Chapter 4
Wellington opened the doors with a solid push and let them swing wide as he strode through. "Mr. Aingeal, your new sandbox!" Wellington exclaimed with a flourish and obvious pride. There were racks and tables, shelves and stands, even pedestals covering an area larger than a tennis court that overflowed with weapons. There were swords, spears, shields, rockets, guns, rifles and pistols of every size and shape stocked beside crossbows, and in one case a spiked ball and chain beside a flamethrower. It looked like every video game enthusiast in the world had gotten together and built a place of worship.
In an effort not to say something stupid like ‘Uh, wow,’ I literally bit my lip for the count of ten. Wellington, who was smiling like the Cheshire cat, nodded toward the closest table. "Yeah," I said, "it's all fun and games until someone loses an eye." For the second time in less than a friggin' day I almost shat myself as a huge thunderous voice to my left boomed with laughter from the shadows. I whirled around to find a monstrous behemoth of a man in rough workers garb and a thick leather bib apron striding towards us.
I realized by Wellington's demeanor that there was no immediate threat but most of my muscle fibers were a bit uncertain. In fact, my mind and body were still in open debate as to whether or not running, shitting or screaming was the best plan. Then the mobile home sized man thrust a hand out in front of me and brightly said, "A pleasure to meet you."
"Hello Hagrid," I said as I reluctantly offered up one of my favorite hands for mutilation. The monster shook my hand firmly and, to my great relief, caused no apparent damage.
"I'm sorry?" the human wall said in a thunderous voice.
"No, no,” I said, "for a moment there I thought you were someone else." My God! The man was the biggest human I had ever seen! His hands were the size of dinner plates and as thick as phone books.
I couldn't see what the elders could possibly want from me that this mammoth couldn't do twice as well with a fraction of the effort.
"Mr. Aingeal, I would like you to meet Smith," Wellington said as Smith pumped my hand in friendly greeting.
"It's an honor to meet you, Smith,” I said with immense gratitude that my hand didn't become a pasty substance.
"Ya see Welly,” Smith said to Wellington as he pointed at my chest. "That there is a man who knows a Master when he sees one," Smith boasted as Wellington rolled his eyes. "Listen to the honesty in his voice," Smith said as Wellington harrumphed and rolled his eyes again.
"Declan is probably just tickled pink you weren't hungry," Wellington said, more accurately than he realized. I was obviously caught in the middle of some private joke but, as Smith released my hand, I had no doubt that man must be as skilled as a surgeon. To have hands with that much obvious crushing force and not elicit a single crunch or crack during our handshake was testament to that.
Smith tilted his head back and boomed a quick burst of laughter before clapping a hand on my back and leading me into the heart of his domain. "Pay no mind to that jealous fop, my boy. Let's find you a suitable toy or two," Smith said with evident glee.
The equipment and weapons were looking more specific and expensive as we walked deeper through the maze of shelves, stands and tables. At one point I saw a low pedestal with a boulder the size of a smart car resting on it. It wasn't the boulder that caught my attention but the sword jutting out of it at a slight angle.
"Is that,” I began pointing at the sword, "the actual...?” before Smith cut me off.
"That she is, the grand lady herself, Excalibur," Smith chuckled. "She’s worth a pinch of shit if she doesn't go back in the rock every year or so for a few months recharge."
“So,” I said, “the Legends of the Sword held a grain of truth? And Arthur really existed?"
"Arthur? Sure he did. He held your office for a number of years and placed the sword back in the stone with his dying breath. He was a fine man. He held true to the oaths and never let a single piece of his kit or gear fall into the wrong hands." Smith said reverently.
"Mr. Smith,” I began.
"Just Smith, boy. Don't need any more words or letters than that," he finished with a grunt.
"Does everybody here have just one name?" I asked as Wellington interposed himself quickly into the conversation.
"Many of us have lived a very long time, Declan. It is often a comfort to us not to be reminded of those we have left behind or our old lives. Near immortality is one of the blessings that comes with service but it can also be a burden for those who fate had not intended for such longevity." He cast a friendly glance at Smith and said playfully, "This mountainous brute has no such excuse. He is a demigod and cousin to Thor." He directed his voice to Smith and asked, "The ancient Nord's tongue had you as Shaper, then Hand of the Forge or some such if I'm not mistaken?"
"Aye,” Smith replied, "and if that's not a smith, then I'm a shoemaker." The massive man barked with laughter and threw a slight elbow jab to my shoulder that almost knocked me down.
