Mythology 101 (15 page)

Chapter 20

Something seemed different about the hidden entrance in the block in the library wall. There seemed to have been some kind of erosion, or a more minor disturbance of surface dirt. “Sandblasting?” Keith asked himself. Apparently, it had caused some internal disturbance as well. The passage wouldn’t open up to him. It took some time before someone heard him and let him in. Marm appeared, peering cautiously around outside before he shut the heavy facade.

“There was scratching on the wall last night,” Marm told Keith, guiding him by lantern light down the ladder inside. “We listened, but decided it couldn’t be you. You’d just come in the other door then. The old ones were pretty worked up.”

Keith was disturbed by the news. “You don’t think someone else knows you’re here?”

The bearded elf spat. “O’ course they do. You know, and pretty Marcy knows, and fair Teri knows, and staunch Lee knows. All those do.”

“I meant strangers. None of the other students know about this door. Not from me.”

Marm looked very worried. “Perhaps from one of us, then. There’s been a bit of coming and going of late. More than in past years, I can tell you. Are you going to want the same kind of wood for my boxes, or can I use what I can get?”

“Use whatever you want, Marm,” Keith said absently.

Marm shrugged. “What I want is not what I have. Our supplies are not great. Our stockpiles are gleaned slowly, at night and secretly. You must know that the old ones consider you to be wasting our time and our precious resources.”

“I don’t think it’s a waste.”

“Neither do us younger ones,” Marm declared. “But we don’t speak for the clans.”

“Just have to use my salesmanship on them, too,” Keith said glumly. “Don’t worry. It’ll all work out one day.” He spotted Holl walking by the hydroponic garden and waved. The stocky blond elf nodded and came over.

“Good day to you, Keith Doyle,” Holl said. “You’re a bit out of color today. Are you not feeling well?”

Keith found it impossible to meet his friend’s eyes, and spoke to his feet. “They took the vote. They’re going to tear down this library.”

Holl nodded sympathetically. “I know. It’s almost an anticlimax after that day in class, isn’t it? Very brave of you to come and break the news.”

Keith was taken aback. “How did you know? I was coming down here to tell you.”

The Maven took a piece of folded newsprint out of a pocket. “We all read newspapers. It was in The Midwesterner. Here, ‘Student Makes Plea for Historic Gillington.’ We’re all most happy about it though it went so against you. You did try. That was enough even for some of the oldsters.”

“The vote was pretty lopsided. I felt like an idiot,” Keith admitted, and thought for a minute. “For once I did something well. Too well. The truth is that I have no idea now when the axe will fall. The Historical Society may not come through for us in time. I’ll understand it if you decide you never want me to come down here again.” He grimaced. “I
may
be able to pass the Sociology final on my own.”

“No need,” Holl said, grinning. “You’re still welcome, and in the class as well. For the first time in forty years, they’re stirred up. And, for the first time ever, by a Big Person. They’ve decided to follow your idea to stockpile against the future, since we have no pots of gold. We may not be able to avert disaster so neatly if we haven’t our able champion. It’s an elegant solution, I must admit, to make us work for our own salvation.” Keith kicked the pavement uncomfortably, and Holl chuckled. “There’s a second reason as well, and it, too, is your fault. They’re beginning to see what they’ve been missing in new goods. We can earn proper raw materials for daily living, and a few luxuries, too, while we save to buy a home. Lee brings some things in with the supplies. I don’t mind at all.”

“Seeing as you catalyzed them into it,” Keith pointed out.

“I just see a bit further ahead than the others. Never having lived anywhere else, I’m not burdened with memories of the ‘good old days.’ Though I find it hard to picture my home in another place, I can be … more objective. But to the point,” Holl finished, rubbing his palms together, “your two dozen lanterns will be ready in a week or so. I’ll let you know. We’re wrapping everything in newspaper. The librarians microfilm each edition of the daily press and then discard them. Such a waste. But we could use a bit of string or tape.”

“No problem. You guys are doing terrific,” said Keith, elated in spite of himself.

“May I return the compliment?” Holl smiled. “I do not judge success by the results, but by the attempt.”

“You sound like the Master.” Over Holl’s shoulder, Keith spotted Enoch between two of the small houses. The black-haired elf was sawing wood, scowling at each cut piece as it fell between the saw-horses. “’Scuse me.”

O O O

“Hi, there,” he said gently, so as not to startle Enoch into having an accident. “Can I talk to you a minute?”

