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After Mortimer wrapped up his spa treatment, he dressed and led us further into his home. He guided himself by use of a large weathered oak staff that he swept back and forth before him. The makeshift cane moved from side to side, alerting its user to potential obstacles and hazards with a dull thud.
Sir Mortimer expertly navigated the cluttered hallways of his home, deftly moving from one room to another. Finally reaching his study, he asked us to sit in over-sized leather chairs that faced a beautiful hand-carved wooden desk. Leaning his staff against the desk’s edge, our host slowly slipped into a chair across from us.
“That’s better,” Sir Mortimer exhaled. “Not as spry as I used to be. Seems like I have less energy every day.”
“We hope we have not unduly burdened thee, Uncle Mort,” Pat responded. “Merv and Eli only have a few questions and then we shall take leave of thee.”
“Nonsense, child!” Mort waved the concern away. “I always have time for my favorite niece and her friends.”
“Thine servant, Cyrus, certainly did not want to let us gain access to thee, Uncle,” Pat continued. “I had to threaten my father’s intervention before he agreed to allow an audience with thee.”
“Cyrus means well, dear, but can be a little over-protective. He treats me like a child sometimes, to be honest. But he also makes sure that I and my house are well taken care of.”
“How long has Cyrus been with you, Sir?” I inquired.
Something about the man made me nervous. I believe I previously mentioned that I am a novice mind reader. I did a quick read on Cyrus Fowler when we waited in the courtyard. He was definitely hiding something and his intentions toward Sir Mortimer were not as noble as he made them out to be.
“He arrived right about the same time the dragon did, I believe. That would mean Cyrus has been with me nearly four cycles,” Mortimer replied.
I found Cyrus and Scar’s coordinated arrival interesting but said nothing more about it.
“But you didn’t travel all the way out here to inquire about my servant. What can I do to help you, Eli?”
I had so many questions that I wasn’t sure where to begin.
“How did you get here, sir?” seemed like a logical place to start.
“Through a time portal, of course. But let me back up. I was sixteen years old and on a family vacation in South America. One day I was surfing. The water was a beautiful shade of blue. The waves some of the best I had ever seen. I had just paddled out and was waiting on the next set when I saw people on the beach pointing behind me and fleeing the sand.”
Mort was quite a story teller. Merv, Pat, and I sat transfixed by his tale.
“I turned and discovered a wall of water over a hundred feet high bearing down on me. I paddled for shore with everything I had. Of course the tsunami quickly caught me and I found myself clinging to my board on the top of the tallest wave ever to hit anywhere in South America. Certain my end was near, I made a decision. If I was going out, I was determined to go out in style. I leapt to my feet and began surfing the tsunami! I cut right and left, back and forth through the water, waiting for the wave to crest and topple me to the earth far below but the water continued to push inland. It roared past the beach, past the beach front houses, and into the jungle. The wave continued to surge forward and showed no signs of losing its momentum. Trees and bushes were uprooted. I had to stay on my toes, ducking and dodging the displaced debris thrown up by the wall of water.”
Mort paused, cleared his throat and took a sip of water. He seemed lost in the past (once again, I’m using that term loosely considering the circumstances and assuming a linear theory of time versus a cyclical hypothesis). After a few quiet minutes, the old man cleared his throat again and continued his tale.
“I must have surfed that wave for hours,” Mort reminisced.
As an aside, I was later afforded the opportunity to verify that a Mortimer Maddox held the World Records for both surfing the tallest wave at one hundred twenty-seven feet, nine inches and for surfing a single wave continuously for three hours, twenty-nine minutes. A Peruvian crop duster pilot documented his achievements in 1963. The young man disappeared without a trace after his amazing record setting deeds, never to be heard from again.
“Finally, the wall of water crested and I was thrown through the air like I had been launched from a cannon.”
Sorry to keep interrupting, but I thought it worth mentioning that during the time I spent with the traveling circus, I, myself received training as a ‘human cannonball’ and knew exactly what Sir Mortimer meant. You may have heard of me by my stage name, “Eli the Human Cannonball.”
