The Fate of Pryde, the second in TheTrilogy of Remembrance.

The Fate of Pryde Chapter 2

“One of my favorite places,” breathed Peter. “Shall we get a drink?” Working their way to the bar Peter said, “I’ll introduce you to Callan. Despite what I said, he really is a genius!”

            A hand rested on Peter’s sleeve. “Peter! How wonderful to see you here tonight!” The little man could not have been five feet tall. As if electrified, his wispy, white hair stuck straight up from his baby-pink skull.

“Professor Callan! I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” Peter turned to Alex. “Please, I’d like to introduce my friend, Alexander Wainwright.”

Callan’s face glowed. “My dear Mr. Wainwright. I’m so pleased to meet you. Your paintings give me much solace.”

Alex murmured his thanks. “Tell us about your essays, professor.”

Professor Callan smiled sweetly, but then he winked solemnly and tugged Alex’s jacket sleeve. “Mr. Wainwright, your paintings make me think there just might be a beyond.”

A rather stout, florid man hovered expectantly nearby. For just an instant, Callan’s gaze sharpened, focusing hostility with laser-like intensity upon him. “Yes, Mr. Warburton?” Callan asked.

With his expression darkening, the large man grasped Callan’s shoulder. “I think it’s time to begin, professor.”

Alexander could not remember seeing a man literally shrink at the touch of another person. Indeed, the professor was a jumble of contrasts. First, he was soft spoken and demure. Next, he brimmed with intense dislike and contempt for Warburton. Alex wondered where the truth of his character might lie.

Callan turned around. “Certainly, Mr. Warburton. Where do you wish me to sit?”

Clearly, thought Alex, the man’s command was to be obeyed. Warburton called out to the store manager, who broke away from a pretty young woman and hurried to the table.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “Folio Books is greatly honored to welcome…”  The clerk briefly consulted his notes. “Professor Henry J. Callan to speak to us about his latest book—a collection of essays, I believe—entitled, An Empiricist’s Theory of the Occult. This is his fourth book on philosophy.” The clerk fumbled through his notes and after a pause said, “Please welcome our esteemed author.” The audience clapped politely and fell silent.

Just as the professor was adjusting his glasses, a chirping, whistling noise came from down a darkened aisle. Another clerk at the back whispered curses and then appeared with a small, covered birdcage in hand.

            “So sorry, ladies and gentlemen but our canary, Bernice, has taken it into her tiny head to complain. I’m sure she’ll settle in a moment.”

Chuckling, the group turned its attention back to the professor.

             The professor began dryly. “It’s a topic of great relevance in our world today. Are we to be distracted from all the evident dangers right under our noses by mere speculation of things beyond our senses? I have divided the consideration of the matter into five separate essays…firstly…”

Tired that evening, Alex listened with half an ear. When the professor began to read a passage from his text, the canary suddenly began to cheep and twitter. Then it flapped and beat its wings frantically. When the clerk peeked under the cover of the cage, immediately, the canary settled and began to preen itself. When the cover was dropped back, the bird began to sing. Although the crowd was amused, Mr. Warburton continued to rock heel to toe in a disturbingly military fashion.

By the time the professor had finished his reading, one elderly gentleman in the audience had begun to snore lightly, causing Bernice to answer with a burst of song.