Souchard

By: Will B
(© 2009-2010 by the author)
 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Ishtar said he would like a cup of coffee, too, but Ricky and George felt the need to find a restroom. Here they had a frightening experience with a mysterious stranger. Who knows what fell deeds he had in mind. The boys were too petrified to move.

 
Just in the nick of time, two young men came out of stall at the end of the restroom.

“Alright, Tom Riddle. Let those boys alone!” said one young man, who Ricky noticed had dark hair, and a scar on his forehead.

“Out of here, and I mean NOW!” said the other man, who had reddish hair.

Tom Riddle just turned and laughed at the two, but he stopped laughing when they each reached into their pockets and pulled out a wand.

Pointing them toward the malevolent stranger, they both shouted “Excaliburamus!”

Tom Riddle vanished in a puff of smoke.

“Are you two chaps all right?” the black haired youth asked.

“Oh, yes. Thank you so much,” George said.

“Can you come and meet our dads? I know they will want to thank you,” added Ricky.

“Sorry, mates, but Whistler and I have to run. Have to catch a train!”

“Yeah, come on Potts! We don’t want to miss the Express,” said the redheaded guy.

The two rescuers dashed out of the men’s room, and Rocky and George ran after them, just in time to see them run full tilt at the space between Tracks 4 and 5, and then they seemed to just run into the wall—and vanish!

“Dads, did you see that? They just vanished!” Ricky said.

Trace and Jerry woke with a start. They had dozed off for a minute, but Ishtar said, “I saw it, too, my young friends. I saw it too.”

Chapter 15

“Boys, I know you want to put this out of your mind, but we’d better report this ‘stranger,’” Trace said.

Looking around, Jerry spied someone in a uniform. “Let’s talk to him. Perhaps he can advise us where to report this,” he said.

As Ricky and George told their story, the man in the uniform looked grimmer and grimmer. “We’ve had other reports like this,” he said. “Look, would you boys mind telling this story to a policeman? We’ve been asked to report incidents like this to the police. If you would just wait in this office, we’ll send for someone, and in the meantime, would you like a nice cup of tea?”

“Sure, we’ll wait, and a cup of tea would be nice—unless you have anything a bit stronger,” Trace said with a smile.

“Sorry, sir. No can do. Regulations, you know.”

The group of five guys waited in the stationmaster’s office, and in about twenty minutes, a tall distinguished-looking man joined them.

“I’m Nigel Eden, Chief Inspector of the CID,” he said, introducing himself. Trace and Jerry shook hands with him. Ishtar bowed. The boys just stared at the good-looking police officer.

“Now, boys, will you tell me what happened, please?”

Ricky and George took turns telling the story. Eden asked a few questions, and then inquired if the boys could identify their rescuers.

“One had dark curly hair and a scar on his forehead. His friend called him Potts,” Ricky said.

“The other one had red hair, and his name was Whistler,” George added.

“Well, thank you, boys. You’ve been very helpful,” Eden said, “I understand you two are the boys’ fathers?”

“Yes, Mr. Eden. We’re here on vacation from California. Would you want to see our passports?” Jerry asked.

“That would be a good idea, and, much as I hate to say it, Gentlemen, it’s not always safe to let boys, even tall good looking young men like these two, go into restrooms alone.”

“No fear of that happening again, Mr. Eden. We should have gone with them. We were just bushed with this jet lag and, to tell you the truth, we’re kind of new to this fatherhood business, but we’ve learned our lesson,” Jerry said.

“Good, now…” Eden looked at the passports and exclaimed, “The Souchard Hotel. I have two friends who stay at a Souchard Hotel, Chet Thompson and Gerald Winterson. Is that your hotel?”

“Yes, it is. We’re here on vacation, and when we leave here we’re going to a Smith Manor. Chet and Gerald arranged it for us,” Trace explained.

“What a small world, Gentlemen. I know Smith Manor well. A few weeks ago I took some young lads there. They had been in a most unsavory situation, but we were able to take them to a safe house.”

“The world is getting smaller as we speak, Mr. Eden,” Jerry said. “We have a Residence that’s a safe house for a dozen boys. We have four teachers who look after their education and the boys are doing well.”

‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you, all of you. Enjoy your trip, and give my regards to Miss Jane and to Miss Molly,” Eden said.

“Shaking hands all around, the five men left the station and went to the rental car Ishtar had procured.

As they began their drive to Smith Manor, the sky grew darker and darker.

“Looks like rain,” Jerry said.

“That’s all right, Dad. Ricky and I are enjoying our trip,” George said.

After a few miles, Ricky said, “Dad I’m getting hungry. Is there some place we can stop to get something to eat?”

Ishtar said, “There’s a restaurant just ahead. Do you see the sign that says The Owl and The Sword-- Real English Cooking?”

“Fine, let’s stop there,” said Jerry. I’m feeling a little hungry myself.”

