Chapter 11 - A Mid-Winter's Quest

Chapter 11 - A Mid-Winter's Quest


The Damsels of the Wells


..::The kingdom turned to loss, the land was dead and desert so that it was scarcely worth two hazel nuts. For they had lost the voices of the wells and the damsels that lived therein.

For no less a thing was the service they gave than this - that if anyone wandered that way, whether at evening or morning, rather than that he should go far out of his way for food and drink, he should find his way to the wells, and then no better could he ask but that he received it at once. For straightway a damsel issued forth from the well, none fairer need he seek, bearing in her hand a Cup of gold...and right fair welcome he received at the well.

And then, King Amangons, who was evil and craven hearted, was the first to break the custom, for thereafter many took their lead from this king, whose duty it was to protect the damsels and to maintain and guard them within his peace.

But he forced one of the damsels, and carried off from her the Cup of gold she had, and ever after caused himself to be served from it daily...

Thereafter the damsel never served anyone else who came there in search of food.  And all the other damsels only served in such a way that they were invisible to all.


In such a way was the Kingdom laid waste that from thenceforward was no tree leafy.  The meadows and flowers dere dried up and the waters were shrunken, and no man might then find the Court of the Rich Fisherman, which was wont to make within the land a glittering glory of gold and silver, ermine and minaver, rich palls of sendal, meats and stuffs, falcons gentle and merlins and tercels and sparrow hawks and falcons peregrine::..


--Elucidation de l'hystoire du Graal
Old French, dated early 1200s




                         

                  Well-Dressing Hayfield Derbyshire
                     . . . .


The road back to the City proved fairly fog-free, once they had shown the Village their heels.  
  

Emlyn and Daryl sat pensively, occasionally glancing out from the windows, not trusting the road; knowing that, on occasion, no matter which way they were headed, they sometimes wound up OtherWhere.
 

Neither said a word for several minutes. Emlyn stared at the great emerald upon her left hand now, twisting it, worrying it, biting her lip, and staring out the coach window at the familiar scenery, which now seemed as strange as fairyland...and yet, she knew that at the end, they would find the City, unchanged by their adventures. The same folk there they had always known; Rosa, the Leeks, Jethro.
...Jack.

Daryl frowned out at the world as it roved by his window. So much needed to be said, but where to begin?

'Daryl--' Em began, on top of Daryl's:
'Emlyn, I,--' He smiled. 'You, first.'

'Daryl,' Emlyn wasn't sure quite how to put things, knowing that her...fiance, had been keeping some important truths from her, but, also that perhaps, she had kept some from him as well.
  'Do you not think it rather odd that we...rather suddenly...became engaged?'

Daryl's frown deepened. 'No, Em...not really.' He ran a hand through his disheveled dark locks. 'It seemed, only right...after, well; we cannot dismiss what had just happened...between Diego and Josephina.'

'No...I do not mean to do that.' Emlyn agreed with the sentiment, as far as that went, 'but, a sudden engagement! Daryl...Josephina and Diego were very close, I know, but we, Daryl, you and I...there is so much we do not know about one another. Diego is an open book, compared to you, Daryl. And,' Em paused, 'I have known you longer.' She let that sink in.

Daryl looked at his hands, flexed them within his leather gloves, and sighed.  'Yes, I suppose this is true...' He took Em's hand. 'Do you regret the engagement, Josephina?'

'I do not regret the feelings in which the offer was made, or accepted. I still feel the same...but, Daryl, it is too soon, for us both, I feel!' She twisted the ring.
   'No, Emlyn...' Daryl reached for her hand, stopped it. 'Please, keep the ring! You needn't wear it, but, do keep it safe.' His eyes pleaded with her. 'And, someday, perhaps...' He looked down again, frustrated.

'Daryl, don't--!' Emlyn took his hands. 'You know I feel just as deeply as ever I have! I simply do not feel the pressing need to conform to convention as do you! Oh...let all that rest for the nonce!'


  She bent round, to gaze at him. 'If it bothers you so,' she sighed, 'we may simply leave things as they are! In public, at least! We have been living at the same address for ages now!'
  Daryl barked a laugh. '--At least since the 12th century, Em?'

