Stephen McAlerod felt like shit. He had left the tent barracks without grabbing anything, not that he had much of value in his tent. He kept his passport and money on him, anyway. He was walking to Lanark, it was dark, and the sky had started spitting rain at him. He threw up twice. He was slightly dizzy, and was trying to make sense of what had just happened.
Crom had kept his word, and only spoken to him, or rather, at him. No beatings, nothing like that, although the backs of his knees were painful, and the walk hadn't helped. But the words Crom spoke were unlike anything Stephen had ever heard. It felt like a bad dream, and he was just waking up. He tried to think of the words, but they kept slipping in and out of his consciousness, like he was trying to hold onto that dream, but reality kept intruding. He was more confused that he had ever been in his life.
He could see the lights of Lanark up ahead, only a half mile more now. The gravel on the side of the road was now wet, and becoming a little treacherous. A few cars had passed him, but he hadn't thrown up his hand to try and hail one down. He had to think; had to get this straight in his mind.
There was a little cafe there that he knew had a computer one could rent for a small fee. This was his goal now. He had read about the Duke of Northshire and his wife, but he thought it was all bullshit, and hadn't paid close attention. Now he knew otherwise, and needed information.
He remembered reading about an interview with the Duke before he died. He described a word he had never heard before. A word that filled him with dread, like he was a hunted beast, cornered and winded and bleeding. He couldn't remember what it said, and wouldn't have said it even if he could have, but he described it as a feeling.
Stephen now felt that feeling, and heard that word in his heart of hearts.
...
Lanark was an old market town, full of narrow brick alleyways and low slung brick and stone buildings that had seen many cold, wet winters. Stephen walked down High Street, the central thoroughfare in town, and past old churches and a large statue of William Wallace, one of Scotland's great heroes, with sword in hand. The town was mostly empty, except for a couple drunken blokes stumbling out of a bar a few blocks ahead of Stephen. The cool lights of the cafe poured into the street, reflecting off the dark, wet street.
He stumbled into the cafe. It was nearing 9 o'clock, and the place was near empty. A young, pretty girl with pinkish hair was sipping tea and reading a textbook in the corner, ear-buds in and otherwise oblivious to the world around her. She didn't even notice Stephen enter.
A younger man was behind the counter. He had a motocross t-shirt on, and a small, black apron over faded skinny jeans. He had a shaved head around the sides, but had a shuck of curly, blond hair on top. It looked permed. He looked at Stephen and showed a look of confusion on his face. He said "you alright, man? You don' look so good."
"Black tea" was all Stephen responded with.
The boy poured him a cup. Stephen fumbled through two packs of sugar before his shaking hands finally got some in the cup. He sipped it eagerly, and it warmed him, but only temporarily. He was soaking wet. Stephen managed to croak out "can I get the computeh', please?"
"Yeah, sure. Wi-fi pass-code's on the side." Stephen threw a couple wet and crinkled pounds on the counter.
"Tanks", Stephen responded as he heavily slumped into the chair, spilling some tea on the counter in the process. The bar-boy looked at him warily, but said nothing more, and went back to what he was doing before, which was stealing glances at the girl in the corner as he cleaned up the shop.
...
Stephen searched for "Northstead wedding". Nothing useful.
"Curses + London". Also nothing.
"The Duke of Northstead". Ok, there's something... Stephen skimmed it.
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Alpert Frederick Jamesson (1964-2013), fourth Duke of Northstead, former House of Commons MP, member of Liberal Democratic party.
Failed bid for House of Lords. Won House of Commons seat. Later resigned from House of Commons due to controversial affair with Elansa Meridith Duchennse. Took ceremonial title of "Duke and Steward of Northstead" upon resignation.
...
Married to Elansa Duchennse March 4, 2013.
Died in sinkhole accident in The Bahamas, along with new wife, March 13, 2013.
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Dammit. 'K, lemme try this...
"The Sunshine News + Duke of Northstead + curse". Ahhh, there it is. Stephen clicked the first page.
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The Sunshine News, March 10th, 2013
Exclusive interview with the Late Duke of Northstead!