The car pulled into the parking lot,, and the intrepid travelers went into the dining room where they were greeted by a pretty girl in a long blue dress, and a white apron and a white frilly white cap, which in the eighteenth century would have been known as a ‘mob cap.’ 

She showed them to a table and in two minutes a tall lanky youth, wearing a white shirt with a cravat, tight pantaloons (so tight that they left nothing to the imagination!), and shoes with gilt buckles took their order. He wore no stockings, but his muscular legs were pleasant to gaze upon.

Soon they were served with their orders. They had all decided on the same thing: bangers and mash, Yorkshire pudding, and custard tart. The two boys and Ishtar had iced tea. Trace and Jerry had a very good house wine.

As they ate Ricky and George thought about how good the food was; Trace and Jerry thought about how cooling the wine was, and Ishtar wondered if he could slip a ten-pound note into their waiter’s pantaloons!

They finished their meal, left a generous tip on the table for their waiter, paid their bill, and went out to the car. The sky was black and there were rumblings of thunder.

Suddenly, Ricky exclaimed, “Look, Dads. That street is Privet Drive. Can’t we drive down the street? I want to see Number 4, because he lived there.”

“I suppose we can, but don’t be disappointed. The house will probably look nothing like it did in the movies,” Trace warned him.

Ishtar drove the car slowly down the street. There were no pedestrians out and about at that time. 

“There it is, Dad,” Ricky shouted. Then his face fell. The house was abandoned, and several windows on the upper floor were broken. “You were right, Dad. It isn’t anything like it was in the movies.”

“Real life is seldom like the movies,” Trace said. “Ishtar…I guess we can head for Smith Manor. Do you have a good map?”

“Oh, yes, Trace; and I have GPS; if I can just figure out how to work it,” Ishtar said.

As the car turned toward the road to Smith Manor, the skies opened and the rains came down. Nobody in the car noticed the two owls that flew out of the open window, a black and a red owl. Silently the owls followed the car as it sped towards Smith Manor.

A third owl, a brown one, came out of the window and silently flew back to the center of London.

About two o’clock, the car arrived at the Manor. The rain had almost stopped, and as the car pulled into the parking spot, the front door of the Manor opened, and Jane Danvers came out of the house, carrying umbrellas.

“Come in, Gentlemen. Welcome to Smith Manor,” she said. “Daoud and Bahnadi, and Abdul and Gamal will get your luggage,”

In a minute all were inside the house. “I’m going to show our rooms, and after you’re settled in, come down to the main parlor, and meet everybody.” Jane said.

When the five travelers had unpacked and freshened up, they went downstairs to the main parlor where Molly and the six young boys who had been rescued from that brothel in London awaited them.

Introductions were made, and then the adults talked while all the boys sat and stared at each other, no one quite knowing how to start a conversation.

Ricky decided to break the ice. “You guys have any computer games?”

That did it, soon the youngsters were talking about the various games they had and in a few minutes all eight youngsters went upstairs to see these games.

* * * * *

Chief Inspector Eden came out of the rear door of the police station that led to the staff car park, and was going to get into his car and drive home. It was raining again and he was looking forward to a quiet evening at home. He’d pop a dinner into the microwave and settle down with some food and a glass of ale and a good book.

His plans were not to come to fruition, though. Just as he was about to open his car door, a brown owl flapped down and flew around his head, and then seemed to use its wings to push him away from the car. Try as he might Eden could not resist the insistent pressure of those wings. The owl pushed him off the parking lot…, pushed him down a back street…, and pushed him around a corner onto another dark street.

Nigel Eden began to get the feeling that the owl wanted him to go somewhere. He stopped thinking about resisting, and let the owl guide him to yet another street, and there he saw a ten or eleven-year-old boy, standing in the pouring rain, holding a bunch of flowers.

“Buy my flowers, mister, please buy my flowers,” the boy said.

“Young man, why don’t you go home? I don’t think anyone is in the market for flowers this evening,” Nigel said.

“Sir, I can’t go home ‘til I’ve sold all my flowers. They won’t let me in until I bring back all the money I’m supposed to bring.”

Nigel was furious. What kind of people would treat a child like this? “Look, young man, I’m Nigel Eden, a police officer. Here’s my warrant card. What’s your name?”

“Alfie, Sir. Alfie Robinson.”

“Well, Alfie, there’s a coffee shop open over there. Let’s get out of this rain and talk. I’ll spring for some hot tea, or coffee, or hot chocolate, whatever you prefer.”

Alfie had never had such an offer, and he gladly accompanied Eden into the coffee shop and sat at a table while Nigel ordered two hot chocolates, and then added two chicken sandwiches to the order.

“I thought you might like something to eat with your chocolate. I hope you can eat a chicken sandwich.”

“Ooo-er! Can I! Thank you, Sir!”

“These people you live with…are they your parents?” Eden asked.

