Chapter 25 - Return To Centre

In the ancient world, the balance of opposite energies was understood and honored. But in our modern world, male attributes and attitudes have dominated. It is a short step from the worship of the power and glory of the male/solar principle to "son worship," a cult that too often produces a spoiled and immature male -- angry, frustrated, bored and often dangerous. Eventually, unable to integrate with his other half, the masculine suffers burnout.


This book is an exploration of the heresy of the Holy Grail and an argument for the restoration of the wife of Jesus based on important circumstantial evidence.  It is also a quest for the meaning of the Lost Bride in the human psyche in the hope that her return to our paradigm for wholeness will help to heal the wasteland.


Margaret Starbird
Woman With the Alabaster Jar
                                                               

 ................                                                    
It is certainly possible that under the supreme guardianship of Henry Sinclair, earl of Norway and prince of Scotland, along with a trusty inner circle of Knights Templar, the ultimate treasure of the temple was spirited away to what at the time was considered a secret refuge - a "rose" settlement - in Nova Scotia, or New Scotland. 

The ultimate purpose behind this daring and dramatic adventure was not only the need to establish a refuge for members of the Holy Bloodline and its guardians, the Knights Templar, but also to reactivate a series of ancient longitudinal meridians, or roselines, through the inland movement of the Holy Bloodline to strategic "rose" positions across the New World.

William F. Mann
The Templar Meridians
                                                                         

.........

Scottish Freemasonry in particular, has always been termed 'St John's Masonry', a tradition that pre-dates the first Grand Lodge of 1717.

By and large, however, St John's Masonry has more generally been understood to refer to the institution as a whole... In Scotland, specifically, we find St John connected in an official manner  with masonry by an enactment of 1799, when it was resolved by the Grand Lodge 'that they sanction the three great orders of Masonry, and these alone, of APPRENTICE, FELLOW CRAFT AND MASTER MASON, being the ancient order of SAINT JOHN.'

Karen Ralls-Macleod
Ian Robertson
The Quest for the Celtic Key
..............
                                                        

'St.John is in New Brunswick,' Daryl frowned. 'Not Nova Scotia.'

'O, ye of little faith...,' St.John slackened not his pace but tapped Daryl upon the backside with his cane. 'Do try to keep up. In 1784, the partitioning of the colony of Nova Scotia into the new colony of New Brunswick was thought to be named 'New Ireland' with the capital to be in Saint John, yes. Do I consider it such? No. Meanwhile, our ship will be leaving in...,' he checked his pocket watch, 'approximately 40 minutes.' St.John quickened his steps.


Daryl shook his head and kept pace with the wee martinet.  
  'My doleful ignorance is no doubt to blame, but I see not how we shall gain the eastern isles by ship here in the west.'

'We shall take ship north to Alaska first, where I've some business to take care of, then head overland, of course, eventually meeting the train. Canada's rail system spans the nation, dear boy. We are hardly without wherewithall.'

'St.John, that's all very well, but I can hardly be counted in this venture; I have business of my own.' Daryl was brought up short when St.John stopped suddenly and spun round to face him.
  'Have you? Have you indeed?' St.John frowned, looking grim. 'Just what business have you so dire and important?'
  Not waiting for answer, he turned back onto his chosen path, stubby legs beating away the miles like pistons working.

He had him there, Daryl had to admit.
  'I need time at least to phone the house and let them know where I am and...I suppose we have no idea when we shall return?'

'None whatsoever.'

'As I thought.' Well, Daryl was rather at loose ends now, having been...grounded. As long as he had enough poppy derivatives in case of back attack.

'What pier? St.John, I shall have to meet you there. I need to stop in Chinatown first.' He caught at the little dictator's arm.
   
St.John looked at Daryl's hand on his sleeve.  
  'Oh, do remove yourself.' He sighed. 'You won't have a problem with procurement. I know about your little...proclivities. Where there are ships, there are also sailors. Your poppy problem isn't a worry here.' His voice dropped into the lower registers of a growl, 'Worse case scenario, my own private stock is sufficient for the entire Russian navy -- Avanti!' His cane raised high in salute to adventure.

'You, St.John? Truly?' This was news, thought Daryl.

'You young pup! Do you really believe you know anything about pain?' St.John barked a seal-like laugh. 'Just wait until you're my age! You'll be begging for Davy Jones Locker...and sooner the better.'

