by J. R Fox
Now, he was an adult, and one of the few people in his graduating class that had actually managed to get hired within his major.
Well, sort of.
“Ah, Peter,” a young woman greeted him as he hesitantly walked through the employee entrance to the museum. “You’re the new tour guide, right? I’m Melissa Wright.”
“Oh,” Peter smiled back, readily taking the hand she’d offered for a shake. “Yep, new tour guide for you antiquities department,” he nodded eagerly.
“Wonderful, wonderful,” she hummed, stepping out from around her desk. “Let me just show you around right quick – this way to the locker room.” Unlike some of the other workers, Peter wasn’t required to wear a costume, though he did need a lanyard.
“It’s a trick to memorize your speech,” she said, handing one off to him. The lanyard itself was a shiny navy blue that felt surprisingly rough to the touch. Twelve pins were stuck on it, each with a different theme. “You’ll always start with Mesopotamia, the yellow ziggurat on the left,” she pointed to the pin at the top. “Then the Egyptians, a pyramid; Ancient India, Lakshmi; the Phoenicians, a ship; Ancient China, a robe; Ancient Israel, a camel; the Greeks, a temple; the Romans, a soldier; Feudal Japan, a samurai; and, finally, medieval Europe with a castle pin.”
Peter looked down at the pins in worry. He had yet to hear anything about the actual tour he was supposed to give, other than the time periods involved. “Uh, so, is there a packet that I’m supposed to memorize?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” Melissa shook her head with a laugh. “We wouldn’t do that to you. Actually, we like to pair new guides up with experienced ones so that they can get a walkthrough of how it’s supposed to go. From there, they’ll practice your guide with you, and give you a list of appropriate jokes to make the kids laugh – you know, showmanship and all that.”
“Good,” Peter laughed along with her, relieved. But, after glancing around the empty locker room, he couldn’t help but ask. “Where do I meet them? Or do they meet me?”
“Actually,” she said thoughtfully. “Attendance is up this morning. We have a group of students from Yanderson’s Middle School visiting us for their annual field trip, and all of our guides are currently working. So, I thought that we could just go join one of the groups and get a tour ourselves.”
“I’m down for that,” Peter smiled. “Does this mean that you’re coming with me?”
“Are you kidding? I never pass up a chance to hear one of Mark’s tours – he does all the voices, it’s awesome.”
As she led the way, Peter couldn’t help but frown. “Voices?” he muttered to himself, the lanyard clutched in his hand.
“—And then, dropping Cerberus at Eurystheus’ feet, Hercules declared that he had finished all twelve labors!” Mark’s voice boomed in the gallery.
As the children clapped, Mark mock-flexed his arms, pointing to the clay pot depicting a scene of the demigod Herakles behind him. Peter recognized the pottery as being done in the two-handled amphora style, but no one was talking about it. In fact, Mark hadn’t said anything even slightly historical since they’d joined the tour. All he’d spent time on were the myths or the folklore, not the history and the dates.
“What do you think?” Melissa whispered, clapping along with the kids.
“The students seem very, uh, entertained,” Peter observed, watching as Mark led them over to a diorama of Troy.
“They love him,” Melissa nodded. “That’s what it’s really all about – being engaging, being funny, and being friendly. It keeps people coming back.”
As they followed Mark’s group into the next room of Roman shields and Corinthian columns, Peter couldn’t help but smile. Ancient Rome was his area of expertise, after all, and he couldn’t wait to share such a fascinating time period with the younger generations.
Which was why he could only frown when Mark marched them over to a bust of Caesar and said, “What do you call a Roman Emperor with a cold?” After a moment he threw up his hands and said, “Julius Sneezer!”
As Melissa giggled, Peter stared at the man with a sense of dread. This was not what he had been expecting when he’d interviewed last week.