'Yes. You see? So, why change?  No one within the house will go about telling tales...certainly not Manuel or Rosa. Why can we not...do as we wish? Surely, behind closed doors...' Em trailed off.
   'Those doors never remain closed long,' Daryl commented darkly. Then he sighed.
   'Yes. Alright, then. For now, it will all remain Status Quo, if you like.' He returned Emlyn's gaze. 'But it is not my preference. You know what I would wish.' He kissed her left hand.

                          

Em blushed. 'I will keep the ring, Daryl. Let us get to know one another better. So many secrets, querido! Diego and Josephina had no secrets between them...'

Daryl held her hand, and stared at passing scenes...the were coming upon more populated areas. Back to the City, soon...
   'Secrets, yes.' He risked a glance at Em, and quirked a half-smile. 'So, who wants to go first?'

                      . . . .

'I will...' Em spoke up.
   'Ah, excellent!' Daryl seemed quite pleased suddenly. 'So, do tell: you and Mr. Orez, is it? What is the story there?'

Em frowned. 'I meant: I will, get to ask the question first!'
  Daryl smiled.
 'Oh, very well...' Em sighed. 'He is, or was, the first mate to a, good friend of mine, Captain Keithcliff. Long story short, they took my other good friends, Alice and Frank, and Lev Kopalski, to South America with them, aboard his ship.'

'Yes? All very above-board, that...why the secrecy? And, the name change?' Daryl wondered.
  'Yes, well...it's just...Mr. Orez had a certain special, facility...' How to explain it all, Em puzzled? Well, may as well simply let fly:
  'He studied Santaria and Condomble in Brazil. He, he was for many years, channeling the spirit of Frank, Alice's husband, for her.  Frank had been lost in a time-warp for, oh, decades...he, he knew my father...'
                        

                        

'Mon Dieu...' Daryl swore, in French. '--You can't mean Frank N. Stein? -- and, Alice Stein? Oh, gods, of course! Frank worked with your father on all the early time walking experiments!'
  And, probably, partly at Nob Hill House, Daryl did not add... Sacre bleu.

'Yes...' Em was not comfortable revisiting the past. It prickled at her like a goat head in the knickers.           'So, that's about it. You can imagine what a shock it was to see him now! I hadn't heard of what had become of them, in oh, many, many years now...'


   Emlyn regarded Daryl anew: 'I wonder what he was doing in our fog-enshrouded village?'
   And, what were he and Sebastiao doing tying them up and blindfolding them in some strange rite? Diosa, but it could never simply be a quiet country ride with them, could it?


'Alright, yes, I see now...' Daryl mused to himself.
  'Well, I'm glad you do, because I certainly do NOT,'
Emlyn told him, in no uncertain terms. She stared at him, waiting.

'Eh, yes, Em...' Daryl grimaced. 'I, ah...well, he, Orez, or Raimundo, is my Man In Brazil, whom I wished to contact. It was he, who, originally, had possession of the Alabastrum, as it is sometimes called...a Box, supposedly containing the anointing oil of the Magdalena.'
 Or so it was thus advertised to Daryl through ye olde grapevyne.

'He, Raimundo, originally had the Box?' Em inquired, studying Daryl closely. Ever unreadable. '...I think I see.' She lied, to put him off guard. 'And now, YOU have it, is that right?'
   Daryl nodded, looking down.
   -- Aha.

  'And now, I am supposedly made Keeper of this, and the Cup that you pilfered as well?'
  'I did not 'pilfer' anything! Gods know I paid a fortune...' Daryl stopped, too late. 'Yes, I have the, blessed things...'


'I see...' Emlyn did, now. And, she knew why she was here, on this trip, and why they had gone to the village. A joy ride in the country, it wasn't...she ought to have known. Same old Daryl...
  Why it had taken so long, (to be blindfolded and tied-up by a secret society), was the only question.


'Daryl --' She began...
'Emlyn --' He held up a hand in defense, 'You knew my profession when you came to live at Nob Hill House...'
  '-- An antiques dealer, Daryl?' Em needled him.

   Daryl merely looked at her, cocking an eyebrow,
  '-- A Magician.'

                            

                         . . . .

Emlyn looked daggers and devils at him.
  '"When I came to live at Nob Hill House?"' She repeated.

'Yes,' Daryl answered calmly. 'When you took up with me...'
   'I?!!' Em was in high dudgeon. 'When I "took up" with YOU?!! May I remind you, sir, that I was minding my own business when YOU kidnapped me and brought me to thrice-damned Nob Hill House!'