That remark shut Daryl up for some time until they reached the ferry terminal. 'I'll just make a quick phone call, then. Where shall we meet?'


After agreeing upon a meeting place, Daryl unwound himself from St.John's magnetic personality and headed for the public phone  at the ticket desk. A good thing Rosa was home now; she took the call and his explanation of long-term travel without question, only wishing him good journey.

And that was that.
Daryl felt himself loose and adrift now indeed; with Emlyn gone, and nothing and no one to keep him here or anywhere else. He was free to go.
  Well, why not?


In the spirit of what-the-heck, Daryl began to whistle as he sauntered over to the chowder/fish and chips stand near their departure pier where he spied St.John seated at one of the picnic tables, busy as usual with sustaining his great bulk with fried clams.
  How did he manage it?
                                                                     

 ........

Emlyn was awakened by a knocking at her bedroom door. Completely disoriented, she rose and went stumbling to answer, throwing a tartan robe about her.

Mrs. Murphy's formidable presence loomed at the door. 'Someone to see you!' She announced, and was off down the stairs.
  Well, Em guessed she had been 'informed'. Nothing for it but to scrape some brains together and dress somewhat.

Quickly washing up and tossing a gown over her head, Em tried to comb her unruly red locks into a semblance of order, braiding the tail as she went downstairs, wondering who in blazes could be here at this early hour...

-- Jeanne!

Em couldn't have been more surprised.
...........

Deciding to take tea on the veranda, Em brought a tray outside to where Jeanne stood, attempting aid.
  'It's fine...,' Em assured her.
  'No, please, allow me,' and Jeanne insisted upon serving them both.

'You're no doubt wondering why I'm here...,' she began, handing Em her cup. Without waiting for a reply, Jeanne continued, 'Oh, Em...I am so sorry I could not have spoken with you sooner...I'd hoped you would stay to dinner at least.' She frowned, and paused for tea. 'I know why you left so early, though.' Her hand shook slightly as she set down her cup.
   'Jeanne, I...I did want to stay, last night,' Emlyn assured her.

'Good. I hoped that you had. Em, I hope I didn't, scare you off,' Jeanne looked down, as if she regretted her earlier coolness.

Emlyn only wanted to know what the problem was. 'I don't scare so easily,' she smiled. 'But Shannon...'

Jeanne sighed, pouring more tea. 'Yes. Shannon. That stiff-necked Irish...feannag!' She sipped her tea, grimacing. 'Nay, I'll not even dignify her prattle with cawing of crows; they know more about what's what than that wee...,' Jeanne waved a hand in exasperation as she muttered in gaelic. 'Ye know I do love Shannon to the moon and back. But there are times I could wish her there!'

Emlyn, who hadn't breakfasted, cut slices of pumpkin bread and apples for them.
  'She can be...well, rather obstinate, sometimes,' Em agreed. 'But, she feels things deeply.' Em took a bite. 'And she misses you, I think.'


Jeanne sniffed, taking her plate. 'I'm right here! I have'na gone to China!' She ripped into her apple slice, chewing with a vengeance. 'She does'na like Alex.'

'Well...,' Em began, wondering how to approach such a sticky subject as religion. 'She is, ah, confused, or just concerned perhaps, about his, some of his, collection?'

Jeanne began to chuckle then. 'She told you about the crosses and such. I knew it.'

'Ah, yes. Well, you know some Irish have not altogether embraced St.Patrick's teachings --,' Em began.
   'Padric was an arse,' Jeanne looked as if to spit. 'He burned over 100 books of the Druids! The wee Roman bastard!'

Em wondered at that. 'I thought the Druids didn't believe in writing things down, as it impaired the memory?'

Jeanne waved away that bit of logic. 'Any road, he was a blight on the face of Eire. Bridget, on the other hand! Now there's a saint! She knew not to toss out the Irish culture but to blend a bit. The Culdees of Scotland, that's the right mix.'
  Jeanne sat back, noshing upon bread and apple and seeming somewhat mollified for the moment.


Well, she didn't seem overly priest-ridden to Em, not after her vitriolic assessment of Padric the Arse.
   'So...what then, is the meaning behind all the Christian regalia in your boudoir?' Em decided she may as well have it out on the table.  'It is what seems to have Shannon up in arms.'

