Night of the Dragons. Michael Anthony Steele
Larry.
“She wasn’t supposed to be ready until next month,” said the director.
“I don’t get it,” said Nick. “Who is she?”
The director swept a hand toward the mannequin. “This is Joan of Arc.”
“Really?” asked Larry. “I knew she was young, but not this young.” He moved in for a closer look. “And I thought she cut her hair and wore shiny armor and all that.”
“Yes, yes, and yes,” agreed McPhee. “But this is part of a special display I commissioned called …Destined for Greatness.” He waited for Larry and Nick to say something. When they remained silent, he continued. “You see, I wanted to inspire today’s youth with these new characters, showing that they, too, can be great.” He smiled at Nick. “Now … don’t you feel inspired?”
“Uh … I guess so,” Nick replied.
The director rolled his eyes. “Well, it doesn’t matter for the moment,” McPhee continued. “She’s early anyway.” He began to pry the other crate open with the crowbar. Larry rushed in to help him. “Hopefully, this will be part of the temporary exhibit I’ve been waiting for.”
When the front was removed, packing peanuts spilled out like before. This time, they revealed a man’s face. Piercing blue eyes stared out of a gap in the foam nuggets. The director and Nick’s father excavated the large mannequin from the hundreds of foam bits.
The man wore an elaborate military dress uniform. A dark blue coat matched pressed slacks. Several medals adorned the left side of his chest, and each shoulder bore a decoration made of tassels of gold rope. In his hand was a wooden cane. The bone handle bore two intricately carved dragons entwined around a large clear crystal.
However, the mannequin’s decorative uniform contrasted against his facial features. The man, obviously very important, wore a black beard that seemed a bit too long and unkempt. The man’s hair was slicked neatly to one side but seemed greasy and somewhat dirty. Nick thought the man looked familiar. But even with his newfound interest in history, he didn’t recognize the new figure.
“May I present, on loan from the Royal Belgium Institute, Czar Nicholas II of Russia,” said McPhee. He paused for a moment before thumbing through the shipment’s order form. “I was supposed to have the entire royal family,” he explained. “There should be eight of them total, including his most well-known daughter, Anastasia.”
“Oh yeah,” said Nick. “We just read about them last year in world history. The royal Romanov family from Russia.”
McPhee raised an eyebrow. “I’m almost impressed, Master Daley.” He brushed away a few more packing peanuts from the mannequin’s dress uniform. “Of course, having just one member of the royal family doesn’t make for such an impressive display, I’m afraid.”
Nick gazed at the czar’s pale blue eyes, which for a split second seemed to move. Of course, that was impossible. Nick knew that the mannequin wouldn’t come to life until sunset. However, Nick felt uneasy as he stared at the new exhibit. He couldn’t decide what it was, but there was something that didn’t seem quite right.
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