The Black Compass - Part One
Written September 2012 by Grace Sabella
I hadn’t been to Four Winds in months, but as soon as I opened the oak doors, I felt at home. Today was no special occasion, no retreat after a long day of exploration; I just missed the place. Mostly the music. Smooth jazz pulled me toward the stage, and I felt like I was walking back in time. Or maybe forward. It was hard to tell.
Max caught sight of me and waved me over to the bar. He set a Malibu pineapple in front of me as I sat. “Thanks,” I said and took a long, slow sip. “I have a question for you. How do you always manage to book such great talent?” “I have my connections.” “From all eras in time?” He grinned and changed the subject. “Wanna hear what happened to the king and his ghostwriter you overheard last time you were here?” I nursed my drink and listened while wondering if he was a time traveler himself or if he knew simply his fair share. “The king died last month, but the writer’s been in here every night since. He always sits in the same booth filling page after page and drinking too much scotch. I think he might actually be trying to do the man justice. Go figure.” “Maybe,” I said easily. “You’ll have to get me a copy when it comes out.” “And one for myself. I admit I’m curious.” “So, how’s the tiki search going?” He looked bewildered, so I explained, “Dan said you were thinking about giving the bar a Hawaiian theme.” “Oh!” Max chuckled. “It was an idea, but I’m still working on it.” “Ah. What’s Dan up to these days?” “Trying to thwart Lasur any way he can, so the usual.” “Sounds about right. Any cool findings as of late?” “I thought you might ask.” Max grinned and retrieved a small, square black box from beneath the bar and handed it to me. “Take a look at this.” I removed the lid and studied what appeared to be some sort of compass pendant. It was about the size of a pocket watch and made from sleek, black metal. I swear the compass needles quivered even though they were engraved into the stone, encircled by symbols I didn’t recognize. “What is it?” I asked. “Now that’s an interesting story!” Part TwoWritten by Tom Secrest II
The old billiards room in the back of the mansion’s third floor was dimly lit with near-ancient large, round bulbs. The ceiling lamp that shone on the old cedar pool table hung low and illuminated the game quite well, making the rest of the room’s dimness seem almost shadowy. Dan took his time lining up his shot while Linda played a slightly slower version of George Benson’s “Living in High Definition” on the old blue guitar she loved so much.
Max leaned on his pool stick, watching Dan try to make his shot. “Hey Danny, You remember that dig site up in the mountains? The one where Lasur was trying to dig up some powerful artifacts or whatever?” Dan took the shot but missed his mark. He should never go for the side pocket. “There have been a few of those, Max. They’ve been looking for lots of supposedly powerful artifacts, and there are plenty of dig spots spread over plenty of mountains. Take your pick.” Max barely aimed and sunk a solid into the corner pocket next to Dan. “Where Renee was working the site as one of the prisoners digging for them. You remember Renee, right? Short, skinny, long blonde hair, black tattoos like lace, has a thing for cave exploring, only speaks in cute little whispers … only speaks to you. You’d better remember. I’m pretty sure she had a thing for you.” Linda flicked her long, dark brown hair over her shoulder and began to play a guitar interpretation of “Isn’t She Lovely.” Dan rolled his eyes. “That’s quite enough out of you, young lady.” Linda rolled into a blues riff, but she never lost her soft, ever-present smile. More to come ... ? |