The Marus Manuscripts (27 page)

“He’s gone,” Arin said.

“Gone! You mean he’s vanished into thin air?” a heckler called out.

“I believe he was kidnapped.”

The crowd laughed, and someone said, “Oh, that’s handy!”

“Off, please,” Dr. Lyst said to the television. The screen went blank.

“He’s probably worried about me,” Wade said thoughtfully. “I should let him know where I am.”

Dr. Lyst smiled sympathetically. “I’ll see that Thurston takes care of the matter.”

“You think Arin is crazy, don’t you?”

“Not crazy. Simply deluded.” The doctor rubbed his eyes wearily. “I think anyone who feels he has to rely on some supernatural
force—like the Unseen One—is trying to escape from the realities of life.”

Wade wasn’t sure he agreed. Arin didn’t seem crazy or deluded. But what did Wade know about things like that?

“It’s a lot of superstitious hocus-pocus,” Dr. Lyst said.

“But what if he’s right?”

“If he’s right, then we’ll all die as he says.”

Wade shuddered. “That doesn’t sound very hopeful,” he replied.

“As far as I’m concerned, we’re going to die anyway if we don’t unite under Tyran and defeat our enemies.” The doctor gazed steadily at the boy. “We each have to make a choice, Wade. We have to decide whose side we’re on. You can go the way of Arin or the way of Tyran. There is no middle ground.”

“I don’t have to make a choice, do I? Remember, I don’t belong here. Sooner or later, I’m going home. Aren’t I?” Wade felt a sharp sting of panic. He imagined what it would be like if he couldn’t get back. Though he enjoyed being important to Dr. Lyst and Tyran, he couldn’t forget his poor mother. She’d be worried sick about him.

Dr. Lyst smiled at Wade. “As soon as we get the job done for Tyran, I’ll do everything I can to get you home.”

“Do you really think you’ll figure out how?”

“I’ll do my best. I promise.”

Thurston suddenly appeared at the door. “Dr. Lyst, Tyran would like to see you,” he said.

“I thought he might,” Dr. Lyst replied and immediately left.

Thurston entered the room and began to look under the counters, behind a curtain, and in the corners.

“Are you looking for something?” Wade asked.

“Cromley the cat, Mr. Wade,” he said. “You haven’t seen him, have you?”

“No, I haven’t. Is he missing?”

Thurston opened a closet door and peeked in as he explained, “He hasn’t been seen since last night, which is very unusual behavior for him.” He suddenly sneezed, wiped his nose with a handkerchief, then resumed his search.

“Can I help you look? I’m pretty good at finding things. At least, my mother says I am.” Wade began to hunt around the lab, without success.

“Then I’m sure you are,” Thurston said.

After another minute’s search of the lab, Wade left with Thurston to look elsewhere for the missing cat.

D
r. Lyst knocked on the large oak door of Tyran’s study a few minutes later. He stepped in without waiting for a response, then paused. The beauty of the study always took his breath away. Windows stretched from floor to ceiling along the outside wall. Another wall was dominated by bookcases, the next wall contained paintings by some of Marus’s greatest artists, and the fourth wall was fronted by more bookcases, filing cabinets, and an enormous desk behind which Tyran sat.

He was looking over some papers and spoke without looking up. “I have been watching the visual recordings of the boy on the television,” he said. He poked his pen toward the large screen in the wall behind him.

“I had hoped you would,” Dr. Lyst replied.

Tyran put down his pen and folded his hands under his chin. “It all sounds fanciful to me,” he continued. “Is he telling you anything valuable?”

“I think his information is
very
valuable,” Dr. Lyst said enthusiastically. “He’s given us a whole new direction, a direction we wouldn’t have thought of in our solar-based society. It’s so simple . . . so primitive . . . it’s little wonder we didn’t think of it.”

“But will it work?”

“Yes.”

Tyran eyed him skeptically. “You sound awfully confident.”

“Don’t you see? All the elements for these bombs were right
under our noses, but we didn’t realize it until now. All my technicians in Hailsham have been watching our interviews on closed-circuit television. I spoke to them briefly on my way here to see you. They’re already starting to put the pieces together.”

“Can we create these weapons he is describing? Can we manufacture an atomic bomb?”

“I think we can. But it will take a long time.”

“We do not have a long time, my friend. I have just learned that the Adrians will probably join the Albanites to fight against us. We
must
have superior weaponry to scare them off.”

“If it’s a scare you want to give them . . .”

“Yes?”

Dr. Lyst spoke slowly, thinking aloud. “It’ll take a long time to create an atomic bomb, but I think we can create some smaller yet very powerful bombs in a shorter time—they’ll certainly be more powerful than the solar bombs we’re throwing at each other now.”

“How quickly can you produce these bombs?”

Dr. Lyst did an estimation in his head. “A month, maybe more.”

“A month! We don’t have a month! I must have something sooner, something
now
.”

“You want the impossible.”

“I
need
the impossible.”

“My technicians are working around the clock.”

