The Search for a Legend (Book 1 of Quest for Knowledge) by Christopher Jackson-Ash (bts book recommendations .txt) 📖

“With the exception of a few personal items, which have specific bequests, all of Mrs Redhead’s estate, including her house, is to be sold and the proceeds placed in a trust fund, to be administered by myself.” Mr Jennings paused and Simon could hear the grunt that emanated from the middle front-row seat. “The trust is to be used for a single purpose. If I may read the actual words from Mrs Redhead’s will: The trust fund is to be used to support my son Simon until such time as he is established as a qualified doctor of medicine. I gave you that pledge Simon and I intend to honour it. After that time, any residual funds are to be donated to the Australian Cancer Centre. I know that there will be some family members who are disappointed by this,” Jenkins stopped for effect and looked over the top of his glasses at Maud. “But I assure you that this is by far the best use to which the money can be put.”

Jenkins folded the document and smiled. Uncle Jack gave Simon a friendly punch on the arm. A number of unladylike obscenities seemed to emerge from the front row. Simon was sure he heard the word bastard used several times. Great Aunt Maud, with a face like thunder, stormed out of the room and out of Simon’s life, he hoped forever.

****

In three years, he hadn’t seen Great Aunt Maud again, but the memory of her reaction to the will made him smile and helped to fight back against the depression that threatened to overwhelm him. Simon raised himself out of bed and staggered into the shower. The jets of cool water felt good. They seemed to do more than simply cleanse his body; he began to feel inwardly refreshed as well. His thoughts turned to the irony of his situation. Here I am, a medical student, with plenty of gynaecological experience, and yet I’m still a virgin. He thumped the shower wall in anger, as once again he cursed his awkward shyness with the opposite sex. I’m pathetic! As he slowly dried himself, he toyed with the idea of using the services of a prostitute. The idea had certain merit in fantasy and raised expectations again in his young body, but in the cold reality of his scientific brain, it seemed expensive, impersonal, and dangerous. I’m not that desperate, yet!

He pulled on a crumpled pair of jeans, tee shirt and sweater. His tall and skinny body had the effect of making most clothes he wore look like they were hanging on a beanpole scarecrow. His choice of green shirt and yellow sweater, combined with his hair made him think of a traffic light, which raised his spirits immensely. He perused the room for something edible that would serve as breakfast. A half-eaten simuburger appeared to be the only sustenance on offer. He quickly rejected that in favour of tea and a simubacon roll at his local café. If I hurry, I still might make the first lecture. It was important, because it covered caesarean sections, and he would have to assist with his first before too much longer. He looked forward to that with the sort of cold dread an actor must have before their first night. Am I really cut out to be a surgeon? He smiled at his pun. I might have more luck as a stand-up comedian.

Strangely, he felt more cheerful than he had for some time, as he left his rooms. The persistent dreams that had been troubling him more and more lately were almost forgotten. It was a warm, autumn day and the early sunshine felt good on his back. The café was almost deserted when he got there. He ordered quickly and sat at the bar to await his food. The entertainment panel was set to blare out raucous pop music, as usual. The interruption for a news flash surprised him. The news that was delivered shocked him. Muslim forces were invading Australia. It appeared to be part of a major world offensive. The planet was on the brink of the third world war. Australia’s vast open spaces and valuable resources had long been coveted by the populous countries to the north. They were now taking them by force. The announcer was contemplating the west countenancing the nuclear option as Simon’s new-found cheerfulness evaporated.

His hunger and the half-finished simubacon roll forgotten, Simon left the café. There was commotion in the street. It seemed that panic was already beginning to grip. Groups of people seemed to be milling backwards and forwards with seemingly no clear idea of where they were going. Simon felt the familiar throbbing in his temples that heralded the start of a migraine. Damn, I must go home, take some pills, and try to sleep it off. He had barely started to move when the first wave of nausea hit him. He doubled over in agony and when he straightened up, everything seemed to be a blur. He felt as if he were slipping out of the real world. People became fuzzy, noises were muffled, and cars passed by in blurs of colour like streaks on an artist’s canvas. What the hell’s happening to me?

