Advanced Mythology (19 page)

The Master raised his thick eyebrows. “So. This may be the cause of all our black moods.”

“That’s a mercy,” Dennet said. “Now we’re aware of that, we can counter it. No need to let it play with our emotions whenever it pleases.”

“But what to do about it?” Shelogh asked, standing up. “Now we know it’s a live thing, however ye define life. How can we make it go away?”

“Strengthen the fence,” a couple of the Conservatives insisted.

“It’s on this side of it,” Maura pointed out reasonably. She gave Holl a gentle pat on the shoulder. He pulled his shirt back into place. His back and arms ached. “How is it we didn’t know where it lies, if it leaves so large a footprint in our souls?”

“Did anyone ever sit down and try to trace it, as Holl did?” Marm asked. It was a surprisingly wise question for a simple soul. The others wondered why they hadn’t suggested it first.

“We weren’t looking for it,” one of the Conservatives said with a sour glare at the Progressives.

“Well, if it’s a magical being, as we saw, it ought to have been hard to miss,” Tay said, with a nod of support for Marm. “Doing damage we’ve been blaming one another for.” Marm looked surprised, then pleased. He relaxed on his spot on the bench and gave the younger male a good slap on the back. It was an ill wind that blew no one any good, Holl thought. It was worth a sound thrashing to him to see the two of them friends again.

“Clearly it’s been here for some time,” Holl said, rising. “It appears to like the cellar. We need to block the drainpipe and prepare for a fight.”

“We’ll have to move all the breakables and foodstuffs,” Rose said. “Including the beer.”

“No!” Marm protested. “It’ll ruin it!”

“Would you rather an evil intruder rendered it undrinkable?” Rose asked, frowning.

“Moving it does just that,” Marm protested. “Master!”

The Headman shook his head. “Uf all things in this household, it appears to haf left the contents of the barrels alone.” He held up a hand to forestall Marm’s protest. “Apart from draining them, that is. Can ve not now agree that it vas this being who has been stealing mead, and not vun of us?”

It was Marm’s turn for an apology, and he didn’t stint. “I am sorry for any false accusations,” he said. “I care for my art. It’s the heat of the moment that made me forget I do not do this for myself alone.”

“Handsomely said,” the Master acknowledged. The others murmured assent. Even the normally sour Curran seemed appeased. “Now: action. Vhat must ve do?”

“That would depend on what it is,” said Holl. “I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.”

“Nor I,” said the Archivist, “but I will research it more closely. Will everyone give me their best images of it, on the computer, if you can render it there?”

“And if it does not ruin the computer again in the meanwhile,” Tay said.

“Ah!” Bracey said, raising a knowing finger. “Do you think this is a new kind of demon? A computer virus? We’ve heard enough about them in the newspapers, not to mention in the on-line digests.”

“No, you fool,”
Enoch said peevishly. “What would it be doing in a barrel of mead?”

“Well, where do they go, and where do they come from?”

“I don’t know,” Holl said. “We must think. This is destroying our peace.”

“In the meantime,” Aylmer said firmly, “we must put the guards up still more strongly.”

“You can’t do that,” Holl said. “They’re almost powerful enough to kill now. Sooner or later some innocent is going to fall victim to the protections, and we’ll be guilty of its death. Have you not noticed that birds rarely sing in the mornings any longer? At least not close by. No crickets. No rabbits. All living things with any wits about them avoid this place. We might as well be back in the library.”

“And that’s where I wish we were,” Keva said, going nose-to-nose with her younger brother. “At least there we had no mysterious enemies attacking us.”

“We were starving, too,” Enoch said. “If not for the intervention of the kindly ones such as Ludmilla and Lee and especially Keith Doyle, we’d be worse off. There’s no reason to flee. Something must be done, but it’s clear that increasing the protections we have won’t work.”

“What about,” Marm asked, carefully sorting out his words, “something specifically meant to flush out electrical beings? It’s done all the time on the computer, isn’t it?”

“You can’t put a virus checker against malign beings in the air,” Enoch said impatiently, with a curt gesture.

“The least we can do is warn those we send messages to,” Holl said. “It sounds as though Keith Doyle’s computer has sustained some damage from each of our sendings.”

