With
cost being no problem, Michael was flying out before 6 the next morning, which
put him into London around 10 that night, so he went straight to the family’s
house to get a good night’s sleep. The
next morning, after a quick breakfast he called McGregor, who immediately
invited him over. A quick call had a taxi waiting for him fifteen minutes
later, and after a twenty-five minute drive, the two new-old friends were
exchanging warm greetings.
“Good
to see you lad,” McGregor growled happily, his grizzled countenance lighting
with genuine pleasure. “How was your
flight?”
“As
comfortable as an airborne cattle car can be, even traveling business class,”
Michael responded.
“Commercial? I was certain your family would have a fleet
of private jets available for your use,” McGregor teased.
“We
actually have three, but only two are suitable for transatlantic flight. Of those two, my next oldest brothers have
one in Germany for an undetermined amount of time, while the other is
undergoing maintenance. My personal
business is a little time sensitive, so I couldn’t wait for either aircraft to
come available.”
“Well,
whatever the case, I’m glad you could make it so quickly. Now, why don’t we tour my humble store so you
can see what you’re up against?”
Michael
enjoyed his tour of McGregor’s establishment.
Though relatively small in size, the merchandise was obviously of high
quality. What was more, McGregor was
intimately familiar with the history of each piece, and gleefully shared that
history with his willing audience. After
about two hours, Michael had seen all he needed to, and the pair sat down to
discuss the integration of the new security system. After a few technically complex explanations
from Michael as to what he envisioned for the store, McGregor finally said,
“Boyo, I’m going to leave this in your more than capable hands. Do what you see fit; I trust you. All I need you to do is help me understand
how to run the system, and I’ll be content.”
Michael
grinned at him, unsurprised by the older man’s attitude. When his people had installed the video
conferencing equipment as part of his security contract, the older man hadn’t
been too interested in the set-up, but he had grilled to the technician on how
to use it until he was confident in his own ability. It didn’t take a genius to recognize that
McGregor was one who didn’t care how something was put together, just so long
as he could make it do what it was supposed to.
“Then,
if you will excuse me just a moment, then I will call my people and arrange for
them to begin the installation. Given
what I’ve seen, it should take about three weeks for everything to be in place.”
“Sounds
fantastic, lad. Now, after you get done,
why don’t we have a bit of lunch, and then there’s something I want to show
you.”
Lunch
was a simple affair, just soup and sandwiches, but the company more than made
up for the simplicity of the menu. It
reminded Michael of meals with his brothers, back before things in the family
went sideways. After helping clean up the
meal detritus, Michael was led to small storage room McGregor had briefly show
him during his tour of the store.
“This
is where I keep my more… unusual artifacts,” he told Michael as he began to
sort through the various crates and boxes, obviously looking for something in
particular.
“What
do you mean by unusual,” Michael asked, his curiosity piqued by the older man’s
atypical behavior.
“Let me
preface this by saying when I first got into this business, I didn’t believe in
haunted or cursed objects; still don’t, if pressed on the issue. As a trained and certified archaeologist and
historian, I look to science and logic for explanations of things I don’t
understand. That said, I have been doing this a very long time, and I have seen
my share of odd happenings; enough to be convinced some items have enough
history resting on them that they become something more than just simple
antiquities. Now, every so often, one of
these objects comes into my possession, and I am compelled by reasons I can’t
comprehend to put it away until the right person comes along. So, I store it away back here, and some time
later, maybe weeks or months, an individual will walk through my door, and
without understanding why or how, I will know he or she is the one. More often than not, the recipient doesn’t
realize he’s looking for the object until I present it to him.”
“Am I
to infer that you have such an item to show me, then,” Michael asked, something
between fear and anticipation filling him, along with the nagging suspicion
that the urge to visit McGregor was more than just the desire to meet his
friend in person.
“About
a month before I even heard of your company, I found myself at a small estate
sale up outside of Edinburgh. It wasn’t
the kind of sale I usually attend, and I was about to walk out, when they
brought out an item I knew I couldn’t leave without.”
