The Flower of King and Knights

A Foul Air Rising

Never was there a worse day for an excavation. The roasted earth dried and cracked, the humid air was filled with the horrid stench of rotted plants and concealed remains of deceased animals. Yet the morning had only just begun. Many of the students and workers at the excavation site neighboring the hamlet of Luffincot were either digging under any spot where shade was available, or they simply decided to take the day off altogether.

Hector Holland came out of his own tent and took a quick sip of water from his flask, immediately spitting out the water, which almost singed his tongue. Cursing as he poured what was left in his flask onto the ground, he began to wonder why the weather was so unusual? He was used to conditions like this back in California, even hoping to have left the arid heat behind, even for a few days. But seeing this weather in England, southern England? Amazed at how fast his shirt was already soaked in sweat. “Oh Jesus Christ!” he shouted, “This is fucking ridiculous!”

 Hector went to his partner, Cecilia, who was arranging her instruments under the shade of a tree. Cecilia had known Hector since they were in elementary school, and the two were rarely apart from each other since then. Hector even stayed by Cecilia’s bedside when she was stricken with a rare and life threatening form of scarlet fever, despite the objection of her parents. Her parents, despite their admiration for his unwavering devotion, wondered how he never showed signs of contracting the illness, when even they were allowed only a few minutes to avoid being contaminated.

Hector had insisted that she was paired with him for the excavations and not his assigned tent mate, who had a habit of smoking or snorted anything that looked to be a narcotic. Hector had some fun by selling dried cut grass and dish washing cleaner mixed with powder sugar to the fool. Some of the students had openly shown their disdain of Hector using the influence of his foster father, Prof. Dilbert Holland, to get his way, but neither the professor nor Hector cared for their opinions, especially when Hector rarely used this influence for his own gains. To Hector, this was a way to avoid listening to an idiot attempting to appear smart for a few hours.

“Did the professor say how long we’re supposed to be down in there today, Cee?” he asked.

Cecilia was trying to put her blonde hair into a pony tail, but the weather made it impractical for her to finish in a few quick movements. The band in her hand snapped and ricocheted off her head. “God damn it!” she cursed to herself before turning to Hector, “Oh sorry Hector, that wasn’t to you. Uh, no, not really. But I hope we’re not down there for very long. I wouldn’t have though the English weather could be this bad.”

“I know,” said Hector, “Neither did I, thought this place was supposed to be a temperate climate. And from what I heard last night back at the village, this isn’t even close to normal weather for them.”

Cecilia grabbed a quick sip from her canteen as Professor Holland meandered from his own tent. Dressed in grey khakis, a crisp black dress shirt and chalk grey blazer, he looked almost chilled, in spite the weather. His grey hair was perfectly kept, while Hector had finally given up hope of taming his own. Since Hector was Holland’s ward, the young man was well accustomed to the professor’s unusual forms of dress and comportment. Cecilia, however, was still learning to accept the professor’s queer habits throughout the excavation.

"Have you two entered the new chamber we opened yesterday?" the Professor asked, cracking his back and stretching his arms to the sky.

"No, not yet," replied Hector. "We’d planned to go in once we gathered a few more things from the supply tent."

"Well don't wait too long,” said Professor Holland, “This weather is only going to get worse, and I don't want either of you two getting heat stroke or dehydration or whatever the hell you could get in there from this damned heat." The Professor pretended to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Surprising though, it usually isn’t this hot in England.”