Jeanne nodded. 'Yes, I figured as much.' She paused a moment, gathering he thoughts. 'My Alexander, you see, is rather a throwback; a sort of Jacobite, still.'

Emlyn wondered how that could be. 'Home rule, you mean, ah -- fein-riaghladh, is it? And just whose backside should sit on the throne of Scotland, then?'
                                                                      

 Jeanne stood  and paced slowly along the terrace, looking out at the Indian Summer's day about them, early morning sun already creeping toward the meridian; fall would be coming soon.

'It's rather complicated. But, I know you, Cymry; you have studied, and you know a thing or twa. I'll try to be brief...so you do ken that Scotland and France have had a tight connection going back centuries.'

'Oh, indeed,' Em knew. 'Bonnie Prince Charlie, and all that.'

'Yes, aye, and long, long before that,' Jeanne turned to Em, leaning back against the porch railing. 'We're all Celts, ye ken; so we're all the same tribe, different regions. The Standing Stones in Brittany tells that tale bold enough!'

Emlyn nodded. 'Truly. Ancient connections, then.' She paused. 'Not to mention the Templars. When they found themselves in trouble in France, many fled to Scotland.'

Jeanne perked up at that. 'Just so, Em!' She resumed her seat beside Emlyn. 'And where do you think they went from there, eh?'
  'Ah, well...,' Em's studies hadn't taken her that far, as yet.
'I don't know. They had to leave Scotland, then?'


'Aye, they did,' Jeanne warmed to her subject. 'You may have heard that when the Templars fled the Holy Land, after losing Acre, they made for Portugal or back to France, carrying with them a great treasure, perhaps from Solomon's Temple, it was said...and from there on to Scotland; but with the encroaching of the British they felt pressured once more to leave, and wished to have a place of safe-keeping for themselves, and for that which they were sworn to protect.'

'Indeed? And what was it they were protecting?' Em asked, thinking she probably had a clue.

'Treasure. Of course.' Jeanne continued. 'But, something else as well, quite different than you may think.' Of this, she also waved away any further details.
   'It is Alexander's, and my own, desire, to explore this connection, and to cultivate it.' Jeanne looked at Em intently, studying her reactions. 'For those with eyes to see and ears to hear, things may not be what they seem at first glance, ye ken.'

.............


Daryl sidled up alongside St.John but remained standing as he watched the big man shovel it in with machine-like efficiency.
  '"Pure reason avoids extremes and requires one to be wise in moderation,"' he stated, giving St.John benefit of his counsel. '-- Moliere.'

St.John glared at him briefly. '"I see no objection to stoutness in moderation."' He paused, raised a napkin and belched gently. '-- W.S.Gilbert.'


'Touche,' Daryl relented, smiling on one side.
  'Tis a Russian ship, this.' He observed, gazing at the great steam and sail cargo ship about which sailors and longshoremen were busily loading crates and barrels, while upon deck the crew bustled about readying for imminent departure.


'Aye, 'tis that,' St.John agreed about his mouthful of clam. He polished off his lunch and dipped serviettes into his water, fastidiously cleaning face and hands. He then pulled a cigar from his pocket. Daryl moved upwind.

'And by the way,' St.John added, 'Yvonna has resumed her queenship at the tea room. Her niece Anna is staying on as well.' He lighted his stogie, then continued on, waving his cane before them as they strode toward the gangway.
 

'Too bad we could not have bid them a farewell.' Daryl was still gazing seaward, glad to see the fog lifting somewhat at last.
   St.John regarded him. 'You could have joined me at table if you were hungry. No lunch, then?'
  'Hunger isn't my problem just now...,' Daryl gasped,closing eyes tight against pain.


St.John regarded the younger man. 'Back, eh?' He shook his head sympathetically. 'That can be difficult, I know.
   'Well, let us board then. I have just the brown bottle you need in my cabin. Actually, I hadn't time to bring much off ship. This had been merely a passing stop en route, for me.'
  St.John puffed robustly. 'We will not remain long in Alaska, either. Merely to conclude some legalities with some partners there, signing of papers as to goods delivered and such. Then, then we are off home.'

'Home, to New Brunswick.' Daryl chided.

'Do you want that bottle or don't you?' St.John picked up the pace as they neared the ship. 'You do know that Scottish Freemasonry was and is, referred to as "St.John's Masonry"; to distinguish speculative freemasons from stone masons or such. "Nova Scotia": "New Scotland". Now, do you understand, oh ye of little mind?'