The tour continued until they were in a room with long swords and tapestries, the gallery for medieval Europe. While Mark joked about nothing and Melissa laughed along with him, Peter stepped away, walking himself through the galleries that they’d just left. He stopped in the Phoenician war room, looking at the various rings and weapons in the display case. The kids hadn’t noticed it, not with Mark drawing attention to the alphabet and, more specifically, the letter that had looked like an “incomplete tic-tac-toe board.”
Peter sighed, and pocketed his lanyard. Maybe this wasn’t the job for him, after all.
Still, he thought, noticing the ‘Employee Only’ door leading off to the right, he should take advantage of it while he still could.
Stepping through the doorway with a push, he let the door swing closed behind him as he walked down the long marble hallway. Every room he passed seemed to be locked, but as he turned the corner and went left, he spotted one that was open with a light on.
Peter approached it hesitantly, only meaning to peek as he looked inside. A man with fiery red hair was standing there with a thin metal instrument in his gloved hands, his brown eyes locked on Peter’s the moment that he stuck his head around the corner.
“Uh, hi,” Peter waved awkwardly, stepping inside properly. “I’m Peter. I’m—”
“New?” the man surmised, raising an eyebrow as he straightened from where he was bending at his work desk. “First day, too, I take it.”
“Yes,” Peter frowned. “How did you—”
“You’ll learn very quickly, Peter, that I am not a man to be disturbed. If it was your second day, third day – anything but your first day, then I’m sure that one of the other grunts would’ve had the sense to think and warn you.” He paused, listening as a series of bangs sounded off down the hall. “Oh, look,” he said in a tired, bored drawl. “Here comes one of them to collect you now.”
Sure enough, the bangs stopped dead just outside of the door, and after a moment Melissa stuck her head inside. “Oh, Peter,” she said, and though her voice sounded relieved her face said she was anything but. “There you are. Why don’t you come with me so that you can meet Mark personally, hmm?” she suggested, hand outstretched as she kept her feet firmly planted outside of the room.
The man rolled his eyes with a snort and turned back to his work, prodding something shiny under a light.
“Sure,” Peter frowned, looking between her and the man. “Um, sorry, but I didn’t catch your name.”
The man glanced up, surprised, at the same time that Melissa whined deep in the back of her throat. “I’m Gabriel,” he said quietly. “Gabriel Karros.” Then, as if waking up from a stupor, he shook his head and said, “Not that we’ll be seeing much of each other, Peter. I’m the assistant to the curator, and a very important fish. You’ll likely never float into my pond again during the entire course of your career here.”
“Well, not for my career, perhaps,” Peter agreed. “But wouldn’t you grant me permission to stop by as a friend?” Stepping further into the room, he looked at the gold bracelet that Gabriel had been inspecting. “Pompeii, right?” When Gabriel just frowned, Peter explained, “My passion lies in Roman antiques, and you have so many of them…” he trailed off, looking around the workshop. For every spotlight pointed at a tabletop, there was a priceless artifact gleaming under the beam. “To see this stuff up close is amazing.”
“Peter,” Melissa said hesitantly, glancing between Gabriel and Peter. “We should really—”
“Yes,” Gabriel answered, his tall back straight as he stared at Peter with a blank face. “Yes, you could...visit.”
Peter beamed at him. “Thank you! I promise, I’ll never touch anything—”
“Peter,” Melissa demanded, her face a desperate scowl.
“Oh
, right, of course,” Peter said, walking back to her. “Bye, Gabriel!” he called, waving as he walked out the door.
Gabriel watched him go, but didn’t make a move to bid him farewell.
Not when he’d be seeing him again.
Chapter Two
“No, no, no,” Mark shook his head.
“But that’s why Rome fell!” Peter argued, glaring up at the tall man. Well, taller than Peter. At five foot exactly, he’d hardly ever met any adult shorter than him.
“And I’m sure that they’ll learn all about it in their history class next Monday, but our job is to make them laugh, run home, and drag their parents back here to spend their allowance. Now,” Mark tapped his finger on the packet in Peter’s hand. “What do we do in Rome?”