“I flew right over the top of a snow-covered mountain. My surfboard bounced off a rocky outcropping and I sailed out over a lush valley and straight for a stone structure built directly at the valley’s center. I barely had enough time to see some small natives grinning and waving frantically as I skidded across the top of the structure and was sucked into a time vortex. Of course, I didn’t know it was a time vortex at the time. That tidbit of information, I discovered later through my research. After I fell into the time portal, I blacked out. I was fairly sure I was dead until I woke up in the woods not far from here.”
Mortimer sat back, waiting for our responses.
“Amazing!” I said. “Merv and I came through the very same portal!”
Sir Mortimer nodded his head in understanding.
“After I got my bearings, I made my way to Snard, eventually meeting and befriending your father, Pat. He took pity on a lost soul and helped me get back on my feet. As we grew up together, I discovered that my crash landing had permanently damaged my equilibrium and had also affected my depth perception. I became somewhat accident prone and was eventually dubbed, ‘Sir Mortimer the Clumsy.’”
I could tell our host was getting tired. I felt bad that our presence was taking such a toll on him. Hoping to cut our visit short, I asked, “Can you tell us about the Keys to Forever, Sir Mortimer?”
The old man cocked his head to one side as if listening. Suddenly the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I whirled around in my chair to see Cyrus emerge from the shadows of the room. I had no way of knowing how long he had been eavesdropping on our conversation.
“My Lord,” he said. “Your visitors have kept thee too long. I must insist that you get some much needed rest.”
“Thank you for your concern, Cyrus, but I’m fine and am enjoying their company. That will be all,” Mortimer replied.
“With all due respect, Sire, you need your rest and your visitors have far to travel. A large storm threatens to fall even as we speak.”
Cyrus once again attempted to keep us from talking to Sir Mortimer. The tension in his voice betrayed his ulterior motives. He held no concern for his master, only concern for some reason known only to him. His face contorted into a mask of thinly veiled anger and annoyance.
I noticed that Cyrus kept fidgeting with something in his right hand, but couldn’t see what the object was.
“Enough, Cyrus!” Sir Mortimer barked, anger clear in his voice. “You are dismissed. I will summon you should I require your assistance.”
Cyrus turned his hollow gaze upon me. Hatred filled his eyes. Backing into the shadows, he disappeared.
“I am, of course, at your command, Sire.” The gravelly voice seemed to come from the shadows themselves. A chill ran down my spine.
“My apologies, my friends,” Sir Mortimer began. “As I said, Cyrus can be over-protective but he means well. Now, where were we?”
I wasn’t convinced at all that Cyrus meant no harm but again kept my feelings to myself. “The Keys to Forever,” I offered in an attempt to keep us on track.
“Yes, yes. Once it became clear that I was now somewhat physically limited, I turned my attention toward finding a way home. By that time Aloicious was King and he allowed me unrestricted access to the Kingdom’s archives. He even placed a team of scholars at my disposal to help me i
n my endeavors.” Sir Mortimer stared sightlessly at the wall behind me while he spoke. “I sent men to neighboring villages to investigate leads. I interviewed other travelers. One day while going through a repository of manuscripts I discovered in a small archive in Tolenar, the kingdom to the south, I discovered a marble tablet inscribed with an ancient language and symbols. One of the symbols caught my eye so I made a charcoal rubbing of the tablet and brought it home to translate it.”
Sir Mortimer fumbled around on his desk, finding a feathered quill writing tool and a sheet of paper. With shaking hands, he put ink to paper and sketched a rudimentary diagram of the symbol that he had thought important.
I gasped in recognition at the familiar symbol. Although rough and hurriedly drawn, I knew immediately what the drawing depicted.
“My goodness!” Merv exclaimed next to me. “That’s the Eye of the gods, the sacred symbol of the Patootie!”
“I only got a brief glimpse of the time portal before I was sucked into it, but I was pretty sure that the symbol on the tablet was a representation of the vortex viewed from above,” Mort chimed in.