'I hear and understand.' Daryl put a hand to his side. 'Had I the back of a much younger man, I would bow to your wisdom.'

'Perhaps later...,' St.John smiled as he swung his belly round 
and the rest followed up the gangway

Daryl glanced about wistfully, then stared after him, shaking his head. St.John was no Yeats or Yoda, he told himself grinning woefully. What was he getting himself into? Or out of:
-- The City. Memories.

At last, he heaved himself up and allowed his feet to take him where they will, heading after his mountebank master.
  'Here's to the Call of the Wild,' Daryl murmured to himself;  and as the sun began to steam off the fog-hold upon the bay, he found himself feeling rather Jack Londonish already.
                                                             

........

'A Jacobite,' Emlyn had fastened upon that at once. 'Is Alexander a Catholic, then?'

'Eh, no.' Jeanne shook her head. 'I'm using the term as it relates only to those loyal to the house of Stuart. Although Rome and royals do chum together it seems.' A pause. 'Usually.'

Jeanne poured the last of the tea for them both. 'I know it sounds rather odd. But ye must believe me, Em, that we both, Alex and myself, still have the same distrust of the Roman Church as you and Shannon. To us, it is an old enemy. It is merely the continuation of the Roman Empire! And, as ever, fiercely opposed to folk like us. "Heretic" they would name us.'

'But, Jeanne...,' Em wasn't sure how much of Shannon's revelations to disclose. She sighed. 'What about all the large crosses and angels and such about the house?'

'There's plenty else there! Egyptian, Greek et al!' Jeanne seemed
exasperated. 'Yes, we have icons a plenty. But, they're not Catholic! Angels and winged beings are everywhere, all the world round. No one 'owns' them to the exclusion of anyone else.  We have no Latin crosses. Equilateral Jerusalem and Templar crosses, yes. Yes.'  She sighed then.
  'Em -- you told me once about a past life as a Cathar, yourself and Daryl, oc? That, my dear Emlyn,' she took both Emlyn's hands in her own, 'That, is what I am trying to speak of here!'

'Gnosticism!' Emlyn exclaimed.
'Gnosticism,' Jeanne smiled........

CLICK BELOW TO LISTEN:
The Band Joni Mitchell Neil Young - Acadian Driftwood
                                                                       

Chapter 24 - All In Flight

The first emperor of Austria, Francis I, who at the time held the title of Holy Roman Emperor, was an ardent Scottish Rite Freemason and supporter of the royal Stuarts.

He was also a contemporary and friend of Charles Redclyffe, and his estates in Lorraine were said to have provided sanctuary to exiled royal Stuarts from Scotland. During the period that he was Emperor (1804 - 1806), Francis's court in Vienna was known as the Masonic capital of Europe.

Scottish Rite Freemasonry claimed to have descended directly from the medieval Knights Templar and promised initiation into greater and more profound mysteries - supposedly handed down in Scotland, (from Templars there who had been forced to flee France), and passed on to French royalty including Bonnie Prince Charlie - than did other varieties of Freemasonry.

According to this vision, a new holy empire was to be ruled jointly by the Hapsburgs and a radically reformed Roman Catholic Church, supported by the Scottish Rite Freemasons.

This new empire would be genuinely holy and secular...embracing all who followed the true mysteries. Their dream was finally to be realized in Ontario.



.......



One of the more exceptional gentlemen to be involved in the Oak Island treasure mystery was Reginald Vanderbilt Harris, a well respected lawyer besides being the supreme grandmaster of the Knights Templar of Canada  1938 - 1939 and provincial grand master of the Grand Lodge of Nova Scotia from '32 -'35.

Among Harris's extensive papers were volumes of notes on Oak Island, including the draft of an allegorical ritual within a Masonic pageant that was apparently designed to accompany the rite of initiation into the 32nd degree. It is set in 1535 at Glastonbury Abbey where the English Crown is evidently attempting to confiscate the Order's fabulous treasures, including the Holy Grail. But members of a secret order spirit away the Grail across the sea for safe keeping. The allegory ends with a number of suspected members of the Order being dragged off to the Tower of London for torture and death.
                                                                      

.......

