by A. J. Roe
Almost ninety minutes passed before the temptation of checking on his find grew too great and he removed it from the fizzing trough. The weapon hadn’t melted entirely. That’s a pretty good start.
Rick wiped down the blade with an old towel and most of the tarnish smeared straight off. Warm mid-morning light spilled in through the living room windows and the dagger glistened. It was a single solid piece of metal that made up the blade, guard and tang. This could be either a very good or very bad sign—making a weapon like this without the aid of modern machinery would have been no mean feat.
The blade was double edged, not particularly sharp but perfectly straight, and the tang—was clamped between two semi-circles of bone with a pair of metal rivets holding them in place. More importantly, the clue to its origin that he was hoping for had revealed itself.
Running across the flat face, from top to bottom were two rows, each with three distinct markings. They were much clearer now the blade was clean, six swirling ideographs that looked like some kind of Chinese or Tibetan characters. Although Rick wasn’t exactly a linguist, he knew enough to pick out some key elements.
Turning over the blade, an equally mysterious script was inscribed on the rear. Once again there were six characters, but made up of sharp angular lines, looking more like Nordic Runes than anything Asian or Roman. What the hell?
He ran a rubber-gloved finger over the ridges. They rose out of the metal rather than having been carved in, as though they were formed in a mould or some kind of metallic press. Looking at the surface, which had been scratched and marked over the ages, it was clear that whatever he had come across was either extremely old or a magnificent forgery. One way or another, it must have some value.
Rick smiled at the thought of money, anything that would save him from the despicable fate of attending a string of interviews for depressing nine-to-five jobs. The thought of sitting in a drab grey office, while people that considered themselves superior, judged him for his poor life choices, made Rick nauseous.
This wasn’t the time to get distracted. There were too many questions that still needed answers. What do the symbols mean? What was it doing in a random cave in Scotland? What was the voice?
After letting the thoughts stew in his mind for a few minutes and finding himself none the wiser, Rick decided there was only one of them he could try and answer right now. Slipping off the marigolds, he took a slow breath, bracing himself for what was coming and snatched out towards the handle before he could chicken out.
No electricity. Nothing. Was it really all in my head? Rick sighed, half disappointed, half relieved. With nothing to do now but follow up on other leads, he refreshed his inbox. No new messages.
It took him a few seconds for Rick to even notice the voicemail symbol in the top right-hand corner of his screen. When it twigged his heart jumped.
“Hello mate, it's Niall,” the Irishman’s voice buzzed. He was already on his feet pacing the living room. “That photo you sent me, the coins aren’t worth much, but the dagger is interesting. I haven’t seen anything with a build like this before, especially in such good condition. You need to get it in the hands of an expert soon. I’m going to make some calls. I know someone who might be able to help. I’ll get back to you as soon as I have some more information. Take care buddy.”
A beaming grin curled across Rick’s face. He glanced over to where the relic sat. It was between a saucepan of soapy water and a mug of tea on the coffee table. Not exactly a professional restoration. But they don’t need to know that.
Rick pulled his laptop from the desk in the spare bedroom and slumped back down on the sofa waiting for the piece of junk to load up. When it was finally ready, he began scrolling through lists of academic professors—anyone with a background in military history, weapons or linguistics.
After fifteen minutes or so, curiosity soon got the better of him and he found himself on YouTube watching stories of out-of-body experiences and people hearing voices. Out of the thousands of hits, which were mostly crack addicts dosed up to their eyeballs or those literally on the brink of death, nothing coincided exactly with his own experience. It had been ultra-lucid, every sensation, every sound had been true to life. There was no way he had just been dreaming.
✽✽✽
A sharp buzz on his chest shook Rick awake. The phone was vibrating its way across his torso while the laptop had apparently decided to dive onto the floor sometime during his nap and now sat by his right foot. Rick’s thoughts were slow and groggy for the first few seconds but the name on the screen shook some life back into him fast.
“Hi Sarah.”
“Where were you yesterday? Ellie was left waiting at school until almost five when I could get away from work.”
“Oh right. Sorry.” Amid the mayhem he had completely forgotten.
“I don’t know why I ever expe-”
“-Sarah, I was in a car crash.”
“Yeah right, what other crap have you got up your sleeve?”
“No, I’m serious.”
“Oh.” Rick heard her tone soften, despite the anger she obviously still cared for him on some level. “Well, are you okay?”
“Yeah, just cuts and scrapes. My car is a write-off though and Sanjay is still in hospital.”
Although Sarah wasn’t exactly close with most of Rick’s friends, she had spent enough time with Sanjay over the years to know him pretty well. She’d also always used him as a yardstick in arguments about money and responsibility, comparing her own husband's failures to his friend, who in her opinion he should have tried harder to emulate.
“How awful. That poor man’s family. Is he okay?”
The thought of Sanjay’s kids seeing their father lying helpless in a hospital bed was sobering, especially as it was undoubtedly all his fault. “They think he should be fine. A few broken bones but he’ll recover.”
“You have to stop these stupid adventures before you get someone killed, it’s time to grow up.” The anger had all but faded from her voice. “You’ve already lost us. Don’t lose anyone else.”
