Read Online Waking Anastasia by Timothy Reynolds - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Timothy Reynolds
Tags: Fantasy
Ads: Link
still in very good condition.” He picked up the watch, opened it, and examined it closely with the loupe. “I would have to open it up to be sure, but I’m nearly certain that this is a 1922 Longines. White gold, not silver, as many people assume. Seventeen jewels. Swiss-made. Very nice.” He pulled a pen and a small coil-bound notebook from his shirt pocket and made some notes.
Jerry was pleased. “It all belonged to my great-grandfather.”
Petrov barely heard Jerry as he examined the book. “A nice edition but a shame the cover is stained and torn—that will affect its value, obviously.” He opened it and read the inscription. “‘To Ana, love Mama. Christmas 1915.’ Lovely. Very sweet. This Ana was a family member?”
Jerry chuckled. “Of mine? Oh, no. My great-grandfather picked it up in Russia in the summer of 1918. He was in some place called Ekaterinburg. I’ve been meaning to do some research on the Internet but just haven’t had the time, what with the move and all.”
If at all possible, Petrov held the book with an even lighter touch than before, visibly shaken. With trembling hands, he placed the Blake volume down on the velvet. “Ekaterinburg in 1918? He was a soldier?”
“A captain in an Expeditionary Force of some kind. There’s a photo inside the back cover that might help.”
Petrov picked up the book once again. He opened the back cover and the scalloped-edged black-and-white photo of the Ipatiev House slid out and dropped onto the glass cabinet top. “Very interesting.” He looked again at the cover, using the loupe once more to get detail his old eyes alone couldn’t. “But with no way to corroborate the origin of this curious little volume, in addition to the damage, I’m afraid it has little value other than as a personal family treasure. Is that stain wine, perhaps?”
Jerry shrugged. “I have no idea. I suppose it could be.” He’d originally thought it was blood, but now he wasn’t so sure. “Mr. Petrov, do you have an estimate I can give my insurance agent until a formal appraisal can be done? Please?”
Petrov wrote two numbers on the back of his business card and handed it to Jerry. “These are estimates of the values of the watch and the camera. The book, maybe $50, because of its age. I can prepare something formal for your insurance company; if you give me an address, I can drop it off.”
Jerry read the note and put it into his wallet. “Thank you. Or you can email it. Whatever is easiest for you. I’ll give you my email, my cell number, and my address. I live around the corner on Broad Street. Not too far away.” He took another of Petrov’s business cards from the jade cardholder on the counter top and wrote the information on the back.
Petrov took it, read it, and tucked it carefully in his vest pocket. “Very good. I should have something later today or early tomorrow.” He smiled warmly, and Jerry’s doubts evaporated. “That’d be great, sir.” He left the shop, his heirlooms held close.
ANA WAS QUITE certain that she no longer needed to breathe, but nonetheless she’d been holding her breath. She sensed a movement and the warmth of a nearby kind soul, but then there was a malignance, a jumbled, confused sense of others in the darkness, or at least other darknesses near at hand. She willed herself to be as small and unnoticeable as she could. Whatever she was sensing, it was not friendly to her.
PETROV WAS ON the phone before the echo of the door bells had died. Working from memory, he fumbled over the last two numbers, remembered them, and finished dialling. It only took two rings before it was answered.
“Mr. Petrov. Merry Christmas.”
Petrov sat his old bones down on his stool. “How did you know it was me?”
“Call Display. You really need to catch up with the rest of us, old man. Now, what’s so important that you’re calling my personal cell phone during Christmas break?”
“Yes, I am sorry about that Doctor
Jerry was pleased. “It all belonged to my great-grandfather.”
Petrov barely heard Jerry as he examined the book. “A nice edition but a shame the cover is stained and torn—that will affect its value, obviously.” He opened it and read the inscription. “‘To Ana, love Mama. Christmas 1915.’ Lovely. Very sweet. This Ana was a family member?”
Jerry chuckled. “Of mine? Oh, no. My great-grandfather picked it up in Russia in the summer of 1918. He was in some place called Ekaterinburg. I’ve been meaning to do some research on the Internet but just haven’t had the time, what with the move and all.”
If at all possible, Petrov held the book with an even lighter touch than before, visibly shaken. With trembling hands, he placed the Blake volume down on the velvet. “Ekaterinburg in 1918? He was a soldier?”
“A captain in an Expeditionary Force of some kind. There’s a photo inside the back cover that might help.”
Petrov picked up the book once again. He opened the back cover and the scalloped-edged black-and-white photo of the Ipatiev House slid out and dropped onto the glass cabinet top. “Very interesting.” He looked again at the cover, using the loupe once more to get detail his old eyes alone couldn’t. “But with no way to corroborate the origin of this curious little volume, in addition to the damage, I’m afraid it has little value other than as a personal family treasure. Is that stain wine, perhaps?”
Jerry shrugged. “I have no idea. I suppose it could be.” He’d originally thought it was blood, but now he wasn’t so sure. “Mr. Petrov, do you have an estimate I can give my insurance agent until a formal appraisal can be done? Please?”
Petrov wrote two numbers on the back of his business card and handed it to Jerry. “These are estimates of the values of the watch and the camera. The book, maybe $50, because of its age. I can prepare something formal for your insurance company; if you give me an address, I can drop it off.”
Jerry read the note and put it into his wallet. “Thank you. Or you can email it. Whatever is easiest for you. I’ll give you my email, my cell number, and my address. I live around the corner on Broad Street. Not too far away.” He took another of Petrov’s business cards from the jade cardholder on the counter top and wrote the information on the back.
Petrov took it, read it, and tucked it carefully in his vest pocket. “Very good. I should have something later today or early tomorrow.” He smiled warmly, and Jerry’s doubts evaporated. “That’d be great, sir.” He left the shop, his heirlooms held close.
ANA WAS QUITE certain that she no longer needed to breathe, but nonetheless she’d been holding her breath. She sensed a movement and the warmth of a nearby kind soul, but then there was a malignance, a jumbled, confused sense of others in the darkness, or at least other darknesses near at hand. She willed herself to be as small and unnoticeable as she could. Whatever she was sensing, it was not friendly to her.
PETROV WAS ON the phone before the echo of the door bells had died. Working from memory, he fumbled over the last two numbers, remembered them, and finished dialling. It only took two rings before it was answered.
“Mr. Petrov. Merry Christmas.”
Petrov sat his old bones down on his stool. “How did you know it was me?”
“Call Display. You really need to catch up with the rest of us, old man. Now, what’s so important that you’re calling my personal cell phone during Christmas break?”
“Yes, I am sorry about that Doctor
Similar Books