The black eyes rose and bored into him. “You’re talking. Go ahead. I need not listen if I don’t want to,” Enoch said curtly, and went back to cutting wood. He had on a carpenter’s smock with tools poking out of the many front pockets. There was a heap of small tile-shapes, which Keith recognized as the bases for the elf’s own specialty, puzzle boxes. The oddly shaped pieces which made up the rest of the wooden conundrums had been sorted into a neat line of baskets beside the squares. It was a tidy assembly-line.

“Well,” Keith sat down on the packed earth floor with his back against one of the houses. A spider meandered down from the eaves on a thread and hovered in front of his face and pondered his capture. He wondered where it would be best to begin his appeal. “It’s about Marcy.”

Without looking up again, Enoch snapped, “What about her?” In an instant, his face and ears had turned dark red with anger.

“Well, I only really met her a few months ago. I like her a lot. I think she’s a great person. She’s intelligent, she’s pretty, and she’s fun to be with. More than a little secretive,” Keith smiled, looking around at the village, “but otherwise what else could a guy want?”

“I know all of these things.”

“Oh, I know you do. I just wanted to let you know.…”

“Aye, you don’t have to go on,” Enoch said hostilely. “That it’s; she and you, and you want me to keep my hands off, isn’t that it?”

“No,” Keith contradicted him. “You’re half right. It’s she, but it’s not me. It’s you. I am here to ask you, as a friend, just how interested you are in her.
I
think you are very interested.”

“How would you know?”

“Well, right now, it’s written on your forehead in bold-face print. Right under ‘Doyle go home,’” Keith quipped wryly. “But mostly, it was your standing up to Carl the day I got thrown out of the Master’s class. She noticed it then, too.”

“It’s none of your business.” Enoch gestured sharply at him.

“True,” Keith conceded, gritting the words through his front teeth. His back teeth had unaccountably grown together, holding his jaw shut, and he couldn’t wrench them apart. He ran his tongue around to determine the cause of the phenomenon. Nothing there. It must be something Enoch was doing to him, but he hadn’t sealed Keith’s lips, so it wasn’t enough to shut him up. “But is it doing either of you any good as just
your
business?”

“Go away!” A slice of wood slipped off the end of the block he was sawing, quickly followed by another, and another. Keith watched in fascination as they clonked to the floor. Each section was dead even. Sweat beaded on Enoch’s forehead. He wiped it away with the back of his free hand without ceasing work, and left a sawdust stripe over one eye.

Keith cleared his throat to project his voice over the saw. “I can’t; I’m not through. Would it help if I said Marcy and I just had a talk, and she admitted she doesn’t want to go out with me anymore because she can’t stop thinking of you?” Keith inquired, ramming the sentences out so that Enoch couldn’t interrupt him. The color faded from Enoch’s face until it was as pale as it had been red. He stared at Keith, who concentrated on looking innocent and helpful.

“Is this true?”

Keith’s jaws unlocked suddenly. He worked his mandible muscles stiffly. It must have been a variation on the cohesiveness spell Holl had once described to him. Whew! he thought, I’d hate to get the little guy
really
mad. “Trust me. I’m a carrier pigeon, to coin a phrase. A go-between. Western Union. Cyrano de Bergerac.”

“I’ve read the book,” Enoch said, considering. There were the beginnings of hope in his eyes. He picked up another piece of wood, put the saw to it, then carefully set block and saw down on the ground and looked up at Keith. “Why did she not speak to me herself?”

Keith decided not to mention details of his conversation with Marcy. “She’s old fashioned,” he said instead. “And she’s shy. You understand.”

“That’s uncommonly good of you, if you care for her yourself.” Enoch eyed him suspiciously.

“I do. You know. It’s because I care that I’m talking to you,” Keith said. “I’m happy to be her friend. I’ve decided that’s enough for me. I guess I haven’t found Miss Right for Keith Doyle yet. If Marcy isn’t the one, why should I ruin it for other people?”

Enoch nodded, squinting thoughtfully at Keith, and then he smiled. The expression changed his whole face from that of a sullen little boy to an open, mature man. It was so startling Keith barely stopped himself from gaping at the transformation. “Ach, aye, well. Maybe it’s time I talked to her myself, then.”

He stripped off the smock and laid it over the saw horses. With a friendly nod to Keith, he disappeared into his little house, reappeared, buttoned up a coat with a cap over his ears, and walked purposefully toward the wall entrance tunnel.