The general area around the French Shore is known as 'The Land of Evangeline' in recognition of Longfellow,'s masterpiece of 1847, 'Evangeline: A Tale of Arcadie'. Though he had never visited Nova Scotia himself, Longfellow's epic poem was tremendously popular, meshing a fictional love story with the tragic tale of the expulsion of the Acadians from their homeland between 1755 and 1763. He apparently based the poem on an account found in Haliburton's 'History of Nova Scotia'.

According to Acadian tradition, Evangeline's real name was Emmeline, and she was the daughter of Acadian  Benedict Bellefontaine. It is said that the heroes of the poem, Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the blacksmith and Rene LeBlanc, are not fictitious but rather were also real-life Acadians at the time of the expulsion.

‎William F. Mann
The Templar Meridians
                                                         

.......


Daryl flew out the door and down the street propelled by the force of sheer bluster alone. Halfway down the block he slowed his pace. Did he really wish to stop in on Connor and Bridget so soon?


-- No.
What he really wanted, no -- needed, was to see St.John; indeed, WHAT had all that been about at St. Cat's that last night, only days ago, yet now seemed like the distant memory of another lifetime?


Bygods, the man was a cypher!
Daryl slowly resumed his pace as he turned his steps toward the waterfront.

Daryl knew deep within that he ultimately trusted them; Sebastiao and Raimundo and all their company, (even Volunder Kane who had given him so much grief.)

What did they call their Order, then? Daryl thought that perhaps they never had said, really. Or, if they had, his memory had been wiped of that information. Interesting.
  Rather hard to research an enigma.


But St. John! He seemed such a nefarious old rapscallion...(as Sebastiao seemed a nefarious young one?)
   Any road, St.John had always seemed beyond the pale of most. Had Daryl not just deemed it necessary to warn Anna and Yvonna of him and his machinations?
  Which Anna had assured him was unnecessary. Daryl smiled. No doubt Yvonna had machinations of her own.


Suddenly Daryl stopped, sucked in his breath, a hand to his side. -- Damn the bloody back! He shut his eyes, willing all pain to cease. It didn't work.


It had been one of the greatest acts of his career; his meeting that morning with Emlyn and his pretense that All Was Well! The opium had helped. But that had worn off by now, it seemed.


No, no more. He needed a clear head if he was to deal with St.John today. One foot in front of the other...he forced himself onward. Just then he heard the ring of the trolley bell coming from behind. Saved! He hauled himself upon the steps and found a seat, sighing.
  It was the bloody pits getting old...

........

Meanwhile, back at the Kidd Estate:
  For the nonce, all were rendered somewhat silent, as Emlyn tried to brush the hay from her gown and hair and recover some of her dignity she had so blithely tossed into the straw; in front of Jeanne's new husband! (At his urging, too! The great daft booger...)


Said Booger spoke at last: 'Ah, weel noo, let us all into the hoose, shall we?' He put a proprietary arm about Jeanne's waist, as his loving wife glared hatchets at him, and herded his guests back toward the mansion.
   'Ye'll all be staying for dinner, I insist,' Kidd continued, 'Ye've nae lived til ye've tasted a salmon steak the way I prepare 'em...'


Kidd rambled on as they walked, pointing out the creek which ran along the tree line, and talked of the great herds of deer that grazed his property.
                                                                      

'Aye, they do,' Jeanne remarked, relenting a bit and seeming not quite so offended as she had been. 'They graze upon our garden's produce!'


'And I'm fixing a tall fence for that, my love. The lumber is being planed as we speak, back at the mill,' Kidd, Alexander, reminded her. 'But the wee rabbits...they're a problem, they burrow underneath, ye ken.' He glanced at Em, venturing a twisted smile.


'The dogs are a help, but they're loud,' Jeanne continued, 'they raise such a hullabaloo as to be heard in the next county, all for a wee bunny!'
 
'You have hounds, then?' Emlyn ventured to ask, feeling timid still, after her faux pas.

'We do indeed! Would ye like to meet them?' Alexander's smile widened and he strode ahead of them up the stairs as they approached the 'hoose' and onto the wide wooden veranda which wrapped about the entire great log building. Opening the back door, a vast sea of legs, tails and fur was dashed upon them like a hairy tsunami.
                                                                  

                         

'Ah, wolfhounds, are they?' Emlyn was delighted, as was Shannon, who was familiar to them. They both made much of the huge beasts who wriggled and oozed about their legs, tails wild and a-wag.