'Shh!' Daryl frowned. 'The bloody place is dam'd enough without your curses...'

'Oh, I never...this is really the limit!' Em crossed her arms and stared out the window. More signs of the City, more traffic passed, folk on bicycle and horse.
Em was wishing it were her. Oh, to be out of this and gone, far...

  Less than ever, did she wish to return to the City...
Oh, how sweetly her own wee bed called to her from the secret sanctuary of Mrs. Murphy's, back in Arcadia...
  ...Blast the man. Em looked at Daryl as though she had never seen him before. What was he doing here?


Daryl sighed again. 'Emlyn...as you may have guessed by now...I, I am sometimes, as you see me.  At others, I may be Diego. And, still, at other times...I may be myself, it is true. But, yet from another time frame. Do you see?' He looked at her, bending forward to catch her eye. Was she still angry?
  'Anyway, so it was thus, eh, that, particular unfortunate circumstance came about; I was myself and not myself; not in the same time line.'


'"And the left hand path knoweth not what the right hand doeth?"' She paraphrased sarcastically. How VERY convenient!
   Emlyn's head was beginning to ache. Again. She leaned it against the cool glass of the window.
   'I weary so of Time...' she managed to groan.

Daryl knew the feeling.

  But, now he was concerned with more recent events...    So, Orez/Raimundo had also had dealings with the Original Timeline, and the Original Timewalkers, like Emlyn's father and Frank N. Stein, husband to Alice, Em's housemate and friend...
  '...And, no doubt, they had both been at Nob Hill House during the Society's heyday...Frank and your father. Probably, some of the early experiments were worked there...'


'Are you addressing me, Diego?' Emlyn deigned to regard Daryl's mutterings aloud to himself.
  'Eh?' He noticed Em and the dark cloud threatening thunder about her. 'Ah...'
   Well, skulking about the facts hadn't helped much, best be out with it. 'No, just thinking aloud...'


   He put an arm behind Em, stroked her hair lightly. 'I do not wish for us to have secrets, cher. I want you to know me, to trust me. For a change...
  'I simply try perhaps too hard, not to upset you with things that, maybe I feel you would not be easy about.  This is truth. Trying to protect you.' Daryl coughed dryly and continued:

'...But, if you must know, well...now that I have found that the Alabastrum and the Cup are both linked to Orez, who is a companion of Frank Stein, well...it weighs somewhat on my mind...'
  'How so, Daryl?' Em inquired. She may as well ask for it, disclosure now preferable to secrecy. Secrets have a way of making themselves known. Sometimes, at the worst moments.

'Well, it's just this...Nob Hill House, as I have mentioned, was used by the Society, of which your father, and Frank, were both members. It may not be the best place to keep the, eh, Items, out of trouble...' Daryl finished, quirking an eyebrow.

Emlyn was quiet for a moment, pondering this. Daryl, NOT wanting trouble, that seemed rather contrary to his nature...especially where magic was concerned.

Each mused upon their own troubling bubbling thoughts as they watched the scenery slide by...no doubt about it, the City now loomed ahead, back to the real world. (Such as it ever was, with them.)
  They were now upon the outskirts of town proper, small shops and restaurants were in evidence.
  'We shall be there soon...' Daryl muttered, looking ill at ease.
   Em had the same thought. She simply looked ill.


And, indeed, it seemed no time at all until Manuel brought them around Nob Hill and into the stable yard in back of the House.
   'I'll just help Manuel load in the items from Sebastiao's shop then meet you inside, alright?'
Daryl held Em's hand, helping her from the coach.
   'Eh, some coffee for us all, I think? I'm in need of sommat bracing...' He looked around the place as if he'd never seen it before and found it rather much.


'As am I...' Emlyn frowned, bewildered to be here as well. She stared up at the tall, somewhat slender Victorian, not as filled-out with rooms as the neighboring homes, but, in it's spare white, with black and red trim, the house seemed rather like a dapper man in evening clothes, standing beside his neighbors, all blowsy matrons in pastel, full skirted gowns.
 

Leaving the men to their unloading, Emlyn approached up the back steps which led into the kitchen. Rosa was not present, but signs of her remained: fresh baked bread cooled upon the countertop and a pot of something redolent of herbs and vegetables sat warm upon the stove.
  

Emlyn removed her coat and things to the hallway, and began heating water for coffee, like an automaton. She glanced about her, as if seeing the place for the first time.
  -- It all seemed so...odd.

