Chapter 2: Swords, Riddles, and Beer

Meanwhile, down the street, a man watched the this exchange with interest. He knew the woman was Daphne. Though they had never met, Gerald had told him enough stories about her appearance that he could place her instantly. The other two though; they were a mystery.

The man sat parked in a black SUV at the end of the cul de sac. He was dressed somewhat shabbily, his chalk dusted slacks and elbow-padded tweed jacket betraying his profession as a professor. The briefcase in the seat behind him was emblazoned with the seal of The University of Pittsburgh, betraying his place of business. The man’s eyes were glued to a set of binoculars aimed at the Courtney Mansion, betraying his purpose. No one saw any of this however, as the SUV was equipped with limousine tinting.

No one could see the girl in the car either, though her black yoga pants and backpack betrayed her status of a student. The logo on her hooded sweatshirt was the same as the one on his briefcase, indicating her school, and her lips wrapped around the man’s cock indicated whose student she was. She rhythmically slurped up and down his shaft while tickling his balls with her ruby-painted fingernails. Midterms were coming up, and though Professor MacArthur’s tests were famously difficult, Fiona was very determined to get her A.

He watched as the three conversed in front of Gerald’s porch. They appeared to be arguing. He wondered if Daphne even knew that Gerald was dead. Considering how much the rest of Courtney house despised her, he doubted that any of them had even told her that the object of her affections had passed away.

He watched as Daphne threw up her hands in exasperation and started pounding on the door again. Brock chuckled. “Poor little Daphne,” he said. “Guess she thought that she would inherit the house.”

Fiona paused in her attentions and looked up at Brock with big blue eyes. Her pink lips glistened. “Was she related?” Brock lowered the binoculars and fixed her with an irritated expression.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

Fiona didn’t answer. She just lowered those glistening lips back over his swollen dick, gently grazing the tip with her teeth. Brock shivered as she descended farther, feeling the bell slip down the back of her throat. Jesus, she’s getting good, Brock thought.

She’d been blowing him all semester in exchange for good grades and the practice was paying off. “No, Daphne isn’t related,” he said. “She’s a wolf around for the money. He watched the woman in question storm away to her van. “Maybe she’ll come in handy down the line. Oh God! Keep doing that.”

Fiona had withdrawn so that only the head of his cock was in her mouth and she was rolling her tongue against the underside in slow agonizing circles. He half considered throwing her in the backseat and fucking her senseless, but he had to focus for the time being.

The othertwo conversed with each other as Daphne drove away, and Brock zoomed in to get a better look at them. The male was big, tough-looking, and he moved like a soldier. Brock panned down to see desert boots under the kid’s jeans. “Definitely a soldier,” he muttered. “Wonderful.” He wouldn’t have to change his plans based on that alone, but he preferred his adversaries to be gullible and stupid rather than wary and battle-hardened.

The girl with him must have been a civilian, a girlfriend perhaps. Her tits were too big for a soldier, and her long unbound hair, abundant makeup, and piercings further assured him. Besides, Courtney House had always been all male, so the other was the one he wanted.

He exhaled heavily as Fiona resumed her long form, lowering her lips down to the base of his penis, deep-throating him, before slowly withdrawing, tongue swiping left and right the whole way like wiper blades.

He held the binoculars level until he saw the two disappear into the house, then he tossed it onto the dashboard and wrapped his hands around Fiona’s sweet-smelling blonde tresses. He was getting close and pushed on her head to make her suck faster.

“Here it comes,” he said, and then he came. His cock swelled inside her mouth and started spurting his pearly mess against the roof of her mouth. He unconsciously moaned and shook against the seat, overcome with orgasm.

She continued bobbing on his spasming shaft, swallowing every drop, and only withdrew when she was sure that his balls were empty. There wasn’t much there to begin with because, unbeknownst to her, she was the second coed of the day determined to get good grades.

Once she was finished, she settled back into her seat and pulled the mirror down to check her makeup. Brock maneuvered his shrinking pecker back into his pants and then opened the car door. “Stay here,” he said.

Brock quickly made his way down the sidewalk and ducked into the carpark of Gerald’s mansion after ensuring no neighbors were watching. Approaching the beat-up old Accord, Brock produced a slim jim from inside his jacket and quietly, efficiently opened the passenger side door. He checked once more to ensure no one was watching, and then he popped open the glove compartment and started rifling through the papers therein.