'Aye...,' Alexander affectionately pet his beasts who obviously were the light of his eye and knew it. 'Deagh cu...deagh luaidh cu...,' Alex cooed to them in gaelic. 'They rule the roost, so they do here.'

Jeanne shut the door behind them and held out an arm. 'Come, Emlyn, let me show you to the back where you may be refreshed, while I make the tay...'

Go and make yourself presentable, you great hoyden, was what she must be thinking, Em told herself as she meekly followed Jeanne to the rear.
  'I'll just be helping you with the tay, then,' Shannon offered. 'We'll be in the parlor, Em, when you're ready.'

.......

At last, brushed up and picked free of (most) hay she'd been wearing, Emlyn strode slowly down the hallway toward the light she assumed was the parlor and house proper...the halls were wide, with walnut wainscoting and she found herself absorbed by the art, articles and artefacts she observed en route: an entire suit of armor bearing a pole axe, heavy gold encrusted Spanish crosses, a large Egyptian statue of Anubis, paintings of what appeared to be scenes of Roman mythological gods and goddesses feasting and capering about, and -- could it be? -- a bas relief with cuneiform writing? And the de rigeur paintings of those whom she assumed to be Kidd's ancestors, noble and ignoble.
                                                                   

But that was nought compared to what awaited in the parlor...

                                                                   
Rounding the corner was more like unto walking into a museum-cum-library than a parlor: enormous statues of archangels loomed above Greek and Roman statues of Diana and Athena, while smaller Egyptian icons of Sekhmet and Isis, Thoth and Maat were scattered about them like attendants.

                                                             

                 
Books lined the walls here on three sides, while great windows opened wide upon the estate flanked by heavy velvet curtains.
  Beauteous tapestries were hung depicting unicorns and maidens, knights in armor and dragons, pegasus, bear and lion all peaceably mingled amongst the flora which appeared rather other-worldly; great flowers and herbs loomed over the people and fauna below a night scene with recognisable constellations amongst the daintily embroidered stars.
                                                                 

Gathered about the roaring great fireplace at one end of the room, Emlyn found the others comfortably seated upon well-upholstered chair and couch; no hard-as-iron, backside-numbing antiques here, Em thought gratefully, as she took a seat beside Shannon upon the sofa. The wolfhounds lounged about thick Persian rugs and seemed well content.
                                                                   

                                                          

Alexander, Himself, poured a cup for her, adding honey and lemon, 'Just as you like, I'm told.'

'Yes, thank you.' Em managed a sip which restored her spirits. 'Your house is simply amazing, I must say. I feel as though I'm in a museum, only I could never imagine such being so warm and welcoming.'

Alexander, (or 'Alex, please,'), smiled and resumed his seat in the wing chair beside the fire, while Jeanne sat in its twin opposite. She passed a plate of scones to Em, remarking, 'Walnut and currant scone? I made just this morning.'

Thanking Jeanne, Em munched the delicious scone, dressed with just a bit of clotted cream and honey.
                                                       

   'These are just as amazing as this place, Jeanne! Divine! I feel I've fallen into a fairytale just coming here.' She leaned back against the tapestried pillows and sighed.
   'And by the way, congratulations, Alex, and best wishes to you both,' Emlyn belated told the couple. 'I was rather, ah, surprised, when I heard of your marriage from Sean Munroe, the dowser.'


'Did you now?' Alex raised eyebrows on high. 'A good mon is Sean, and aye, he dowsed for our wells here. I went ahead and dug and drilled for twa whilst we were at it.'

'It has been so dry, with drought of late. We thought it prudent,' Jeanne said, frowning.

Em meanwhile could not take her eyes from all the largesse about her, wishing she might ask from where had it all come, and how had Alexander gone about getting it here? But she thought that rather imprudent as well...piratical familial relations and all.

The party relaxed, chatted, noshed and warmed themselves congenially and yet Emlyn noticed that Shannon had seemed unnaturally quiet throughout. There's something a bit off here, certainly, she felt, although beyond the ultramundane atmosphere, she couldn't imagine what it could be.


Then Shannon spoke suddenly: 'Thank you for the tea, Jeanne, Alex; but we must be heading back soon. I don't wish to be out on the road too late after dark. Fall approaches...'

Much consternation, and fruitless pleas for them both to stay  overnight went for nought, as Shannon stood and made ready for the road.