“As the Romans do,” Peter mumbled, ashamed and exasperated. He’d been fighting with Mark over their ‘script’ for the past week, trying to squeeze at least one decent fact or two into the tour, but the man wasn’t having it.
“We’re here to make money,” Mark told him firmly. “Not gush about history.”
It drove Peter crazy.
“I mean,” Peter complained to Gabriel over his lunch break, his arms crossed. “If you can’t get excited about history, in a museum, then what’s the point?”
“Mhm,” Gabriel hummed, not in agreement but not really in disagreement, either.
“Gabe,” Peter snapped. “Put down the dead man’s ring and listen to me.”
“You know,” Gabriel said conversationally, the picture of nonchalance as he stepped back from his work and took off his gloves. “You’re the only person who talks to me like that.”
“Aren’t you lucky?” Peter said snidely.
“You’re really broken up about this,” Gabriel observed.
“This is our history,” he said quietly, fuming as he stared at the floor. “And to them it’s just some sort of money making machine.”
“You can’t really blame them,” Gabriel shrugged, coming up to stand beside Peter. He was a tall man, not that anyone would know it from the way that he stood hunched over his desks all the time. But there, standing next to Peter, Gabriel towered over him by a good foot. “Not with museums closing left and right. They want to keep this one alive, and the staff has realized that it will take cheap laughs to draw in the crowds. The question is, are you willing to be a part of that?”
“No,” Peter said quickly.
“Okay, maybe not willingly,” Gabriel laughed. “Hey, come here,” he said, unfolding his arms to put a hand around Peter’s shoulder and steer him toward one of his work tables. Underneath one of his lamps, resting upon a cloth, lay a small dagger, one thin of handle and thick of blade.
“That’s a pugio,” Peter breathed. “A Roman soldier’s sidearm.” He’d never thought that he’d see one sitting anywhere besides the other side of a thick display case. Yet here one was, spread out under a spotlight that was a mere inch within reach.
“You never cease to impress me,” Gabriel said happily, his arms crossed as he grinned. “Do you want to hold it?”
“What?” Peter whirled around, panic in his eyes. “I couldn’t! I—”
“Take a glove, you idiot,” Gabriel laughed. “It won’t break.”
Swinging an ancient knife around a room had made Peter feel strangely invincible, like he could handle anything or anyone.
Even Mark’s terrible jokes.
By six o’clock they were able to get through the whole packet together twice, and by the end of their shift at seven, Peter had even managed to give a tour of Greece and Rome that measured up to Mark’s standards.
“Well done,” he’d patted him on the back. “We’ll pick up the rest tomorrow. And who knows? By next week, perhaps you’ll be leading your first group of kids into Mesopotamia for a tour.”
Peter nodded, but didn’t comment. Instead, he pocketed his lanyard and slipped off down the employee hallway to find Gabriel.
“Come on,” Peter demanded, turning off the lights. “It’s time to go home.”
It was always a challenge to make Gabriel leave his workroom. The man loved history, Peter supposed, although sometimes Gabriel acting as if the pieces in his care weren’t just trinkets that’d been dug up after centuries of being lost. Sometimes, he fretted over them and refused to leave, as if they were priceless heirlooms from his own ancestors. On those nights, he wouldn’t go until he was certain that everything was safe, comfortable, and perfect.
Luckily, tonight was not one of those nights.
“All right, all right,” Gabriel growled, carefully packing up the pieces that he’d had out during the day.
When Peter had first started spending time in Gabriel’s workroom, he’d wondered about the artifacts that the man handled on a daily basis. He’d never seen half of the stuff that Gabriel worked on actually out on the floor, let alone displayed in any of the galleries. It was only later that he’d realized that the museum simply had too many treasures to display and too few square feet to properly show them off; at least, not without amassing an ugly pile of priceless clutter.
In fact, it was one of the reasons why Gabriel had been hired, from Peter could understand. It was his job to look after the stored pieces, to take care of and see to the artifacts that were not under the same constant supervision as those out on the floor.
