He stood on his balcony and surveyed the city that lay sprawled out before him. Water vapour formed small clouds each time he exhaled, and if he exhaled through his nose, the vapour would form two trails downwards. One could entertain that he somewhat looked like a dragon, blowing two trails of smoke from its nostrils as it scowled its prey. But he wasn’t scowling. Rather the opposite, in fact. He was in a fine mood, and although his vest and shirt – which he had rolled up to his elbows – didn’t do much to keep him warm now that it was getting colder, he paid it no mind. His mood was too good to be bothered by mere temperature. Besides, he enjoyed the cold.
“It’s getting to be that time again now, Gringham,” he said, not turning to look at the man who was standing behind him. “Time to pull out the scarves and gloves and coats. To bring in the firewood. To close the window when you go to bed for the night.”
“Yes, sir.” said Gringham.
The man smiled as he stood there, looking at the city, looking at nothing in particular.
“I do enjoy the winter,” he continued, “Wonder when the first snow will fall.”
He twirled his moustache round one finger. If he had to be honest, his moustache could have been twirlier. He was already a striking man, even for his age. Or perhaps especially for his age. Well, he was striking by any standards, really. Anyway, he was striking, of that he was sure. His very appearance commanded respect, and he was fairly certain that even if he had not accomplished all the amazing things that he had throughout his life, people would still treat him like a leader of men, merely because of his looks. But his moustache could well have been twirlier, and this thought put somewhat of a damper on his mood.
Men like him do not stay down for long however, and soon enough these thoughts were replaced by memories of winter.
“You remember that time we went to the pole, Gringham?” This time he turned slightly, if only to hear the reply better.
“Yes, sir.” said Gringham.
The man looked like someone who could have been to the pole. Either of them. Or both, as was actually the case. Gringham did not. Scrawny little Gringham. With the thin, red hair, and the deep furrows all over his face. Gringham was certainly not striking. You’d probably rather want to forget him after seeing him. He certainly looked like he had experienced much, but he did not look like he would survive a trip to the pole. Either of them. Or – as was the case – both.
It was getting cold, and dark, and it was time to get inside. The man took a last long look across the city which, as the night encroached on the day, had lit up in a myriad of small lights. The man rested his arm across Gringhams back, grabbing his shoulder firmly, brotherly.
“Let’s get some tea and reminisce, eh?”
“Yes, sir.” said Gringham.
----
They had already swerved to avoid a squirrel running across the road, gotten a bit too close for comfort with a fire hydrant, and had now stopped on the shoulder of the road because the flashing blue lights and howling sirens indicated that that was probably a good idea. Perhaps it wasn’t too wise to let Gringham drive anymore. It was only natural that his eyesight wasn’t as good as it used to be. He didn’t have the heart to tell his old pal, though. They had known each other for just about half a century and Gringham had been his chauffeur for almost as long. He’d be damned if he’d change that now. Besides, he was good to have in a car chase, as he had experienced no less than three times. Especially that one in India had been one for the books.
“Oh, it’s you.” said the officer through the window, looking past Gringham to the twirly-moustached man in the back seat.
“Indeed,” he replied, “So it is.”
“Where are you two headed this time?”
“To the airport!” the figure in the back seat answered enthusiastically, “We’re mounting a new expedition!”
It was obvious he was excited, and the police officer knew he would get nowhere arguing with him, so he decided to do the most time efficient and most of all safest thing he could come up with.
“Listen, you shouldn’t be driving along here all on your own. Stay behind me, I’ll escort you to the airport, yeah?”
The twirly-moustached man nodded, “Better do as he says, Gringham.”
“Yes, sir.” said Gringham.
“ ’S a bit over the top giving us an escort for a short trip like this,” the man said as the officer was making his way back to his car, “but I suppose if they have the resources to spare... why not?”
Keeping the speed limit seemed to do the trick for Gringham. At least he was swerving less, now that he was staying behind the police car. That didn’t mean that the officer didn’t keep a close eye on them in his mirror, though.
Once they arrived at the airport, the police officer bid them farewell and was on his way. Gringham struggled to get the baggage out of the trunk of the Bentley he had nearly wrecked on the way there. The man with the twirly moustache considered the airport. It had been some time since he was last here, but it didn’t really look very different. He relished his return to this place, a hub of travel, a gateway to the rest of the world. He felt relieved, at ease. It had been a silly thing, deciding to retire. One cannot retire from adventuring – one cannot retire from what you are.
“Now then, Gringham, let us go and find these traveling companions of ours.”
“Yes, sir.” said Gringham.