Having spent so much time away; first, back to Villa Encantata, and then to the Portuguese village...what was the name of the place, anyway? The Inn of Sopa and Fog, is all Em knew of it...
   The water began to boil, and Em took hold of the kettle, her new ring clinked against the enamel...reminding her.
   She had not been wearing this, when they had left here so innocently...or had it been innocent?

Pouring hot water into the French press, she decided that although SHE had been so, Daryl certainly had known better. Off again they were, to chase down some enchanted antique nuisance or other.
  -- As per usual, with Daryl.

Speaking of an antique nuisance...
   Em could hear Daryl's footsteps echoing up from the basement stairs across from the kitchen.


'Coffee is nearly ready...' She told him automatically,
as she seated herself at her perch upon a tall stool at the counter.
   'Good. I shall need it...' He ran a hand through his hair, and poured. 'Shall I pour for you?' Receiving no answer, he did anyway, and handed her a cup, adding creme to both, as usual.
   ' -- Cara?'

'Gracias...' Em responded, looking down, not wishing to meet his gaze.

                             

 

 

  Seeing him now, here...without others about, in this house of secrets, she felt suddenly as though he was  some handsome stranger she had only heard rumor of...

Daryl caught something of her mood. He seated himself below her, at the worn oaken kitchen table and looked about, rather wonderingly, himself.
  'Seems odd to be here,' he remarked, sipping hot coffee.

'Yes. It does.' Em rather wished Rosa had been about.
   'Does it bother you, querida? Being here?' Daryl asked, 'Especially, after all this...seeing Orez again, and well, thinking about Frank and your father having spent time here, in this house...'


'I, hadn't really thought about it, not too deeply,' Em answered. Actually, she hadn't wanted to think about it. She sighed.
   'It's just, odd, that's all...' she came down from her perch on high, coasted about the room.
  'Seems so strange, somehow...sunny, here now...not at all like Winter Solstice, you know?' She paused at the kitchen window, sipping coffee. 'It will probably turn spring before you know it...' Time, again. Blast it.

Em regarded him, 'Until we were, you know, caught there in the village, in all the fog...there was something about the place, that I actually liked. I was even enjoying the fog. It is nice, occasionally, to feel as though one is having a real sort of winter.'

Daryl grinned over his coffee. 'Not in California, cher...'
  'No-o...not here...' She sounded rather regretful. 'Especially now. Drought for too many years, Daryl! Oh, it wearies me... Everything is electric! High-strung, nothing soothes...'


Daryl stood, and, taking heart from caffeine, stood behind her, and put his arms about her, leaning his head over her shoulder.  'I could...bring in some fog, just for us...'
   Em smiled at last, and touched his cheek. 'Thank you, querido...but, no. Truly, it isn't the fog; I think I have had plenty of that!'

Daryl kissed her hair, and then moved away, pacing the room in his own panther fashion, mug in hand. 'Too bright in here! Let's take things to the parlour, eh?'

                       . . . .

Daryl took himself before the fireplace, the fire dead now, but mantlepiece still decorated with holly and greenery, cup in hand. Em curled up upon the sofa, and stroked the plaid blanket that had covered them both not long ago there...


                         

  'Hmm...I wonder...' He paused. 'Tell you what; I was thinking that perhaps this isn't the best place for keeping the Cup and Box, considering the, uh, history of this place.
  'We could, take them away from here...somewhere they, and we, would be absolutely safe. Somewhere no one can penetrate our defenses. Somewhere, we could be absolutely alone, if we wished!' He stopped, fixed her with a look.
  'Somewhere, there would be, snow...'

Emlyn returned his gaze. Their eyes locked. A fire smoldered there...

                         

  'Snow, you say? REAL snow, Daryl?'
 
'There, may be in fact, yes, real snow there now. Not uncommon, in Massachusetts.' Daryl released the proverbial Cat from the Bag...(and: Cup and Box from the Armoire).
   'Ah.' Em knew now of where he spoke. 'I thought that place knew only wind and rain, thunder and lightning...'


'...Not in winter. Winters can be, well, snowed-in, sometimes.' He hoped she might consent; it was the safest place for Cup and Box. And them.
   They could be Alone At Last.

Emlyn looked out at the bright blue sunny day without.
It most certainly did not seem like Winter Solstice.

