Gerald thought to himself that this café had quite a selection considering its’ location in what some more refined guests might think of as a sketchy part of the harbor town.
He sat toward the rear of the establishment with his back to the wall. This was a habit that had become ingrained within him after years of experience.
He adjusted the canvas weapons belt about his waist to a more comfortable position. Back in his hometown he would not have openly worn weapons, but this was a somewhat questionable area in a questionable part of this harbor town. His size was usually enough to give pause to most individuals who might have nefarious thoughts. The Webley Mark IV revolver and trench knife on his belt ensured that most people who looked at him more than once, decided that he was one best left unmolested.
He looked over the menu; and had decided on several dishes to order for himself and his attractive academic companion whenever the server decided to return.
He literally looked over the menu at his fellow traveler.
T. Russell Davidson was a professor and the chief librarian in the part of the city that had been run by the Italians back when he had been a troubleshooter in the Penrose Enterprise.
She was also perusing the menu, and he could see her lips sounding out the dishes as she went over what the café had to offer. Her brow furrowed as she concentrated on the paper menu.
She put the menu down and saw that he was watching her. Her cheeks flushed slightly at his attention, and he thought that she really was quite lovely.
Gerald told her, “The Tagine looks quite tasty, and I think we should start with some cous-cous and a nice hot mint tea.” He continued, “they have Israeli couscous, but I think we should go with the more local dish.” She looked interested, and hungry; and spoke. “You read Arabic?”
“It’s actually Berber,” he told her. “It has some similarities to Arabic.”
He put the menu down and took a sip of water. He could tell that she wanted to ask him something. He waited a few more moments and T. Russell said, “so you’re good with languages.” The way she said it, meant that she wanted information, or an answer. He knew she was referring to an incident in her office from a few days’ past.
He had been with the Doctor as she was going over some obscure nautical charts; and he noticed a frayed fragment of parchment that was framed on her large desk. It was approximately fifteen by twenty-three centimeters and depicted a farmer in the field. There were characters etched on the borders; some would call them hieroglyphs, and they made the images on the parchment into basically a very early cartoon. He had chuckled aloud when he got the gist of the thing, and T. Russell had asked him what was so funny. He pointed a blunt finger at the framed image and said, “winter solstice”. Her reaction was perhaps a little strange; especially if you were looking at it from the outside.
She stared at him for a moment; her delicate hand, held a wax pencil that she had been using to make some marks on a notebook as she studied the ornate chart on the desk before her. She put the pencil down and reached for the framed parchment. She looked it over and then looked at him again. He could see her concentration as she looked over the characters on the old piece of parchment. She cocked her head slightly to one side and asked him. “You know what this says?”
Gerald gestured at the crude, ancient cartoon and had replied; “it’s funny: he’ll never get the planting done in time because of the winter solstice”. He had brushed aside her next comment to take her mind off the subject, and because he needed her help understanding the chart. He pointed at a complex set of illustrations on the nautical chart and asked her; “are those coordinates?” The professor was not so easily put off. She had said, “maybe half a dozen people, including myself, would have gotten that.”
He didn’t know what she was thinking of course; not even his boss had that ability, but he could have made a guess. Her comment about half a dozen people was not to say that those people worked in the library. She likely didn’t even mean that half a dozen people in the city or nearby university could have gotten that. She meant half a dozen people: in the world.
He knew that she was probably right since the language that the “cartoon” was written in, hadn’t been in common use for several millennia. Gerald had a perfectly legitimate and wholly unbelievable explanation for his unlikely facility with not just that “dead” language, but in fact with every language.
She continued to look at him; apparently waiting for some response. He waited perhaps thirty seconds, then had told her in a matter-of-fact tone, “I’m good with languages”.
She knitted her brows in concentration, or frustration, most likely frustration. She was about to say something when he again said, while pointing at the complex set of illustrations, “coordinates”.
T. Russell had looked at the markings he was pointing at and said, “not exactly”.
Gerald actually knew that the markings were in fact a warning. She had studied the illustrations more closely for another minute before she leaned back and told him; “it says something about a sea monster”.
It had been very shortly after the first time they had met in person, though they had been corresponding for months. He had made an appointment with the esteemed Dr. T. Russell Davidson, chief librarian and overall head mucky muck of the large city library in his old hometown. Thinking back on their first meeting, the big man couldn’t decide what had surprised him the most. It might have been that T. Russell Davidson turned out to be Terri Russell Davidson, a rather lovely woman in her early thirties. Russell, as it turned out, was her mothers’ maiden name. Or it might have been that there were a trio of unsavory men waiting for the Doctor outside of her office. Or it could have been that when one of the men pulled a sleek automatic pistol on the Doctor: they really had wanted her to go with them, she had barely hesitated and took two of the thugs out of the fray before he could get to them.
Gerald thought on it and decided that the last consideration might have been the most surprising of the three; but that overall, he was enjoying the first consideration more and more as he spent time with the attractive academic.
Several hours later; after good food, drink and company, he settled the bill and rose to pull her chair out and lead the way across the street to their lodgings for the evening.
He was telling her that he would meet her in the lobby at first light so that they might board the tramp steamer that was going to take them to their destination off the coast of Sardinia: he was facing the street and so he saw them going into the very café that he had shared a pleasant meal with T. Russell.
She was not facing the street, so was unaware that the trio of unsavory men who had accosted her the day before were apparently going to dinner at the same café they had just enjoyed.
He bade her good evening and waited for her to take the stairs to the second floor where their lodgings were for the night. He watched her up the stairs, partly because he wanted to be sure she was safely to bed, and partly because watching her move up the stairs was nice.
After she was out of the lobby, he turned toward the door to make his way across the street. He hitched his canvas weapon belt up and said to himself, “let’s see what we will see”.
You must sign up or log in to submit a comment.
0 comments