| STORY 2 Page 21 |
| "No thank you," he said politely. When she sat down he heaved a sigh, wishing they would all just disappear. "We are off course, but Rick seems to think that we should still be able to get to Egypt by early tomorrow afternoon," she informed. When she didn't get a response from him she continued. "I'm not so sure about doing all of this. The man who killed my parents and your family is dangerous. I'm worried that something will happen to one of us, and after everything I've lost I'm not sure I could be strong enough to handle anything like that." He knew she was trying to be nice, but he wanted to be alone to plan what he would do when they did reach land. He for one wasn't going to stick around, and even if he had to fight an army, he was going to get away, find the man who had killed his grandfather and his parents, and make him pay dearly for what he had done. Once she had gone, Kit got up and walked to the far end of the room where his duffel was, and from that pulled out his fiddle. It had gotten wet, and as he played a few chords, he realized that it was in bad need of tuning. He reached in his duffel and got his pitch pipe and began to tune it up, hoping that a little Music would liven his mood and make him forget all that had taken place. Penny ([email protected]) January 16, 2003 Once Kit finished tuning his father's fiddle, he put the pitch pipe back in his bag. Instinct told him to make sure, his Papere's secret was safe. "Guard this with your very life, Kit," his grandfather had warned. "If you don't, your Mother and Father will have died in vain, just as the Carnahan's and countless others have. Keep it close to you. You'll know when the time comes what to do, but you must be brave child. You must be brave and keep your wits about you. Remember the power is in your hands." At first Kit had thought, his Papere was just loosing his marbles. His dad would have said his bucket had a hole in it, but since he had witnessed his grandfather's murder and his attempted murder, he wasn't so sure now. But who the hell would want that worthless piece of cheap junk? He pulled the flash light out, from the bottom of the bag and felt it's familiar weight. Unscrewing the end, he tilted it as the object inside, slowly slid toward the opening. "Yeah, junk," he mumbled to himself. "Cheap ass trinket, you can get in the Cairo market place! But why the hell would somebody want it so bad to kill for it?" That's a question he'd personally ask Skarzinski, while he was on his knees, just before Kit blew his brains all over, like the man had done to his father, as his mother laid with her throat slit open from ear to ear. Bastard was gonna pay the piper and Kit was gonna play the tune. He tilted the flashlight back up and the cylinder slid back into place. After he screwed the cap back on, he shoved it deep inside his duffel, pushing the old journal back over it and miscellaneous things over that. He'd read the journal later. Aswad Fulana wasn't the best read in the world, but maybe, just maybe, it would give him a clue as to where Skarzinski might be. Luckily the O'Connell's had only gotten one journal, but this one his Papere had hidden in the upstairs safe and this one, this one they weren't gonna get their grubby little hands on. Up on the deck and in Alex's cabin flowed the sweet strains of fiddle music. Heads turned looking at one another in surprise and wonder. Who was playing and where was it coming from? There was only one answer, when they heard the words. "Jole blonde, regardez donc quoi t'as fait, Tu m'as quitte pour t'en aller, Pour T'en aller avec un autre, oui, que moi, Quel espoir et quel avenir, mais, moi, je, vais avoir? Jole Blonde, tu m'as laisse, moi tout seul, Pour t'en aller chez ta famille. Si t'aurais pas ecoute tos les conseiles de les autres tu serait ici-t-avec moi aujourd 'hui Jole blonde, tu croyais il y avait just toi, ll ya pas just toi dans le pays pour moi aimer. Je peux trouver just une autre jolie blonde, Bon Dieu sait, moi, j'ai un tas." "I say, that was bloody brilliant!" Jonathan Carnahan said in the doorway, a big smile on his face, as he clapped his hands. His nephew stood next to him, imitating his uncle. "It was! Where ever did you learn to play like that?" Oh shit, Kit moaned to him self. Grandpaw and Junior! Who else would show up, that he hadn't heard? Probably that overgrown ape! Bastard tries to take this fiddle, he thought, I'll stick it where the sun don't shine! "Kit that was beautiful, Sweetheart!" Oh GOD! The ape's wife the, zoo keeper, which meant the ape wasn't far behind. Then there was that Med-Jai. A warrior, a zoo keeper, an ape, Junior and Grandpaw. Who ever said three strikes and you were out. Bastard should have his head examined, cause he sure couldn't count worth a damn! Kit was looking at six strikes and he couldn't even get up to bat! Besides, if it hadn't been for that Med-Jai, he could have stolen that lifeboat, but the sorry sonuvabitch grabbed him from behind and jerked him back down the steps with Grandpaw's help and they locked him up in this rat hole. Yeah, that was another one who was gonna meet Mr. Knee as soon as he got off the boat in Cairo. "Kit what were you playing? I've never heard anything like it? I know it's some form of French, but I can't place it." He looked up at the woman, claiming to be his aunt and for just a second her smile caused his anger to abate. "It's Cajun French. The songs called 'Jole Blonde.' It was written by a feller name of Amadie Breau. It's kinda like the Cajun National Anthem, ya know? No big deal. Sorry bout the noise. I'll put it up." What surprised him was the loud chorus of "NO's" that echoed in the hold. "Please don't!" and "Play some more!" and there was even a "Could you teach me how to play the violin?" That really got his attention. He looked at the blonde headed kid and was shocked to see, the kid really wanted to know how to play. "It's not a violin," Kit said matter-of-factly, "It's a fiddle. At least that's how I play it, anyway." Alex went over, and flopped down by Kit on the pallet. "Can I see it, you know, just to have a look? I'll give it right back." Kit looked at Alex, then at his father's fiddle, and nodded handing it to the boy, with great care. "Be careful, huh? It was my Dad's and before that, it was his Dad's." Alex nodded and began to examine the instrument that only minutes before had filled his cabin with music. "What's the difference between a fiddle and a violin, if you don't mind me asking?" "You got a nickname?" Alex looked at him, wary now. He had a feeling Kit's mouth was going to shoot off and he would get the full blast. "Yes, Uncle Jon sometimes calls me Sport or Partner," he answered cautiously. Well there ya go. A fiddle is just a nickname for a violin." "Like Kit?" Kit is just short for Christopher, that's all. But yeah, if you wanna look at it like that, it's just a nickname, too." "Can you play something else? Please?" Kit looked at Alex and again he nodded. "This time I'll play it the way my Mom taught me okay? She taught violin, before..." Kit caught himself and giving himself a mental shake, dismissed what he was going to say. "Sure. Yeah." He thought a few minutes and one of his Mother's favorite songs came to mind. He put the fiddle to his chin, closed his eyes, giving sight to his fingers and let the bow glide over the strings. Jonathan's eyes lit up. "Say, I know that song!" Kit looked up at the man. "Yeah? Know the words, do ya?" "I should say I do! That's 'The Skye Boat Song'." It was written about Charles Edward Stewart, the Young Pretender to the thrown. He was defeated by the Duke of Cumberland on Culloden Moor in 1746. Flora MacDonald, aided Bonnie Prince Charlie to escape to the island of Skye, where he was later taken by a French Vessel to Morlaix on the coast of Bretagne, "John said proudly remembering his history. "Yeah, yeah, that's nice, but do you know the words?" |