The Pearl Dagger by L.A. Chandlar

Author:L.A. Chandlar
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2019-07-18T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 34

On our way to see Alistair, we decided to drop in to visit our eclectic friends at the Bird and the Baby. We walked into the warm pub and asked the barkeep to send another round to our friends over in the corner.

We approached the group just as Owen Barfield was saying to John Tolkien, “So Tollers, do you really think you’ll get your book out this coming year? Seems awfully fast.”

John replied, “Fast! Seems as long as my little friend’s journey, to me. Fast. Bugger.” Then he caught sight of us. “Say! Lane and Finn! How are you? Pull up a chair.”

Warren Lewis arranged a chair and took my coat for me. He said, “To what do we owe this pleasure? Just dropping in, are we?”

Jack Lewis, a bit of a beefy fellow, had his hands clasped over one knee and a sparkle in his eye. He said, “Oh, by the looks of these two, I’d say they have news.”

“I believe you’re right, Jacks,” said Warren with a gleam in his eye that matched his brother’s.

The barkeep came with his full tray and gave us our pints. Finn said, “Cheers, gentlemen! And we do have a tale to tell.”

We clinked glasses all around as they pulled their chairs just a bit closer together, readying themselves. Storytelling was, after all, their sole purpose for gathering. I filled them in on Alistair and how he had gotten involved with my parents, how he’d hit bottom after his brothers had all been killed in the war, but the kindness of strangers had reminded him of who he was, and what he had to offer.

“I’ve had my father’s dagger all this time,” I said, pulling it out of my purse. “But I didn’t know it had been Alistair’s.” As I thought about the story, I balanced the dagger, blade side up, on my middle finger just as I’d done for as long as I could remember.

John asked, “May I see it?”

“Sure.” I flicked it up and over, and handed it to him as Warren gave a chortle of appreciation for my circus trick.

“Your father was very enamored with this dagger,” said John with a wistful shake of his head. “He used to practice that very trick, Lane. He loved the story of the dagger that Alistair had relayed.”

“There’s a story to the dagger? Of course there’s a story to the dagger,” I uttered, rolling my eyes.

“Well, it’s not that incredible. But there had been a tree on the family property, as the story goes, that had been hit by lightning. It burned quite a bit of it, but the wood itself was pretty valuable. They were able to make a few things from it including a long bit that became a mantel. But their favorite was this dagger. A local smith created the blade and the handle with the mother of pearl inlays. Matthew loved the interplay of art combined with danger, black and white, something useful created out of what would have been firewood, beauty that came from literal ashes.

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