Tyran paced with his hands clasped behind his back. “If I could stall everyone with a demonstration . . . just enough to impress them that we have the capability to inflict damage . . . even if we are not ready to mass-manufacture yet . . . then maybe those fool elders will listen to me.”

“You want to bluff them?”

“Yes. Make them think we have a whole arsenal, even if we do not. Can you create just
one
bomb powerful enough to make them think twice about me?”

“Without testing it first—”

“Forget testing it! The demonstration will be the test!”

Dr. Lyst looked doubtful. “I can try.”

“When?”

The doctor took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Three days?”

“Make it two.”

“Tyran!”

“Three days may be too late. Make it two days, my friend. I am meeting with the elders this afternoon, and I
must
have something with which to surprise them. Two days.”

“Two days.” Dr. Lyst sighed deeply. “I’ll leave for Hailsham right away.”

From his bedroom window, Wade watched Tyran climb into his black sedan and drive away. A moment later, Dr. Lyst left in his smaller car. Wade wondered where they were going and why Dr. Lyst had such a serious expression on his face.

Wade’s attention was drawn from the window by a strange scratching sound behind the wall next to the bed.
Rats?
he wondered. But then a dark-wood panel sprang open, as if suddenly released from a latch.

Thurston stepped into the room. “Secret passageway,” he said to Wade as he closed the panel behind him. “I thought Cromley had gotten in there, as he sometimes does.”

Wade approached the panel and ran his finger along the almost-invisible seam. “Really? Where does it go?” he asked.

“To the various rooms, then down to an underground corridor that runs to a pump house at the edge of the gardens,” Thurston replied. “I believe it was used by the servants in the old days to retrieve water.”

“How does it open on this side?”

“I’ll show you,” Thurston said. He added cautiously, “But you mustn’t go in there. It’s off-limits to everyone except a few of the staff.”

“Okay,” Wade said.

Thurston reached up to the top-left corner of the panel, which was decorated with a small carving of a flower—just as each corner was—and pressed a petal. It released the catch, and the panel opened again.

“Cool,” Wade said.

Thurston closed the panel again, then asked, “Any sign of him, sir?”

Wade turned to the room and resumed his search. “Not yet. But I haven’t really looked in here yet.”

He and Thurston called out, “Cromley? Are you in here?” and then looked around the room, behind the curtains, in the closets, in the bathroom, and under the furniture. In the darkest corner under the bed, Wade thought he saw something move. “I think I found him!” he called.

A few minutes later, Thurston had retrieved a lamp, and together he and Wade looked under the bed again.

“It’s Cromley all right,” Thurston said, then beckoned the cat.

The animal meowed weakly.

“He doesn’t look very well,” Wade observed.

Lying down on his back, Wade reached under the bed and, with a broad, sweeping motion, scooped up Cromley and brought him out.

Back on his feet, Wade asked, “What’s wrong with him?”

Cromley looked emaciated and had a crusty, yellow substance around his nose. “I can’t imagine,” Thurston said. He left immediately to call a veterinarian.

Tyran was ushered into the chamber of the elders and found the room virtually empty. Only Liven and Dedmon awaited him. The two men looked tired and impatient.

“Where are the rest of the elders?” Tyran asked.

“They’re ill and couldn’t join us today,” replied Liven.

“Ill?” Tyran was skeptical.

“Yes, ill,” Dedmon answered with a scowl. “You’re familiar with the word, I think.”

Tyran frowned. “I said I wanted to meet with
all
the elders.”

“Well, you have the honor of meeting with Dedmon and myself,” Liven said. “Are we not enough for you?”

“Frankly, no.”

“That’s too bad,” Liven said and then shuffled a few of the many papers in front of him. “You’ll have to make the best of it.”

“This is insulting!” Tyran complained.

“Oh, please, Tyran!” Dedmon said. “We’ve listened to your rantings and ravings long enough.” He groaned, then wiped his nose with his sleeve.

“Rantings and ravings?” Tyran asked indignantly.

Dedmon continued, “You’re as bad as—what’s his name?—the mad prophet.”

“Arin?”

“He’s the one. The two of you are cut from the same cloth.”

Tyran’s face turned scarlet, but he said with restraint, “You do not know what you are saying.”

Liven snapped, “What’s your business with us, Tyran? We have a lot to do.”

“What I have to say must be said to
all
the elders.”

“Well, that’s clearly not possible,” Dedmon said. “Speak your piece or get out.”

“Dismissing me like a schoolboy, is that it?”

“Suit yourself.”

Tyran fumed. “I will show you who is the master and who are the schoolboys! I have warned you.”

“Yes, yes,” said Dedmon with obvious boredom, “you’ve warned us again and again. The people will rise against us, we must unite under your rule or perish, and I’m sick of your noise. The people have
not
rallied behind you, and we have
not
perished without you. I’m so bored with indulging you.”

Tyran’s voice rose angrily. “See how bored you are in two days’ time! You will regret speaking to me in this way!”

“I’m sure we will. But until then, if you please . . .” Liven gestured to the door.

“Remember this day, gentlemen, and make note of what has transpired here,” Tyran threatened. Then he stormed out the door, pausing only long enough to hear the two men inside laughing at him.