The Digger's Rest (4 page)

Drops of Jupiter,

………
As performed by Train

“
Alida, send young Holly in with some
coffee will you please?”

Jack buzzed out on his intercom. “Chess, Dr.
Edgeworth. Right away.”

“
Thank you, Alida.”

Five minutes later there was a knock.

“
Come in, Simon,” Jack called out
through the closed door. Simon appeared, carrying a tray with a pot
of coffee and cups. Smiling shyly, he put the tray down on the side
table next to the computer station. “Help yourself, Mitch. I’ll
have mine black,” Jack said, hinting that Mitch should prepare his
for him.

“
Simon, gear up the computer for the
slide show Lord Cotswold sent over this morning so Dr. Bramson and
I can take a look at what he’s found. Would you please?”

“
Yes, Dr. Edgeworth,” Simon said
dutifully, but inside he was shaking with the excitement of being
included in what was clearly something important going
on.

“
Thank you. Simon. Could you excuse us
again, please?”

“
Yes, of course, Dr. Edgeworth,” Simon
replied, visibly deflated by again being excluded from the
mysterious goings on.

“
But don’t go far, Simon. We may need
you again shortly. Oh, and one last thing. You have completed your
doctoral thesis, haven’t you?” Jack asked the young man.

“
Yes, Dr. Edgeworth,” Simon replied,
confused about what his academic status had to do with anything
going on in the office that day, but pleased for the attention
nevertheless.

“
Thank you then, again, my soon-to-be
Dr. Holly,” Jack said, nodding respectfully and smiling at the boy.
Both excited and perplexed by Jack’s acknowledgment, Simon
awkwardly left the room, accidentally banging his leg brace against
the door on his way out, a muffled clanking thud. He turned
back…red faced.

“
Sorry, Dr. Edgeworth.”

“
Not at all, my boy. It’s alright,”
Jack said, waving it off fondly.

As soon as they were alone, Jack turned to
Mitch and motioned with his finger for him to take the helm at the
computer to start the slide show sent from London. The first image
was an aerial shot.

“
Lord Neville Cotswold, a retired
colleague of mine from my old days at the British Museum, sent
these to me overnight. I’m sure you’ve studied his work,” Jack
said, looking seriously at Mitch who was bent over in his chair
examining the shot intently.

“
Yes, of course. Lord Neville is a
giant in the field…like you are, but what is it?”

Jack took the compliment in hand and
continued. “Well, he says it’s the ruins of a medieval castle that,
up until a few months ago, had been part of a private estate held
by an old, aristocratic family for the last five hundred years.
Apparently, when the last of the family line died recently, the
property was divided for easy sale. It seems that a fish cannery or
some such nonsense bought this portion and when they went in to
level the area to build a canning plant, they came across it.
Neville got wind of it from an old friend in the local historical
society and sent some of his men out from the museum to take some
photos. He seems to think, from what he’s seen that the ruins, in
his opinion, date from around the eleventh century and were
probably built as a local stronghold for one of William’s noblemen
to monitor control over the area. Oh, I forgot to say, it’s in the
West Country—Devonshire to be exact—not far outside of Exeter,
which you know is one of the oldest cities in England.” While he
was listening to Jack speak, Mitch got back up out of the chair,
went over to the image and leaned in closer.

“
Do we have any clearer shots?” he
asked, fascinated.

“
Hit the button and you tell me. I’m an
old man. I don’t know anything about these machines,” Jack said,
laughing to himself. Mitch tapped the mouse and the image changed
to what was clearly a telephoto lens close up of a portion of the
ruin area, then tapped the mouse again, another view, then another,
and another.

“
Lord Neville must be slipping,” Mitch
said confidently. “This thing predates William by at least two
hundred years, maybe more. Look at the foundation. It was built
over later, of course, but the foundation is the key; may even have
Roman origins. I can’t really tell without seeing it in person, but
what’s left of the block work and the overall scheme of the
structure is older than William. No doubt in my mind.”

“
Well, Lord Neville may be slipping,
but I’m not. I agree with you, so I bought it,” Jack said
proudly.

