“Thief!” yelled Jon.  Tam had seen it too, and he dropped the cases and took off after the boy, bellowing. 

            The Professor lifted a hand and seemed about to say something when an ill-shaved and gruff looking man behind him pulled suddenly at his satchel, setting the Professor off balance and sending the bundle of papers falling to the floor.  The gruff man pulled the satchel from the Professor and ran in the opposite direction, leaving a scene of chaos behind him. 

            The Professor shouted for the station guard, and seemed torn for a moment whether to chase the second thief or stay with Jon.  Some station guards saw the man running and gave chase.  Professor Sheridan frowned, sighed, and began gathering his scattered bundle of papers.  Jon stared, distressed, after the man fleeing with the satchel who raced across some open tracks just ahead of a train that was pulling in.  As he disappeared behind the moving train, something huge and dark swooped by overhead, sending up a gust of wind along with the rush of air from the train. 

            Jon stared, looking up as a winged figure in flowing black plunged down from amid the ranks of statuary and swooped low over the crowd.  The figure’s wings were big and black, the span of a train car’s length.  The face, only briefly glimpsed, was a man’s, unearthly beautiful and calm, still as a statue, with terrible, strange, burning eyes.  He was there and gone in an instant, sweeping over the moving train and diving to ground on the opposite platform, invisible now along with the thief.  Jon stared around open-mouthed to find the crowd already calming, oblivious to what he had just seen.  No one looked up, pointed, or seemed in the least alarmed by the sudden gust of wind kicked up by giant wings. 

            The train that obscured the thief and the apparition finished pulling out and the opposite platform was visible, empty of anything interesting whatsoever.  There were no thieves or winged figures to be seen. 

            “Did you see?  Professor there was . . . are you all right, sir?” Jon looked down anxiously at the Professor, who was on the ground again, not fallen, but retrieving the last of his papers, and one large ebony feather. 

            The Professor examined the feather with keen interest and glanced up and around, as if looking for something.  His brow smoothed and he tucked the feather carefully into an inner pocket of his coat.  He rose and dusted off his coat, visibly collecting himself, then lifted his eyebrows in a look of mild apology to Jon.  “Quite a day.  But it’s all right.  We have the important things.”  He hefted the papers, and nodded at Jon.  “I see you still have hold of the cakes.  That’s lucky.  Let’s see if we can retrieve your headstrong brother.”

            “But Professor, your notes, your research!”

            “All in my head, as strong as on paper,” the Professor assured, oddly calm. 

            Jon admired the man very much for holding together appearances for his sake, but felt the Professor must be very upset about losing all his research, not to mention his possessions.  “But you’ve been robbed.”

            “It happens,” the Professor answered.  “But this time nothing of great importance has been lost.  See, here’s your brother.”

            Tam jogged back to them, panting.  “That little pickpocket was fast.  He got away from me, I’m sorry, sir.”

            “A man stole the Professor’s satchel!” Jon told him.

            “Bloody foreigners!” Tam cried, aggrieved.  “What kind of place is this?”

            “It’s all right,” the Professor said, his voice still calm and soft.  “Let us find our train, gentlemen, before we have any other misadventures.”

            Tam caught up the cases and gripped them firmly, looking suspiciously from side to side as he followed close on the Professor’s footsteps.  Jon hurried along beside him.  “Tam, did you see . . .  anything unusual, while chasing that boy?”

            “Not unless you count a great lot of clumsy foreigners.”

            “You didn’t see, well, anything that looked like a living statue, did you?”

            “No.  Why?”

            “No reason.  I just thought I saw something.”  Jon frowned at the Professor’s back and thought of the feather he had picked up.  But the Professor hadn’t looked up when the winged figure had passed over, or noticed the wind.  No one had seen the man with wings but Jon.  I know I saw that, Jon thought.  Why didn’t anyone else?

© 2007 Ruth Lampi