Peter cleared his throat and kept his eyes on the blacktop as the SUV wound through the Shenandoah Mountains, leaves crisp and colorful.
June waited five miles before laughing softly. “Ask me.”
“Sorry?”
“I’m afraid you have a tell, love. You clear your throat whenever you’re thinking about something you think will be awkward to talk about.”
“Blast,” Peter said. “The diplomatic corps trained me out of that. Hadn’t realized the habit had returned.”
“Well, you’re not there now,” June replied tartly, and stared out the window, vibrant colors blurring in an unseen bouquet. Shrugging her shoulders, she blew out an exaggerated breath. “Never mind. You’re back, they’re gone, that’s what matters. So ask.”
A long pause. “I don’t understand this swordfighting teacher of yours. What’s the secrecy?”
“Hard to explain.” She studied the window again, this time seeing years previous, the words sticky, like long-forgotten honey coating her tongue. “Arizona’s home, but Virginia was a good place to grow up. Dad dug in the dirt for a living, which was the coolest thing in the world.”
“My inner eight year old concurs.” Peter braked briefly as something scurried across the road with in a blur of grey fur.
“And mom helped, which also meant it was like a history osmosis blob. We ate, lived, and breathed the past, all without really trying.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Peter prompted after a few miles flashed by silently.
“He was working on the site of an old French settlement. One day Dad dug up a sword.”
“Wasn’t this country settled rather late for that?”
“Mmm. More than you might think, but yes, and not a lot of ceremony in a farming settlement, either. And then Dad came home one day, shaken. He’d cleaned up the sword and found an inscription. It was only then that he realized his sword’s first wielder was Charles de Batz-Castelmore d’Artagnan. THE d’Artagnan.”
“As in the Musketeer?”
“The real-life inspiration, at least. I hadn’t known he was more than stories until then. And after however long he’d possessed it, he’d passed this particular sword onto one of his trainees.”
“Ah,” Peter stumbled, clearly flabbergasted. “Did you – er – borrow this sword a few times, perhaps?”
Her lips twitched. “No. But Dad started taking me with him fairly often that summer. And that’s when I discovered I could see ghosts, because Pierre and I were both very interested in Dad’s work by then.”
She fell silent.
“And that’s also when I discovered ghosts could see me.”
***
This week’s prompt was from AC Young: It was only then that he realised his sword’s first wielder was…
My prompt went to TA Leederman: The new colony seemed promising, until the terraforming supervisor released the kracken.
Cheers, and enjoy more, over at More Odds Than Ends!