“
You bought it?” Mitch asked, his
eyebrows rising with the pitch of his voice at the offhandedness of
Jack’s statement.

“
Actually, I bought it on behalf of the
Museum,” Jack said, smiling to himself.

“
But why?”

“
Well, the tuna company was going to
bulldoze it and Neville couldn’t afford to buy it himself. That’s
why he called me; so I could have a shot at it before the National
Trust could get involved. We all agree that it’s over a thousand
years old, and from the look of it probably more than half buried.
There’s no telling what treasures and knowledge may be under that
lovely greenery. Now think about it. The timeframe, the location…”
Jack said, his eyes gleaming with the kind of excitement Mitch
hadn’t seen in years.

“
The location?” Mitch asked, still
stumped.

“
Think about it, my boy. Clear your
head from last night and think. Tintagel, Glastonbury? The time,
the place…it all fits, or could fit at any rate.”

“
Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding
me!” Mitch said, throwing his head back incredulously. Jack shook
his head seriously. He was not kidding.

“
Let me get this straight. You’re
sending me to England in the hope of finding proof of King Arthur?
Jesus Christ, Jack. I’ll be the laughing stock of our
world.”

“
Or the next Howard Carter,” Jack said
in a tone that left no room for equivocation. He was not in the
least kidding. “If we can date the original underlying structure to
anywhere near the 5th century and if it’s in any way provable that
this place was even remotely connected to Arthur—a coin, a scroll,
a carving, anything to prove the existence of Arthur—then whatever
else lies underneath that turf becomes historically and
artistically priceless, not only in ticket dollars around the
world, but in prestige for the Museum and lasting academic fame and
security for you. It’s a gamble, but no one has to know what we’re
looking for but us. It would be my legacy to both of
you.”

“
Come on, Jack, you’re talking like
you’re gonna fucking die, again. Don’t scare me like that,” Mitch
said with a deep sigh as he flopped back down in his chair,
winded.

“
I am going to die someday, my boy.
Please do this for me, Mitchell. Do it for us, and everything we’ve
worked toward all our lives,” Jack said, looking deep into Mitch’s
dark green eyes, the outside corners turned slightly upward giving
them an oddly feline shape. His mother’s eyes.

“
You are un-fucking-believable,” Mitch
answered, shaking his head and throwing up his hands in
surrender.

“
Yes, I am,” Jack said, smiling like
the cat that just ate the canary, thinking to himself,
And so will you be, my boy
, as they
sat in silence for a few moments to consider the
possibilities.

Outside, the soon-to-be new Dr. Simon Holly
couldn’t stand the suspense of being shut out any longer and
scrambled for a reason to get back in there. He decided the helpful
approach would be best and knocked on the office door.

“
Yes, come in,” Jack called out. Simon
opened the door slightly and stuck his head in. “Is the slide show
working alright, Dr. Edgeworth? More coffee maybe?” he asked
innocently.

“
No, we’re fine, Simon, but come in
anyway. I’d like to talk to you,” Jack said, waving him in. Simon
went in slowly, self-consciously trying to keep his braced leg from
coming into contact with anything hard to prevent another…mishap.
Jack looked back at Mitch. “I expect you’d like to take our Simon
with you to document the project?” he asked, already knowing the
answer.

Mitch and Simon were almost inseparable, like
an intel-lectual Batman and Robin ever since Mitch had discovered
Simon seven years earlier as a high school senior. Wherever
Mitchell Bramson was, one could be completely confident that Simon
Holly wouldn’t be too far away.

Mitch just nodded, still not quite having
absorbed all that he was agreeing to. Simon’s eyes went wide with
wonder; the implication of the question was more than he could have
conceived before knocking on the door.

Jack looked at Simon. “I’m sending Dr.
Bramson on an important excavation project, so it looks like you’ll
be going along to help and to keep an eye on him,” Jack said,
looking slyly from one to the other to ensure that the gist of his
comment wasn’t lost on either of them. “Ever been to England?” Jack
asked the young doctor, already knowing the answer.