“You may not tell him,” the Master said at once.

“Why not? We’re going to warn the Niall. It’s not fair to let the Big One think his machine is at fault every time it loses its programming, when, in a way, it’s our doing. And what if it does something to him while he’s here? It can’t poison him, since he only drinks from the cup we gave him, but it could harm him in other ways.”

“No,” the Master cut off his protest. “Not yet.” Holl was unhappy. He sensed a new edge in the air, as his folk prepared themselves to undergo a siege against their intruder. “I understahnd that you feel responsibility for our friend. Try to behave normally. To do otherwise is to alert the Big Folk that there vas something wrong, and that, in spite of our troubles, is something ve are not yet prepared to do.”

“Then what in heaven’s name should we do?” Holl asked, springing up from his place. “The Big Folk will still come and go. If we close off all doors and let no one know, we will be shut in alone with this thing. It may kill one of us next. How long are we to pretend to the outside world that nothing is wrong?”

The Headman spread out his broad hands. “Until ve can conceal it no longer. This is our problem.”

“Our shame, you mean,” Enoch said. “If you will not think of Keith Doyle, what about the other students? They have not his experience with the unseen facets of life. You owe them a debt of care. What if our unknown monster attacks one of them?”

“This is not a new problem,” his father said, raising his eyebrows. “It has been going on for some time. It has not attacked anyone whom it did not perceive as hafing attacked it first. It regards Holl’s action as an attack.”

“So we don’t listen for it any longer, pretend it’s not creeping around here?” Holl asked. “If mere perception is enough to set it off, then it’s dangerous indeed. We’ll have to take our chances in order to study it, whatever it might cost one or more of us. I’d be willing to take the risk. Who else will help me?”

His suggestion caused an outburst. “No one!” a Conservative snapped. “You’re not Headman yet. It’s for the Master to gi’e an order like that ’un.”

Holl flinched at the accusation that he was overstepping his position. “I meant only that we need to be brave enough to do the research which will bring us answers. We don’t know what it wants.”

“It wants our land,” Curran said. “It wants us out of here. We’d best be prepared to give it that, in the name of peace.”

Catra hung her head. Holl glimpsed tears glittering in the corner of her eye, but she nodded stoically. She, like he, loved their new home. “I will start reading the classified advertisements.”

“We can’t run off and pretend this never happened,” Enoch growled, not accepting the attitude of surrender the other villagers were assuming. “What if we have awoken something that craves vengeance? What if it follows us? What if this is a monster of our own making?”

That was too horrible for most of them to contemplate.

“Then we’d best figure out what it wants,” Holl said resolutely, “and try to solve the problem, or we might end up taking it with us when we go.”

***

Chapter 17

“Sit down, Dorothy,” Doug invited her, patting the swivel chair beside him. “Come on. There’s still half an hour to go.”

“I can’t,” Dorothy said, pacing in a corner of the boardroom. Not that there was much room to pace, Keith thought, watching her lipstick-colored back shifting up and back like a matador’s cape. Everybody who could fit into the room was there, watching the big television screen. It was D-Day, or rather, O-Day, the last Thursday in October, the week before Halloween—the day the advertisements for Origami would hit the streets for the first time. Bill Mann and his executive staff were in the boardroom of PDQ with the executives and the creative staff. They were waiting for 3:05 p.m. to click over on the digital clock on the wall, when Janine and Rollin’s commercial would air for the first time, introducing the Origami to the world. Keith himself was so excited he couldn’t sit still. He’d been swiveling back and forth in his chair, to the obvious annoyance of Jason Allen at the head of the table. He stopped, not wanting to annoy the executive further, but found himself fidgeting endlessly with a coffee cup. He thought briefly about learning to knit. It’d be an allowable outlet for the nervous energy in his hands, and he’d have eight or ten sweaters by the end of the week. Success or failure now rested squarely on the backs of those who were in the room. If they did their job, there’d be millions in sales, and more ad revenue. If they didn’t—well, Keith knew he’d be first out the door, perhaps with Dorothy not far behind him.

