Transcendence

“Close. Most of the executions at the Tower of London actually took place right over there,” I read, pointing to the small square outlined in tiny cement markers just off the sidewalk. “Many innocent people were beheaded here, to the cheers of thousands,” I continue reading. My mind flashes back to the scene in the vision and I shiver involuntarily.

“Thank you, geek’s-guide-to-London.” Kat looks at the cars speeding up the street and the tourists casually walking on the sidewalk. “Must have looked a lot different back then.”

I gaze over the cars, across the grass field at the imposing walls and tall stone buildings that have been there for centuries. This must have been the last thing a lot of the prisoners saw as they knelt, waiting for the blow that would seal their fate. For a second I can almost hear the loud cries of desperate men echoing off the walls. “Not so different,” I say quietly as we cross the street.

“So if we’re going to do this,” Kat says after we pick up the tickets, “let’s go straight to the Crown Jewels. If I can’t shop for jewels, at least I can look at them.” She looks down to admire the insanely expensive new heels she bought just the day before. “Too bad there’s not a shoe store in there.” She glances at me. “There isn’t, is there?”

“No,” I say firmly. “There isn’t.”

I’m suddenly nervous as I look up at the square turret that tops the nearest tower. It doesn’t take a whole lot of imagination to picture the guards in their heavy armor pacing up there, weapons trained on the murky water below. I look around for any signs the vision is coming back, but all I see is Kat’s seething impatience with this whole thing. I flip the book open to the page I’ve marked with my finger. “It says that we should take a tour first and then go off on our own. Besides, it comes with the tickets.”

“Oh, come on, Cole,” Kat says, putting her hands on her hips. “Can’t you just dump that stupid book for one minute and do something spontaneous? This whole vacation has been nothing but ‘what the book says.’ It’s like that thing has become your bible. You’re sixteen, not sixty.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining when it helped us get to Harrods, the mecca of shopping experiences,” I say, irritated that we have to have this discussion again. “Or when it found that awesome Indian restaurant by the theaters.”

“Give me that.” Kat grabs the guidebook and turns the page. “There’s a whole section on ghost tours in London; maybe we’ll get lucky and see a ghost. That would at least keep this whole day from being a total waste.”

I grab the book back. I don’t believe in ghosts. Or vampires. Or visions of people being killed up on a smoky hill outside of the Tower of London. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“So now you’re the expert? Your precious guidebook says there are ghosts. Maybe we should bail on this whole Tower thing and do a ghost walk. Now that might be cool.”

“Those ghost tours are just a scam.” I was having enough trouble with weird visions coming to me. The last thing I wanted was to go looking for them.

“Why can’t you even let yourself believe for one minute that there are things out there that you don’t understand?” she asks. “Sometimes you have to forget about logic and go with your gut, and my gut says that this place has to be crawling with ghosts. Besides, it’s printed right there, so someone must have checked it out.”

I honestly don’t have an answer for that, so I start toward the entrance, knowing she’ll follow me. Kat can’t stand being alone even for a minute.

Walking through the arch of the outside wall, I pause, trailing my fingers over the rough stone. The old Tudor buildings, the grass, the castle in the middle of the green—as I look from place to place in the compound, I feel a chill that has nothing to do with the wind that whips our faces.

“That tour is just about to start.” I nod toward a red-uniformed guard standing on a small cement block. “Come on. We’ll do the Jewels after.”

Kat’s shoulders fall, but she follows me over to the edge of the stone wall where people are gathering.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the Tower of London.” The guard is met with quiet muttering from the crowd, so he tries again, a little louder. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” He cups his ear and leans toward us so that we have no choice but to shout “good morning” like we’re back in fifth grade. I sigh. I never like tours or classes where enthusiastic participation is required.

Kat nudges me. “He’s kind of cute,” she says, grinning.

I look back at the guard, with his largish nose and funny black hat. The wind has given his rough cheeks a pink glow, and he needs a shave. He has to be at least forty, which is old even for her. “Seriously? You just like his uniform. And his accent.” Kat has fallen in love with a British accent attached to a questionable guy at least twice every day since we got here.

“It is my pleasure to be your guide today, and I hope that you will enjoy some of the nine hundred years of history that have taken place within these very walls.” I look past him to the tall glass and steel buildings on the other side of the river. The modern structures seem to diminish the historical effect, reminding us that even here, all that is left of the past is made of stone and wood. The people who have experienced it are all long gone.

After blazing through several hundred years of history in under a minute, the guard directs our attention to Tower Hill, over by the tube station where we’d been just a few minutes before. “Imagine thousands of people standing and cheering as the poor—often innocent—soul gave his last address to the masses.” I nudge Kat and point to the book. She glances at me out of the corner of her eye, but pretends to be absorbed in what he’s saying.

“And when the prisoner was done speaking, he was obliged to tip the executioner a small fee in the hope that the deed would be done swiftly and with a painless chop of the axe. That, of course, has given rise to what we now know”—he pauses dramatically—“as severance pay.” He waits for a response from the group, only to be greeted with a few quiet chuckles. He grins. “And that was my best line.”

Kat laughs out loud, and he smiles at her. “After the prisoner had put his neck on the block, the axe would come down, and with a great crunching of bone and gushing of blood the deed would be done.” He brings his arm down like an axe chopping off a poor guy’s head while the crowd giggles nervously. “Grabbing hold of that severed head, the executioner would raise it high for all to see and declare, ‘Behold the head of a traitor.’” Everyone in the group winces, and there are a few groans of disgust as he continues. “It’s a pity that most of those beheaded were guilty of no other crime than displeasing the king or queen of the time.” He pauses, and then motions with his arm. “Right. Follow me, then.”

We walk over cobblestones worn smooth from centuries of footsteps until the guard stops in front of a few stone steps that lead down to a big iron gate. “Behind me, please admire the Traitors’ Gate. Through this passage into the Tower of London came many of the poor men and women who were imprisoned between these walls, never to leave again. Both Anne Boleyn and Thomas Cromwell trod up these very steps to await their deaths.”

As he speaks and gestures to the stairs, it suddenly feels like I’m watching from far away; his words grow tinny and faint. I blink to try to pull everything back, but an image pushes itself forward until the guard and the crowd fade away.

Shouts echo against stone and water laps against wood as the narrow boat maneuvers through the gate. Hands reach out to escort us up the slippery stairs, made more dangerous by the darkness that is broken only by torches flickering on the walls. I can smell the fear and panic in the air as we are hurried up the steps and through the tall, stone walls of the Tower.

“The water,” I say without thinking.

Kat glares, while the guard turns his attention to me. “I’m sorry, miss?”

My heart is still racing and my palms are wet as I look around at the eager faces of the tour group. I so didn’t mean to say that out loud. “Um, I was just saying that there was water here. People came through this gate in a boat.”

“Give the young lady a prize for knowing her history,” the guard says as he leans back and points to me. “I was about to say that this was originally called the Water Gate, as the moat that once surrounded the Tower provided for boats to enter the grounds at this very spot. Most of your prisoners did indeed arrive by boat.”

“Guess your book came in handy for something,” Kat whispers to me as the guard moves on to another building and we follow. “Way to impress the tour guide.”

I nod quickly and then glance down at the book. I’ve been through the section on the Tower of London enough times to know that it never talks about the Water Gate.