If only Sarah could see, all Rick had ever wanted was to give her and Ellie a good, comfortable life. He’d always tried to do what he thought was best for them as a family, but after coming within a hair’s breadth of death, he was beginning to wonder if he’d been wrong all along. Maybe it's about time I really did give this shit up? Get a proper job and resign myself to the daily grind until the day I die.
“I have to work late again today,” Sarah said, interrupting his depressing train of thought. “I don’t know what time I’ll finish. Can Ellie stay at your place? You know, it’ll just be tonight though, a one off.”
“Of course.” Rick tried to stifle his happiness; he’d been trying to get her on board with Ellie staying round at his place for months, so far to no avail.
“So you’re going to pick her up today then?”
“Yes.”
“On time?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. Make sure she has something healthy for dinner. I’ll collect her for school in the morning.”
Rick spent the rest of the afternoon feeling hopeful about life. He trawled through online auctions and blogs for anything even remotely like his find, convinced it was valuable. After a good few hours of coming up with nothing, Rick decided his lack of results must be a good sign.
He glanced up at the clock. Three-twenty. Perfect. Just then it hit him that he no longer had a car and the two-minute drive would be at least fifteen on foot. Rick cursed his own stupidity as he threw on his shoes. Why the hell do you have to screw everything up?
In an inadvertent act of irony, Rick left the unique, potentially-priceless artefact sitting in the living room atop his Ikea coffee table—a dirt-cheap object that had no doubt been produced in the millions.
It took a quarter of an hour to half-run, half-walk the two miles to the school, all the while spurred on by the mental image of his daughter waiting alone in the playgroun
d, wondering if he was actually coming this time or not. Rick’s neck and back were aching from the impact of the crash but he brushed it off in the typical manner of a man who was too stubborn to follow the instructions of a young woman, whether she had a degree in medicine or not.
On arrival, the teacher standing at the gates was a surly looking woman who he didn’t recognise. She was tall, standing with folded arms and a stern look on her face that made him more than a little nervous. The teacher glanced down at her watch and gave him a disapproving look as he came jogging over.
“Hi, I’m here to collect Ellie.” Rick tried to smile, but she shot it down with the type of well-practiced stare that only a primary school teacher possessed. Screw you.
A moment later, Ellie came running out of the blue school doors and across the playground. “Daddy,” she grinned happily jogging towards the gates and hugged him around the waist. Rick still couldn’t believe his luck, after all of his unexplained absences and screw ups, she was still overjoyed to see him. The teacher ticked the final name on her check-out list and clicked her tongue as she walked back inside, as though he’d committed some unthinkable act by showing up to collect her ten minutes late.
As the pair walked, they chatted about Ellie’s week and the latest updates from her classmates. Rick explained the scratches on his face and the reason why he was limping, as he imagined any responsible adult would, by greatly downplaying the whole traumatic experience. He ignored the buzzing in his pocket, knowing it was likely to be Sarah, he didn’t want her to ruin his good mood.
“What would you like for dinner?” Rick said, hoping to change the subject. “I haven’t got much at home, so we’ll have to go by the shop.”
“What about broccoli?”
“Broccoli? Fu-” he bit his lip “-wow! You know I can’t believe you’re mine sometimes. Ok, we’ll stop at the shops and see what they’ve got.” There was no way in hell it was going to be broccoli.
“What have you been doing Daddy? I feel like we haven’t seen you for ages.” For a seven-year-old she spoke with a stunning sense of maturity. Whether that was a good thing or not remained to be seen but the voice that came out sounded more and more like her mother each time they met.
“I’ve been really busy. But I think I’ve made some progress so maybe I can take some time off and we can hang out next week?”
“With me and Mum and Steve?”
“No. Just with you.”
“Why? Don’t you like Steve?”
“He’s fine.” He really was fine, some accountant or an insurance broker, nothing interesting enough to have bothered making a mental note of. “But I wanna spend time with just you because...” You’re my daughter and I love you.
No matter how much Rick tried, it was hard to get the words out. With each day that passed, he felt more like he was just a side note on her life and he hated it, even though there was no one but himself to blame.
Walking down the steep hill that led from the school towards the east side of town, something out of the ordinary caught Rick’s attention. A huge black BMW X8 was parked up around fifty yards down on the far side of the street. It looked brand new, polished and clean, with chrome alloys and heavily tinted windows. Without a doubt there was a figure sitting behind the wheel half obscured by the black windscreen. Something about this car set alarm bells ringing in Rick’s head.
Most parents from the school run, who usually parked up and down the street, had already left some time ago. While the X8 wasn’t doing anything particularly suspicious, its aesthetic certainly didn’t fit in with the typical vehicles that turned up in the lower-middle-class town.
Rick chatted with Ellie as they walked, all the while making sure that he kept one eye on the street.
“Are you okay? You seem funny today,” Ellie said, eventually twigging his focus was elsewhere.
