The Cane
The Warehouse team fights against an artifact empowered al-Qaeda terrorist cell. It is up to our hero's to stop the plan for the destruction of the Western world. The team will come in around the third or fourth chapter.
Worplesdon Hill, Surrey, United Kingdom
10 October 2013
"Sold for 48 pounds to the gentlemen in the plaid jacket", jetted out the auctioneer. Two assistants came up on the stage and removed the trunk and brought up an oil painting.
"Next we have a beautiful painting of the white hills of Dover circa 1808" said the auctioneer.
The winner of the chest hesitated and passed on the painting. Another Saturday, another estate sale thought the antique shop owner. Thankfully, it had been a productive day the lot that he had purchased had cost him only around 93 pounds. If the day had not been so miserable, this estate sale would have probably been attended by other persons familiar with antiques and subsequently the prices would have increased. Currently, there was an elderly woman, a male and female couple, and himself at the sale. The situation was made even more beneficial by the auctioneer, which he recognized as someone that advertised on Craigslist and other similar sites. He had seen this before. An elderly person dies and the family in the city wants the sell the residence as soon as possible. With the confluence of events he had acquired a 19th century desk that needed restoration, a slightly rusted sword, and a Revolutionary War era chest that was locked with the key being long lost. He decided that he had acquired what he had wanted and sat silently until the end of the auction.
Thirty minutes later, he had paid the consular and began loading the goods into his van. Hoisting the trunk up a ramp he froze as he saw the inscription on a dirty brass plaque Brigadier General B.A. Concealing his excitement, he approached the consular.
"Sir, do you know who the occupant of the residence was before Miss. Winthrop?" asked the shop owner.
"I believe in was one, Frederick Arnold" replied the counselor. "Why do you ask?" inquired the attorney.
"Oh, um… I was just interested in the history of the property", stammered the antique shop owner.
Walking back to his van the collector grinned profusely. He HAD the trunk of one of the most famous persons of the American Revolutionary War. He hopped in his van and drove towards his shop in the town.
Leatherhead, Surrey, United Kingdom
11 October 2013
A man stepped off the walk and rung the buzzer at the shop. The door to the antique store opened and the shopkeeper emerged.
"I see that you need my services again, Drake", snorted the man at the stoop.
"Yes, it's just a simple lock on a trunk. I could try to pick it or force it open, but I don't want to risk damaging it or the goods inside", replied Drake.
"Well, let's have a look at the trunk", said the locksmith.
The two men walked into the back room of shop and approached the trunk. The locksmith set his bag down and took out his tools. The man's nimble fingers fiddled with the centuries old lock. With a little bit of time, cleaning spray, the correct tools, and some oil the lock popped open.
As the locksmith was about to open the trunk he looked at the shop owner and asked, "Same deal as always; one item or cash."
"It's going to have to be cash this time, Phillip" answered the other man.
Drake walked over to a dilapidated desk and opened one of the drawers. Removing a false bottom he took out a cache of money and paid the locksmith. The two men exchange glances and without a word the locksmith left leaving the antique shop owner alone with the trunk. Approaching the trunk, Drake unclasped the lock, opened the top, and peered inside.
Within was a flintlock pistol, it contained what appeared to be an American Revolutionary War era union bearing the markings of a general, a pair of boots, and a cane. Drake grinned gleeful at his new acquisitions. If they indeed belonged to who he thought it belonged to than he would certainly turn a hefty profit, at least in Britain. Drake opened the draw of his work bench and began rummaging through the continence. With such an important find he knew that he should take extra precautions with the items.
"Bloody Wanker, where is it?" muttered Drake under his breath.
In his hand he held one glove and continued to search hopelessly for the other one. After a short while he gave a sigh, put one his one glove, and approached the trunk. Reaching in Drake removed the flintlock pistol and examined it. Pristine, he thought examining the weapon. Despite the 200 years that had passed the pistol looked brand new. Drake carefully placed the pistol into a zip-lock bag laid it on the table. Reaching in the trunk, he removed a black cane with the grip resembling that of a lion. All of a sudden he thought he saw the cane simmer in the back room. Rubbing his eyes, he set down the cane and walked towards the office thinking the day must be getting to him. Perhaps he would have some tea and biscuits and examine the contents, later.
As he walked toward the door he suddenly heard a sound coming from the table. Drake turned and looked to his horror as the cane was rolling towards the end. As he neared the workbench the cane fell off the edge, but before it hit the ground Drake reached out with his ungloved hand and grabbed the cane.
Suddenly, within the back room there was a brilliant glow of golden light radiating from Drakes body. As the luminosity faded, a new Drake Wellington was born.