“Demographics said give the businessmen a toy after the markets closed,” Paul said. He’d said it a dozen times in the last ten minutes. He stood with his arms crossed close to his chest, pulling pensively at his lower lip with thumb and forefinger. “You don’t want to promote something expensive after Triple Witching in case the markets have dropped. They’ll still be optimistic now.”

“I’ve got forty store buyers ready to call me the minute they sell their first unit,” one of the salesmen said. “We’ve got shelf-talkers, POP displays, and posters everywhere.”

“What about the Internet banners?” Jen Schick asked.

Paul nodded at the clock. “We’re going to give TV first crack at live media. At 3:06 the banners and ads hit the Net. One of my interns is monitoring chat sites. Our PR firm representative assured me the releases are going out to every techno site he can reach.”

Bill Mann spread his hands on the table. “Then this is it,” he said. Jen had fingers crossed on both hands. Theo Lehmann sat drumming his fingertips, body tense, his eyes fixed on the screen.

“Newspapers and magazines started this morning,” Doug Constance said. “The ads will run in all editions tomorrow and all weekend. The ball’s rolling.”

“And my ad, I mean, our ad?” Keith asked anxiously.

“And Toto, too, my dear,” Doug said in a sugary voice. He passed a file
to Keith that contained tear-sheets of foreign translations. “‘One of Everything’ will be annoying everyone from billboards in a dozen cities by next week. Take a ride out on west Ohio Street. It’s going up there right now.”

“Yahoo!” Keith shouted, springing up out of his seat. It was real! His party was going to happen!

“Shh!” Dorothy ordered. “Here it comes!”

The camera faded to black on the CNN announcer. Psychedelic colors burst upon the eyeballs, accompanied by the bouncy sixties song. The Origami started its little dance, twisting and flying around the screen. It looked irresistible, perfect, fun. Keith wanted to grab it right through the screen and play with it. Everyone in the room burst into wild cheers, with Rollin shouting, trying to get them to be quiet so they could hear his dialogue. It was impossible. Dorothy seized Keith and whirled him in a circle.

“We did it!” she cried.

The Origami folded in the actor’s breast pocket. The minute-long spot ended with only the last four words of the script audible, “… motion machine from Gadfly.”

Bill Mann’s dark eyes were shining. “We’re in business.”

“It’s a success,” Doug said.

“Champagne!” Dorothy announced, standing at the sideboard. She handed the first bottle to Doug. “Go on, you do the honors.”

The cork hit the ceiling. Over glasses of the effervescent wine everyone continued to hash and rehash the appearance of the commercial, and speculate on how it was going over. Within minutes the telephones began ringing. Queries started to hit the chat rooms at once.

“Mostly ‘what is this thing?’” said one of Paul’s interns, coming in with a sheaf of printouts. “They’re intrigued. Half of them say they’ve got to have one.”

“We’ve tickled the technos,” Rollin said, throwing himself into a chair with his hands behind his head. “We have arrived. I love the Silicon Age.”

“It’s wonderful,” Jen Schick said, over and over again, staring at the big television display, which was now occupied by a woman in a suit reading the news. “I saw the commercial going together. We even screened it, but it didn’t feel real until this moment. How often will it air now?”

Doug handed her a folder. “Here’s this week’s schedule. I’ll keep you up to date. If you need any more information at any time, call, but we’ll continue to be in touch.”

“Nice work, everyone,” Jason Allen said, rising from his chair.

“Thanks, Jason!”

“You’ve got good people,” Bill Mann said, rising to shake hands.

Allen’s eyes scanned the creative team, landing last on Keith. Keith gave him a hopeful smile, and was rewarded with a grudging expression of approval. His stint in purgatory was over.

“Best in the business, Bill. See you later.” The executive retreated, followed by the account people, all suddenly busy with cell phones or notebooks. The celebration was over. Time to get back to work and sell more ads. No one had the luxury to sit
back and rest on the laurels of one commercial, however successful.

* * *

And successful it was. The ad for Origami had everybody talking. On his way home from work, the conversation in the bus was all about the terrific new toy they’d seen advertised. One highly envious young urban professional said that his partner had one, had run out for it right after the first ad. Everybody wanted details. Keith felt special being involved in the campaign. He badly wanted to tell them he’d seen it
months before any of them had, but in a way he felt that would retroactively violate his non-disclosure agreement. Besides, the other riders would probably beat him to death with their briefcases. Anyone who had a PDA or a pocket computer seemed to look at their old device with jaundiced, unsatisfied eyes.

