough, but we’ve got to get the goods.”
“Yeah. I’ll bring it back, dead or alive.”
Jim moved back toward the front of the bus. Wayne looked up at Judith. She glared back.
“So,” she said acidly, “spend your first night in England with Rebecca. See what I care.”
“I didn’t choose this,” he complained.
“You certainly didn’t object.”
“What was I supposed to do? Sorry, Jim, I’ve got other plans for tonight?”
“At least make a show of being disappointed. It doesn’t take a medical examiner to see your eyes go out of focus every time you get the chance to spend time with her.”
“If my eyes went out of focus, it’s because I went to sleep.”
“Then stop poking me in the ass with that thing. You’ve had yours.”
The silence turned stony as Wayne closed his eyes to attempt to sleep the remainder of the way to Keswick. Eventually, Judith relaxed on his lap and cuddled as they tried to get sleep that didn't come. Wayne held her close and they kissed, holding their lips close to each other all the way to Keswick.
Disappointed not to spend the night with Judith? Yes. Disappointed in the prospect of traveling back to London with Rebecca? Maybe not.
After dinner, Wayne lay down on the bed in his room. It would be midnight before they left again and he was determined to get as much sleep as possible before they left. In keeping with school policy, the women had been assigned to the Skiddaw Hotel and the men to the Walpole. Except Rebecca. Because she was working with Wayne to go back to London, she’d been assigned to the Walpole as well. Judith glared at Wayne when she left for her hotel and he couldn’t catch up with her to give her a goodnight kiss. Glenn was just a room down from Wayne on one side and Rebecca on the other. He dozed on top of the covers. He didn’t hear the knock on the door. He came up out of sleep when Rebecca shook him gently by the shoulder.
Friday, 6 June 1969
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” she said. “We’ve got a bus to catch.”
“Oh, gees. Is it midnight already?” he yawned.
“No. It’s a quarter after one. We had trouble getting another driver.”
“Must be jet lag,” he quipped. “Here I thought it was the middle of the night.”
“Very clever. Need anything?”
“No. Just a pillow.”
“John and Joyce already put pillows and blankets on board for us. Make sure you’ve got your declaration.”
“Got it.”
“And passport.”
“Oh. Yeah. Anything else?”
“Let’s go.” They went out the front of the inn and Jim met them at the bus.
“It looks like you’re set. Here’s the itinerary of where we’re playing so you can direct the bus right to the theatre on the way back.”
“This is the whole week’s itinerary,” Wayne said glancing at it. “Is that in case it’s Wednesday before we catch up with you?”
“Get back in time for tonight’s performance, okay?” Jim laughed. “You’ve got the first line.”
“Who’s there?”
“Long live the king.” Jim shot back and pushed Wayne back into the bus.
“Gees, it’s cold in here,” Wayne said as he boarded the bus.
“It still gets pretty chilly at night,” Rebecca said.
“Waste of fuel to heat the whole bus,” the driver added. Wayne noted that he had a heater by his seat.
“Go on and find a comfortable place. Here’s a thermos of hot tea and there are the pillows. I’m going to talk to our driver a few minutes.”
Wayne picked up a pillow and blanket and settled into a seat about halfway back as the bus jumped forward and ground its way out of town. If the trip in had been cramped and uncomfortable, the trip to London in the empty bus would be rough and bouncy. A few minutes out of town, Rebecca came back and sat beside Wayne.
“Comfy?”
“Not really,” he answered. “How long a trip is it back to London?”
“About six hours plus.”
“Get there just in time for breakfast.”
“Want to share a little of that?” she said, tugging at the blanket.
“Sure.” He pulled the blanket around her and laid her pillow against his shoulder. She settled back against him and he let his hand touch her arm. He squeezed her gently closer.
“That’s nice,” she purred.
He pressed his lips gently against her hair. She raised her head and looked up at him. The rumbling and bouncing of the bus seemed to jar his thoughts uncontrollably between reality and fantasy. Their lips met and didn’t part. He felt her hand caressing his head and neck and almost wanted to cry. At last she turned her lips away and laid a hand on his shoulder, snuggling deeper into the pillow.
“You, my friend, have had four more hours sleep than I have.”
She drifted rapidly off to sleep, wrapped in the blanket and in his arms. Protect! The command in his head had Wayne alert. His eyes were wide open, staring at her awestruck. By the time they reached London, they were even.