   Daryl edged up behind her, leaned over her shoulder,  '...Think of it,' he murmured unto her ear, '...we would be alone, just we two, surrounded by soft snow. The stables even boast a sleigh...Athena keeps a horse or two, or she used. A couple of nights there, we could have our own private Solstice celebration...a real one. Real snow, real evergreen trees, the smell of pine wood...' A soft kiss upon her neck, and the deal was sealed.

'It does sound tempting, Diego...' Emlyn leaned in closer, her hand playing with Daryl's stray locks. 'I haven't seen Athena since, since she was returned, with Jack... Oh, I should like to visit with her again, at the gatehouse!'

'I had hoped that the thought of us alone together would decide things, but...' Daryl kissed her cheek, 'If Athena is your siren's call, so be it!'
   'You are wicked and a tease...' Em smacked his cheek lightly, playfully.

   'Oh, just you wait until tonight...' Daryl promised her.
  Wicked teasing was just what he had in mind...

                     . . . .

Alejandro 'Raimundo' Orez, and Sebastiao da Silva walked back to the shop directly from the Inn, after Emlyn and Daryl's hasty exit...
  

Sebastiao was still chuckling softly. 'Did you see them fly from the place as though all the devils of Hades were after them, with bibs on?' He took his key from a coat pocket and unlocked the Antiques and Curiosities Shoppe.
    'They probably thought they were,' Raimundo commented. He did not laugh.

'Ah, Volunder does have a wonderful baritone when he puts his heart into it!' The piratical antiques dealer punched in a light switch, keeping the place lit well enough to maneuver about, yet shadowed in corners.
 

'I hope I have not lost a good, paying customer in all this!' Sebastiao continued, 'But,' he sighed, 'I do agree that a lady such as your Josephina, deserves all the best in finding her mate and match.' He sighed, 'And, it is true, I would not be the most loyal of suitors...'

'It was necessary,' Raimundo answered, as they headed into the back room, while the dealer set to work making his ever-ready espresso.
  'Both for her sake, and for the sake of the Objects now entrusted to Diego.'


Orez puzzled over that one. Why the Box and Cup had chosen such as Rivera, was indeed a mystery Alejandro could not as yet fathom.
   Diego Rivera had seemed, to him, simply another San Franciscan golden gadfly with more money than experience...but, the Objects did not make mistakes, and Rivera had been Chosen.
  Probably, due to 'Josephina'...

Sebastiao pulled espresso for them both. Taking a wide-bottomed bottle from beneath the counter, he poured a splash of Armagnac into their cups.
   'Well, to a successful night's work, then! And to seal a Mid Winter Night's Bargain!'
 

Raimundo raised his cup. 'To Diego and Josephina. Long may they reign!'
   Cups were clicked together, libations swallowed. Hot coffee and liquor merged into a swelling of heat upon tongue and throat, warming the heart.

Orez hoped that the two hearts they had joined as one tonight would remain thus, steadfast and true to their promise.


                          

 

  -- Or, if they did not, he would not wish to think of the Consequences, ...

                     . . . .

The Graal Company

chapter 10 - The Graal Company

                         
           Monmur - The Enchanted Castle of Oberon


..::...Oberon awaits death in Monmur, but has refused to die before Huon is elected King of the Elves.  Oberon heartily welcomes Huon and Esclarmonde, and a party is orgnized where wine is served to all guests from a marvelous Cup.

After the banquet, Oberon asks that his crown and javelin, the symbols of his sovereignty over the empire of the faeries, be brought to him.  Huon and Esclaronde are then solemnly crowned sovereigns.


                      

The following morning...before the entire faery world, Oberon declares:
      "I cannot bear remaining any longer on Earth;
       I want to go to heaven as soon as possible..."

-- Song of Huon

...Similarities between the 'Song of Esclarmonde' of the Huon Cycle and the Grail poems...(did) highlight the crown and javelin, which correspond to the Grail and the blood lance.

...still more shocking is the similarity between (those) who await their freedom and the angels of Parsifal:

  "When Lucifer and the Trinity began to war with each other,
   Those who did not take sides; worthy, noble angels had to descend to Earth..."

                      . . . . .

..::...In the rocky castle of Foix, the bards, guests of Arcantua, the chief of the Sotiates, sang Celtic and Iberian cantares de gesta, accompanied by Grecian-style lyres. In the 12th century, when monetary and amorous worries preoccupied the troubadours, they were always welcomed with great hospitality...


