Read Online The Knights of the Cornerstone by James P. Blaylock - Free Book Online
Authors: James P. Blaylock
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being there, that something was going on that he was unprepared to witness, or was disallowed from witnessing. But the feeling was overcome by a stronger curiosity, fueled by the certain knowledge that he had been taken in lock, stock, and barrel by the Aunt Iris myth, which had sounded preposterous even when Hosmer was relating it to him.
He peered back in through the window. The two people standing next to his uncle had edged away, as if out of fear or respect, and everyone in the room seemed to relax visibly when his uncle returned the veil to its box and then put the box away in the open cabinet behind them. Lymon returned to the table carrying a basket holding a loaf of bread, a glass goblet, and a clear, doughnut-shaped glassdecanter, flattened on the bottom so that it would stand up. Like the veil, the decanter appeared to be as old as Methuselah. It was half filled with red wine—or what Calvin assumed was wine—and was corked with a red glass stopper in the shape of an equal-armed cross. The company cast their eyes downward, and Uncle Lymon began intoning a prayer. “Amen,” Lymon said finally, and the rest of them repeated it, and then after a respectful moment he broke the bread into pieces and handed around the basket, then poured two inches of wine into the glass.
The six of them took the bread and consumed it, drank from the glass, and then Lymon set the glass back onto the table. Then each of them put both hands on the table in front of them and bowed their heads again. Calvin became aware then of a creaking noise, like the lid of an old trunk being raised, or a heavy cellar door swinging ponderously open. He thought he could make out a deep, sonorous music underlying it, and he was struck with a sudden onset of vertigo, as if he were looking down from a height at moving water. The music seemed to occupy the air around him, leaking up from deep within the rocks that formed the Temple Bar. The ground shook then, mildly at first, and then with an abrupt lurch.
Earthquake!
Calvin thought, and he clutched even more tightly at the windowsill and set his feet. His heart pounded. Rocks on the mound behind him tumbled loose and clattered downhill. The six inside were riding out the quake by steadying themselves against the table, still with their heads bowed, as if this were part of the ceremony and not an interruption. The circular decanter toppled over, and Calvin nearly shouted a warning. But none of them let go of the table, and the goblet fell to the floor with the muted but unmistakable sound of glass shattering.
The earthquake stopped, the night was silent, and then, as if a tension had been suddenly relaxed, the six began chatting in normal tones, stepping away from the broken glass as if unconcerned with it. Calvin could see a shard of what had been the decanter lying near the leg of the table in a pool of spilled wine. Miles Taber walked across to the open wooden wardrobe cabinet, took out a silver plate, and returned to the table, where he bent over and picked up the piece of glass with his fingertips, laying it on the plate and then picking up other pieces hidden from Calvin’s view. He set the cross-shaped stopper among the pieces and straightened up, glancing in the direction of the window and pausing briefly before turning back toward the wardrobe. After a couple of steps he turned his head sharply and looked at the window again.
Calvin ducked away, shoving in among the willows, certain that he had been seen.
What an embarrassment
, he thought wretchedly. What could he possibly say to his uncle that would explain his being there? The crazy idea of swimming for it came into his mind—just sliding into the water and letting the river carry him safely down to Needles where he could take a Greyhound back to Eagle Rock, disconnect his phone, change his name, and retire from the world for good and all.
But nobody came out of the Temple. The night was as dark and silent as it had been. He gave it
He peered back in through the window. The two people standing next to his uncle had edged away, as if out of fear or respect, and everyone in the room seemed to relax visibly when his uncle returned the veil to its box and then put the box away in the open cabinet behind them. Lymon returned to the table carrying a basket holding a loaf of bread, a glass goblet, and a clear, doughnut-shaped glassdecanter, flattened on the bottom so that it would stand up. Like the veil, the decanter appeared to be as old as Methuselah. It was half filled with red wine—or what Calvin assumed was wine—and was corked with a red glass stopper in the shape of an equal-armed cross. The company cast their eyes downward, and Uncle Lymon began intoning a prayer. “Amen,” Lymon said finally, and the rest of them repeated it, and then after a respectful moment he broke the bread into pieces and handed around the basket, then poured two inches of wine into the glass.
The six of them took the bread and consumed it, drank from the glass, and then Lymon set the glass back onto the table. Then each of them put both hands on the table in front of them and bowed their heads again. Calvin became aware then of a creaking noise, like the lid of an old trunk being raised, or a heavy cellar door swinging ponderously open. He thought he could make out a deep, sonorous music underlying it, and he was struck with a sudden onset of vertigo, as if he were looking down from a height at moving water. The music seemed to occupy the air around him, leaking up from deep within the rocks that formed the Temple Bar. The ground shook then, mildly at first, and then with an abrupt lurch.
Earthquake!
Calvin thought, and he clutched even more tightly at the windowsill and set his feet. His heart pounded. Rocks on the mound behind him tumbled loose and clattered downhill. The six inside were riding out the quake by steadying themselves against the table, still with their heads bowed, as if this were part of the ceremony and not an interruption. The circular decanter toppled over, and Calvin nearly shouted a warning. But none of them let go of the table, and the goblet fell to the floor with the muted but unmistakable sound of glass shattering.
The earthquake stopped, the night was silent, and then, as if a tension had been suddenly relaxed, the six began chatting in normal tones, stepping away from the broken glass as if unconcerned with it. Calvin could see a shard of what had been the decanter lying near the leg of the table in a pool of spilled wine. Miles Taber walked across to the open wooden wardrobe cabinet, took out a silver plate, and returned to the table, where he bent over and picked up the piece of glass with his fingertips, laying it on the plate and then picking up other pieces hidden from Calvin’s view. He set the cross-shaped stopper among the pieces and straightened up, glancing in the direction of the window and pausing briefly before turning back toward the wardrobe. After a couple of steps he turned his head sharply and looked at the window again.
Calvin ducked away, shoving in among the willows, certain that he had been seen.
What an embarrassment
, he thought wretchedly. What could he possibly say to his uncle that would explain his being there? The crazy idea of swimming for it came into his mind—just sliding into the water and letting the river carry him safely down to Needles where he could take a Greyhound back to Eagle Rock, disconnect his phone, change his name, and retire from the world for good and all.
But nobody came out of the Temple. The night was as dark and silent as it had been. He gave it
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