What on earth happened at the wedding? Was he cursed? Who was the man who cursed him? The details of his mysterious death!
Pg. 6
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Stephen clicked to page 6. Alongside a blurb and paparazzi photo spread about some beautiful and fame-hounded pop star, there was the story.
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The Sunshine News, March 10th, 2013
Pg. 6
The Duke of Northstead's exclusive interview with The Sunshine News!
Editor: This interview took place several days before Mr. Jamesson's untimely demise. God take his soul, and that of Mrs. Jamesson's.
The Sunshine News(TS): Thank you for meeting with us, Duke. Congratulations on your recent nuptials.
Alpert Jamesson (AJ): Thank you. Please just call me Al.
TS: With pleasure, Al. Now, speaking of your recent nuptials, it appears to have been a lavish and sumptuous affair, but something... unusual occurred there, did it not?
AJ: It did, indeed. My wife's former lover, Ivan Pertovik, um... crashed the party. He was obviously still in love with Elansa, and did not approve of our marriage. He interrupted the vows, and made quite a scene. Spoke in a foul tongue I've not heard. It was... strange, to say the least.
TS: And what, exactly, did he say?
AJ: I don't know. It was unlike anything I've heard, like an old language, but also not. A noise, a feeling. I heard fear, and death, and hatred, in that voice. A sickly grating noise, like he was torturing a defenseless animal. It made me feel weak, feeble, like I was that defenseless animal being tortured. My wife heard something similar. She fainted afterwards. We both felt ill for several days afterwards, and we postponed the honeymoon by a week as a result. Ivan just walked off and out, smiling.
TS: Strange indeed! Well, the guests did not hear that, and the many cameras and recording devices also did not hear that.
AJ: I am aware of that. I'm not crazy, though, I assure you.
TS: No, we wouldn't suggest such a thing. But given what the guests did hear, mostly a description of their own deepest fears, some of them quite vivid, some people have suggested that you may have been cursed. A real curse, not the curse words so commonly bandied about these days. The cameras recorded only static, adding weight to such a claim.
AJ: If that is so, I don't know what to do about it. I'm feeling better, so is Elansa. We've found no real experts in the subject, only charlatans and men of god. I don't believe in such superstition, but we have had a priest bless us, just in case.
TS: Well, we are all praying for you, as well.
AJ: Thank you.
TS: Tell us about Mr. Pertovik, if you would?
AJ: What's to say? I wager my wife would be the one to ask about that. (laughs). I don't know where he would have picked up the ability to curse like that. He's a miner, muscles between the ears, breathed too much rock dust in his time, if you ask me. I'm not afraid of him or his foul tongue.
TS: Hmmm. We all hope you fare better than him, and that nothing comes of this. Thank you again for your time, best of luck to you, and enjoy your honeymoon!
AJ: Thank you.
...
The Duke and Steward of Northstead, a man who has fought for Queen and Country for all his years, was killed, along with his wife, in a horrific boating accident off the coast of Long Island, Bahamas, three days after this interview. A fire on the boat caused the crew to abandon ship, and Mr. and Mrs. Jamesson were sucked into Dean's blue hole by tidal forces and presumed drowned. Their bodies were never recovered. The remainder of the crew survived the incident.
Ivan Pertovik is being held by Scotland Yard on charges of hate speech, speech leading to harm, defamation and harassment.
Was he cursed? Was this just a coincidence? Is Ivan Pertovik guilty of anything? You tell us! Log onto www.thesunshinenews/opinion/dukeofnorthstead.com to share your opinion!
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Two weeks to a horrible death. At least Stephan knew he had some time to figure this out. The tea in his belly wasn't sitting right, and he was starving peckish, but dared not eat. He was sure it wouldn't stay down anyway. He purchased a room for the night at a local hotel and a bus ticket south from their respective websites, and got up.
He nodded to the young barista on the way out, and the boy stared back at him, unable or unwilling to respond. The young girl in the corner looked up to watch him go, and then, the two youths made silent, curious eye contact with one another.
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