THIEF OF BREAN (VOL-1)|✓

A DECEPTIVE DIMENSION- XLVI

The sound of the water had dimmed in his head and his zeal was melted away into the coldness of the night. Carl stared at the fire, helpless, unable to stop the thoughts bugging his brain. He was so sure he had got this case.

Moreover, this time, he had had a supportive team at his side. But, unfortunately it had to be him. He had failed himself. The overwhelming feeling of despair had brought a light pain. Carl kneaded his head.

Giles looked at him in concern. "You good there, Detective?"

"Uh-huh."

The young Sentinels were hunkered around the fire, feeding the firewood to the flames. Rhett and Lamont were wide awake too, supping up rum and chatting.

"You might want to drink this," Lamont offered a bottle to him.

Taking a mouthful, Carl rose and staggered on his sore limbs to the tent they had made in a small clearing within the Gree tree copse. The Gree trees stood as serene and majestic as they were. Carl begrudged the peace that they had within them.

The fear of losing the case was eating him alive. He had deemed this case above all. Now, their last luck was the ring finding out them. If at all there was any ring existing in that place.

His hand crawled to his pocket for his pipe. Something odd struck him instantly. Carl fished out his pipe and his pen, the notepad was missing. Carl walked back to the place that he was sitting before and searched in vain. He had only changed Greg Forester's woollen coat with the overcoat given by Rhett and had no memory of touching the notepad which he always kept in his trouser pocket.

Carl hurried back to the tent and looked in his rucksack bag. And found the notepad sitting inside. Strangely enough, he did not remember putting it in there. It was very unlikely to his habits. As he was a tad bit tiddly, he had to push his mind to think.

As soon as he did that an abrupt groan escaped his mouth as the pain in his head worsened. Deep inside his mind he felt numbing sensation. Whispers floated in the air and a bitter taste of soot touched his tongue. Across the opening of the tent the fire was vibrant. The whispers moved between his ears. Scraping of wood, male voices, a sigh and then a dull snigger... Carl clutched the book hard and tried to fight his blurring vision. But it was hard to focus. He shut his eyes and breathed out a curse.

A sharp wave of pain hit his temples and he let out a sharp wince. He could now hear the soft tinkle of water. It was coming from somewhere deep inside his head, filling him with a sense of disappointment. He smelt the tang of the mull, the over fried meat of the very noon, and the metallic smell of askew table at the third lookout-point.

Carl felt disembodied. A surreal haze engulfing him from all sides He could not hear or feel his surroundings anymore. Soon, images began to form in his head. They emerged and faded, taking him back to the ambience of the third lookout-point... the military map and the pages written in green ink. He could see Rhett now. He stared at Lamont for a while and then nodded in agreement.

"It is Greevan."

Rhett's voice came in a weary whisper. His eyes were fixed on the pages. What was in those pages that had caught his eyes off-guard?

"You know Greevan?"

He shook his head. "I doubt anyone would know Greevan in Neve."

Carl groaned and tried to blink. But he felt paralysed. He could not open his eyes and the images kept fading and flashing in his mind.

"Velibhor."

It was Rhett again. His voice was hard.

"Apparently, that is the only word you'll find."