Birthright

The snow had caused another delay in Gerald's planned excursion to Searchlight, his driver having been seconded to other duties which Gerald guessed could only have something to do with clearing the roads, or something along those lines.

So he found himself strolling the streets, enjoying the more familiar winter weather, his overcoat having come in handy yet again, his cane also useful as he navigated the white-edges pavement on his late morning stroll. There was a marked difference in the air, the crisp cold a little different to what he was used to in England, the bright sunlight reflecting off the uneven piles that were slowly turning to slush in the gutters, but currently hiding the usual discord of different pavements and surfaces merging to form the streetscape.

He wondered what Julianna was up to, not having heard from her since before New Year, and wondering if she had any more information on Searchlight.

Please call Gerald at the Golden Nugget Hotel at your earliest convenience.

The sound of the slot machines was becoming a white noise as Gerald sat in the lounge at the the Golden Nugget. After checking in, and placing a call to Julianna at the university, leaving a message with her secretary when informed she was in class, he had spent a good while studying the large chunk of gold that was on display. His research into the nugget had revealed no known indicators to cause him to be interested in it other than as a purely aesthetic pleasure.

He sipped at his gin and tonic, flicked a glance at his watch, and returned to reading the book that sat on his crossed knee. Just as he settled into the next paragraph he heard a small cough and looked up to see a young man, smartly dressed, approaching. From the description he had been given it could only be the driver who'd been arranged to take him to the location, the Ragnarok bar, where he was to meet the person, Livia, regarding something she had come across. There were various points on the globe he still wanted to study, and the deserts of Nevada was one, but the lack of archeological discover made it difficult to justify the time and attention to the area.

As the car eased out onto the Strip, Gerald adjusted his sunglasses and hat, his brief case resting on his lap. It was a relatively short journey, in the air-conditioned comfort, and soon the older Watcher was following the young driver into a 'haunted house'. He found it somewhat amusing the mock features, and wondered what the clientele of the establishment thought of the accoutrement. Descending the stairs he removed his sunglasses, slipping them into the inside pocket of his jacket as they crossed the sparsely populated floor. Clearly the demon world was not into 'afternoons' in this part of the world.

"Flight 473 to Madrid is now boarding through Gate 12. All passengers please have boarding passes ready and make your way to Gate 12, for flight 473 to Madrid."

Barcelona had been an interesting excursion, and Gerald carried a briefcase that was a good deal heavier now than it had been on his arrival. He handed his boarding pass to the young air hostess, giving her a slight nod in response to her greeting, and wishes for him to have a safe journey and enjoyable flight. He tucked the pass back into his breast pocket and started across the tarmac. The sun was beating down, despite the commencement of the cooler season, and he tugged lightly on the brim of his hat, ensuring it would remain in place for his excursion across the blacktop to the awaiting flight of stairs and the dubious air-conditioning of the small prop jet awaiting him and the other passengers.

He noted a large boiling of clouds on the horizon which indicated they might be in for a bumpy ride. In all his decades of travel he'd never managed to find a way to allay the onset of travel sickness, much to his disgust, and no number of artifacts or potions had ever been able to relieve him of the malady. There was only one thing he knew would work, and he spied the potential purveyor of assistance in this, standing at the top of the stairs.

"Yes, my dear, and I have a request, if you could be so kind, to ensure I have a gin and tonic, as soon as you are able," he told the stewardess after showing her his boarding pass. A potion of the juniper berry, distilled, was the one thing he had found that could help still the waves of nausea that would undoubtedly threaten to wash over him if the clouds in the distant sky were any indication of the type of flight they were going to have.

As the plane taxied into the terminal in Madrid Gerald lifted an eyelid, the sodden tarmac visible through the rain-speckled window. After disembarking he made his way through customs and was soon on his way to the private club, his 'home away from home' in this part of the world. His briefcase had not left his possession, and as he finally lowered himself into a large studded-leather armchair next to the open fireplace he placed it in his lap, unlocking the clasps and opening it. Inside, atop the papers, envelopes, and leather compendium, were three large black velvet bags. A smile creased into lines around Gerald's eyes and mouth and he touched each with an almost reverent touch. "Senor Vera should be very pleased," he murmured to himself.

A movement at the door to the lounge drew his eyes upwards. A man in uniform entered, the doorman acknowledging the man's rank with a small bow of his head and touch of his heels together, an arm extending, indicating the way as he started across the large room toward Gerald.

"Senor Hargreaves, your guest, Senor Rafael Vera."