As soon as Thomas left, I went to find Vera. My eldest granddaughter had an uncanny way of finding things out and I thought it best that I ask her to help with my failing search for knowledge on the Sons of the Sword.
Someone must know something, right?
I also penned a short letter to my lieutenant in Normandy, Khadir Al-Assadi, to come to the Manor at the earliest possible time because of this. If anyone knew anything, it was him. Plus, I hadn't seen him in forever and I missed him and all his brutish ways. I was hoping Vera could get it to him along the way.
I bumped into Amethyst, Aldrin's daughter, and she blushed and hid her face behind her bushy tail. She was also a furry, like Aldrin, and was by all means a delight to have around the house.
“Sorry, grandmama,” she murmured.
“It's alright, sweetie,” I replied, noting the clothes she was wearing, “Where are you going?”
“Papa left the house in a rage. I was hoping to find him.”
“A rage? Whatever for?”
“Some argument with Aunt Queenie or Aunt Bex, I'm not sure.”
“I wouldn't advise you leave now, dear. Your father can do some horrible things when he's in a mood without realising it. It's best you let him alone to cool down.”
“But what if something happens to him?” Amethyst protested.
“If there's anything I know about Aldrin, it's that he knows how to handle himself,” I assured her, “Don't worry, dear. He'll come home when he's calm.”
“I know... I just...”
“Was there... something else you wanted to go out for?”
I sucked in my cheeks, considering my options. Amethyst was thirteen now, that in dog years was more than mature, and she wasn't a particularly bad child. That meant I couldn't make decisions for her, no matter how much I wanted to.
“Well, your father and grandfather's out there, so... you know, watch out. You don't want to fall victim to Grandpapa's interrogation tactics, trust me,” I tapped her shoulder, “Don't be out long, okay? I worry.”
“I know, grandmama. I won't be gone long,” Amethyst laughed, a relieved smile on her face, “and... thanks.”
“Oh, uh, have you seen Vera around?”
“I saw her go out, probably to get something. Some book she's been badgering about since forever.”
“Ah... I'll have to catch her later then,” I said, “Oh well, have a good time out.”
I walked down the hall, quite aimlessly, wondering what to do know. Georgia and Asa would be asleep, and William idiocy I wasn't really in the mood for. I thought about visiting Kenny, but then I heard the clash of steel echoing from the gymnasium. Curiosity stealing me, I made my way there and saw Queenie and Bex training together - John, Annabeth, Damon and Kenny watching from wooden benches.
“Now this is something I like to see,” I said, leaning against the doorframe, “You 'ungodly louts' doing something productive.”
“Queenie denies that her weapon is a gardening tool,” Bex said, under the strain of crossed weaponry. She threw Queenie's scythe off her blade and regained her composure, “So we made a bet.”
I sighed, “A bad excuse is better than none at all, I guess,” I muttered, “You really should get some sleep though. It's getting late.”
“Is it passed our bedtime, grandmama?” Queenie replied mockingly, swinging her scythe at Bex's head. Bex ducked in time and swiped her leg low, taking Queenie off her feet.
“Would you like me to enforce a bedtime, sweetpea?” I asked, cocking my head to a side.
Bex fell down in fits of laughter, “Sweetpea?” she said, as if she couldn't believe her ears.
Queenie growled, “Come here and say that.”
“I'm going to get some sleep,” I said, turning away.
“What? Afraid to be shown up?”
“Queenie, you're nearly half my age,” I replied, “It's hardly a shame if I'm to be beaten by a much younger woman. I'm in no mood to trade blows with you or anyone else at the moment, that's all. I just came to suggest you go to bed. Do with that suggestion what you will.”
“I thought the fight was something you respected.”
“Fighting to prove a point or,” I looked over at Bex, “to win a bet - isn't respecting it.”
“And making money out of it is?”
“All depends on who's giving you that money, now, doesn't it?” I knocked on the doorframe, “Anyway, I won't keep you from your wager. Please, no arguments? You've already sent my son howling, no more stroppy fits?”
Bex and Queenie rolled their eyes, but both said, “Fine,” and that was that.
"Aren't you going to chip in here, Aunt?" asked John.
"What?" I replied, "About the scythe being a weapon or a gardening tool? Nah, I'm not in great mood for arguing either. Besides," I looked over at Queenie, "We've had this argument millions of times already and it looks like she's extremely out-numbered already. I'll spare you all a decent lecturing. Although, in Queenie's favour, there is a weapon that is a breed of axe and gun - I had one made back in Paris and sent to Normandy. They call it a guillotine gun. Though, an axe is far more practical than a scythe any day."
"How does that work in my favour?" Queenie asked.
"I'm taking your side. Just accept that be happy about it."