Almost all the vassals of the courts of Foix were 'Sons of the Moon', or 'Sons of Belissena', as they also called themselves. They claimed to be descended from the moon goddess Belissena, the Celt Iberian Astarte. On their shields were a fish, the moon, and a tower -- the emblems of the moon goddess, the sun god, and the power of the knights::..


Otto Rahn
Crusade Against the Grail

                        . . . .
                 

                 

  

'Diego, I cannot bear it...'


 Emlyn and Daryl were seated in a small park near the outskirts of the village, increasingly desperate for some private time.


   'It is now, 'official', as you put it!' she huffed, holding Daryl's arm tightly as she inched closer to him, unable to escape the creeping chill of the seemingly never-ending fog bank surrounding them.    'Surely, querido, we may, at last!-- find somewhere we can be alone together!'


Daryl sighed and put his arm about Em's shoulders. 'Cara...I feel no less frustrated, believe me!'
   His feelings, in truth, were a mixture of wild desire for their utter abandon in each other, and sheer fright;
of being with Emlyn...his ward...in the here and now, as himself, Daryl -- in all his 56-year-old faded 'glory';(young, strong 20-something Diego, no longer).

   -- Also, he had not yet found what he had come to this village to seek.
   But, as he told himself, that was something Emlyn would not need to know. He also knew it was something of which she would not approve.

'...Diego...?' Emlyn raised a hand to his cheek, and turned him to her, eyes closed. She opened them, stared long into the eyes of her fiance, and grasping him by the hair, pulled him down into the warmth of her lips...
   

For a moment, Daryl was lost.
   'Cara mia...' He breathed. Gods, they were like kids parked in a Lovers Lane...
   'WHEN, Diego...?' Emlyn was near panting.

Daryl looked about wildly, seeing nothing but fog. 'Damn this insufferable, omnipresent frigging fog!' He ran a hand through his hair, damp with dew.
  He looked at Josephina, hugged her tight. 'Sorry. Querida, if this were Sonora, we could...oh, head to the hot springs, no?'
  Emlyn merely whimpered.



                      

'That's it...' He stood, taking her hands, and Emlyn pressed herself against him, holding him tight.  'We are off! Devil take the fog and this town, we're gone!' They turned and began to retrace their steps to the inn.

   'We may not be able to make it back to the City now, but we can go where no one knows us, where I've no business to conduct, and find an out-of-the-way inn.' Daryl picked up the pace, ache spurring him on.

'...Where we may be our gypsy selves, once more!' Em hugged his arm, relieved. 'Oh, toss convention and small-town mores!'
   She inhaled deeply. 'I, I just do not know if I can
acclimate back into City life! I still feel too much the gypsy, too much Josephina! I never did fit the gadji mold, and, even less so now. What is to become of us, Diego?
-- We seem still to be neither here nor there...'

Neither Diego or Daryl had an answer to that one.

                       . . . .

Reaching the inn, Emlyn and Daryl were en route to the front desk when familiar figures suddenly loomed before them.
   'Ah, here you both are!' Sebastiao and Raimundo had them cornered. 'We have been looking for you.'

     Sebastiao seemed well-pleased. 'We, that is, some friends and I, would like to host a small fete tonight, in honor of your upcoming nuptials, here at the inn.  In the back, of course; just a few friends, as were there last evening.'

   Daryl held up a hand and began to protest, but Sebastiao put a heavy hand upon his shoulder, 'No, no; we may not be dissuaded!'
   He then solemnly put hand to heart: 'I would feel most slighted, should you decline our offer! And,' he paused, eyebrows raised invitingly; even his mustaches seemed to lift somewhat skyward, 'tonight you may discover...something of interest to you, ah, professionally...' A knowing, satisfied smile slid across his pirate lips.


'Oh, Diego...' Em whispered at his side, clutching his arm in a death-grip.
  'I, we, are most honored, Sebastiao, but...' Daryl began...
  'Good! Good!' The pirate slapped Daryl on the back, 'The festivities will begin tonight around 6 o'clock.' He shook a finger their way, 'Do not be late, you two! Ah, it will be fine, you will see!' And, with that and a bow, the pirate and his first mate took their leave, having stolen away the tete-a-tete the Happy Couple had so looked forward to.


