Read Online Dancing on the Head of a Pin by Thomas E. Sniegoski - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Thomas E. Sniegoski
Ads: Link
sir,” Remy commented.
The room that they passed through next was in disarray, the floor covered with thick drop cloths. The smell of fresh paint hung heavy in the air.
“Please excuse the mess,” Karnighan apologized. “I’m having some renovation work done. Since I’m not traveling as much as I used to, I’ve decided to make my home more pleasing to the eye.”
Reflexively, Remy took the old man’s arm, helping him to navigate the cloth-covered floor.
“Thank you, that’s all I need—to fall and break my hip.” The old man looked at him, a strange mixture of anger and sadness evident upon his ancient features. “Don’t get old, Mr. Chandler. It’s not a pretty thing.”
Remy smiled politely, his thoughts suddenly distracted by similar statements made by his wife in her waning years of health.
They continued on into a hallway of rich, dark oak.
“We’ll take the elevator down to the storage vaults.”
Karnighan opened a door to reveal a closet-sized elevator. “After you, Mr. Chandler,” he said, ushering Remy inside.
Remy obliged, cramming himself into the corner.
“What made me purchase this home some years ago was the sprawling wine cellar, but not having a taste for the grape, I converted it into an elaborate storage place for my most valuable pieces.” He closed the door, using an old-fashioned hand control to make the elevator descend.
“Here we are,” he said, bringing the conveyance to a graceful stop.
Karnighan opened the door and stepped out into a lobby of sorts. It too was decorated in dark wood, framed paintings of considerable value hanging on the walls. Directly to the right of the elevator exit, there was a large safe door that seemed totally out of place with the stylings of the room.
“You’ve piqued my curiosity,” Remy said, eyeing the heavy steel door.
“I wish you could have seen them,” the old man said as he slid back a panel in the wall to reveal a hidden keypad. Karnighan punched in a code.
Remy could hear the door-lock mechanisms start to hum, whirring and clicking into place. Then came the sound of a bolt sliding back and the vault door slowly, silently began to open.
“This way, Mr. Chandler,” Karnighan invited, passing across the threshold. “I can’t tell you how sad it makes me to come into this room now, knowing that my most prized possessions have been taken.”
Remy joined the man inside the room. It was much larger than he would have guessed. Display cases of varying sizes filled with weaponry of all kinds lined the walls. There were guns of every conceivable size and shape from as far back as their invention. There even appeared to be an area designated solely for hand grenades. And there were weapons from older times as well: swords, spears, knives, and axes, as well as maces, helmets, and suits of armor.
“Wow,” Remy said as his eyes danced around the room from one of the cases to the next, objects of bloodshed from the dawn of man to the present on display here, a history of violence.
“Do you think?” Karnighan asked, leaning on his cane. “Over the years I’ve lost my objectivity.” He looked around the room, trying to see it as Remy did.
“All I can think of is what’s missing,” the collector said with a sad shake of his head.
“And what is missing, Mr. Karnighan?” Remy asked.
The old man made his way toward an empty waist-high case, the lights within still lit, as if displaying nothingness.
“Weapons,” Karnighan said, his voice much softer as he looked down into the case, as if hoping he’d been mistaken, that his beloved possessions were still there. “Some of them were just that, but there were others . . . so much more.”
Remy could hear the emotion in the old man’s voice—it was almost as if he were talking about missing loved ones.
Not too long after, Remy and Karnighan sat in a study upstairs finalizing their business over coffee.
“So you’ll have the documents sent over to my office?”
The room that they passed through next was in disarray, the floor covered with thick drop cloths. The smell of fresh paint hung heavy in the air.
“Please excuse the mess,” Karnighan apologized. “I’m having some renovation work done. Since I’m not traveling as much as I used to, I’ve decided to make my home more pleasing to the eye.”
Reflexively, Remy took the old man’s arm, helping him to navigate the cloth-covered floor.
“Thank you, that’s all I need—to fall and break my hip.” The old man looked at him, a strange mixture of anger and sadness evident upon his ancient features. “Don’t get old, Mr. Chandler. It’s not a pretty thing.”
Remy smiled politely, his thoughts suddenly distracted by similar statements made by his wife in her waning years of health.
They continued on into a hallway of rich, dark oak.
“We’ll take the elevator down to the storage vaults.”
Karnighan opened a door to reveal a closet-sized elevator. “After you, Mr. Chandler,” he said, ushering Remy inside.
Remy obliged, cramming himself into the corner.
“What made me purchase this home some years ago was the sprawling wine cellar, but not having a taste for the grape, I converted it into an elaborate storage place for my most valuable pieces.” He closed the door, using an old-fashioned hand control to make the elevator descend.
“Here we are,” he said, bringing the conveyance to a graceful stop.
Karnighan opened the door and stepped out into a lobby of sorts. It too was decorated in dark wood, framed paintings of considerable value hanging on the walls. Directly to the right of the elevator exit, there was a large safe door that seemed totally out of place with the stylings of the room.
“You’ve piqued my curiosity,” Remy said, eyeing the heavy steel door.
“I wish you could have seen them,” the old man said as he slid back a panel in the wall to reveal a hidden keypad. Karnighan punched in a code.
Remy could hear the door-lock mechanisms start to hum, whirring and clicking into place. Then came the sound of a bolt sliding back and the vault door slowly, silently began to open.
“This way, Mr. Chandler,” Karnighan invited, passing across the threshold. “I can’t tell you how sad it makes me to come into this room now, knowing that my most prized possessions have been taken.”
Remy joined the man inside the room. It was much larger than he would have guessed. Display cases of varying sizes filled with weaponry of all kinds lined the walls. There were guns of every conceivable size and shape from as far back as their invention. There even appeared to be an area designated solely for hand grenades. And there were weapons from older times as well: swords, spears, knives, and axes, as well as maces, helmets, and suits of armor.
“Wow,” Remy said as his eyes danced around the room from one of the cases to the next, objects of bloodshed from the dawn of man to the present on display here, a history of violence.
“Do you think?” Karnighan asked, leaning on his cane. “Over the years I’ve lost my objectivity.” He looked around the room, trying to see it as Remy did.
“All I can think of is what’s missing,” the collector said with a sad shake of his head.
“And what is missing, Mr. Karnighan?” Remy asked.
The old man made his way toward an empty waist-high case, the lights within still lit, as if displaying nothingness.
“Weapons,” Karnighan said, his voice much softer as he looked down into the case, as if hoping he’d been mistaken, that his beloved possessions were still there. “Some of them were just that, but there were others . . . so much more.”
Remy could hear the emotion in the old man’s voice—it was almost as if he were talking about missing loved ones.
Not too long after, Remy and Karnighan sat in a study upstairs finalizing their business over coffee.
“So you’ll have the documents sent over to my office?”
Similar Books
