300 Feet Above

Two: Different Day

The lobby was a thing of beauty. A massive gilded hall of gold and oak, its deep wooden walls were lined with golden decals. A glittering chandelier hung suspended nearly a storey above my head, twinkling in the afternoon sunlight. The entire room looked too large to be practical, but that description also matched the Firmament itself.

I found myself alone once again, surrounded by noise and movement. Staff members shouted greetings, men and women garbed in white suits with gold trim. I grinned at the spectacle and pulled my camera out of my satchel, intent on snapping a few quick photographs.

The camera's worn metal exterior was comforting in my hands, but it looked out of place in the brilliant glow of the lobby. Everything here was so polished and new.

An odd sensation reached me, a feeling that something was wrong. Strangely enough, I felt a sneaking suspicion that I wasn't where I was supposed to be.

In a bout of inspiration that I didn't quite understand at the time, I reached into my shirt pocket with my free hand and pulled the ornate golden lens out. It sat in my palm, glass shimmering in the light, looking perfectly at home in the glamour and splendour of the Firmament.

I didn't remember this lens. How could I have forgotten something so beautiful?

The band continued to play, oblivious to my confusion as I stood, gazing down at the strange lens in my hand. The music swelled, someone bumped me from behind and I was sent stumbling backwards into the throng of guests.

A strange instinct occurred to me at that moment, and I stretched my right hand out, letting the golden lens fall. To my astonishment, a crystal champagne flute landed in my open hand, splashing its expensive contents onto my coat.

In the next moment, I landed heavily on my backside. The camera in my left hand emitted a metallic crunch as it impacted the oak floor, and I couldn't help but wince.

At the sound of the impact, there was a moment of near-silence, a subdued pause amongst the chatter, but only seconds later the crowd reached full roar once again.

I sighed, staring at the camera I had just broken. The body of the camera was dented, but it had been dented long before the fall. However, the old lens I had relied on for years was finished, split down the middle by a brilliant white fracture line. Its replacement, the beautiful golden lens, was missing. I'd traded it mid-fall for a glass of champagne, of all things.

"I can't believe it!" a Scottish accent cried. "This lad saved my drink!"

I scrambled to my feet to see an imposing man towering over me, a full head larger than I was. The man gaped down at me with wide brown eyes, his shocked expression barely masked behind a thick red beard.

"Well, hello there," the man greeted me. One hairy hand reached down to help me to my feet. I took it, and nearly had my arm wrenched out of its socket as I was tugged upwards. I gazed upward at the mountain of a man, who seemed to tower over me even when I was standing.

"I believe this belongs to you," I smiled. I extended my right hand, dangling the man's half-full champagne flute between my fingers.

"Brilliant work, my friend!" the man beamed. He accepted the glass with a nod and downed the contents in one fell swoop. "And that, on the other hand, belongs to you!"

Lucius Blackwell extended one finger and I followed his gesture to the floor a few centimeters from my foot, where the golden lens lay. I reached down and scooped it up, tucking it back into my pocket. In all the commotion, it was a miracle it hadn't broken. Blackwell shot me a knowing smile and I gave him a thankful nod.

Wait.

Something didn't sit right with me. I had only just met the man, so how did I know his name?

"Hey, lad, are you with me here?"