“Wait,” Keith said, catching up with him. “It’s broad daylight out there. They’ll see you.”

There was determination in the dark elf’s eyes, making him look one last time like the headstrong boy who had sized Keith up that first day in class. “They’ll get used to it,” Enoch said.

O O O

A few days later, Keith reached for the phone without looking up from his “Sociology for the Masses” textbook. With the receiver between thumb and forefinger, he punched out Marcy’s number using his pinky. One of her roommates answered, and over the blare of heavy metal music roaring in the background, deigned to inform Marcy she had a call. She seemed a little amused by something. In a moment Marcy answered, sounding breathless.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Keith.”

“Oh, hi,” she said, more casually. “I was doing laundry.”

“I was doing homework. I thought you might like to come over and help?” Keith said hopefully. “The final exam is coming up and all.”

“Oh, I can’t. I haven’t got anything clean to wear that’s dry.”

“How about tonight, then?”

There was a pause. “No. I’m going out. With Enoch … Keith? I’m happy. Really happy.”

“I’m happy for ya, doll-face.” Humphrey Bogart was back. “Don’t let him get fresh. But where are you going? You’re going to attract a lot of attention.”

“Well,” Marcy paused, embarrassed. “I thought about that, too; so we’re going to the movies.”

“What’s playing?”

There was a mumble on the other end of the phone, the only words of which Keith could distinguish were “double feature.” “What was that?” he asked, pressing his ear into the receiver. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“It’s a double feature,” Marcy announced, louder than necessary. There was a very long pause. He prompted her to repeat, and then laughed until he was out of breath when she said, almost in an undertone, “
Labyrinth
and
The Dark Crystal
.”

“That’s wonderful!” Keith hooted. “They’ll think you’re dating the star.… Marcy? Marcy…? Hello?”

***

Chapter 21

“I feel like I’ve been brought home to meet the folks,” Marcy said, bolt upright in the overstuffed armchair in Ludmilla Hempert’s living room, squeezing her hands together uncomfortably. She unclenched them to accept a cup of coffee and a plate of cake.

“I suppose I am considering myself to be family,” Ludmilla smiled, serving Keith from her rolling tea tray. Keith took his plate and sank happily into the upholstery of the wide couch. He scooped up a large forkful of cake and disposed of it with a blissful sigh. Ludmilla regarded him indulgently. “Are you comfortable, my dear? A cushion, perhaps?” The old woman swept down on Marcy with a pair of ornate pillows and tucked them in behind her.

“Thank you.” Marcy smiled timidly, settling back.

Keith was content to sit and eat cake and watch Ludmilla handle getting Marcy to relax. She was a good hostess, and it wasn’t long before the girl was talking more freely, asking and answering questions as if she had known the old woman all her life. Keith already felt that way. He’d dropped by to see Ludmilla a few times since Hollow Tree got rolling.

Marcy obviously felt shy about discussing her new relationship, but Ludmilla drew her out naturally, reassuring her. She had stories to tell about Enoch as a child that made Keith gape in disbelief, comparing them to the taciturn adult he knew now. “He has always been most loyal and loving,” Ludmilla insisted. “I am the one he confides in. He comes to visit me frequently. He was so jealous when he saw you two out together. I worried he might do something bad. His feelings were most strong.”

“When was that?” Marcy asked.

“He visited me that one rainy day,” Ludmilla smiled, “when I had baked for them, and he came to bring my cakes and breads away. He wished to talk to me, the only person he knew apart from his family and people. About you, my dear. We talked so long he went home after dark.”

“Yeah,” said Keith, nodding. “That boy with the grocery bag a few weeks ago, after
Attack of the Killer Tomatoes
. When he made a face at me yesterday, I remembered where I had seen that expression before.”

Marcy smiled shyly. “I recognized him, but I didn’t know then why he was so angry. We’ve talked a lot over the last few days. I love hearing about how he grew up. He learned all sorts of skills—” Marcy took off the necklace she was wearing and showed it to Ludmilla. “See? The end beads stick together without a clasp. I don’t know if there’s magnets in it, or what?”

“Amazing,” Keith said, peering at the string of wooden beads between Ludmilla’s hands. He accepted it from her and played with the end beads, putting them together and drawing them apart. “It doesn’t have to be magnets. You know what’s it made of? Um, professional curiosity,” he said apologetically, noticing Marcy’s perturbed glare.