“
N…n…no, sir,” the young man stuttered,
his mind reeling, the hair on his arms standing up with the thrill
of it.

“
Well you’re going now, so we’d better
get down to brass tacks. Time is of the essence. Go and get
whatever notebook or laptop…blackberry, blueberry, gooseberry, palm
parachute you need; whatever you young people use to write things
down on these days and come back ASAP. We’ve got plenty to do to
get the two of you ready for what needs to be done.”

Simon was out the door at a pace faster
than he’d ever moved before, the brace on his leg feeling light as
a feather for the first time in his life, thinking,
An excavation project and an important one, and
with Dr. Bramson, in England. Ohhhhhh, God! It can’t possibly get
any better than this!
His head swam with it all so
that he had to struggle not to faint and make a fool out of
himself.

“
God, I’ve become such a dinosaur.
Might as well send me out to pasture now,” Jack said, laughing to
himself and hitting the button on his intercom. “Alida, could you
come in for a moment, please?” he said into the box on the desk. A
moment later Jack’s newest executive assistant came in, a very
shapely, dark-haired, dark-eyed Latin woman of about fifty, smartly
dressed in bright colors. She stood by Jack’s side with an old
fashioned steno pad in her hand, then put the pad down on his desk
saying, with a light Spanish accent, “Jour tie is crook’d, Dr.
Edgeworth,” as she reached her hands naturally to his neck to
straighten it. Mitch smiled at him slyly, thinking,
You old seadog!

“
Thank you, Alida, I don’t know what
I’d ever do without you,” Jack said, a slight blush coming into his
cheeks as he caught Mitch’s expression.

When Simon returned with his notebook, he
hesitated for a few seconds before pulling out a small black
plastic box, clicking a switch with his finger and sitting it down
on the corner of Jack’s desk. “A tape recorder,” he said shyly as
if expecting a frown from Jack. “…I don’t want to miss a thing,” he
said, shrugging and blushing slightly.

“
Good boy!” Jack said with a wink.
Simon took a deep breath and let it out with a silent
Whew!

The remainder of the meeting went on, with
planning for payment of their house bills by the Museum in their
absence, considering they might be gone as long as three months or
longer. It was also agreed that Mitch would take Simon out and buy
him some real man’s work clothes suitable for digging and sifting,
mud and rain. Alida took careful notes regarding the financial
arrangements since she knew it would fall on her to follow them
through.

As the meeting closed, they all agreed to
meet back in Jack’s office in three days to iron out the remaining
details, travel arrangements, and coordination with Lord Cotswold
for the initial research to be done at the British Museum into the
background of the area. Alida left first, then Simon, leaving Mitch
alone with Jack. Mitch got up to leave and was almost to the door
when Jack took a deep breath and spoke, stopping him.

“
He worships the ground you walk on,
you know,” Jack said sentimentally.

“
As I always have you, Jack,” Mitch
replied quietly, his hair falling in front of his face as he turned
to go, feeling like an only child being sent off to school for the
first time alone as he shut the door behind him.

Chapter IV

JACK

One day Papa called me to his dyin' bed Put
his hands on my shoulders And in his tears he said, He said,
Patches I'm dependin' on you, son To pull the family through My
son, it's all left up to you. . .

Patches,

……
..As performed by Clarence
Carter

Alone again, himself feeling very much like a
single father sending his only son off to school for the first time
alone, Jack turned in his chair to look out of his office window at
the drizzling, gray sky; a wave of memories washing over him. He
thought back to the first time he met Mitchell Bramson, a shaggy,
long-haired freshman in Jack’s “Introduction to Ancient Cultures”
class.

He wasn’t even supposed to be teaching first
years. He’d long been way beyond that, only teaching upper level
undergraduate and graduates classes. But when the dean came to him
telling him that one of the younger professors had gotten herself
pregnant and was getting married and moving to California, and
asked him to take just the one class to help out, Jack decided to
do it. He’d lost touch with really green students and thought it
might be fun. It wouldn’t be like he’d have to do a great deal of
preparation. In fact, he could practically do it with his eyes
closed, so why not?