Jeanne seemed strangely indifferent to their sudden departure, although she frowned as she brought their coats and scarves to them at the door while Alex dispatched his grooms to fetch the cart; the hounds milled about their knees as all walked outside to take their farewells.
While Alex was entreating them to return soon, ('Ach, the salmon will be running, indeed...and ye haven't yet had a mouthful of the best fish in the werrld!'), Jeanne seemed a trifle less enthusiastic, which Em put down to her earlier 'hay-leppin' debacle in the barn.

Emlyn assured them they would certainly be meeting again, as she hoped to be able to stay a good long while in fair Arcadia this time; then Shannon was already seated and holding the lines, impatient to be away.

'Haste ye back,' Alex told them, as he handed Emlyn up into the cart.
  And, that was it. Away they went, off back down the tree-lined lane, as Em turned round to see Alex and Jeanne both waving, Alex put an arm about his wife and Em waved back, happy to see them so happy.


'So what do you make of all that?' Shannon asked.

......

Emlyn wasn't sure.
   'I noticed that you weren't very talkative. That isn't the Shannon I recall.'

Shannon snorted. 'Aye, well, Jeanne isn't the Jeanne you recall now, either.'

Em looked down. 'I know that I hadn't made a very good impression when we met this time. Oh, I'd no idea that 'Alex' was not simply a groom! And it was Himself all the while, egging me on to greater feats of infamy!'


'"Infamous" is the word, aright,' Shannon looked grim. 'Oh, not you, HIM! Himself is...well, not quite what he seems.' She was quiet for some time. 'Exactly what he is, I have yet to discover. He is definitely hiding something.'


Em didn't quite know what to make of all this. Shannon continued, 'You saw some of all the pirate booty he's gathered to himself there...'

'Yes,' she replied. 'I had wondered where and how -- ?'

'-- You haven't seen the half of it!' Shannon interrupted, 'You'd not believe what else he has hidden in the upper and lower levels.'

Emlyn was silenced. What was going on here? Shannon made it sound as if Kidd was a criminal of sorts. Was he stealing from museums? A burglar of collectors?
  'His pieces are certainly authentic looking,' she ventured.

Shannon nodded as she jogged the lines, encouraging Artemis to pick up the pace as the sun headed lower in the west.   'Oh, they're real aright. The problem isn't the legitimacy of the stuff. But what it IS!'

Em wondered what she could mean. 'Exactly what IS it, then? Please just tell me, Shannon! Is he a Bluebeard then, or what?' She was becoming frustrated by her friend's prevarications.

'Bluebeard? Nay,' Shannon coughed a short laugh. 'Sommat much worse!'

'-- Shannon!' Em had about had it. 'OUT with it, woman!'

Shannon smiled then. 'At least you haven't changed! That's the Emlyn I recall...' She sighed. 'Alright. Well, for instance, upstairs, in the master suite, it is all full of...oh, I canna say it...'

'YES you bloody well CAN!' Emlyn scolded. 'I HAVE read de Sade, you know, if that's why you're so squeamish! What, is it; full of whips, chains, a crocodile pit, perhaps?'


Shannon laughed heartily. 'Oh, Em! I am glad you came...' She shook her head slowly. 'No. Sommat much worse...' Another sigh.
  'All right, then. If ye must know. The boudoir is full of...religious icons, Em -- Christian icons!'

Emlyn sat speechless.
                                                            

.......

Daryl left the trolley at the Embarcadero.

It was good to be back at the waterfront. It always lifted Daryl's spirits, even on a foggyish day like today. The fog swirled in pods like boats adrift in a sea of sky, showing patches of blue here and there.


  Weather here could turn on a dime and give change back; a fogbank could suddenly drift off and away, unveiling a bright summer day, or the opposite could happen as quickly; leaving punters out for a sunny lark suddenly enveloped in bone-numbing chill with nothing visible beyond their own hands before them.


Today could go either way, Daryl thought, as he slowly hitched his steps down to the warehouse St.John kept to house his cache and collection of treasures.


Daryl couldn't pull his mind away from recalling that night he'd seen St.John suddenly appear in St.Cat's at the Village of Sopa and Fog. He'd seemed as out of place there as a moose in a ballet production of Swan Lake.
  Daryl had no idea what could be in store here now.

.......

