Stephen Lawhead - The Realms Thereunder

She thought all of this in just the few steps it took to get back into Oxford’s main terminal building.

Once inside, though, she stopped and drew a breath, trying to hide the plunging feeling that she felt in her stomach.

Daniel was standing in the middle of the forecourt flanked by two security guards, another jacketed policeman, and another, younger man in a cheap grey suit and short, military haircut-a police detective straight from TV. He was standing next to a man in a white shirt and tie with a nervous look on his face. Daniel wore a placid, resigned expression, but his clothes and hair were ruffled, showing signs of a struggle. His hands were behind his back, presumably handcuffed.

Freya felt the policewoman at her side grip her arm just under the armpit and at her elbow.

“What’s this about?” she asked.

“Right this way.”

“Who’s that? I don’t know him.”

The man in the cheap suit turned to the nervous man in the necktie. “Is there a place we could talk in private?”

The man, his eyes wide and blinking at Daniel and Freya, nodded and turned. They followed him to a door marked Staff Only.

This led them to a narrow corridor with many doors branching off. The nervous man opened one of them using a key. The detective put a hand on his shoulder. “It may be a little crowded in there,” he said, with a slight Scottish lilt. “You all better wait outside. I’ll call when I need you again. You two,” he said, indicating Daniel and Freya, “inside, if you please.”

Exchanging a glance, they entered the room, which was mostly bare except for a stack of chairs and two tables, one upended onto the other. A coffee vending machine that also advertised soup leaned dusty and in disrepair against the committee grey wall. All of this was lit by two luminous strip lights.

The detective pulled a couple chairs off the stack and placed them before Daniel and Freya. “Please, take a seat,” he said, taking a chair for himself.

“It’s hard to sit with my hands cuffed,” Daniel said.

“Don’t be a baby,” the detective said. Daniel sat.

“Isn’t this odd?” the detective asked. “All these sorts of buildings have odd little rooms like this. Would’ve been an office, in more prosperous times, or more likely a break room for the ticket tellers. But money gets tight, ticket telling becomes automated, and the room is forgotten about. I blame the Tories. Socialism is a small price to pay to keep everyone fed. What use is the free market economy if children go hungry? Economists don’t know a thing about economy. Economy is feeding three children on the dole.” He sniffed and looked around him. “Funny thing is, they can’t even use this space for storage. Regulations only allot a certain percentage of space for storage and janitorial. If they wanted more space to store things, they’d have to build an extension or get an act of parliament. Isn’t that mad?”

Daniel and Freya just sat looking at him blankly, Daniel sitting forward slightly in his chair.

“Sorry,” the presumed detective said. “I do tend to rattle on when I get nervous. Gotta bit of Irish in me. Do you two still not recognise me?”

They stared harder at him.

“Are you a . . . detective, or something?” Freya asked, his face not even vaguely familiar.

“Ah, no, there you have me. I’m not a detective, but then I never said I was. But I am a policeman. Just a little outside of my jurisdiction. Ha, that sounded very Hollywood. But seriously . . . ,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket. He produced a flat black wallet and showed them the silver badge that displayed a thistle, which was clipped to the outside. “Here’s my badge and my ID, which is going to give the game away, unless you have any more guesses.”

He seemed to want an answer, so Freya shook her head.

The “detective” flipped open the wallet and held his identification card up close to them. They peered forward and read his name. “Think back, about eight years ago . . .”

“Alex Simpson,” Daniel said. “Yes . . . yes! Of course! You!”

“Aye! I only bloody found you, didn’t I? Wandering in our backfields, covered in dirt . . . the famous lost English schoolchildren. We all had to sit through a forty-five minute talk by a policeman about stranger awareness because of you two. I wasn’t much older than you, so I’m not hurt that you didn’t recognise me.”

“But what are you doing here?” Freya asked.

“Been looking for the two of you, haven’t I? And it’s-here, Daniel, stand up; I can take those off of you now.” He fished a key ring out of his pocket and unlocked Daniel’s handcuffs. “Next time an officer of the law asks for a word, don’t take a swing at him, alright? As I was saying, it’s been bloody hard tracking you both down. Daniel, you were off the grid, naturally, but, Freya, you were in the system, but unlocatable. A week we’ve been hunting for you. I’ve managed to keep it quiet, but your parents are beside themselves. What happened to you?”

Daniel and Freya looked at each other.

“I’m sorry,” said Freya, “ why are you here, again?”

Alex slapped his head. “I’m sorry, I forgot. Ni?ergeard. I’m here about Ni?ergeard business.”

“How do you know about Ni?ergeard?” Daniel asked, agog.

“It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in more later, but for now, suffice to say, I’m one of those above ground that exist to look after and care for the knights. I’m picking up where my father left off-like he did with his. It’s one of those generational things. Goes right the way back to the Forty-Five.”

Daniel and Freya’s mouths hung open.

“Yes, secret society and all that. Well, it’s a little more complex than that, but more about that later. First, I need to tell you that things are . . . developing. Listen,” he said, and told them about Dunbeath, Morven, the trolls, and the dragon.

“That . . . sounds bad,” Daniel said.

“It’s worse than you think,” Alex said. “Dragons . . .” He puffed out his cheeks and blew his breath out, shaking his head.

“Anyway, what’s happened with you?”

“Actually,” Freya said, bracing herself. “There’s something I need to tell both of you-”

“No, hold that thought,” Alex said. “We should push on. You can tell me in the car.”

“The car?”

“Aye. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us. Come with me. You’re not under arrest, just ‘helping me with my enquiries,’ if anyone asks.”

They left to find the two police officers still in the hallway. The security guards and the nervous man in the shirt had wandered off somewhere.

“Thanks, chappies,” Alex said to the officers. “They’ve agreed to come with me and my associate. I owe you one.”

The policemen just nodded and walked away. Alex shook his head. “The English . . . ,” he muttered under his breath.

He led them out of the train station. They spotted the police car as they started down the steps. There was a man inside of it, in the passenger’s seat, who made to get out when he saw them. The door opened and he stepped out, and as he did so, the car rocked with him-he was evidently very large. He straightened up to his full height, about seven feet tall, and looked at them from over the car’s roof. Daniel and Freya stopped and looked at the man, hardly believing their eyes.

Alex flashed a smile. “Let me introduce my associate,” he said. “Or have you met him already?”

“It can’t be . . .”

“It’s not . . .”

“Hello, young Daniel and young Freya.”

“Ecgbryt!”

It was indeed the knight, but now dressed in a blue uniform and with a much tidier beard and closely trimmed hair that stuck out from a policeman’s hat.