“Take a grip,” he muttered to himself. He tried to breathe deeply and focus. Nothing changed; his world was a blur. As he began to stumble forward, something caught his eye. Across the road, on the corner, leaning against a lamppost as casual as you like stood a small boy – totally in focus amongst the blur. Simon did a double take and stared at him, uncaring of the reaction he might cause. As he looked more closely, he corrected himself. Not a boy at all, but a very short man. He was no more than four feet high, solidly built with a huge stomach that was barely concealed by the large dark coat he was wearing. Perhaps the most striking feature though was his head. He was wearing a wide brimmed hat with a large white feather pinned to its brim. Under the hat, a pair of large blue eyes seemed to reflect the wonder that he was seeing in the world. The hat could not hide the shock of black curls that tumbled from his head as though trying to escape confinement. His nose was positively aquiline, giving him a look of arrogant superiority that overlaid whatever his true feelings might be.

Simon seemed drawn to him in a strange sort of way. I feel like I ought to know him, but I have never seen him before in my life. He would surely have remembered such a character. As if drawn by a magnet, Simon began to walk toward the strange fellow. The cars on the street still seemed blurry, but he was able to make them out well enough to attempt to cross the road. As he approached the junction, he became aware of the noise of a vehicle that seemed louder and faster than the rest. He looked up in time to see it bearing down on him at high speed. Although the vehicle was a blur, the driver wasn’t. At that moment, the sight of that face imprinted itself on his memory. Not so much the face, more the eyes, black and evil, and the mouth curving upwards in a sickly grin.

It all happened so quickly. I’m going to die, without ever sleeping with a woman. I recognise that man. All of a sudden, the strange fellow from across the street was beside him, pushing him clear. He stumbled and fell, hearing the sickly thud of flesh and bone being crushed and the roar of a car being driven away at high speed. Simon passed out. I may not have got you this time, but I soon will. Your days are numbered red boy! Uncle Dring never lies. The words appeared in his mind as he slipped into unconsciousness and the echoes were still there when he awoke.

He came to in the ambulance. His vision seemed normal again and the migraine had gone. A knock on the head must have done me some good. “How are you feeling?” The warm voice of the female ambulance officer greeted him. “You were very lucky,” she continued without giving him a chance to respond, “by all accounts you should have died today.” They seemed strange words for an ambulance officer, but these were strange times for sure and they summed up nicely his recollections of the past few minutes. Your days are numbered red boy! The thought echoed in his mind.

“I’m feeling fine, there’s really no need for you to take me to hospital,” he tried to smile but it must have looked very forced. “The man who saved me, how is he? What happened to him?” The concern was evident in Simon’s voice. Who was that man? Why did he save me?

“Don’t you be concerning yourself over that, now. We’ll get you to hospital and they’ll give you a good checking over. Then the police will want to talk to you, I’m guessing. They’ll be able to fill you in on the details better than me.”

Their arrival at the hospital prevented any further questions. Simon was generally fussed over and received a full body scan. At last, a young doctor came to talk to him. “Well, young man,” he began, “you have had a very lucky escape. All the test results are negative. If you feel up to it, you’re free to go home.”

Simon felt fine. In fact, he felt better than he’d felt for some time. I wonder why I’m feeling so good? Perhaps I should ask the doctor? Better not. “Thanks, Doctor, I’ll do that,” he said. “Can you please tell me what happened to the man who saved me?”

The doctor brushed off his question. “There’s a police officer waiting to see you outside. I’m sure he’ll be able to help you. The sister will look after your discharge after the policeman has seen you.” He hurried off.

Simon didn’t have to wait long for the police officer to arrive. A young, male detective constable questioned him at length about the accident. Simon told him everything he could remember, except the bits about his blurred vision, the details of the strange fellow's appearance, and the driver. In reality, Simon told him very little, but repeatedly questioned him about the man who had saved him. Why won’t they tell me?

Eventually the police officer gave in. “It’s very strange,” the detective spoke slowly, seeming to pick his words carefully, “there were several eye witnesses who confirm your version of the events. In fact, they all saw the small man crushed by the car. His head was smashed to a pulp. He couldn’t have survived. However, by the time the emergency services arrived, his body was nowhere to be found.”

Simon said nothing. He felt sick again. The thought of a stranger giving his life to save Simon’s was anathema to him. The pain in his head began to rise again. I can’t handle this. I must get home to bed. He accepted the hospital’s offer of a taxi home. Thankfully, the driver was quiet, focussed on the radio news. First reports were coming in of Indonesian forces landing in Australia. Rumours suggested that Darwin had already fallen. The Prime Minister was due to address the nation later that evening. Simon ran from the taxi, up the steps and fumbled with his keys as he struggled to get inside and hide as quickly as possible. He hoped that sleep would help his troubled mind, except sleep would probably bring the dreams. Please, I can’t handle the dreams on top of everything else.

In his dreams, Simon was somewhere else that seemed like another world. He was always looking for something, but he could never remember what it was. And there