“If you must know, it’s applewood. He had to take care of his sister Maura when she was little while the village was being built. She and Holl were the first ones born after they got here. The bigger children had to keep the babies quiet until they sealed off that part of the basement.”

“This I know,” Ludmilla nodded, remembering, with a little smile on her lips.

“Boy, wait ’til I bring that one up to Holl,” Keith said, filing it for later teasing. “He thinks
I
make noise.”

“And he told me how his father came to be sort of the village headman,” Marcy went on, ignoring Keith. “Everyone respects his father. They’re all so opinionated, and they still listen to his decisions. Enoch wants to earn that kind of respect for himself.”

“Who’s his father?” asked Keith, trying to place an older Enoch.

“Didn’t you guess, Keith, even after telling me Mrs. Hempert’s story? I’m surprised. He’s the Master’s son.”

“It figures,” Keith groaned, striking the side of his head as realization dawned. “They’ve got a lot in common. Especially the temperaments.”

“But Enoch admires Keith a lot for being gutsy enough to confront him,” Marcy turned to Ludmilla, “and for not letting it get to him when Enoch was rude.”

“So,” Ludmilla twinkled, “I am sorry you are deprived of a girlfriend, but I am happy.”

“I’m happy about it, too.” Keith admitted. “Really.”

“And I am proud of you, too, Keith,” the old woman said, reaching forward to pat him on the arm. “You have done a great thing for my little ones. I am pleased.”

Keith beamed. “It’s nice to hear you say that. I need a reality check every so often.”

“In the light of my reality, you are deserving of appreciation.”

“Oh, Keith, you are a doll,” Marcy insisted, kissing him.

Keith glowed. “Just don’t do that in front of Enoch,” he told her. “He said he’d paste me one. He’s worse than Carl.”

O O O

“If you are yet admitting that you are talking to me,” Ludmilla told them as she escorted them to the door, “give my old friends my greetings.”

“Not yet,” Keith told her, bending down to kiss her lightly on the cheek. “But I will.”

O O O

In the dark of night, Keith pulled his ancient midnight blue Ford Mustang around to the side of Gillington Library, and waited anxiously as the little folk stole in and out of the wall, carrying newspaper-wrapped bundles piled high in their arms. He worried that passersby might hear them, but their footsteps made less noise than the fallen leaves whispering over the ground. A haze of snowflakes speckled the beam from the streetlight. The trunk was nearly filled to capacity when Holl signaled that the last of the cargo was inside, and Keith jumped quickly out and slammed it down. He kept an eye out for patrols. As the last of the elves disappeared back into their home, he flicked on the headlights, and idled quietly forward, his tires crunching gently on the freezing pavement. The security patrol passed by him, shining its search lamp into his window for the college sticker. Keith let out a long sigh of relief when it drove away from him.

He hurried back to the dormitory lots. The shipments to the local shops he intended to deliver in the morning before classes, and the others that had been promised to out of town shops for tomorrow he would drop off after lunch, before Sociology class in the library basement. Hollow Tree Industries was at last under way.

O O O

When Keith’s car had gone, a single figure slunk out of the bushes where it had been watching the whole operation, and tried to catch the sliding chunk of facade before it closed all the way. Under its clawing fingers, the masonry ground back into place, leaving no sign it had ever moved. Listening to make sure no one was approaching, the figure threw its shoulder against the block, but it held firm. It tried again. No movement. With a growl, the watcher pulled a pointed chisel out of a pocket, and began to pry at the stone block. The tool’s blade hopped out of the long groove and screeched across its stone face. With another glance around, the figure continued to scrape and dig with the chisel, attempting to force open the elves’ back door.

O O O

In the “Would You Believe” column in the holiday ad edition of the Midwestern gazette, a little girl was quoted as having seen one of Santa’s elves. “He smiled at me,” she said. “I been a good girl all year, and Santa knows.” The columnist didn’t appear to take her too seriously, but Catra did. She knew instantly what the source of the little girl’s apparition had been. When she brought it to the attention of the elders, they asked Enoch to be more circumspect on his outings to see Marcy.

“We still don’t know where the other articles are coming from,” Catra told him, “but this one we do. Stay low!”

Enoch agreed somewhat reluctantly to comply. “Perhaps I should have grown a mustache,” he said ruefully.

***