Northwest approached a recumbent figure. It was the laid aside corporeal remains of Dr. Ravenscroft. Poisonous birds, snares, nor other death dealing agents were guilty, simply the evanescent nature of life in a place he always dreamed of finding -- poetic alchemy to embark on his next mysterious journey, his voyage from this side of eternity to the back of the great beyond.
Locke unclasped the conductor's watch, thinking it strange that the delicate little machine was still ticking. He opened the hunter case to find it held a photograph depicting the professor sitting with Angela when she was a child. A ruby embedded in the skeletonized mechanism blazed with reflections like a crimson colored hall of mirrors alongside a perpetual calendar with a moon phase. An ethereal glow from its core behind animated gears, wheels, and cogs illuminated the railroad chronometer, as if it belonged to a phantom engineer standing atop the cars orchestrating a wild ghost train thundering down the track. Hinged covers folded out from the back to reveal a compass, flip-up sundial, barometer, and thermometer. He closed the compendium to put it in his jacket saying, "Thank you, Doc."
The smuggler pulled out a few yards of gossamer fabric for covering, and then a cigar that had been covertly taken from the museum director's vest pocket in an act of legerdemain. "Here's some close-up magic." He placed the log of unfiltered tobacco in his former mentor's hand, "It's imported."