Daryl turned to Emlyn. 'Cara, I, I am sorry.'
   Emlyn turned and began to ascend up the staircase to her lonely room. '...I give up...'
  --Daryl paused only a moment, and then followed...

                           . . . .

Closing her door, hurt and outraged, Emlyn was somewhat surprised to find it burst open again...
   Not Daryl, but Diego stood there, back against the door, a dark look upon him.


He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, like St. Nick bent on deliverance.  (After all, it was nearly the night before Xmas...) He took off his jacket and flung it far.


Scooping Josephina into his arms, he took her to her narrow nun's bed and set about putting all wrong things to rights...
   Kneeling astride his novia, and, placing hands upon soft cheeks of, no longer a seventeen year old, but a woman grown and groaning, he bent to her, finding sustenance at last...


   'Cara mia...' he whispered, as he leaned into a kiss, which took hold of them both and transported them in an instant: back into time-out-of-mind, and a space of no-time, and no-where.


Falling...falling...
  Diego fell like a snowdrift against Josephina and gathered her to him, pressing her closer than he'd ever dared, in this incarnation. He could not bear being a centimeter apart from his beloved, his other half...


Kisses, kisses like the rains from heaven...love reign o'er me; Daryl gloried in their kisses, remembering songs from days of futures past;  'Recalled to life', he thought, like a Tale from Dickens, as he gained spirit with every instant; insistent upon leaving no space between them.


Emlyn at last let her pent-up emotions flow like a river in full flood; she could bear it no longer and needed Diego like the air she breathed. Closer, closer...that's it...


   She fumbled about his collar buttons and ripped his shirt in frustration...Diego grinned and tore his shirt off in haste, then gently lay beside Josephina and carefully undid the buttons of her dress...letting it slide, along with petticoat, to the floor.


They gazed at one another and saw only Diego and Josephina there. As far as each was concerned.


Propped on an elbow, Daryl carefully brushed loose curls from Emlyn's cheeks. Slowly, gently, he kissed her forehead.
     Em lay still, quiet, eyes closed.

     Then, softly as a raven's wing, Daryl lay kisses upon her eyelids.  He slowly, gently pressed feathered kisses upon her earlobes, her neck; nibbling the edges of her open mouth. Gentle, faery kisses lit everywhere but upon her eager lips.
  ...It drove Em wild.


'Oh,ooh...' She reached an arm behind his head and pulled him to her, pressing her lips to his greedily, feeling she could never have enough of him.
  'You are the veryist devil...' She told him, aching still.
  '...So I have heard...' Daryl Van Horn admitted.


                          

                            . . . .


Six of the clock came all too soon.
  Daryl had, meanwhile, repaired to his room to dress for the fete, and now rapped upon Emlyn's door.
  'Cara, are you decent?'
   The door opened, and a voice answered, 'Never.'
   He went right in...


Alas, however, he found Em dressed. 'You are looking lovely, my treasure.' Daryl reached beneath her curls and pressed a tender kiss upon the back of her neck, giving her shivers.
   'You know how I feel about...all this,' Em sighed. 'I wish never to go downstairs again until we are quit of here!'
   She put a hand to his cheek and rubbed against him, purring like a cat...


'Caramba...cara mia...' Daryl growled, taking her arms and spinning her round into a close embrace. 'Do you think it is any easier for me?' He whispered into her ear, 'Have you any idea how long I have waited...'
  'As have I, querido...' Another kiss. Then another.


                         

'We must go now, if indeed, we must!' Emlyn broke free, inhaling deeply. 'I suppose...we must?'
   'I believe, we ought.' Daryl looked disappointed, but tried his best to rally for the cause. 'I promise you, we shall leave early. By eight, at the latest.'
   'I shall hold you...'Em pressed against him, '...to this.'
   'Oh, I should hope so...' Daryl's eyes flared.

                          . . . .


As they entered the pub and restaurant, all seemed much as the night previous, indeed, many of the same folk were in attendance once more. Approaching the great oaken door to the back room, they noted Sebastiao and Raimundo flanking the door's sides like sentinels. Neither were smiling.


'You enter here of your own free will?' Sebastiao asked them.
    Mr. Orez, Raimundo, stared darkly at Emlyn; his eyes seemed to pierce her skin.


Odd sort of greeting, thought Daryl...like so much to be found herein this village.
   He looked at Emlyn. She nodded.
  'We will.'