He found an insurance card, along with a name and address. The girl had also left her purse inside, so he quickly took a picture of her Driver’s license as well, before replacing everything and re-locking the door.

As he walked back to his car, he glanced back at the Courtney mansion one last time. “See you soon, Duncan,” he said, before snickering to himself. “Or actually ... maybe I’ll pay your little girlfriend a visit first.”

After the spat with psycho-bitch, my mood was diminished, but any negativity evaporated as we crossed the threshold. I’m no interior designer, and I did spend most of my childhood in small duplexes, but I still recognized extraordinary when I saw it.

The foyer was massive with large spiral staircases on each side and a huge statue of a dapper naked fella in the middle. He was one of those David types with like thirty abs and was triumphantly thrusting a massive sword toward the glass-domed ceiling. A chandelier hung suspended from the corners of the dome, with the bottom crystal positioned only a few inches above the point of the angel’s sword. It was sick as fuck.

There was a note from Rufus on the inside of the door. I snagged it up and read it aloud while Dani continued to gawk.

Duncan,

I made a final sweep of the house this morning. Everything is in order and all of the utilities are still connected. All property left to others has been removed so any furniture or items herein now belong to you. If you wish to have anything removed, be sure to contact me first. Please continue to check your email for any upcoming appointments, and contact my secretary if you have any further questions. I took the liberty of having everything steam-cleaned.

I’ll be in touch,

Rufus Crisp

P.S. Gerald left you one additional keepsake that I forgot to mention previously. It is very special. You will find it in the Living Room.

“He has really pretty handwriting,” Dani said, eying the note. “Seems like a nice guy.”

“A keepsake?” I thought aloud. “Wonder why he capitalized Living Room... “

Behind the staircases and through a small hallway we found an empty chamber with high-curtained windows that I guessed would have made a fine dining-room, a guess that proved more likely when we found the kitchen next door. Luckily, the basic amenities were still connected. We did the usual experimental stuff, flicking light switches and checking cabinets.

As we explored I found myself wondering what kind of man this Gerald was. I had seen grand old houses like this on TV before but I had no idea what kind of people lived in them. The people I had known and surrounded myself with all my life were of a different caste, mainly the blue-collar and those without higher education. Basically, they were people without money.

I always imagined scumbag politicians or stuffy old academics residing in homes like this. I wasn’t sure why I associated affluence with such negative stereotypes but I did. It shouldn’t have mattered, but I found myself hoping that Gerald was more than that.

We continued reconnoitering. The entire first floor, with the exception of the black-and-green tiled foyer, was of a dark rich hardwood, with eggshell walls and towering ceilings. But it didn’t smack of age as I had expected. It was obvious from the woodwork and the general repair of corners and door-frames that the house was fairly new, built within the last few decades at least. It hadn’t seen much use, which struck me as a crime, given how beautiful it was.

“It’s too quiet in here,” Dani whispered.

“It really is.” Whenever I was alone in my own apartment, I had a TV on, a computer blasting music, or sometimes both if I was feeling saucy. I was unaccustomed to complete quiet, and the silence here was absolute.

“Let’s check out the garage,” I said.

We exited to the right into a short windowed corridor that led into the other building. It struck me as a fairly useless extravagance, but I guess rich people can’t be bothered with going outside to get from building to building. I opened the door and my jaw dropped. Dani peeked over my shoulder at what I was gawking at and giggled.

“Are those fucking gull wings?!” I half-screamed. “Baby look! It’s got gull-wings!” I ran over to the silver Mercedes and hugged the car. “How much of a lady boner do you have right now?” The Mercedes looked practically unused and was shining from a fresh coat of wax.

“Umm ... rock hard? I guess?” Dani stepped around me and started circling the SLS. “My God that is a sexy vehicle,” she said, stunned. Beside it was a big cherry-red truck with huge muddy tires; a raised-up workhorse Chevy with extended everything. It wasn’t as sleek or sophisticated as its smaller sexier bedfellow, but a man should have a truck. It is an undeniable fact that every man, at some point, will need a truck.

“I guess you can get rid of your beater now.” Dani turned back to me as she neared the front of the SLS and lifted one bare bronzed leg to the hood. She ran a finger up it tantalizingly and glanced towards me with her giant fuck-me eyes.

“Want to take some pictures of me splayed across the hood like in that Whitesnake video?” I wanted her to take her shoe off of the hood of my new car but wasn’t enough of an asshole to say so.