Most of the explanations I had received so far had been a bit vague but I had a feeling Wellington was doing his best in the absence of the man who should have been grooming me for the position. What really had me mentally gasping for air was the fact that I was in the presence of a demigod. "So you are the cousin of Thor, the actual God of Thunder?" I asked.
Smith took on the tired expression of someone related to a celebrity. "Yes, God of Thunder, Lightning, and the small spaces between matter and quantum entanglement; blah, blah, blah." I really wasn't good at ever saying the right thing.
"You're the guy behind everything though? The guy that makes the weapons that enabled all the heroic deeds. I mean without all this,” I said gesturing around, "Those legends wouldn't be very legendary would they? Just stories where mighty pushing and shoving happened, with maybe an insult or two and some hair pulling."
Smith positively roared with laughter.
"You see Welly, the boy knows greatness when he sees it!" I mentally congratulated myself on a fantastic bit of verbal back pedaling. I wasn't above a bit of brown nosing if it kept people vastly larger than me from getting angry.
"His great and mightiness recently took the time to assist me with a few things," Smith said as he led me to a nearby table. "He loves to tinker, that one," Smith said regarding his cousin. "He'd not let on to just anyone, you know," the giant said to me with an air of conspiracy and a mischievous grin. "He's powerful excited about potential mass, virtual particles and the like. Not sure I understand it all myself but that doesn't mean I can't make something sharp with it, or a right fine toy what makes a big boom!" he finished with a mirthful roar.
"Here, try this on for size," Smith said passing me a handsome silver ring with huge square cut sapphire set proudly amidst scrollwork depicting stags and lightning on one side and a hammer over shield on the other.
I could have slipped the ring over my thumb with no resistance. "This is way too big," I said but Smith only gestured for me to try it on. I did, if only to prove that the ring was far too large. Again Smith only gestured, then said to ‘give it a moment’. Presently, the ring began to shift in size suddenly becoming a perfect fit. "That's amazing!" I said. "What does it do?”
"Not much," Smith admitted. "Not without this,” he said as he handed me a stone and chain necklace. "This shouldn't be too noticeable under your shirt but for now it looks just fine,” he said as he leaned forward and hooked the clasp behind my neck.
"Ok, now what?" I asked.
Smith made a grasping motion and said, “Just reach behind your head and grab like this."
That seemed easy enough. I was surprised to suddenly feel something back there. Both Wellington and Smith smiled at the look on my face. With as long as these two had been around, I figured they would be treating me like the new guy for a good ten or fifteen years.
"Just pull," Smith said, making the motion he wanted from me. I did as I was instructed and I suddenly had a sword in my hand.
"That's going to be
great at parties!" I said. I had no idea where the weapon had come from but I was beginning to think it had something to do with the fact that I had done an awful lot of walking in this place, a lot more than should have been possible for the apparent size of the building. "Had a little help from your cousin, I think," I said as I held Smith's gaze. "I think maybe he helped with a little building renovation as well."
"He's quick, Welly, I'll give you that." Smith boomed in his massive voice. Wellington looked proud.
Maybe I wouldn't be the new guy for the next fifteen years. "Smith, tell me how this works," I asked.
"I would if I could boy," Smith sulked. "The truth is, I made the sword, I made the ring and the dandy's bauble you have around your neck, but Thor worked some of his craft on the stamps and tools I use for inscribing the symbols and runes that transcend." He rubbed his chin then continued, "He's always on about space, not the space in the heavens mind you, but the space between things."
Smith looked embarrassed as he continued, "He wasn't always like this, but eighty or ninety years ago he started hanging around these thinker types and suddenly nothing was solid anymore. There was space in between the little bits of dust that make a diamond and there was space in between the layers of metal that I pound into swords!" The massive man wore a look of indignation as he spoke.
"When I forge a blade, there is no space in between the layers of metal! That's why I pound the metal when it’s hot, that's why the metal is purified in the forge." He shook his head in disgust. "I'll say this for him though, he can wrangle space like I wrangle metal. The way he explains it, there is space in between space or space that can lead to other spaces.” Smith grunted again with the mental discomfort. “All I know is that the symbols I stamp on the blade and set in the stones hold the blade in one of those other spaces. As the ring comes close to any of the stones on that necklace the blade is drawn into this space," Smith finished as he pointed to one of the slightly curved bluish gray rectangular ingots, each the same and joined to the next by three rows of silver chain. Each of the rows was comprised of three flattened links. It was a beautiful design that I knew would sell for a lot if it were on display in a jewelry store.
