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My first thought upon waking was not Arthur but Excalibur. This should not be. I pondered my dream and the voice I heard. Whoever my temptress was, she must be the source of my intense urge to hold the sword of power once again. Moving the stone lid back with fading strength, I rose from my kistvaen. I needed to dress and prepare myself to appear more human, for convenience’s sake. I now kept a trunk full of modern clothing and a few other supplies I would need to blend in, such as an empty Italian leather purse and a growing collection of sunglasses.
I had to get to the bottom of this new and troubling dream. Some time ago, a replica of Excalibur had appeared at the Saint James Museum, a replica so strikingly true to the original that only a person who knew the sword could have created it. Everything from the runes on the blade to the finely made hilt had to have been forged from memory, not pulled from mere imagination. Its creator knew the sword intimately, and I needed to know who that was.
Brushing my dark red hair into shining waves, I thought about the museum’s curator, Dr. John Faraday. He had a pleasant mind, and although I had never talked to him before, I planned on doing so tonight. I must have answers! I settled on black clothing: a long black jacket, black pants and black high heels. I didn’t need a mirror to tell me that the color suited me. I hoped to blend in if I could. I knew my eyes glittered too much and my skin was too pale, but the Saint James Museum luckily wasn’t a bright facility.
Arthur! my heart said, but I quickly forced him out of my mind. Why did I long for him so much of late?
I walked through Kite first and left the money I’d taken from Sadiq lying on a dirt pathway where I knew the homeless family would find it. It would not absolve me of my crimes, the robbery and murder of a man, and I did not know why I cared about this family. I did not wish to care about anyone. Not even my own husband.
I went in the opposite direction of the White Stag, back to the road that would take me to the museum. A bus stopped, and I climbed aboard as I slid my dark sunglasses down over my shiny eyes. I dropped a few coins in the fare box, sat in an empty front seat and waited impatiently as the bus crept away from the curb. Life was slow in the mortal realm, but I needed this bus trip to prepare myself for my interaction with Faraday. A child cried somewhere behind me; the boy had an ear infection but was too young to explain his pain to his mother, who was preoccupied with her phone. A young girl listened to screaming rock in her headphones. She thought of nothing, really. A man dreaded his upcoming office party. He hoped he could avoid telling his wife about it, as she tended to drink too much and publicly embarrass him. But then this one...
Inhuman!
I wrenched around in the seat and counted heads. There was the child, his mother, the teen and the man...ah, and there was one more. A woman with dark hair and a hat.
Morgan?
Could it be my mortal enemy? Had she survived the explosion at the mine? I rose from my seat and made my way to the back as the bus stopped. Both doors opened, and the woman slipped out and quickly walked away. This could be no coincidence. I clutched the side of the seat and debated whether to follow her. I probably should. I could easily fly the distance to Old Thistledown Road and the Saint James Museum.
“Lady, you have to sit down,” the bus driver scolded me as he closed the doors. I did as he asked, and the bus lurched away again. All was quiet now, and we continued along until we arrived at Old Thistledown. I departed the bus and headed down the empty sidewalk to the museum. There was usually little traffic, but tonight there were a dozen vehicles parked in front of the museum. People were talking to one another, muttering, complaining, shaking their heads. Obviously, something was going on inside. Perhaps a new exhibit? I walked inside and didn’t immediately head upstairs as I usually did when I came to this place. How many hours had I spent in the presence of Lancelot’s statue? But there would be no visits tonight.
The auditorium doors were open. It was not an exhibit but a lecture. I walked inside and took a seat in the back. There were many open seats here tonight. Faraday was standing behind his wooden podium, and behind him a screen displayed the title of his speech: “Multi-Dimensionalism: An Unstudied Reality?” The subject matter spooked a few of the attendees, who were whispering about Faraday’s statements. I could read the feeble human minds of those who did not whisper, and they were afraid too. So stubborn, so sure they knew everything there was to know. I leaned back in my seat in the small, shadowy auditorium and focused my attention on the lecturer, John Faraday.
“I think we would all agree that conventional teaching tells us time is divided into past, present and future. But how do we know that, and why do we accept it without challenge? If we use that model, it would appear that the past is immutably fixed and, conversely, that the future is undefined and the only true reality is the present, the one we exist in all the time. It is a line of thinking that comforts us. Under this construct, with the passing of time, the present moves to the past and the future becomes the new present.”
“You’re talking about the Theory of Relativity, aren’t you?” an older woman asked as she leaned forward in her seat.
“Yes, in a way.” Faraday smiled, and I could tell her question invigorated him. He did love to teach, though this crowd had largely dismissed him before he got started. I tried not to read their minds further. The woman who questioned him wanted to believe him, or at least hear him out.
“What I am saying, Dr. Lightfoot, is that the possibility of multi-dimensionalism is a valid one, just as the Theory of Presentism is. It is no less valid.”
“Presentism? People who believe in presentism would say that only the present exists and that there is no future. That seems counterintuitive. Are you advocating that we accept this fringe theory?” someone else asked. I couldn’t read the man very well, as his mind was full of unsolved equations and an endless list of tasks he needed to achieve. Yes, he was certainly task-oriented, but he was also not in the best of health.
“No, I am not an advocate of presentism specifically. I merely used that as an example because...”
“So, your belief in multi-dimensionalism is based on what?”
“It’s not a belief per se...”
“Have you been to other dimensions, Dr. Faraday?” I asked. Faraday removed his glasses and peered up at me. I hadn’t meant to ask a question, but it seemed appropriate. Apparently, I asked the question that everyone wanted an answer to. A few people laughed at me, but their dismissive attitudes rolled over me like water. I knew things they would never understand.
