The Package

Ironically, as it was epicenter of the source of the explosion that destroyed the Earth, the few who did survive had been located at Gavle, a small town on the eastern coast of Sweden.

“Thank God,” said Gregory, “for parallel universes.”

“You jest,” commented Lord Stiletto, puffing on his new pipe. He didn’t have tobacco in his pipe, which he pronounced peep, after a Sean Connery movie, but he liked to puff away at it as if it did. A skill he had learned from Eagle Cloud, an Apache chief who had taught him how to both track a mountain lion across barren mountain scree, and negotiate the spirit world.

“Deadly serious, old chap.”

“No, about God!”

“Don’t start that again.” And the matter, for the moment, was closed.

The two friends were sat on the sixth floor outside terrace of the café at the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford. Lord Stiletto and Gregory had travelled forward in time to his library where they had enjoyed a well-deserved breakfast of scrambled eggs and oysters, and then returned refreshed to a parallel existence of the Earth, that conveniently, hadn’t been blown up by The Rabbit. There was a package to be collected, and the message had indicated that it was to be found in the new Tutankhamun exhibition.

“But are you sure it was The Rabbit?” enquired Stiletto over his Earl Grey.

He flashed a quick hand signal to his friend, and as casually as possible, Gregory raised his gaze to the far corner, where the Girl with the Red Hair was openly sitting at a table, apparently absorbed in today’s edition of The Times. If the Girl was here, then surely they must also be in the presence of The Rabbit.

“Split up,” said Stiletto, leaving a generous tip on the table and walking immediately to the exit where he headed down the stairs to the second floor, and became very interested in the tea bowls and swords in the Japanese exhibition.

Meantime, Gregory finished his tea and cake, and also headed down the stairs, but went to the Tutankhamun exhibition on the third floor.

He was in one way, rather disappointed by the exhibition. He had hoped there would be some of the exhibits from the Cairo museum, but apart from a copy of the golden death mask, most of the exhibition related to Howard Carter and his team.

Walking straight up to one of the few genuine Egyptian artefacts, a beautiful life size basalt statue, he tapped a fast rhythm on the left nipple of the ancient stone carving.

Where there had been smooth stone, an oblong section of the chest, about five centimetres wide, seemed to dissolve and quickly Gregory removed the small wax sealed package within.

Copyright Jhedron Luckspar © 2014 2018


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