Entering his code into the keypad on the wall, Gabriel slipped into the next room. Its only entrance was from that door, though Peter was sure that at least the curator himself had another code to open it. He watched as Gabriel started putting the artifacts away in there, squinting as he tried to pick apart the various shapes and shelves hidden in shadow. He thought about picking something up and helping Gabe out, to maybe even use it as an excuse to step inside the safe room, but he knew that Gabriel would probably have a heart attack if he did.
“Finished?” Peter asked as Gabriel finally closed the safe door and picked up his briefcase.
“Sadly, yes,” Gabriel admitted bitterly, double checking the door as he tugged on the handle.
Peter just rolled his eyes. He knew that if it were up to Gabe, the man would never leave. “Come on,” he urged. “You’re my ride, remember?”
Whereas Peter had always relied on the buses provided to him by the school in college, now that he was a fresh graduate and cut off from the campus ID that got him anywhere and everywhere, he found himself sorely lacking any real mode of transportation. Luckily, when Gabriel had noticed his plight after they’d gone their separate ways one night, he’d offered him a ride in his bubble car.
“This is your…?” Peter had asked, not really sure of what to call it.
“My car, yes,” Gabriel had grinned, no doubt taking amusement out of the situation.
It was the smallest car that Peter had ever seen – smaller than a smart car, more compact than a bug, and just barely as tall as a motorcycle was long. Not to mention, it had to be opened from the front.
“It’s like a refrigerator,” Gabriel had shrugged, motioning for Peter to go inside first. There was just one bench seat with a long seatbelt, and it was with a delayed sense of worry that Peter realized that the steering wheel popped out when the door was opened.
“Where on earth did you find such a thing?” Peter asked, shrinking into his seat as Gabriel plopped beside him, their knees touching.
“Passed down through the family,” Gabriel buckled them in. “Made in fifty-seven.”
“And it’s safe? To drive?” Peter tried to ask casually.
Gabriel just laughed. “It’s cleared, don’t worry. Charlotte can go up to sixty-five if she needs to.”
“Charlotte?” Well, that explained the dark purple coloring.
As Gabriel turned on the ignition and it’d roared to life, he’d winked at Peter. “I think she likes you.”
Chapter Three
It wasn’t another week before Peter was allowed to officially guide his first group of guests on a tour. He took to it surprisingly well, though ev
en after another three months of good reviews and repeat customers, he still wasn’t sure if his natural ability to bypass historical facts for cheesy jokes was a good thing or a bad thing.
“Well, it pays the bills,” Gabriel pointed out, his eyes on the silver pendant before him. It was a new piece, one that needed restoration, and Gabriel was giving it nothing less than his full attention. Meaning he was borderline ignoring Peter.
“Gabe, I already said that,” he rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I’ve got to get back out there – a group of girl scouts are coming in to earn a badge.”
Gabriel barely raised a hand to wave to Peter as he left, completely focused on the trinket.
Which was why, when Peter saw Gabriel lounging cheerfully in the back of the crowd he was leading a few minutes later, Peter stuttered in the middle of telling a joke about Athens and Sparta. A couple of girls laughed, but Gabriel just waved with a wiggle of his fingers, smiling as Peter tried to remember where he was.
“Uh, and we’ve all heard of Poseidon,” he coughed, moving them over to a small display concerning the value of olives in Ancient Greece. “Feared as the ancient god of the sea, Poseidon competed against Athena, goddess of wisdom, to become the patron god of a great city: Athens.”
Continuing with his tour of ancient deities and botched contests, Peter couldn’t help his constant glances in Gabriel’s direction. He had never actually seen the man leave his work room before, not during work hours, anyway, and it was with an odd anxiousness that he kept waiting for Gabriel to leave.
And yet, as he came to an end in the exhibit for the black plague in medieval Europe, Gabe was still there.
“Well done,” Gabe congratulated him with a smirk, patting his back.