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Losing the link

The story of the black notebook

By Kathleen HairPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
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The young riders mind drifted more slowly than did the icy wind stinging his eyes. Behind him he could see the sun had yet to crest the horizon and though an unusual hour for deliveries he was sure he could catch a house servant milling about at his destination.

The many low hanging branches surrounding the side of the manor forced him to yank the reins wide near the front of the estate. As he dismounted the horse tying the reins to the nearby hitching rail, he noted the bronze and brass knocker alongside what appeared to be a butler’s cord. Which when the silk cord was set into motion it engaged a delightful chorus of bells throughout the halls within. After only a few moments he heard wood slide against wood and a small window opened revealing a smiling man.

“Sir? A parcel for McDougal.”

“The slot please young man, to your right.”

When he picked the parcel from the floor the Butler immediately noted the Societies emblem. Their reputation and proclivity for violence caused him to lengthen his steps considerably as he sought the Lord of the manor. When he approached the library door, he straightened his back before he knocked.

“It’s open.”

With a move the Butler stepped in and held out the parcel, “Sir. It’s… the Society.”

Without hesitation Lawrence McDougal grasped the parcel and dismissed Gerald.

The Society consisted of the only political group who had managed to keep the English and the Catholics out of their ranks and their city. They were powerful and ruthless, but… what could they possibly want with him after almost twenty years? Though the last case he worked with them was controversial, any last will and testament is arguably the most challenged legal documentation by any excluded beneficiary. In Old man Byrne’s case… there were just fourteen wills convoluting matters.

Which after Old man Byrne’s death the town was already talking about the impending cases before anyone made it to the courtroom. It was then the Society instructed McDougal to leave until they sent for him. Just long enough, they explained, to curtail any potential testimony that may distract the public from the truth.

Many of his undigested feelings began to ruminate as he opened the parcel, “Mr. McDougal, your presence is requested at the Societies One Hundredth Annual Initiation Ceremony.”

A fury he had not felt for some time forced him to his feet, crumbling the invitation before throwing it into the fire and scattering embers.

“No,” he shook his head, “I owe them nothing.”

When another parcel followed, he did with it the same as he did with the first just with far less fury. A few days passed before a man sat across from him one morning while he ate at his favorite café. When the man began speaking Lawrence focused on his breathing rather than the smirk and sparkling dare behind his eyes. “It is not a request Lawrence,” he pushed another parcel baring the Societies emblem across the table.

The exchange reminded him of a nearly forgotten childhood memory, the only occasion he was asked to play tag with the more popular boys. When he was tagged the game turned violent after he was shoved to the ground. During the struggle he managed to get his feet under him and deciding quickly he headed toward the haunted forest, preferring to tempt fate with evil witches and fairies rather than take his chances with the bullies behind him.

To his right was a tree with space enough for him to hide in the shadows of its large roots. As he tried to slow, he came up on the tree too fast. A quick improvisation came to mind as he collapsed his weight on his left hip while throwing himself backward and twisting his upper body. A near perfect slide except for the unexpected drop down into a chamber. After a few breaths, his eyes adjusted to the moonlight seeping in from between the roots. When he stood brushing himself, he noted many sealed doorways surrounding him and scattered human bones near fragments of papyrus.

A tap on top of the enclosed carriage lured Lawrence from the trip down memory lane. As he moved forward in his seat revealing a clear glass window behind drapes, he marveled at the enormous manor with dozens of illuminated windows and what sounded like laughter dancing with plucked harp strings floating on the wind.

Though loth to admit it. The potential of the situation had considerably lifted his spirits. When he exited the carriage, a man waved him to the front entryway just as he began to consider the nights possibilities. After presenting his invitation he was led quickly through the party into an office in the back of the manor. It was then that the part of him which still hoped of being accepted by the Society evaporated like the sweat on his brow as he stared into the fire.

After some time, an elegantly dressed man wearing a tie wig and a long tailcoat barged into the room with something like a crooked smile. Lawrence almost immediately recognized him as a man he knew in college, the nephew of the previous Grandmaster.

“Sir William, pleasure to see you again.” Lawrence began to offer his hand.

William passed the offered hand moving quickly to the bar. “We require your assistance in a matter familiar to you.”

“Which… matter?” Lawrence noted the lack of eye contact.

“The Byrne boy has been asking a great deal of questions about his Grandfather.”

“Questions?”

“Yes Lawrence. We need him to stop digging.”

McDougal laughed, “Excuse me…? How do you mean ‘stop’?”

William laughed, “Bah! McDougal!”

Lawrence put a hand on a bookshelf as he leaned forward.

With a few deliberate steps toward him, William reached out. “You look… are you unwell?”

The move made Lawrence feel uncomfortable, as if cornered even. Abruptly he stepped away from William and shook his head, “No, I just… I am not the man for this kind of job.”