They were in the customs office when it opened with their claim ticket and declaration in hand. The mysterious Mr. Brown never showed up. After arguing half the morning, the customs officials agreed that the box would go, provided that every item could be identified for actor and purpose. Rebecca got sandwiches as Wayne sat in the big room for the next two hours identifying each costume, weapon, and prop. By twelve-thirty, they were back aboard the bus with everything repacked in the crate and headed north.
“This is great!” Wayne griped. “At this rate, we’ll arrive at curtain time. They’ll all be in a panic.”
“Take it easy,” Rebecca soothed. “The important thing is that we’ll make it. You’ll be a hero.”
“Dead or alive.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Easy for you to say. You don’t have the first line.”
“Who’s there?” she quoted for him.
“Want to go on in my place?”
“You did a terrific job this morning. If they had made me name all those props and costumes, we would still be there. In prison. How do you do it?”
“When in doubt, make something up. The biggest problem was staying awake. My staff is now being carried by Reynaldo. Yours is the staff of office for Polonius. They didn’t care about any of that. They thought they’d catch us transporting drugs. Bunch of hippie actors.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I’ve been through two rather thorough drug searches in the last eight weeks. I can tell the difference. They went through my art box, the sewing kit, the make-up—handled every article of clothing. No way were they worried about too many weapons,” he said.
“It’s a good thing we have a clean cast and crew.”
“It’s a good thing I packed and sealed the crate myself. I wouldn’t trust any of them,” he grumbled. “Am I getting bitchy?”
“A little.”
“Sorry. I haven’t slept yet. Would you like your staff and cup now?”
“Sure. I’ll drop them off at The Walpole on the way in. I don’t go on first,” she laughed. They went to the back of the bus and unlocked the box. He had removed all the nails and straps at customs.
“Nothing ever repacks as well as it packed the first time.” He pulled out the staff and cup and handed them to Rebecca. He took out his own staff, cup, and Athamé, wrapped in its layers of cloth. He had a satchel into which he packed the smaller pieces. Rebecca reached out and touched his pentacles. Wayne had a moment of disorientation before the clarity set in. If only he wasn’t so tired. “Hart,” he said softly.
“You brought your tools, Unbound.”
“Yes. I didn’t want to be parted from them. I’m glad they were in the crate last night. Or the night before. Whenever it was.”
“Why is that?”
Wayne hesitated. His head was clear, but he didn’t want to just plunge into the story.
“These markings on the staff and cup. What language did you say it was?”
“I didn’t. The characters are Theban alphabet. Mystic runes.”
“And what are they used for?”
“Without getting into too much detail, they assist in focusing psychic energy.”
“I remember the psychic part. And sometimes for spells, right? But never on weapons, are they?”
“They could be used to direct negative energy against someone, but the ancients would have considered that to be very dangerous. There is always the risk that negative energy will flow back into the person who sends it. Kind of a backlash. There are some dark grimoires that talk about that use.”
“Yes, dark grimoires,” Wayne repeated. “Would those cover decorating a weapon and throwing it at someone?”
“What kind of weapon? You’re being too obtuse in your questions.”
“I think I made a connection between the shop break-ins and things that were missing. First there was the knife blade that you gave to Judith at the park last week.” Wayne went on to describe how the blade must have been stolen from the shop. Then he told Rebecca about the saw blade that had been thrown at him.
“When was this?”
“The night before we left.”
“Where?”
“In the college park.”
“Those gates are locked at sunset. Most of the time they never get unlocked during the day. How did you happen to be in there at night?”
“Not always securely locked,” he hedged.
“I’m not sure I believe you. But let it lie. What was the object and who threw it? You are really making this much too difficult.”
“Then suffice it to say that I was walking in the park and came upon a person in a clearing dressed in a kind of hooded robe. That person threw a circular saw blade at me that had been sharpened down like a razor. It was decorated with a six-pointed star and a lot of these Theban runes.”
“Do you have it?”
“No. Judith has it. I assume she left it in Indianapolis.”
“Judith. You gave it back to her?”
“She took it when we got back.”
“Wait a minute. Who threw it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Judith was with you?”
“Yes.”
“Ah. Now I’m getting a clearer picture. It might interest you to know that alumni know every possible make-out spot on campus. Why do you think the gates are locked at night?” Wayne felt terribly hot and knew his cheeks were red. How could he explain this to Rebecca?
“I… Don’t think… I mean… we…”
“…were chased out of the park by someone throwing saw blades at you,” she teased. “It’s all right. It doesn’t matter that you’ve received instruction from The Swordmaster. What does matter is that someone doesn’t want it completed.”