“What? Oh, yeah. It’s nothing,” he forced a smile. They approached the row of three terraced shops at the bottom of the hill, an off licence, a Chinese Takeaway and a minimart, all basking in the late-afternoon sun. As they walked, the long shadow of the black X8 began to edge down the street towards them and a punch of adrenaline sped through Rick’s veins. He dragged Ellie by the hand into the third shop and pretended to browse for thirty seconds or so until the flashy black vehicle rolled past the window and continued onwards without slowing.
Five minutes later, with a bag of shopping—a pair of frozen pizzas, a two-litre bottle of coke and a couple of ice creams—they left the shop. Rick told himself that the selection was just to prove that Sarah was no longer his boss, but in reality, it was about all he could afford with the lonely note and handful of change left in his wallet.
Turning into Wyndham Drive, Rick almost choked on his strawberry Cornetto. Across from the front door, on the far side of the street, the same sparkling clean BMW was parked up. He shot a glance at the heavily tinted windows as they passed. Without a doubt, the car was now empty.
7
Rick briefly considered calling the police, but they’d probably arrest him for time wasting if the only problem he had was seeing the same car in his town twice.
Although not totally unwarranted, Rick dismissed his concerns as paranoia. Regardless, it had been a stupid mistake leaving the dagger sitting out on the coffee table. His apartment was up on the third floor but anyone could have peered in through the large windows on the landing.
Keeping Ellie to his rear with one hand on her shoulder, Rick led the way up the steel staircase as softly as he could manage. Unfortunately, the constant creaking of metal abolished any hope of keeping their arrival covert.
As they rounded the final turn on the stairs, a stranger in a fitted black suit came into view, leaning casually up against the wall in the landing.
Rick froze one step from the top, his mind racing to gauge every aspect of the suspicious figure’s body language, expression, stance and attire. He was a young guy, with a thin face, a wispy beard and sharp features, he didn’t seem like much of a threat, but Rick knew looks could be deceiving.
“Can I help you?” The young man’s face lit up with a warm smile. “Mr. Wilson?” Rick reached out offering his hand in greeting.
“Uh-huh.” Rick shook it back, surprised slightly by the firmness of the stranger’s grip.
“I’m Iain Roberts, I work for Professor Igor Voss.”
Voss? Why do I know that name? The visitor reached into his breast pocket and slid out a business card between two fingers. The man’s details were inscribed in thick, embossed gold lettering, confirming his role as an “Executive Assistant” at Voss’s namesake company. Beneath that a slew of major cities were listed, London, Tokyo, New York, Paris.
“I believe your colleague, Mr. Niall Shaw reached out to Professor Voss earlier today. My boss asked me to come and meet you in person and would like to set up a meeting as soon as both of your schedules allow.”
“Dad, who’s that man?” Ellie said, leaning up against the wall, with her school bag abandoned at her feet.
“Oh, just someone from my work sweetie.” Rick turned back to the young man, sizing him up for a moment and then glanced in both directions down the corridor. “Let’s go inside to discuss it. No point us all standing in the corridor like lemons.”
“Of course, sir. Let me help you with your bags.”
Sir? This visitor was definitely a cut above his usual crowd. Iain took the shopping bag from him, deliberately averting his gaze from the contents out of some perceived act of politeness.
Rick opened the door and let Ellie pass first before leading the stranger into the hallway.
“Tea?” he said, standing in the living room doorway and signalling with an open palm towards the kitchen, a few feet further down. Rick had hoped to smoothly draw the visitor's attention away from the dagger on the table to his rear. Instead, it made for an awkward couple of seconds as the two men squeezed past each other face to face in the narrow hallway.
“I’ll just be a mi
nute,” Rick said, “Make yourself at home.”
The second Iain was safely in the kitchen, Rick’s smile dropped; he led Ellie into the living room and grabbed the dagger. Shoving it under one of the sofa cushions. Able to relax, a little at least, he turned on the TV and passed her the remote. “I’ll just be a few minutes, okay? Then we’ll have some dinner.”
Rick filled the kettle, with his back to the guest and cringed knowing the excitement of a possible payday had completely overwhelmed his better instincts.
They had literally just been stalked home by this guy and short of a name on a business card, there was no way of knowing if he was who he claimed to be.
After a few seconds, later as Ellie scrolled through the channels and the chattering, squeaky voices of cartoon characters sprung to life in the living room, Rick was ready to find out. “What’s this all about then?”
“First off, thank you for inviting me into your home.”
“No problem.” The kettle reached a boil and clicked off. “Sugar?”
“No thanks.” Rick poured hot water over a tea bag in the once-white mug, gave it a cursory stir and passed it to his guest before nervously taking a sip of his own, scalding his upper lip in the process.
“Remind me,” he winced, “who was it you said you worked for?”
“Professor Igor Voss. You may well have heard of him in relation to his academic works or philanthropic ventures.”
“The name definitely rings a bell.”
“Brilliant,” the stranger looked genuinely excited for a moment. “Professor Voss was thrilled by the image your friend sent through earlier today. In fact, so much so that he asked me to come immediately and invite you to visit him at his home in Marseille.”
“Marseille? France?” Rick allowed a smile to creep across his lips; his previous trepidation was fast vanishing.
“Yes. Professor Voss would be honoured to provide you with transport, accommodation and reimburse you and the University for any missed days’ work.”