"How do I put it away?" I asked as the thought of trying to sheath that much razor sharp steel behind my neck gave me an involuntary shiver.
"You don't," Smith replied. "It's set in the other space like the lady here is set in that rock," he said as he flicked a thumb towards the sword in the stone. "Just drop it,” he said bluntly.
I looked down at the stone floor and winced as I let go of the blade. I was expecting the beautiful edge to be ruined by the stone floor but I didn't hear a clatter. Opening one eye I looked down at the floor and saw nothing. I looked up at Smith and saw him recreating the gesture of drawing the sword as he said, "Try again."
Remembering that he had said the sword was drawn as the ring came close to any of the stones I decided to draw the sword from my chest and it worked. I tossed the sword into the air but the moment it left my hand it was gone. I found I was able to repeat the process as quickly as I could bring my hand back to within three or four inches of the necklace.
A thought occurred to me, "Smith, could this technology be applied to other weapons?" I asked, "Maybe something with a little more range?"
"I don't see why not," he answered. "You see the crest on the crosspiece?" he said as he pointed to a sapphire that matched the one on my ring. I noticed for the first time that it was placed in the center of a shield or coat of arms that showed two crossed hammers of different types and a lightning bolt over a stag. As I was admiring the craftsmanship Smith said, "As long as we can attach one of those to it, it'll work just the same.”
I nodded, slightly lost in thought. "Could I wear more than one set of these stones, such as a ring on the other hand and a belt that worked like the necklace?" I asked.
Smith beamed with approval. "Aye! I'll bet you have the beginnings of a fine plan in there," he said as he tapped my head with a finger.
"We'll see," I said, "but for now, I'd like to see more toys."
Smith clapped a meaty hand over my shoulder and steered me toward another table. Off to the side of some work supplies and the remains of what looked like lunch for five, was a platinum egg about two feet tall. The way the egg stood out had me thinking it must be the next item on the agenda. For the life of me I didn't know what might come out of it when it hatched but if I were to bet, I'd say a dragon.
Smith walked over to the egg and knocked on it. "Wake up ya lay-about," he boomed gently with a smile as he knocked once more. A moment later a pair of eyes opened in the top third of the egg, blinked a couple of times at Smith, then glanced at Wellington and I in turn. Smith knocked on the egg again and suddenly a pair of feet sprang from the bottom of the egg, followed by a pair of wings.
"Bubo!" I yelled with enthusiasm.
Smith buried his face in his hands and Wellington actually laughed. "Declan, the mechanical owl from film and television is and was only fictional," Wellington said with barely contained mirth.
"Sorry," I said, "I thought Athena commanded Hephaestus to build the mechanical owl for Perseus." I looked and Wellington and Smith with a little embarrassment. “You have to admit he looks a bit like Bubo," I said with a slightly sulking tone. I was glad I hadn't said what first came to mind.
Smith rubbed the top of the egg, as it still was egg shaped and said, "There's a good boy." Suddenly the egg started to transform into a dog. "He was supposed to be a weapon, a guardian...” Smith trailed off.
Wellington came over and patted Smith on the back. Smith looked at me and said, "‘Haphy’ never built a damned thing after he had me to work for him. Anything he ever needed made was begged, borrowed or stolen from me. The grand barrister herself was responsible for two owls, after a fashion."
Smith picked up the egg/dog and sat it on the floor before turning back to me. "The first,” he said, "was an ancient mariners sextant she asked me to craft. I made one with two lenses that looked like an owl staring at you from its box. The second was not her fault really." He stared down at his misbegotten creation fondly yet sadly. "She had that damned owl with her when she came to visit one day. It just so happened to be the day I finished this little guy,” Smith reflected sadly. “The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was that owl and he hasn't left the image behind for more than a few moments ever since."
"I'll take it," I said. I had a hunch that there was a lot more to that egg than first met the eye, but I wasn't about to say anything. "Now, I'd like a kick ass gun before the next black car shows up," I said, remembering my brush with mortality from a lifetime ago or a couple of hours, depending on the point of view.
"Those I have!" Smith said with gusto and once again shepherded me towards a new section of the armory. "You don't want none o' them guns out front," he said, stopping in front of a more modern looking rack with a selection of eccentric looking weapons on it. I picked up a compact looking rifle that reminded me of a British Bulldog.