“Were you able to translate the language on the tablet?” Merv asked.
“Only partially,” Mort replied. “What I could translate, I documented in my manuscript. I determined that there were nine Keys to Forever and that they were created by an ancient race that became too advanced for their own good. Realizing the potential damage they could do by traveling through time, the Ancients divided the power into the nine stones and scattered them throughout time to ensure that they were never reunited.”
“We saw a copy of your manuscript, Sir, but many of the pages were missing or damaged,” I interjected. “Do you have another that we could look at?”
“Of course, Eli. Pat, be a dear and go to the second bookcase from the left, two shelves from the top, third book from the right. There should be a brown leather-bound book with my name on the spine.”
Pat moved to the bookcase her uncle had indicated. She ran her finger vertically down the shelves then horizontally across the books. Pausing briefly, she repeated the silent count. “It’s not here, Uncle,” Pat announced. “There is an empty space where thoust toldest me to look, but no book.”
“Are you sure?” Mortimer asked. He sounded concerned.
“I am positive, Uncle. I checked twice.”
“I can’t imagine where that book could be,” Mort muttered. “I haven’t taken it off that shelf in years. Troubling - very troubling.”
I was beyond disappointed. The way home was potentially in my grasp and had been yanked away. It seemed like someone was intentionally trying to sabotage my efforts. Something about Cyrus nagged at my subconscious. Something that tied all this together. Lost in thought, I only half heard what Merv was saying.
“... the original?” Merv asked.
“In a very safe place,” Mortimer responded. “You see, after I made the rubbing of the tablet, a series of strange events occurred. And although I couldn’t conclusively tie them together, I had grave suspicions that the strange events were all related.
“What events?” Pat inquired.
“The archive that housed the tablet burned to the ground. The constable who investigated ruled the fire accidental but, as I said, I had my doubts,” Mortimer explained. “The official cause was listed as a Wyvern conflagration. A wyvern is sort of like a miniature dragon, Eli,” he clarified. “The theory was that one of the creatures found its way into the archive, sneezed, and ignited the manuscripts. I will admit, it was rather dusty in the library and wyverns were all the craze around that time. People bought the creatures at fairs and while on vacation. When they returned home and realized how much trouble they were, how much they ate, and how dangerous they could be, folks threw them into the sewers. Legends still persist about wyverns in the sewers.”
“Seems kind of coincidental, but not sinister,” Merv said.
“I agree,” Mortimer continued, “and wouldn’t have given it a second thought except that a few days later, someone broke into my house and ransacked the place.”
“Definitely raises a red flag,” I offered. “And now your manuscript detailing your findings is also missing.”
“Very troubling, indeed,” Mortimer said. “After the fire and the burglary, which at the time was chalked up to a roving band of goblins, I gathered up all my research and decided to begin a quest for the Dragon’s Scale. Unfortunately, my quest didn’t get very far. As I was loading my supplies on my horse, something spooked her and she kicked me in the head.”
“Another coincidence?” I asked.
“Without my sight, my quest was doomed to fail, so I deposited all of my research in the kingdom’s archives and settled down here,” Mortimer said with a sigh.
“Perhaps we can finish the quest for you,” I suggested. “If we find the Dragon’s Scale we would be happy to take you with us when we go home. If you point us in the right direction, maybe we can finish what you started.”
Mortimer sat silently for a long while. “The danger is too great,” he finally said. “Someone has gone to great lengths to bury what I discovered. I’m not willing to put you in harm’s way, Eli. I’ve made a good life here. You can do the same. Besides, young man, I’ve already told you what you need to know. Probably more than I should have.
“Please, Sir Mortimer,” I begged. “I just want to find my brother and go home. With or without your help, I’m going to continue your quest.”
“I’m sorry, Eli,” the old man whispered.
“Does Scar really guard the Dragon’s Scale?” I yelled.
“The answers are in front of you, boy,” he replied. “I’ll say no more but I do have some gifts that should help you on your way. I hope your stubbornness doesn’t get you killed.”
