Part 11

The rest of the afternoon and evening at Knights and the Page after Risa's visit seemed even more mundane and boring than usual for August. A few customers filtered in to peruse the wares, but nothing exciting happened. Elvis had stayed for an hour or so then left to take his brother home, but promised to return around closing time so he could join August for bite to eat. August looked down at his watch, 8:43, 17 minutes left before he could lock up and go. He reached up with both hands to complete a stretch and yawn.

In his left pant pocket he felt his cell phone vibrate. Crap who could this be? August thought. He subconsciously looked around the store to check if anyone was around before he took a look at his phone. This unneeded exercise was born from his fear of Mr. Chapwick.

Mr. Chapwick, the owner of Knights and the Page, did not like cell phones ringing in his store, particularly employee cell phones. Mr. Chapwick was an odd owner of a comic book store. He had made his fortune in gas stations, owning a few across town as well as a large service plaza right off the main highway that bisected the city. Mr. Chapwick had actually purchased the comic shop from the previous owner for a bargain basement price. The previous owner cited that he had to move out west suddenly for family reasons.

Mr. Chapwick and his accountant spent an entire weekend to pour over the financial documents to calculate the profitability of the store. They found that while the Knights and the Page would never be a cash cow, it enjoyed a decent profit and even during the slimmest months it could usually sustain its own expenses. Besides, Mr. Chapwick thought, should it ever be unprofitable for 3 consecutive months, he would just fire all of the employees and auction off his inventory. The business loss write-off would be helpful during tax time.

The Knights and the Page filled a niche in the community. There were not any another comic book specialty shops within the surrounding counties so the store was easily promoted and identifiable to the public. Sure it had to compete with the large corporate bookstore located at the mall but those book stores never carried any of the rare comic treasures that true aficionados would eagerly pay top dollar for.

Pulling his phone from his pocket he flipped open the cover to check who had called or had sent him a text message. It was Elvis.

"Running a lil' late. B there soon."

This text message did not surprise him. Elvis wasn't too keen on punctuality. Elvis had even postulated that due to the relativity of time and space, it was impossible to ever truly be "late" for something. Elvis believed that being late was a construct man had created. He would go on and on about the subject until the people who were waiting for him usually lost interest and had forgotten that he had been tardy for something. The lazy genius in his full glory.

August looked around the store again and began the mental checklist of his final duties. His last customer had left around 8:15 so he had been able to complete a majority of his responsibilities already. He had swept up the floor and dusted along the tops of the shelves. He had closed and locked all of the figurine cabinets and double checked the cash in the register - it was 10 cents off, but he quickly rectified with a dime in his pocket. All that would be left would be to collapse some of the packing boxes and take them out to the dumpster behind the store.

August checked his watch again, 8:47, "that's close enough" he mused to himself. He made his way towards the figurine shelves near the front of the store and began reaching along the sides of the cabinets to turn off the spot lights that were designed to better illuminate the crystal or painted pieces.

As August got to the second shelf he paused to look at his favorite collectible. The Minstrel. Unit price $59, with tax of course. The Minstrel figurine stood roughly an inch and half tall and was a fully painted pewter piece. August was constantly replacing figurines in the cabinets after one was sold, but The Minstrel always remained unsold. That's why August had decided to move it up into a prime position on the middle shelf, hoping it would catch a buyer's eye.

However, The Minstrel was an anemic looking piece. It seemed out of place in the middle of knights in full armor raising large swords and goblins wielding fearsome looking axes. Yet, you might even say that The Minstrel looked joyous in the midst of of what looked like an impending battle. The Minstrel figurine showed no fear as he boldly stepped between gladiators and demons holding his head high in song and armed only with a mandolin.

August had always admired the detail on this particular figurine. Often when he would look at the figurines of knights or soldiers he could spot areas where the mass production of these items was evident. A spot of paint where it should not have been. A nub of pewter that had not been sanded off. A misalignment of a figurine's legs causing an unnatural lean. August harbored a keen eye for this type of detail.

The Minstrel showed no signs of these imperfections. Each stripe of his double breasted doublet was painted with in crisp green and gold stripes. The figurine was wearing a floppy hat - like those popular during the Renaissance - with a long purple plume. The Minstrel was holding the end on his mandolin high in his left hand while strumming it with his right. The Minstrel figurine was taking a large bounding step forward as if he was striding purposefully around a tavern hall or a Queen's courtyard.

August closed his eyes for a moment and could almost hear the tiny pewter musician's tune. As he reach up to flip the switch to turn off the cabinet light, something on the figurine caught his eye. "That's strange", August thought, "I never noticed that before".

What August hadn't noticed was a long brown sheath along the minstrel's right leg. It was clearly a sheath for a dagger or long knife. The sheath wasn't quite long enough or broad enough to be a sword, but it was a weapon nonetheless. August smiled, here he was thinking that the tiny musician was helpless and could be killed quickly if one of those knight figurines ever got tired of the music, but the little minstrel looked like he had some tricks up his sleeve.

"Well," August debated in his mind, "I suppose the little guy could defend himself with the mandolin. I'm sure that would be able to do some damage if used to bash someone's head. Assuming your enemy wasn't wearing a metal helmet of course".

The battle scenarios involving 2 inch pewter figurines that had been forming in August's mind was cut short by the DING of the front door. "Oh, I guess Elvis wasn't late," August thought as he flipped the switch turning off the cabinet light. When August turned to meet his friend he was shocked not too see his friend Elvis but rather a tall extremely pale man.

The man seemed annoyed by the look of shock on August's face. The man raised a nearly white colored eye brow before pointing to a logo on the breast pocket of light jacket he was wearing. The patch on the jacket read: Lightning Deliveries. The words were sewed with silver thread superimposed on what looked like a blue colored bird. August could not quite make out what the blue colored animal was, or even if it was an animal. Maybe it was just an abstract design logo.

"Got a delivery for you," the courier said flatly.

"This late? I didn't think anyone delivered this late," August replied. The courier just shrugged. He was holding a couple packages under his left arm and a clipboard in his right hand. August absently looked at the delivery man's feet and cringed. Mud.

August was able to trace the courier's foot prints all the way to the front door. He sighed heavily knowing he'd have to clean up that mess before he could leave. The delivery man approached and handed August the clipboard.

"Sign there on line 22," he said pointing to the appropriate spot on his ledger. August took the man's pen and signed his name. The delivery man took back his clip board then extended the two packages for August to take.

The larger box had the dimensions of a decent sized school text book. It was about an 2 inches thick and had the length and width of a regular sheet of paper. The other package was about the size of a box that would hold toothpaste when you bought it from the store. August thanked the courier who grunted in response, then moved to the counter and the delivery man left.

August guessed at the contents as he put the packages onto the wooden checkout stand. "This one," singling out the smaller package "probably holds a specially ordered figurine and the second is definitely a comic book". August set the packages onto the counter and then turned to look at the muddy floor again. I guess it's a good thing that Elvis was going to be late anyways he thought.

As August swung around to walk back to storage and grab the mop his hand accidentally pushed the smaller box off its perch above the other package. It wasn't the sound of the smaller box hitting the floor that left August stunned. It was the name to whom the larger box was addressed to:

Caleb Pope