“Doesn’t matter?” Wait, she said ‘Swordmaster.’ I should know that name. Wayne was almost more abashed by the lack of concern that Rebecca was showing than he would have been if she had flown into a jealous rage. How strange to talk about fooling around as receiving instruction. She looked up at him and lightly touched his cheek with her lips, assuaging his concern.
“Of course it matters,” said Rebecca, “but not how you think. Jealousy and I don’t mix well. I’ve had my share of that. There is no pleasure in it. Tell me the rest.” She kissed him again and he could feel the tingling of power building up in his fingers. He went on to tell her about his dream of fighting a demon-man and waking up on the crate.
“You simply called your wards and they were there?” she asked.
“Yeah. That’s how I know it had to be a dream. I don’t even know a way to fight a demon-man if such a thing even exists.”
“They exist, Unbound. How much do you remember from your cultural anthropology course?” He just hung his head. She smiled. “I’m not chiding. Cultural anthropology is very closely related to archaeology. Because of the potential wealth that could be obtained by making a significant discovery, there was once a time when that science bred some pretty powerful enemies.”
“I do remember you talking about a famous archaeologist who had a lot of professional enemies. It was an exciting lecture.”
“I’m sorry to have kept you awake. When Wesley was lost, so was one of those enemies—as much or more an enemy of mine than of Doc Heinrich’s. I looked into his eyes and saw the demon riding him. It was nothing I want to repeat. But if he has come back, it could mean Wesley is near as well.”
“The Blade,” Wayne whispered. Rebecca looked at him sharply. Before she could respond, he continued. “But why would he throw things at me?”
“Lots of possibilities. Just surprised and reacting in his own defense? Not likely. He wouldn’t waste such a powerful weapon. Wasn’t after you, but rather The Swordmaster? Possible, but I don’t know why.” There it was again. Who was The Swordmaster? Wayne couldn’t ask the question aloud. “Or he sees you as dangerous. I hate to say it, but if he’s been hanging around the props room, that’s a likelihood.”
“You mean, because I am supposed to protect you?” Wayne was grasping at straws. He couldn’t make sense out of what Rebecca was saying. She seemed to think he was tuned into her wavelength. The lack of sleep, though was making everything wonky.
“Protect me? I didn’t…” She looked at Wayne, nodding off to sleep. “If you are going to sleep through another of my lectures, make yourself comfortable.” She put an arm around him and raised his face to her lips. “You look beat. Better get some sleep before you have to go on tonight.”
“I just don’t understand. Things are fuzzy around the edges. I can’t tell if I’m awake or dreaming.” It was important to make sense of what she said. It just didn’t make sense. He listened as she talked. But he wasn’t sure he was awake.
Wednesday, 10 August 1955, Edinburgh, Scotland
Hiding. Waiting behind one of the great columns that supported the rotunda of the library—Rebecca could feel his sinister presence. Her footsteps echoed in the hollow chamber beneath the great domed ceiling. Some elderly librarian would surely come running up to shush her for disturbing the peace. She didn’t mean to be so loud, but the library was so quiet—so empty. And waiting for her in the quiet empty room ahead was the gatekeeper of Carles. Perhaps he was only there to watch her make her discovery—a manuscript by an unknown author. Perhaps he had some other motive. Perhaps it was only her imagination.
The worst was that it didn’t make a difference. He was there, even if he wasn’t there. His presence filled Rebecca with a mad desire to run and never look back—run until she knew he was no longer behind her. Run to Wesley’s arms.
But he would always be behind her—maybe one step, maybe five, maybe a mile or a year. He might precede her and still his presence would haunt her. He seemed always to know where she would be before she did. So, he arrived ahead of her—following nonetheless.
Her hand ached and she paused to hold it close to her breast, biting back a tear that forced its way through the fear and pain. What kind of bond had she forged between the The Hart and The Blade with her ritual? She forced him to feel the pain of purging his own knife. Had his hand spontaneously blistered like hers? Or had he, indeed, coincidentally reached for a hot skillet at the same moment she chanted her curse? How long would their bond last? If the knife between them was pure, what were they?
He had been here to leave her a message. She unfolded the brief note and caught a piece of black silk in her hand.
I will see you in Greece if you dare. And never carry a naked blade.
The black silk was a fine cover cloth, the exact size of Rebecca’s stiletto. Black and unadorned. It was the type of gift one would expect only from an intimate friend and Rebecca wavered between feeling the warmth such a gift should bring and anger at his repeated violations of her person.
What kind of bond had she forged?
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