“Well, no. Of course not.” He blushed and wiped his glasses with shaking hands. He was lying, or at least not being completely honest, and that surprised me. “But the possibility of my existence in another dimension is no less fascinating. And it should be fascinating to us all. Think of the possibilities! What if one day we were able to step back or forward in time, to break the barriers and travel to past, present and future—or sidestep into another dimension?”
“Time doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid,” Dr. Lightfoot said. “If it did, we would certainly know about it by now, wouldn’t we?”
“Would we?” Faraday smiled even more broadly and said, “What if our consciousness can’t make the leap? What if our existence in other dimensions—or rather, every one of our dimensional realities—comes with a different consciousness? So all that we know, all that we understand, remains with that existence?”
I found his comments fascinating, but I was in the minority. What if it was true? Could there be another Guinevere somewhere? I shuddered for no apparent reason. Soon some of the remaining attendees got up and walked out of the auditorium. Faraday stuttered on until only he, Dr. Lightfoot and I remained. Lightfoot sauntered over to him slowly, using her cane to steady her stride. She shook his hand and spoke a few words of encouragement to him, smiled politely at me and left.
Faraday unplugged his laptop and began picking up his books as I listened in on his thoughts. It was rude, but I couldn’t help myself. I found the man sincere and honest, and that was refreshing. He felt embarrassed and discouraged but nonetheless convinced that he was on to something. “I think our meeting is over, miss.”
I made my way down the auditorium to him, remembering to walk slowly and not fly. “Apparently coming out as a multi-dimensionalist is quite sensational, Dr. Faraday,” I said as I watched him, “perhaps far more sensational than you could have predicted.”
“I suppose so. Have we met?”
“No, I don’t think so.” I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and studied him. He was taller than me but only by a few inches. He’d had only one pet in his life—a black dog he named Red. He missed that dog a great deal and blamed himself for his disappearance. His mother had doted on him. He liked growing things, green things, even roses. He had no family of his own although he wanted one. Very badly.
“Is there something I can help you with?”
“Yes, actually, there is. But I think you should know that you challenged the thinking of many tonight. They heard you. They may not publicly agree with you, but they heard you.”
He laughed awkwardly and shrugged as if he didn’t care, but that was a bald-faced lie. “It might take some time for them to come around, as it always does when people are challenged by new revelations. Are you a scientist, miss...?”
“No, I am not. You may call me Guinevere.”
He was curious about me but still irritated by his colleagues’ reaction to his idea. “How would you know that I challenged the audience? I don’t think anyone listened.”
“I know people. I have spent a lifetime studying them. A long lifetime.”
Faraday’s brow furrowed, and I could hear his puzzlement: Lifetime? You can’t be even thirty years old. He was too polite to express such thoughts aloud.
“Let them think, Dr. Faraday. Many of them have a great deal of respect for you. Except Walter Kilgore—he thinks you are a buffoon.”
He smiled politely, and his brown hair fell across his eyes. For a second, he reminded me of someone, but whom? “I see. How may I help you, Guinevere?”
“I am here about the sword, one of the newer pieces you have on exhibit upstairs. It’s labeled as ‘medieval-style sword of unknown origin.’”
“Yes, what about it?” He flipped off the projector and hoisted his heavy bag on his shoulder. I stepped out of his way and followed him out of the now-dark auditorium. “Watch your step here,” he cautioned. “Can you see with those glasses on?”
“I see perfectly. About the sword, do you know where it came from?”
He shrugged noncommittally. Nothing like a man and his bruised ego. “I can check my records. If I remember correctly, it was one piece in a larger collection that was donated to the museum.” He paused on the bottom of the stair and asked, “It’s not stolen, is it? Are you with the authorities?”
“No, but I am curious about where it came from.”
“My office is this way.”
I walked beside him and decided to remove my glasses. I put them on top of my head as I had seen some mortal women do. I hoped my eyes didn’t glitter in the dark. Perhaps I should leave the glasses on after all.
Suddenly, I felt another presence nearby. Not inhuman but not living either.
Elaine! The spirit of Lancelot’s wife hovered in the doorway down the hall. Her blue hood had fallen back, and I could clearly see her face. I didn’t speak to her but put my fingers to my lips as Faraday unlocked his door. She disappeared as quickly as she had appeared, and I could sense that she was supremely unhappy about my presence here.
He deposited his bags on a cluttered desk and invited me to have a seat in a chair across his desk, but I chose to stand near the doorway. How else would I keep Elaine away? Faraday slid his glasses back on and tapped on his computer. “Oh dear.”
“Yes?” I asked impatiently. Elaine came down the hall now and hovered outside the door of Faraday’s office.
“I’m not sure I can give you the information you want, Miss...Guinevere. It’s marked private. Many of our donors demand confidentiality. Collectors are odd people, as are scientists.” His awkward attempts at flirtation amused me. Yes, he thought I was attractive and oh so familiar. I wondered who I reminded him of. A forgotten girlfriend? I could see Faraday misplacing a girlfriend, abandoning her for a Tudor romance or some other obscure item.
I smiled back. “Would you mind double-checking that?”
“Uh, sure.” He sighed and tapped on the computer again. As he reread the text on his screen, I easily read his mind. Malvin Enterprises, Lucy Morrigan, 8671 Warrant Avenue, Millerstown. Private collector.
I didn’t wait for an apology from Faraday but sped out of his office faster than he would have seen. I hissed at Elaine as she stepped back into the shadows.
I had a long way to go before sunrise.
