Seven Rules by Dayle MacKenzie

  Chapter Four

  The door opened and the old man stepped out of the car. His driver leant in and helped him up.

  “Thank you John,” he said. “It’s not getting any easier.”

  The driver smiled. He’d noticed his employer had slowed markedly in recent months. The old man shivered in the grey winter’s day. He didn’t like winter anymore, especially in this city.

  “That’s what you get for building a city on a swamp,” he thought to himself as he buttoned up his overcoat.

  The driver handed the old man a small box.

  “It’s very cold, Sir. Are you sure you don’t want me to do this whilst you wait in the car?”

  “No son, I can do it. I’ve been waiting over fifty years for this day, so a little bit of a chill isn’t going to stop me. Walk me up to the entrance and wait there for me, will you?”

  The driver took the old man’s arm and they walked slowly towards the museum. The old chap grimaced as his joints complained bitterly climbing up the stairs to the entrance. He’d given his body a hard time in his youth and now it was paying him back. A pretty mother and her young son politely stopped to let him go ahead. He thanked them as he shuffled through the door.

  Inside the museum he was greeted by its familiar warmth and smell. He’d been there hundreds of times and it never changed. Turning right, he shuffled down the corridor towards the 20th Century Technology exhibition.

  A few minutes later he stood in front of a beautiful mock-up of a 1930’s de Havilland Comet racing plane and a life-sized wax figure of its pilot. It was impressive and effective. It should be; the old man had paid an eye watering amount of money for it.

  “Hello Ed,” he said to the figure. “Don’t worry old chap, we’ll soon be there to rescue you and then the fun will start all over again.”

  The figure maintained its empty gaze. The old man didn’t seem too bothered by the lack of response. He looked around the room to check he was alone, then reached into his pocket and brought out what he’d been carrying. It looked like nothing more than a brooch with a leather necklace and a metal clasp.

  He looked at the strange writing on the front of it, checking one last time it had been set correctly. Finally satisfied, he stepped around the barrier and put the item in the figure’s hand. He stood back briefly looking at his work, then turned and walked off as briskly as his old joints would let him. He could hear the boys coming down the corridor.