16 April 2012
PART 4
“Quickly,” Mrs. Turnbell said, helping Stewart free his feet. “Let’s get out of here.”
Stewart winced as he got up. It felt like he was carrying a spiked cannon ball on each foot. “Wait, wait a minute.” He said, pulling the blueprint from his back pocket. It felt flimsy, old and worn as he unfolded it carefully trying not to rip it. Trying to ignore the pain that pulsed up each foot.
“We don’t have time for this Stewart, lets go.”
The blueprint was an architectural layout. Shuffling over to one of the display lights Stewart looked it over. “It looks like a layout of the gallery building.” Stewart said, pointing out a small scribble near the bottom left of the print. "Can you read that?"
Mrs T squinted her eyes “Heads or... tails Magio at entrance.”
"What do you think that means?" Stewart asked.
“I think we should leave before he wakes up, Stewart, or at least call the police.” Mrs. Turnbell said, taking a withering glance at the Art Director slumped on his knees, face down on the floor.
“One minute. This must be important, why would the Director go to those lengths for it. What is Magio?” he asked.
Mrs. Turnbell shook her head. “I don’t know, Stewart. One of the exhibits perhaps?”
Stewart folded up the blueprint and put it back in his pocket. Heads or tails Magio at entrance… The words run through Stewarts mind. “Heads or tails... Like a coin. Could it mean the donation box at the entrance? C’mon.” Stewart limped off toward the entrance. Mrs. Turnbell followed, humoring him.
Passing the reception desk Stewart walked around the large glass bubble the size of a beach ball. It had a small slit at the top for visitors to make donations. On the third circle around it he dropped on his knees. Stewart examined the bottom of the structure. Crawling on all fours. “There is nothing here.”
“There was myth circulating the building for many years that it was built the wrong way round, and that the architect leapt to his death from one of the towers…” Mrs. Turnbell said.
Stewart was on his feet now running a hand along one of the pillar walls. “The wrong way round.” he paused. “How?”
“The myth was started because the main entrance is from Kelvingrove Park, while most visitors enter from the main road, which is Argyle Street. Remember we came in the main entrance, which is behind the building."
"So..." Stewart hesitated.
"So, maybe Magio - whatever it is - is at the other entrance.”
A small moan echoed from the ‘Life’ section. “He’s waking up Stewart, let’s go,” Mrs. Turnbell stressed.
“One second,” Stewart said, jogging down the centre hall toward the entrance facing Argyle Street. He could feel his feet burning inside his shoes. Stewart looked around frantically for anything. Heads or tails Magio at the entrance.
“Stewart!” hissed Mrs. Turnbell, “Hurry up!”
Looking behind him Mrs. Turnbell was halfway out the door waiting for him. Then he saw it. It had to be it. On the left, hung against the blonde sandstone wall was a painting of a boat. The boat had the name Magio painted on the side in white lettering. Stewart guessed from the brush strokes and style it was from the 15th Century, early Renaissance movement.
Another hiss from Mrs. Turnbell and Stewart grabbed the small painting by the frame, pulling it from the wall. He heard a small click followed by a constant high-pitched beeping that assaulted his ears. The alarm.
Mrs. Turnbell stood in awe as Stewart ran toward her with the painting in one hand. “Let’s go!” Stewart shouted.
Running from the Gallery with the alarm screaming across Kelvingrove Park, both student and teacher climbed into the SUV. Mrs. T threw her high heels into the back. Her bare feet quickly worked the clutch and the accelerator as they sped out onto Argyle Street. “Oh my god.” She said tapping the wheel.
As she drove away from the Gallery, police sirens could be heard in the distance. One patrol car came screaming around the corner ahead. “It’s the police!” she said. “They will think we’ve robbed the place!”
“Pull over at the lights and join the traffic.” Stewart said. “It will be less suspicious.” Mrs. Turnbell took her foot off the accelerator stopping behind a black Ford Focus. Sitting in silence Stewart hid the painting down in the footwell as the patrol car sped passed. Both Mrs. Turnbell and Stewart fell back into their seats with relief. Looking in the rear view mirror the patrol car swerved into Kelvingrove.
Mrs. Turnbell looked at Stewart. “Get your father on the phone right now.”
The Merchant's Coin • Opuss № I