She dropped her leg and reached for the door, popping the handle. She smiled and watched the door swing up instead of out. “OK, I kind of get it.”

“They’re cool, right?”

“They’re hot.” She circled the hood, letting her hand trail along the glossy paint. “This car practically oozes sex.”

“Exactly,” I said, in spite of an alarming mental picture. “That’s what it’s for. A man buys a car like this for one reason, and one reason only.” Dani crossed her legs in mock modesty.

“You think our little Gerald was a pussy hound?”

“Had to be,” I said, approaching the vehicle. “I know he was old but maybe he still had it. Some old guys still got it, like Patrick Stewart and that really handsome mother-fucker from CNN. He’s like 90 and probably still tears it up.”

“Are you talking about Anderson Cooper? He’s not 90. Not even close.”

“He’s got silver hair.”

“Well, I guess that settles it,” she laughed. “Your logic is impeccable. Want to take me for a spin?”

“Let’s check out the rest of the house first.”

On the other side of the house - opposite the garage - was an octagonal chamber, also with a glass-domed ceiling but the architecture was not what interested me. There was no normal furniture in the room, but the walls were literally covered with weapons.

On the walls hung broadswords, short-swords, dueling-swords, other hyphenated swords, maces, axes, various polearms, and a few other things that I only knew the names of from RPG video games. There were six suits of armor standing in a circle at the center facing out so one could basically walk around the outskirts, admiring the armor in the middle and the weapons on the walls.

Long vertical windows resided on every other panel of the octagon, illuminating the arsenal with light from the front yard. All of the dark steel glinted in the sunlight, looking dangerous. Even after the shock of the vehicles, this room left me speechless. “I ... I just don’t know what to say,” I admitted.

“Daaaamn...” Dani said, eyes wide. “Are you sure he didn’t butcher bodies in the basement? This guy is armed to the teeth.”

“I’m not sure if it’s even legal to own some of these,” I said. I carefully picked up a particularly vicious-looking sword breaker, and turned it over in my hands. “I guess the old man was a history buff, unless there is some practical reason to own a stockpile of medieval weaponry.”

“It’s not all medieval,” Dani said. I gave her a funny look.

“Oh yeah?”

“Some of this stuff is early renaissance, and some of those other ones there...” she pointed to several curved blades. “Some of those are from a more ancient time-period, and a different place for that matter.”

She was inspecting a set of armor but cast me a glance over her shoulder. “I’m taking a class at CU,” she explained.

“Wow,” I said sarcastically. “Look at you. Sexy AND smart.” She smiled triumphantly.

“Oh shut up. I’m smarter than you are.”

I put the weapon back on the wall and tried to take it all in. There had to be at least a hundred pieces, and that wasn’t counting the wicked-looking halberds that the suits of armor were displayed with. “Why?” I wondered aloud. “Why would someone have all of this?”

Dani shrugged and bit her lip. “Some people collect stamps,” she said as an explanation. “You can’t deny that there’s beauty to it.” It was true. Many of the pieces had ornate hilts and scabbards and pommels and cross-guards glittered with the radiance of precious stones. Dani stood in the middle of it all, smiling cutely.

“Definitely beautiful,” I admitted.

We left the mystery hanging in the air and proceeded to walk across the hallway, only to discover a second room of identical proportions, but of an altogether different flavor. It was another wide sunken octagon, but instead of swords, the walls were lined with books.

Each panel was occupied by tall sturdy bookcases that rose at least fifteen feet. A ladder was attached to a railing system that connected each at the top, allowing a person to access the higher volumes. Like the weapon room, every other panel was a window, only these displayed the backyard instead of the front.

In the center of the room was ... well ... a tree. And it wasn’t a small domesticated house plant either. It was a gnarly ancient sycamore that had grown to fill the entire room. I could barely see through its leaves to the glass dome several stories overhead.

Huge, torso-sized roots covered the floor like a nest of monstrous snakes, and polished darkwood panels were built around some of the larger ones, creating enough of a path to walk around and access the bookcases.

To make matters even more incredible, the bottom branches of the tree – heavy thick things – were sanded down and polished to create additional shelves. Each held a collection of red leather-bound books held in place by tiny metal knights on horses that acted as bookends. At the base of the tree, a large oil-drum sized gnarl was carved into an armchair of some sorts, like a chill space to sit and read for a while. There was a small brown envelope resting on the seat.