I was drawn to it, not only because of the way it looked with its sheen of polished molybdenum, but because of a hunch I had when I spotted the engravings I saw covering various parts of the weapon. The horn of plenty engraved over the magazine housing was a dead giveaway. I had another hunch about this weapon, much like I did on the dragon's egg. If I was right on either one of those hunches, I'd have everything I needed to handle another SUV full of scumbags.
I had taken a step back to face Smith and was asking a few general questions about the weapon I was holding when I noticed the surprised expressions on both his and Wellington's faces. Then I felt something brush my leg. Looking down I noticed a platinum colored dragon nuzzling the back of my leg. The egg had decided to take on a different form it seemed. Oddly, this dragon form looked a lot like a statue I had been given as a birthday gift in my late teens. As I pictured the shades of midnight blue and deep amethyst that had colored its scales, the little dragon mul
ling around my knees began to take on those hues.
At first I thought it was a trick of my memory but Smith gasped openly and started wringing his hands. A strange sight for someone as large and dangerous looking as he was. "He's imprinted!" Smith hissed in a stage whisper. I couldn't conceive of Smith doing anything quietly.
Wellington stepped beside Smith and reached a hand up to rest it on the giant's arm, "Your honor has been restored it seems. Not a single failure in a final piece”.
Smith was beaming with happiness. Watching the two men, I realized that somehow I had just made another buddy. Smith cleared his throat and clapped his hands together to control his emotions. Still looking like a proud father, he rubbed his hands together briskly and directed his attention towards the bulldog in my hands. "Now that there is a fine gun and when I say gun, I mean gun."
I looked quizzically at Smith with a raised eyebrow. Noticing my expression, Smith offered an explanation. "You see,” he said, "you got yer pistols, you got yer rifles and you got yer guns like the big buggers on battleships and such." He smiled broadly and pointed at the weapon in my hands, "That, my boy, is a gun."
I quickly checked to make sure my finger was nowhere near the trigger, which made Smith chuckle. Examining the engravings on the weapon, with Wellington peering over my shoulder, I listened to Smith's explanation of its various features.
"I’m guessing that the horn here on the side probably means I'll never have to reload it?" I asked, pointing to the glyph with a finger as I tilted the weapon towards Smith.
"Exactly,” Smith replied, "and the arrow on the upper barrel assists in aim for the standard rounds while the bolt on the bottom barrel powers the big rounds." I would have loved the chance to put a couple of those big rounds into a certain black SUV earlier today.
"Why is this eye here?" I asked, indicating the depiction of an Egyptian style engraving of an eye on the top of the weapon. It seemed more than obvious that I was looking at the rear sight. I figured it must have some other meaning since anyone that needed that much directional prompting to use this weapon would probably do more damage to themselves than the enemy.
"That's for the sight," Smith said bluntly. I just laughed. Wellington and Smith looked at me in a puzzled fashion.
"Seriously,” I asked, “neither of you see the problem in handing a weapon this powerful to someone that doesn't already know the basics?" I laughed again. "Look this way and make sure the bad guys are in front," I said in a comical voice. I was giggling now.
Wellington sighed. "Try looking down the sight, Mr. Aingeal," Wellington said smoothly.
"Ok,” I replied. I held the stock to my cheek the way my father had taught me many years ago and sighted down the barrel.
There was no mistaking that they were a finely crafted set of sights, reminiscent of some of the better setups I'd seen in quality first person shooter games, with the exception that they were obviously more intuitive. "Ok,” I said. "These are obviously the finest set of sights I've seen on a weapon but I think I'm missing the point."
"Try again,” Smith offered. With a shrug I brought the weapon up to ready again and sighted down the barrel. "Now look further," he instructed.
I was looking at something that looked like a goatskin flask hanging from a hook on a distant pillar. Look further huh? The moment I tried to pick out details on the flask it sprung into view as if it were hanging just a few feet in front of me. There was no scope yet the sights on the rifle weren't out of focus as they should have been. Still there was a small area in the center of my sight that was amplified and brought forward. I removed the glasses I had been wearing since I left my apartment, and hung them on my breast pocket.
Once again sighting down the barrel I experienced the same effect. It was amazing and undoubtedly not based on any earthly science I was aware of. I was still testing this magical marvel when a large simian face came around the same pillar. I almost pulled the trigger in fright before I realized the fully-grown silverback gorilla was wearing coveralls and must belong here. I lowered the weapon as Smith was reaching for it. He nodded in approval and released a sigh that could have blown out the candles on a half dozen birthday cakes.
