Chapter Four
Aidan met up with Earl at the cafeteria for lunch. As they stood in the line, Earl said, “Didn’t know Carlson was going to pair us off like lab rats, or I’d’ve saved you a seat.”
The smocked lady behind the lunch counter handed Earl a plate of meatloaf in some sort of gray sauce.
It was hard for Aidan to keep from smiling. “I don’t know. I think things turned out OK.” He reached out and took his plate from the lady.
“Oh-ho!” Earl grabbed a small bowl of red gelatin cubes. “There was . . . chemistry between you and your lab partner?”
“Well, a chemistry book, anyway.” Aidan’s face felt warm as he snagged one of the last chocolate pudding bowls.
Earl took a half-pint carton of milk, then frowned and shook his head.
“What?” said Aidan. “What’d I do wrong?”
“You shared your chemistry textbook with her?” Earl’s tone was disbelieving.
“She didn’t have one.” Aidan tried to think of a reason why he shouldn’t have shared his book. “What’s the problem?”
“She’s from California,” Earl said, as if that explained everything.
“So?”
Earl passed his lunch card through the magnetic reader. “Community property state. She owns half your textbook now.”
Relieved, Aidan rolled his eyes. He scanned his lunch card and said, “I think you can skip the whole law school thing and just join a law firm.”
“Nah,” said Earl. “Start my own: Morris ‘Earl’ Norris, Esquire. Like the sound of that.”
As they walked toward an empty table, they passed by Jessica, who sat with several cheerleaders and athletes. When she saw Aidan, she deliberately turned her head away.
Earl sat down across the table from Aidan. After spearing a forkful of meatloaf, Earl said, “Gonna ask California Girl out?”
“I don’t know. I mean, is there a rule about lab partners dating? What if we broke up? Class would be awkward.”
Nodding wisely, Earl said, “You are so right. But she’s not my lab partner . . .”
“Hey, I saw her first,” Aidan protested.
“Seeing isn’t enough,” said Earl. He pointed to a hand-painted poster hanging from the cafeteria ceiling: Back to School Dance — Admission $10. “Ask her, before someone else does.”
“You really think she’d say yes?” Was it possible? She had smiled at him, so maybe it was.
Earl shrugged. “Consider it a chemistry experiment.”
#
“How was your first day of high school?” asked Aidan’s dad when he got home. His dad was a professor of European history at Connecticut State University and usually arranged his teaching schedule so he could be home when the kids got back from school.
“OK.” Aidan plopped his backpack on the kitchen table and grabbed a can of supermarket-brand grape soda out of the fridge. He toyed with the can’s tab until he worked up the courage to say, “I think I need to get a job.”
“I see,” said his dad. “I thought we had decided that focusing on your grades was the most important thing, especially if you want to get a scholarship to someplace other than Conn-State.”
“Yeah, I know.” Aidan took a long sip of his soda. College was still four years away, but his father was a great believer in planning ahead. Aidan could get reduced tuition because his dad taught at Connecticut State, but if he wanted to leave home, he would have to pay his own way.
“What brought this on?” asked his dad.
Heat rose in Aidan’s cheeks. He didn’t want to talk about Gwendolyn to his dad, especially since he had no idea if she would even say yes if he asked her out.
“Well, I just think I need to have some extra money, for . . . social stuff. Hanging out with friends.”
His dad nodded slowly. “I think that’s reasonable. But what you need is a way to earn a little extra spending money without tying yourself down to a work schedule that could interfere with your studies.”
“You mean like mowing lawns and stuff?” Two summers ago, Aidan had tried to earn money by mowing lawns. Most of their neighbors were rich enough that they used landscaping services, but there were some people in older homes who had been willing to hire a twelve-year-old. They talked a lot about the value of hard work, and how they liked to see a young man like him show initiative, but when he sat down and did the math, he realized he was making about three dollars an hour including tips.
It made him rather envious of some of his school friends, whose parents could afford to give them large allowances.
In any case, summer was over, and he didn’t think raking leaves and shoveling snow would pay any better in the fall and winter than mowing lawns in the summer.
“No,” said his dad. “I want you to work for me.”
“For you?” Aidan frowned. Their family budget was already tight, so his dad wouldn’t be able to pay him much.
His dad grinned. “The history department just received a donation consisting of hundreds of papers and artifacts. And apparently the anonymous donor has read some of my work, because the donor specifically asked that I be put in charge of the collection. There’s even enough funding that I can hire people to help with cataloging the collection.”
Aidan waggled his eyebrows. “You have a secret admirer?”
“Ha, ha,” his dad said sarcastically. “So, are you interested in the job?”
“When do I start, boss?”
“Tonight. We’ll go over to the museum after dinner.”
#
The Spenser Museum of History in downtown Camelot closed to the public at 6:00 PM, but Aidan’s dad had keys because the museum was administered by the Conn-State History Department. After checking in with the security guard, Aidan and his dad went to the loading dock at the back of the building.
Dozens of wooden crates of various shapes and sizes were stacked haphazardly just inside the large scrolling doors.
“All these need to be moved to the British Artifacts storage room,” said Aidan’s dad. “Someone will get the big ones with a fork lift tomorrow, but we can take some of the smaller ones now to get started on the cataloging.”
They loaded five small crates onto a large metal rolling table and then wheeled it through the halls of the museum basement past storage and maintenance rooms until they arrived at a set of double doors labeled “British Artifacts.”
The British Artifacts room was filled with rows of shelves. Less than ten percent of the artifacts owned by the museum were actually on display to the public, so the storage rooms were where the rest were kept.
“Let’s see what we have here.” Aidan’s dad took a crowbar and opened one of the crates.
Looking at the contents, Aidan said, “I assume this is ancient English straw?”
“Help me clear it out,” said is dad.
Taking out the straw used for padding quickly revealed three pewter goblets and a pitcher. Onto some notecards, Aidan carefully wrote down the descriptions dictated by his father. They attached numbered labels with string, and then stored the items on shelves.
They repeated the process with three more crates, which left only a long, thin one. Aidan’s dad pried the lid off.
There was no straw in this one. The object within was wrapped in purple cloth.
“What have we here?” said Aidan’s dad as he lifted the object out and laid it on the table. He carefully unwrapped the cloth to reveal a double-edged sword. The pommel was decorated with an ivory carving of a skull.
“Wow,” said Aidan. “Looks old.”
“Sixth or seventh century A.D., based on the design,” said his dad.
Toward the end of the blade was a reddish-brown stain. “Is that blood?” asked Aidan.
He reached out and touched the stain.
Momentary experiences flashed in his mind, like a DVD player on fast forward but with all his senses involved. Knights in chain mail swung at each other with swords, and he could feel the vibration as steel clashed against steel. He could smell the blood of the dead and dying, even taste the blood that seemed to be streaming down the side of his face. And standing in the midst of it all, but unaffected, he saw a woman in a silver cloak.
Then he was back, standing in the British Artifacts room at in the basement of the museum. He jerked his hand away from the sword.
“What’s the matter?” asked his dad, with a voice that seemed to come from a mile away.
Aidan opened his mouth to say he was fine, but nothing came out. His vision narrowed to a tunnel, then a point, and he felt himself falling.
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