Dani grabbed it. “Your keepsake?” She handed it to me.

“Oh cool...” I said, thinking back to the note from Rufus. “I think I get it. Living room as in ‘room that is actually alive.’” I pawed the envelope. It was light and thin with a lump at the bottom. I tore off the top and reached inside.

The thin part was a simple sheet of paper. On it, written in neat tiny handwriting, were two simple stanzas.

As midnight approaches
And darkness encroaches
The hero returns to
His family tree
This watch, he must wear it
This cross, he must bear it
This throne, he must claim it
Then press 1, 2, 3

“What does it say?” Dani asked. I read it out loud. “A poem? Not exactly Keats, is it? Duncan, what the hell is up with this house?”

“I don’t know. It’s bizarre.” I reached further inside and produced the other enclosed item, a gold wrist watch. It was very simple, no bells or whistles, but looked very old and was quite heavy. I looked at the face and found that it still worked, but strangely, there were four hands declaring the time instead of the usual two.

Two were a shiny black and read 6:42, the current time. The other two arms were mother-of-pearl and depicted a different time, 8:16. The difference in the minute hands seemed to rule out the possibility of it indicating a second time-zone, but I guessed that it just needed to be reset.

“This watch, he must wear it.” I said, and fastened it around my wrist.

“Rolex?” Dani asked.

“You wish,” I said, turning it over. “I don’t see any identifying marks.” To be sure, I took it off again and inspected the back. One word was written on it in dazzling script. “Ever hear of the brand ‘Traveler?’”

“Traveler?”

“That’s the only thing written on here. Traveler Mk 1. I’ve never heard of it. Looks pretty old. Pretty plain too.” I’d seen nice watches before, in advertisements and on the wrists of people like Mr. Crisp. This wasn’t nice. The face was an unattractive shade of red, almost like rusted iron, and there was no scrollwork or adornments. Even the gold seemed dull. I put it back on anyway.

Dani snagged the poem from me and read it again. “I suppose you think you’re the hero right? The one returning to his family tree?”

“Harumph. As if there was any doubt,” I replied. “It would make sense if Gerald was related to me, which he might be.”

“OK,” Dani said. “So you gotta wear this watch, bear your cross, whatever that could entail, claim your throne...” Still staring at the paper, she walked to me and slowly pushed me into the wooden seat. “ ... and press 1, 2, 3. Are there buttons on that watch or on the seat or something?” I looked back at the watch, and indeed, upon the left side, protruded three small golden buttons.

“Neat,” I said. I pressed the buttons from top to bottom. Then I pressed them from bottom to top. Then I just started trying different button combinations. I didn’t know what I expected. “Is something supposed to happen?”

Dani smiled. “How should I know?”

“I don’t know.” I glanced one more time between the watch, the poem, and Dani. “Any other ideas?”

She shrugged. “Try again at midnight? It might be just figurative. We can figure it out later. C’mon, there’s more house to explore.”

I stood up to follow her out the door, and took one last glance at the bookshelf/throne/tree thing. What would possess a man to create something like this? Is this what old rich people do with their time? I made a note to check out what the books were later. As for the room, I just struck it off as one of the coolest things I had ever seen, at least until we discovered the woodshop in the basement full of dollhouse furniture.

“Honestly?” I said. “This guy collected ancient arms and armor, fashioned bookcases out of living trees, AND built tiny furniture in his spare time? Who the hell was this guy?” The basement was semi-finished, with stone floors but working electrical and utility fixtures, and was stocked with tiny delicate instruments for fashioning miniature pieces of furniture.

There was also the standard carpenter’s fare – electrical saws, rotary blades, mallets and chisels, as well as tables full of fabric and other raw materials to presumably be used in the construction. “It’s settled then, Dani. This guy was seriously the most interesting guy in the world.”

“You don’t mean THE most interesting guy in the world, do you?”

“I do, actually. I’m talking about the guy from the Dos Equis commercials. Gerald Courtney aka Jonathan Goldsmith.”

“You know, he doesn’t always build tiny furniture,” Dani smiled.

“Yes, but when he does, he does it like a boss.” I lifted a tiny EZ Boy recliner, complete with fully functional recline-action, up to her face. “Look at the detail in this fuckin’ thing. It’s incredible. I mean, I don’t really get it. I don’t know how a man develops a hobby like this but still, it’s ... it’s just so...”