"Angus!" Smith boomed. "Are you trying to get yourself shot lad?" The great ape hung his head in response and shuffled forward. Smith was shaking his head in mild disapproval and appeared as if he was trying not to smile. "Mr. Aingeal, I would like you to meet Angus. Once upon a time our Angus and his mates tried for a little sport with the wrong maiden. Didn't you lad?" he said reaching down to pat Angus on the shoulder. "That was a forgotten time,” Smith said, “but Athena has a long memory."
Smith had steered Angus toward me and not knowing what else to do, I stuck out my hand and said, "Pleased to meet you, Angus."
Angus reached out and grasped my hand for a brief shake and replied, "Likewise."
My eyes practically popped out of my head and once again everyone got a good chuckle at my expense. "Any more little surprises or helpful safety tips that you think maybe I should know? I'm not going to find out that the gardener is Frankenstein's monster or the cook is Mother Goose, am I?" I grumbled in question. This had the undesired effect of making them laugh harder. I almost laughed myself, but the fangs exposed when a fully grown silverback laughs tend to have a sobering effect.
Once the general mirth had been contained, I handed my new weapon to Smith and asked for a favor, "Smith, could you outfit this rifle like the sword? My idea was a ring for my left hand and a belt buckle. If possible, I would like the forward grip to serve like the handle of the sword," I asked pointing to the fore stock of the weapon I was mentally referring to as 'The Bulldog'.
"That I can do, aye," Smith said with a satisfied grin. I didn't know what I would be up against but I wanted to be prepared. I also didn't think I'd be performing most of my new duties in a suit.
"Smith, do you have any ballistic clothing?" I asked. Smith seemed slightly confused by the term. I reached down to my messenger bag and noticed it was gone. ‘Damn it, where did I leave that bag?’ I thought, looking around before continuing. "There is a product called Kevlar that is quite resistant to damage from knives and bullets," I said as I felt a nudge at the back of my leg and looked down.
My little dragon sat on his haunches behind me with his tail making intricate undulating and flicking motions in the air at his back. The little blue dragon held the strap of my messenger bag in his mouth. "Now there's a good egg," I said gratefully, offering him a big smile and a pat on the head.
"You certainly do seem to have a way with people, Declan." Wellington said with a nostalgic smile. "And non-people, so to speak," he added. I patted the little blue dragon once more and stood fishing in my bag for my damaged phone. I finally located the phone and handed it to Smith.
"That round went through my bag and lodged in my phone. I would have taken that through a kidney if my phone had been in my pocket." Angus had come around my left and was poking his right index finger through the bullet hole in the flap of my bag and matching it to a second hole underneath that pierced the side of the bag.
Smith turned the phone over in his hands before pinching the mushroomed round between a thumb and forefinger and pulling it from the phone to inspect. "Mithral would stop a blade. You'd be bruised but you'd live. The problem here is that the shock from a heavy round would travel into your body," he said as he held the bullet he had plucked from the mortally wounded iPhone up to a squinted eye for inspection.
"Nice bag, Dr. Jones," Angus said, still mesmerized by my messenger bag. I hadn't actually noticed before but my messenger bag closely resembled the bag worn by the intrepid tomb raider from the Indiana Jones movies.
"You a movie buff, Angus?" I asked, as if having a pedestrian conversation with a gorilla about entertainment was an everyday thing.
"Oh, I love the pictures!" Angus answered enthusiastically.
"Have you seen 'Shawn of The Dead'?" I asked.
"Loved it,"
he answered.
"Evolution? Dead and Breakfast?" I asked.
"I don't think so," he replied.
"You and I have a few movies to share soon my friend," I said enthusiastically.
"I'd like that," Angus said, obviously touched at the offer. Then, as if on cue, my new phone rang.
Stepping away from the group, I pulled the new phone from my pocket. The display confirmed my suspicion and I answered the call I had known would come. "Declan, it's your father." the voice on the other end informed me.
"Yes, dad," I replied. There was no point in once again trying to explain to him that he was the only elderly person with a thick Irish brogue that ever called me. I glanced back to the group of interesting characters I was quickly making friends with. Wellington tapped an index finger to his lips with a warning expression, reminding me to keep my business confidential.
"I heard the news today,” my father drawled. “It seems you're getting yourself into trouble again," he said in his typically judgmental manner.