At
this, McGregor found the crate he’d been looking for, and very carefully
removed the top. Inside lay what, at
first glance, looked like nothing more than an ornate walking stick, but as
McGregor pulled it from the crate, Michael knew this was no simple staff. The bottom of the rod was made up of three
very distinct types of wood that had somehow been twisted and fit together so
as to appear seamless. Inlaid in each
separate section of wood were various runes and symbols, very similar to the
ones in the book from his dream, and well as flowers and vines, each done in
yet a different type of wood. A the top
of the staff was the only place the wood separated, as each of the sections
ended in the form of a simple Celtic knot, with the three knots forming a sort
of shallow bowl or indention. Settled
inside this was what appeared to be a crystal or gemstone of some sort, but
Michael had never seen a gemstone like this one, as one moment it appeared as
clear as a perfect diamond, only to shift a moment later to a color between
amethyst and sapphire, and then again to flawless emerald green. Michael had never seen anything like, but
from somewhere deep inside came a burning need to claim the staff. McGregor must have seen something of his
desire in his face, for he gave a satisfied nod.
“Aye, I
can see, once again, I wasn’t misled.
Well, boyo, I think this belongs to you.” He held out the staff to Michael.
“I’m
not sure I can afford that,” Michael said, fighting to keep from snatching the
offered rod.
“Nonsense,
lad,” McGregor retorted. “It’s a gift. And it’s as clear as the nose on your face
that some part of you recognizes it.”
“I
think accepting personal gifts breaks some company policies,” Michael hedged
again, torn between desperately wanting to snatch the staff out of McGregor’s
hands, and wanting to run like hell in the opposite direction. He knew once he laid hand on that staff, his
life would never be the same again.
“If it
were a gift to you as head of the company, then perhaps,” McGregor conceded, “or
if I was offering it as a means of gaining some sort of perks, but this is a
gift from one friend to another.
Besides, some things are just meant to be, and I think your claiming
this staff is one of them. Fate can be a
fickle bitch, but she’s a persistent one; she’ll catch up to you sooner or
later. Besides, my intuition, or
whatever the hell you want to call it, has never been wrong, and I’ve a feeling
you’re going to need this.” He offered
the staff once more.
Unable
to look away from the odd gemstone glinting at the end of the staff, Michael
reached out slowly to grasp the rod with his left hand, lowering the end gently
until it touched the floor. At first,
nothing happened, but as the wood warmed under his hand, it was like
electricity ran up through the staff, through his arm, straight to his
heart. Then, just as quickly as the
sensation had started, it was gone, leaving Michael shaken and light
headed. Meeting McGregor’s knowing eyes,
Michael could only stare at him in breathless shock and wonder.
“I’m
not sure what just happened, boyo,” McGregor said quietly, “but from the look
on your face, history is sitting a little more heavily on that fancy piece of
wood work than anything I’ve had pass through my hands before, and it has plans
for you. Now, why don’t we go find
something cold to drink and let you catch your breath? Fate doesn’t play fair, and if she’s getting
ready to kick you in the gut, you’d best take any chance you can get to gather
yourself before the pounding begins.”
* * *
That
night, as he settled in for the night, Michael took the opportunity to study
the staff a little closer. He still
couldn’t make heads or tails of the runes, which frustrated him, for he felt
like he should know what they meant.
“I
didn’t sign up for this you know,” he addressed the staff as he held it in his
hands. “Computers and technology are my
area of expertise, not cryptic dreams and esoteric nonsense. As for you, I’m not sure why the hell it
was so important for me to obtain something as impractical as what could easily
be a movie prop from Lord of the Rings. And that book from that ridiculous
dream! Apparently I’m supposed to find
it, but all I know is that it’s somewhere between here and Scotland, with just
a mental picture of the countryside to guide me. Not exactly GPS coordinates.”
At that
another surge, similar to but much milder than the one at the store, rippled
through him, urging him to head north.
Snorting, Michael just shook his head.
“Of course; I had to find Gandalf’s staff to lead me to it! Why didn’t I think of that?”
Silence
was his only reply; apparently sarcasm didn’t register with his odd new
accessory. On the other hand, the soft
pull to the north continued softly but persistently in the background of his
thoughts. Sighing, Michael, still
addressing the staff, said, “Fine; I was headed that way tomorrow anyway. But if you want me to find that absurd book,
you’re going to have to be a little more specific.” When nothing else happened, Michael gently
propped the staff in the corner of his room and crawled into bed. In no time at all, he was sound asleep.
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