Our happy little trio climbed the stairs to the attic in silence. The room was dimly lit by sputtering light bulbs. I almost asked if they bought them that way. In addition to a bunch of old clothes and furniture, there was a large object that looked like some kind of stone chest. I did not get a good look at it because, leaning against it, was Carol. Her arms were zip tied behind her back, she was gagged, and she was clearly shaken up but did not seem badly hurt otherwise.
“Hi Carol. I came to rescue you,” I told her. Her glare showed about the same level of skepticism that I felt for this plan.
Wendell said: “Tie him up quickly and let's get her downstairs for the ceremony.”
“We sure we should leave him here with that?” The Other Goon (trademark?) asked, waving vaguely at the stone chest.
“Why not? Nobody has managed to open it since what, 1927? Even if he gets loose, what chance has he got?” Wendell replied.
TOG looked a little skeptical but nodded agreement. He zip tied my hands and then tied up my arms and legs with bits of rope. That task completed, he casually lifted Carol up on one shoulder like a sack of flour. He held her arms against her so that when she tried to kick, she had no real leverage and all she could do was throw his balance off a little. I had to admire her spirit. And his ability to maintain his balance, despite being a little wobbly, with the equivalent of a hundred and twenty squirming pounds of potatoes on one shoulder.
I got to enjoy the Thugs and Victim show for about half a minute before they were far enough down the stairs to be out of sight. I then counted to thirty to make sure nobody was coming back immediately.
You see, their plan to tie me up would have been a good one, except for two little details. First, while most kids were flipping burgers or doing paper routes for spending money, I was helping mom’s brother out with his stage show, and my uncle was The Amazing Andori, Master Escapologist. I learned a lot of his tricks, even subbed for him a few times when, after his wife left him, he was too drunk or hungover to do the show, so I knew all about tensing my muscles and even voluntarily dislocating some joints - getting my upper arms out of the ropes was simple enough to use my police training - the other detail they overlooked - to snap the zip ties off. With both arms free, it was simplicity itself to untie my legs.
Getting loose took roughly ninety seconds. I had considered just following them down, but then remembered that Dominic had my sidearm. There was going to be a lot of paperwork to fill out over that, I mused sourly, but more immediately it meant that I was unarmed.
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Something drew my attention to the big stone chest Carol had been leaning up against. It felt almost like a magnetic pull. It had massive brass hinges that seemed somehow fused into the stone at the back and what looked like a combination lock - but one with symbols instead of numbers or letters; six dials with what looked like a dozen symbols on each - embedded in the front. I sighed and turned away to look for something else to use as a weapon when something flashed in front of my eyes.
A vision of six symbols in a row.
“No, it couldn’t be…” I said aloud to nobody in particular and turned back to the chest.
What do you know - I saw three of the symbols right off the bat.
I turned the first dial to the image I had seen and heard a loud click. “Sonofa…’ I muttered under my breath (and no, I did not finish the statement; I censored my thoughts then so I would not have to censor my text now. You are welcome).
I turned the second one to match the vision and heard a faint “whirring” noise. The third dial stopped the whir with another loud click. The fourth triggered the whirring again. Another click accompanied the fifth moving into place. I took a deep breath and turned the sixth dial to match what I had seen.
Everything went dead silent, no click, buzz, whir or jazz numbers. Then a seam opened along the top of the chest, and it just popped open.
For almost a full second, I found myself paralyzed with either shock that this had worked or fear of what I might find inside - but then I remembered that Carol was depending on me, and the hope that inside it I might find something that would give me an edge against whatever I would find downstairs galvanized me.
At first glance, the contents of the chest were unimpressive. The bulk of its contents were a bunch of old papers, including three books that looked like journals. There were, however, five items amongst the papers that seemed to call to me.
The first was a belt of old brown leather. The buckle looked like a bronze dial with a mountain pointing up at the center position. The other four items were paired sets. The first was a set of old leather boots, thigh high, flat heeled boots, with the only distinguishing feature being what looked like a gold embossed wing on each side. The other was a set of gloves - or maybe more properly gauntlets. They were made from a reddish, heavy cloth with brass plates covering the fingers. One additional line of brass ran down from the middle finger to the wrist, widening into a circle midway; the circle showed a stylized flame in the center.
No swords, no guns, just odd clothing.
Well, when in Rome…
The belt replaced my old black leather one nicely, actually even fit a little better. The boots slipped easily over my shoes and felt almost as if they had been tailor made to fit me. I slipped my hand into one glove, and it actually looked like the blasted thing was resizing itself to fit. I was about to slip on the second one when I heard a sound behind me.
I turned around as Vito Mercotti spoke: “I just remembered what you did back during those summers - I even saw you fill in for your, ah, uncle, I think it was, once,” he informed me. The firearm in his hand was at least as eloquent as his words.