Getting slowly to his feet, the old man felt his way to the wall of bookshelves behind him. Running his hand along the wall, he stopped and pressed one of the panels. With a pop, a small concealed door swung open. Mortimer reached inside the hidden compartment and removed the contents.
“This is the original rubbing I made of the marble tablet,” he said holding the paper out to me.
I gingerly took the parchment from Sir Mortimer and spread it out on his desk.
Merv moved close to my shoulder and whispered in my ear, “Let’s examine this back in my workshop, my boy. I have a bad feeling - like we are being watched.
I had to agree. Folding the parchment back up, I removed it from the table and placed it in my pack.
“Thank you, Sir Mortimer. You have been a great help,” I said to my new friend.
“Be careful, Eli,” he croaked. “Strange things are happening and I sense that danger surrounds the magical stones you seek.”
There was no question about that. I would have to be on my toes (not literally) from here on out. Sir Mortimer’s story had opened my eyes to the gravity and seriousness of my quest. There was more at play here than me simply getting home.
Mortimer extended his hand and we shook. He had a powerful grip for a man of his advanced years.
“Good luck, boy,” he said as we parted. “Cyrus!” Mortimer bellowed.
Instantly, the man in black appeared, once again, seemingly from the shadows themselves.
“Yes, Sire?” he asked.
“See that our guests’ gryphons are saddled and ready to go.”
“As you command, Sire. If you will follow me to the stables, we can get rid of ... I mean get you on your way,” Cyrus hissed. He turned and strode from the room.
As Merv, Pat and I headed for the door, Mortimer put a hand on my arm, holding me back.
“A word in private, Eli?” he asked.
“Merv, you and Pat go ahead and get us ready to go,” I said. “I’ll catch up in a minute.”
Merv nodded. He and Pat followed Cyrus down the hall. When they were gone, Mortimer came around from behind the desk using his staff for support.
“I’m very concerned for your s
afety, Eli,” he said. “Things just don’t add up.” He paused for a moment, then continued, “Are you certain I can’t convince you to stay here and give up your quest?”
“I appreciate your concern,” I replied, “but I have to find my brother and get home, Sir Mortimer. My mind is made up.”
He sighed and reached out his hand again. Finding my arm, he pulled it forward and placed his staff in my hand.
“Then take this,” he said. “This staff was given to me by the keepers of the archive that housed the marble tablet. The inscriptions it once bore are barely discernible, weathered by age and use. The keepers called this staff ‘the Sign post’ and said it had mysterious powers of its own.” I ran my hand over the rough wooden surface. Sir Mortimer continued. “I didn’t believe them until I traveled to the Saporian Islands a few years ago. While I held the staff, I could understand the complex language of the islands’ inhabitants, a language, I might add, that I had never heard spoken before.”
“Kind of like a universal translator,” I said, holding the staff before me. “Thank you, again, Sir Mortimer. I promise to take good care of it.”
“I know you will, Eli. I hope it proves to be as useful to you as it has been to me. Let’s go find your friends.”
We headed for the doorway when a thought struck me. I stopped, unzipped my pack and rummaged around inside. Finding what I was looking for, I turned and faced Mort.
“I have something for you too, Sir Mortimer.”
Placing the object in his hand, I undid the wrapper and moved the item under Sir Mortimer’s nose.
“A Stuckey’s pecan log!” He exclaimed. “I haven’t had one of these in over fifty years!”
I thought Mortimer Maddox might have been a Stuckey’s kind of guy.
Mort grinned from ear to ear as he consumed the sweet tasty treat. When he finished, I handed him a second log and said, “I thought you might appreciate these.”
“Eli, I would have given my right arm for that little piece of sweet heaven. Thank you.”
I knew he meant that too. Sir Mortimer always says exactly what he means.
“No need to lose body parts, Sir,” I smiled.
Sir Mortimer licked his lips and headed for the door.
“Let’s get you and your friends on your way.”