"Dad, I was trying to save a stranger from being run down. I didn't know he was being shot at." I had a feeling this was going to spiral downward into condemnation for not attending church on Sundays. "Hey dad, I'm just with some friends right now that are helping me get my shit together. How about I call you sometime soon?" I asked, hoping I could put an end to the call before my father got too nosey.
"Father Ferguson was asking about you at church this last Sunday. Will you be there this week?" he asked.
"I'll have to see dad. I have a lot to get done between now and then," I said, honestly hoping that he would be placated and turn his thoughts toward tea or something else. As per usual, I had to wait patiently while dad droned away about the news of the day. After once again assuring my father I wasn't mixed up in drugs, I was able to end the call.
Turning, I almost tripped over my little dragon. I was distracted as I usually was when getting off the phone with the old goat. "What are you up to, Egg?" I figured Egg would be a good name for my new friend. It may not be the most creative but as no one else had bothered to give him a name as yet, Egg would have to do.
Egg looked up and trilled at me in a musical voice. "I'm ok, Egg. I was just talking to the old man," I said. The little dragon had probably picked up on my body language. I arched my back to try and rid myself of the inevitable tension that always crept into my body during phone conversations with Dad. In the process of stretching and turning, I noticed a table covered with sand.
"Smith,” I called, "do you have a small bag, leather or canvas? Anything thick will work?" Smith upended a small cotton bag full of biscuits onto his workbench and walked over.
"What is it?" he asked, handing me the bag.
"Do you mind if I use some of the sand on that table over there?" I asked.
"Not at all," he replied with a curious expression.
"I'll show you what I was thinking about," I said as I walked over to the sand covered worktable and started scooping handfuls of sand into the bag. Now and then I came across a chunk of slag metal or solder which I tossed aside. Within seconds, I had the bag a little less than two thirds full and knotted at the end. "Come over here for a second and press the center of this bag down."
"Certainly," Smith said as he stepped forward to comply. "It feels a lot like pressing a pouring mould," he said as he toyed with the bag of sand.
"Ok," I said as I picked up the sand bag to shake it slightly before setting it down again. "Now punch it, but not too hard as you may want to use this table again." Smith snickered and leaned forward to give the bag a little punch. This time instead of giving way slowly that bag froze in place with the impression of Smith's knuckles in its surface.
Smith clapped his hands together in delight. I could see the wheels turning in his head. "When you mentioned the shock of the bullet getting through the Mithral, I thought of this. I also thought about the strings of a guitar carrying the vibration through the whole instrument and the ripples on a pond,” I said, expecting that Smith could probably follow my thinking. He was, after all, half god.
Angus, who had been looking thoughtfully at the bag of sand, suddenly spoke. Honestly, this still freaked me out a bit, and I gave a slight start as he said, "Miss Merrill bought me a pillow like that from the television box." the gorilla finished shuffling slightly.
"Exact same principal, Angus," I said, happy to include him. I looked up at Smith to see him making a diamond shape with the thumb and index fingers of both hands. He was flexing the diamond shape open and closed over and over as he muttered to himself.
Wellington cleared his throat and we all looked up. Egg looked up and trilled at Wellington in question. The little dragon was growing on me very quickly. "We will need to be getting on if we wish to remain on schedule," Wellington said as he snapped his pocket watch closed for emphasis.
Smith clamped a big meaty hand on my shoulder and said "Leave this with me, young sir. I'll have your fancy new gun ready for you by the morning. This ballistic clothing may take a little longer."
I had to smile at the way Smith over-shaped the syllables in the word ballistic. "That would be awesome Smith. Thank you," I said gratefully.
With nods and smiles all around, Wellington and I headed for the door. Egg was trailing behind us, as Smith started explaining something to Angus. "Is it ok for Egg to come along?" I asked Wellington who sputtered a puff of laughter before containing himself.
"Yes of course, Declan, and the puppy eyes aren't necessary," he finished as he looked over the top of his glasses at me. I just shrugged and smiled. At least he wasn't going to start in about church.
"I happened to overhear part of your phone conversation," Wellington mentioned. "I apologize for the unintended intrusion," he added.
I held up a hand briefly in dismissal. "Don't worry about it. My dad has a tendency to call at the worst possible times,” I said to assuage his worries.
"That isn't exactly the point," Wellington said. "You are now directly aligned with an elder god who may not look kindly upon you visiting a place of worship."
"Gotcha,” I said, mentally believing that I was starting to develop precognition.