“You are perfect for it.” When he spoke, he squared Lawrence with his face so close the heat of his breath mixed with the smell of liquor caused Lawrence to suddenly raise his arm and turn his body before sneezing into his elbow.

“Ugh.” William stepped back as Lawrence then made his way to the door, “Just stop his inquiry, he does not have to die.”

After the Butler closed the library door behind McDougal William locked his hands behind his back. “Anyone capable of talking nails out of a perfectly good table is not to be trusted. Go and find me the fastest rider on our staff.”

With the weather improving slightly the Rider made the trip to McDougal’s in nearly half his usual time. Which gave him more than enough time to carry out the more discreet requests made by William. There were various objects he was to seek while searching the properties on the manor, a strange small black book, some ancient coin, and anything with Old man Byrne’s name on it.

When the prisoner carriage arrived, he pointed to the living room where he had tied up everyone he found on the estate. A gut feeling took him up the stairs to an attic in the Butlers home where he stumbled into a little girl’s room. Though he found no girl inside the room as he approached the window, he watched a shadow skitter low across the ground and climb beneath the carriage before disappearing.

“Smart girl. Though you might freeze beneath there.”

The moon hung low in the sky when Lawrence awoke throwing his blanket to the side. With too many questions and zero answers that he could find from his notes, he found himself the first to enter the library that morning shuffling through old newspapers. Surprisingly, the case became quite the spectacle, the judge himself a regular comedian. When McDougal disappeared all controversy or requests regarding his testimony ceased to be written about and in the end the case was settled out of court.

A young man from a bench nearby had glanced at Lawrence several times before moving to sit almost directly in front of him.

“May I ask what you are looking into?”

“You may.” McDougal leaned back in his chair pulling the paper close to his face.

“Old man Byrne’s case, right? Strange as it was.”

McDougal set the paper to the side. “What do you know of it?”

“I know the Grandson.”

McDougal leaned forward.

“You could introduce me?”

“For a fee.”

McDougal laughed digging into his coat pocket.

The boy’s eyes glittered with approval at the amount handed him, “Follow me.”

When Lawrence turned toward the exit, the boy instead ushered him toward the rear of the building to an obscure room only visible from an angle or due to a faint glow emitting from the doorway. When he stepped into the room candlelight cast on a man with features so alike Old man Byrne’s, Lawrence began to wonder if his reincarnation obsession had wielded positive results.

“Lawrence McDougal, I presume.”

“Yes,” Lawrence offered his hand as the man stood. “Andrew Byrne?”

The expression that followed the handshake was something of a hesitant smile and Lawrence read it as a tendency toward animosity that lacked commitment.

“My Grandfather speaks fondly of you in his notes.”

“Oh?” Lawrence shrugged it off understanding the notes were in fact a journal.

“Yes, it is why I am glad you are here. There is also mention of a small black notebook…?”

Lawrence wondered just how much the old man wrote down. “It is an elusive item Andrew.”

“Yes, the notes also mention an inheritance gifted to your family of… what was it twenty thousand in gold, or silver?”

“Right so if you know the story, you know what that was in exchange for.”

“… the notebook?” Andrew paused before adding, “Where is it?”

Lawrence stared at flame wrinkling his brow before responding, “Byrne said it was stolen the last year they did the crop burn.”

“Any idea who took it?”

Lawrence shrugged before raising a brow toward Andrew.

“What does your Grandfather think?”

Mimicking Lawrence Andrew shrugged. “Until recently I would have called you a liar Lawrence, in fact my original plan was to kill you.” Andrew laughed. “Turns out I believe you, so you help me find that tree and consequently that book, and you may keep your life.” Andrew turned grabbing his coat before slapping McDougal on the shoulder.

“Shall we?”

When the Rider saw William trailing behind a carriage, he rode up quickly beside him signaling to fall back.

“McDougal and Byrne are in that carriage, what did you learn?”

“Other than the prisoner carriage being ambushed and empty?” The Rider decided to conceal the information about the girl.

“Let us get after them. It seems they are headed to the south cliff.”

With the waterfall safely drowning out any potential sounds from the horses, the Rider proceeded on foot picking up the foot trail of the men once they exited the carriage. When Rider stopped at the base of an ancient tree, he noticed the footprints stopped near the base of the tree where steps could be seen leading down. Rider and William instantly shifted into holding positions alongside the entrance when they heard distant deep voices echoing within.

They were surprised by a girl who crept toward the tree appearing to share a brief silent exchange with the raven on her shoulder. The raven spread and shook its wings as the girl expressed her disapproval before proceeding down the steps.

Within minutes the men ducked below the bushes as shouting and a flickering lamp light assaulted their senses. In the erupting chaos they saw the girl at the entrance holding a black book that went sailing toward them as she tripped into a sudden tare in the fabric of reality.

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About the Creator

Kathleen Hair

Oye.

Learning to live.

And living to learn.

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