Sebastiao opened the door. Daryl and Emlyn entered.
The door was shut; the bolt shot, then locked behind them.


Utter darkness greeted them. And that was not all...


                      

   Suddenly, they each found themselves blindfolded with a scarf, tied behind their heads.
   Strong hands grasped theirs, and firmly wrenched them behind their backs. They felt a silken length of rope bind their wrists together.

A firm hand upon the arms of each, turned them about and urged them forward. They could then discern, only slightly, through the satin scarves, that a single candle had flared to light before them.


'...What --?!' Daryl managed to say, before a hand was clamped over his mouth. And then removed.
   'Silencio,' they were told.


Meanwhile, Emlyn had begun to tremble slightly, nerves getting the best of her. It had not been so long ago that they had barely escaped such dangers with their lives...surely it would not all come to an end here and now, after having successfully fled the devils of the desert...
   A warm hand found her shoulder, rested there a moment. Her shaking stopped for the nonce.


'It is a long and winding path, from Malkuth to Kether.' A deep and sonorous voice echoed from across the hall...obviously filled no longer with the chatter and laughter of dining and drinking patrons of the previous eve; it was mostly empty except for their occulted captors.
   'So, too, is the quest of Parsifal. Many seek the Graal, and many fail.'


'There was once a couple, Huon and Esclarmonde, who were admitted to the castle of Oberon, the faery king. It came about that Esclarmonde became the keeper of the Graal, in Montsegur.' The voice continued:
   'Oberon charged Huon de Bordeax thus: to "remain loyal to the beautiful Esclarmonde who awaits you and rejects all pretenders.
  '"But any lord of the Graal who seeks love other than that allowed him by the Writing, will inevitably have to pay for it with pain and suffering fraught with sighs..."'


'Diego Rivera!' The voice brought Daryl up short. 'You will look to this woman as your Esclarmonde. She is the Chalice and the keeper of the Graal.'


'Josephina Page...to you is entrusted the Alabastrum de Magdalena. You will keep it safe, keep it secret. And hold fast to your chosen Knight, Diego. The blade of his eternal devotion will guard you.'


'Thus,' the Voice instructed them from the dark, 'shall be your charge. Thus you have chosen. And thus, also, is your task. Votum devotio. So it is written; so shall it be.'


'In pax, procedere...'


...Echoes of the voice died to nothingness. The candle was extinguished by a whisper on the wind...
   Hands untied the bonds behind them both, scarves taken from their eyes.
   Blackness, all about them...and silence.

  'Josephina...?' Daryl reached out a hand to Emlyn. Em caught it as though a lifeline. 'Where...?'


They turned to where they thought the door should be; oddly not a crack of light pierced through the Stygian dark. 
   Feeling about the walls, at last they located the great door. Daryl found the handle and shot the bolt upward and across. The door gave an inch; they were free.

Entering into the common room, they found not a boisterous crowd of evening diners, but a ghost hall, full of nothingness.
  Not only that, but it was certainly no longer evening; not even the gloom of the ever-present fog clung about.


In the stillness and silence, there shone the bright light of a new morning. Nothing moved but dust motes in the golden sun beams which cut stripes across the vacant room.


'Let us away from here at once!' Emlyn's eyes caught Daryl's and he took her hand, hauling her up the stairs at a trot.
  'Agreed. I'll fetch Manuel, whilst you gather your things.'
                

                        

It was the work of a moment.
  In the now-still and unoccupied village, Daryl, Emlyn and Manuel were the only folk about, as they hurried to the stable and worked quickly hitching Galahad to the coach.

Fleeing the enchanted Village of fog, sopa and secrets, Daryl and Emlyn counted themselves lucky to do so.
   "'In pax, procedere...'" Daryl breathed, glancing at Emlyn.
   She merely shut her eyes, and took his hand, as she leant her head upon a pillow against the back seat...


They sat together, stunned to silence, watching as the road took them far from this place of mists and mystery.
   On a hunch, then, Daryl leaned forward and poked his head from the coach window; as he had suspected, staring behind, he beheld terra incognita reigned there once more, as the familiar spectre of fog began to enclose the once-bright, sunlit village, back into it's inexorable envelope of gray haze and obscurity...


'"Neither fish nor flesh, nor good red herring..."' quoth Daryl, as he sat back, wondering about the dubious innocence of questing for Sopa de Peixe.

                           . . . .