After knocking at the door with the coded series he'd known, Daryl put hands in pockets of his mac and waited, collar up, scarf wound tight against the invasive fog.
  'Come on, you old reprobate...' He was about to attempt a second series of knocks, when he thought he detected sounds behind the door.

At last, after hearing chains rattle, bars slid back, locks clicked, a noise of something scraping the floor, then the door finally opened a crack to reveal the Man Himself in all his disheveled, disreputable glory.

'Not standing here for my health. At all.' Daryl informed him.
   St.John hid a grim smile as he stepped aside and ushered a freezing Daryl within.
  'You're late,' he told him.

.....

Emlyn and Shannon approached the village just as the sun had disappeared into the foothills.
  Any further information hadn't been forthcoming from Shannon; not much, at least. When Em tried to get her to elaborate, Shannon simply shook her head, or sighed and clicked to Artemis to step up her pace.

At last, pulling up before Mrs. Murphy's place, Emlyn pleaded once more for Shannon to please clarify her statements.
   
'I simply wish to know, what does Jeanne think of living in a bedroom full of...I don't know what? -- relics, or sommat? Has he an ossuary in the closet? Oh, Shannon...'

Em climbed out from under the heavy plaid woolen lap rug
and walking over to Shannon, put her hand on her knee.
  'What is it, luv?'

Shannon let her head and shoulders drop, looking at her feet, lines slack.
  'Em...it isna that I don't trust you or sommat. It's just...,' she looked up and away toward the west, the sky dark now but for a streak of orange, purpling at the edges.

  'Ya know I'm Irish and, well, the church has had such a heavy hard bootheel upon the Irish folk...I cannae explain it to someone who hasn'a had to live it, ya ken. We wouldn'a be such a poor, priest-ridden country if it wasn'a for the bloody church...'


Shannon straightened then, and gathered the lines.

  'I must be off home. Have to open shop tomorrow.'



Emlyn patted her knee and stood back.
  'You know I feel the same, cheri. Although not to the degree that you've had to come to know.'

'Do you?' Shannon asked, frowning down at her. 'Do you really know?' She looked up, her eyes moist. 'I also thought that Jeanne had felt the same as you and me. Appears I was wrong there.'

And without further ado, Shannon urged her mare back on the road home.

.......


When Daryl entered St.John's Warehouse of Antiques and Treasures, he was stunned into silence.
   -- It was utterly empty!

Daryl moved past St.John who stood smiling grimly, as he walked through the wide open space into the man's office in back...St.John followed slowly.

'Yes, everything's gone.' St.John confirmed the impossible

Daryl spun about. Even the office files, safe, everything; completely vanished.
  'I, I simply cannot believe it!' Daryl couldn't. His last visit here: furniture, statuary, cannon, old anchors, even tombstones; heavy, heavy pieces -- and now, all disappeared as though by a wizard's wand.

'Yes, well, I had been considering selling out and putting all my investing into something rather more satisfying than puttering about with dubious antiques.' St.John reached into a closet and removed his hat and coat. Swinging a tartan scarf about his neck, he took up his wolfshead cane and regarded Daryl.
  'Fantastic,' was all that Daryl could manage.


'Mm-yess...,' St.John murmured, as he led the way back to the exit. 'Even more fantastic, nearly all of it was purchased by one entity!' He stopped at the door and turned about, facing Daryl, who stood frozen in shock.
 'Well, are you coming, then?' St.John tapped his foot. '"Time is a great teacher, but unfortunately kills all its pupils", as Berlioz wisely noted...'


Bestirring himself at last, Daryl wondered when he'd have the chance to catch up with all these new changes coming over his world.
   'Yes. Yes, I suppose...'

He slowly turned and strode back to the stout gent holding  the door. St.John, thought Daryl, I hardly knew ye. Just what the devil are you about, you old rascal? Daryl stopped just short of following said rascal without.
   'Ah...just where are we headed, then, may I ask?'

'St.John,' replied St.John.
Daryl stared blankly. St.John sighed, pulling Daryl's sleeve to haul him beyond the door, which he slid to and locked, one last time, by the look of things.

'It's a place?' Daryl ventured.
   St.John nodded, as they turned back to the docks bearing tall ships.'Ah, much more than a place,' St.John smiled. 'It's home.'
 He raised his cane and pointed north.
   'St.John, Nova Scotia!'
                                                                

                                                                        
.......
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O Evangeline: Emmylou Harris & the Band