“Oh, no, Sir. I used to live with my parents on a farm but they died, and I was afraid the vicar and the school’s head teacher would put me in a home, for my own good, they said. I was afraid to go into a home, so I ran away to London, and found this place that would take me in, Sir.”

“Did they treat you well?”

“Oh, at first they did,” Alfie said, “then they told me I had to bring in some money to help with the expenses of running a house, and they sent me out every day to sell these flowers...and I almost wish I had gone into that home the vicar and the head teacher wanted to put me in, and that’s a fact, Sir.”

Nigel thought quickly. “Now listen, Alfie, I want you to take me to this home, and we’ll return the money and the flowers you haven’t sold, and then I’m going to take you to a place run by two very nice ladies. It’s out in the country, and no one will make you sell flowers or do anything else to you. They have other boys  staying there.”

Alfie's eyes grew bright with unshed tears. “Oh, thank you, Sir. I dunno why, but I trust you. Thank you, Sir.”

The smile he gave Nigel Eden turned the Chief Inspector’s heart over. ‘I’m gonna get this lad out of this mess,’ he thought to himself.

The two walked back to the police station car park, not knowing they were being followed by a brown owl that flew silently above and behind them.

Following Alfie’s instructions Nigel drove the two of them to a seedy run-down house. Nigel knocked on the door, and it was opened by a small fat man, wearing a dirty undershirt (‘vest’ as the Brits would say), black pants and bedroom slippers.

“Yers? Wadda ya want?” he asked.

“Are you the man that sent young Alfie out to sell flowers today?”

“’ere now, what’s he done. If he’s gotten himself in any trouble I want no parts of it, and that’s straight!”

“Well, sir,” Nigel said, “here’s the flowers he hasn’t sold and the money he did make today. Will you take it?”

“Much obliged, Gov’ner, much obliged. Now get in here you, young perisher, and be quick about it.”

“Not so fast, my good man. I’m Nigel Eden, Chief Inspector of the CID, and I’m placing young Alfie here under arrest for selling flowers without a license, and I’m taking him to a place where he will be safe from the likes of you.”

“Oh, my gaw…. I don’t want no trouble wif the rozzers. Go ahead take him.”

“Alfie, are there any of your belongings you’d like to get out of this house?”

“No, Sir.”

Turning to the fat man, Nigel said, “Here’s my card, and if you make any trouble for this boy, I’ll have you investigated for living off the earnings of a minor!”

“Oh, no, no trouble from me, Gov’nor. Go ahead take the bast… take the kid.”

The fat man slammed the door.

“Are you really going to arrest me, Mr. Eden?” Alfie asked.

“No, my lad, but I am going to take you to that place I told you about. Let’s get back in the police car before it starts to rain again.

They didn’t see the brown owl looking down at the scene and nodding his head as if in approval, and then flying off, silently, into the dusk.

In the car, Nigel opened the car phone, and pushed some numbers.

“Hello, Molly. It’s Nigel….I’m fine, and you?.... Have the visitors from the Souchard Hotel arrived?... Good… Listen, may I speak with Jane for a minute? Thanks….Hello, Jane. It’s Nigel…. Good, I’m doing well…..Jane, do you have room for one more guest?.... Good, I’m bringing out to the Manor now, and, Jane…he only has the clothes he’s standing up in… Ten or eleven, about four-feet eight… Good. See you in a bout 90 minutes.”

Nigel closed up the phone, and turned to Alfie and said “Ready to go, Alfie?”

“Yes, Sir, and thank you, thank you very much.” Alfie slipped his hand into Nigel’s hand and Nigel thought ‘Oh, God. If I could, I almost think I’d like to adopt this boy as my son…but no…it’s not possible….but still!”

Putting aside the impossible dream, Nigel started the car and the two drove off towards Smith Manor.

* * * * *

Far outside of London an educational establishment sits. Few people know about it, and those who see it think it’s just another castle, with four towers, one at each corner.  Lights are lit throughout the building, and in one of the towers two men sit at their desks, chatting.

The one with black hair took off his glasses, rubbed is eyes, and said, “That’s enough studying for this evening.” Turning to his friend, he said, “Whistler, I’ve sent Kunigunde and Brunhilde to stay at Smith Manor to watch over those two young lads. I don’t trust you know who.”

“Good thinking, Potts,” the red headed young man said. After a moment, he asked, “So tell me, just what are your intentions towards my sister Jeanie?”

Potts looked embarrassed and to cover his discomfort would have thrown a pillow at his friend, but just then, a brown owl flew in at the window, clucked and ter whitted and ter whooed softly.

Potts smiled, and said, “Oh, good, Whistler, that’s another one safe. I’m going to bed (and he added to himself, ‘to dream of Jeanie and her beautiful red hair!’).  Night, Whistler.”

“Night, Potts,” said Whistler.

To be continued...

As always, thanks to A. Nony Mouse for all his help. 

Posted: 08/27/10