But the event that made Keith happiest of all was early the following week, when the bus pulled to a halt at his stop. There, on the side of a genuine city of Chicago vehicle, as large as a sofa, was the Origami. And there, in the middle of the screen, was his invitation to all the little people all over the world, asking them to come to his party. Keith was so overwhelmed that when the woman behind him nudged him to remind him to get on the bus, he spun around, seized her hand and kissed it. Before she could recover from her astonishment, he grabbed the metal handbar on the bus door, swung himself to the top of the steps, and flourished his bus pass.

“To PDQ, Jeeves, and don’t spare the horses,” he said grandly. He bowed the woman past him and sauntered down the aisle to the nearest empty seat. Now, if all those Little Folk
out there who saw the invitation would just respond to it, Keith would be the happiest man in the world.

* * *

Within that same week, he began to see Origamis popping up everywhere. On the bus. Where he went to lunch. In the library
.
On the street, where excited buyers, fresh from the telephone/wireless activation process, dialed the person nearest and dearest to them to say, “Guess what I’m talking to you on!”

“The buzz is phenomenal,” Dorothy said, greeting Keith as he came into the office. “We are getting press everywhere. Nothing like it has been seen since the cell phone.” She shook a handful of papers at Keith. “Jen Schick is already getting queries about tying in the programming to i-business in the US. It’s all over Europe and Japan. She wants us to be ready with ads saying that the Origami supports i-data.”

“Any time,” Keith said cheerfully. “I’m ready to change the world.”

“Well, we already know you’re its number one fan,” Dorothy said. It was a running joke around PDQ how besotted Keith was with it. He had only two photographs on his windowside table: Diane and the Origami.

“I wish I had one,” he said. “It’s tough saving for an engagement ring and a pocket computer at the same time.”

Dorothy looked at him with disbelief in her eyes. “What, on what we’re already paying you?”

Keith grimaced. “I’ve still got tuition expenses. Everything went up when I transferred to the condensed Saturday courses. I didn’t know they cost more than the regular program. And it looks like I might need some serious engine work on the Mustang. The wear and tear from my weekly commute isn’t helping. And rent and food, of course.”

“Hadn’t you better think about retiring that horse?” Dorothy asked, putting her hands on her hips. “It’s ancient, and it’s got to be a gas guzzler.”

“It’s a good car!” Keith said. “And it gets pretty good mileage. Really.” It did, but the economy was not due to the design built by the Ford Motor Company. Not prone to metal-burn like the Little Folks, Keith had been magically tinkering with his beloved old car until it earned respectable mileage. He was a little concerned about what would happen when it went in for its yearly emission-control testing. He had no idea if anything unusual would show up in his exhaust fumes. How he’d explain it to the testers he didn’t know.

“Well, you ought to be able to afford to replace it in a year or so,” Dorothy said, sitting down at her desk. “Your work on the campaign has been good. Everyone upstairs is happy. If you can keep it up this could secure things for you. On a permanent basis, such as that is in this business.”

“That would be great!” Keith said, scooting his chair up beside her. “So, what’s next?”

“We build on success. Why don’t you get to work on those i-business tie-ins? That’s where you’re walking down the street and the screen of your phone or PDA, or in this case your Origami, lights up with an e-coupon for doughnuts for the shop you’re walking past. You go in and give them the pin number on the coupon. You get the pastry at a discount, the shop gets business, and everybody’s happy. Go down to Research and get information on how they’re doing it—the greatest usage is in Japan, but Europe is coming up fast—and start thinking about how it fits in with the Origami and the US.”

“Roger, Captain…! Oops,” Keith said, looking at his watch. “I can’t right now.”

“Why not?” Dorothy asked.

“I’m sorry. I forgot Dola is coming in today. I’ve got to get her from the train station.”

Dorothy thought for a moment, then her brows went up. “The Fairy Footwear girl? Your cousin?”

“Uh, yeah,” Keith said. “Time for the Christmas ad campaign. I’m her legal guardian on the set. Besides,” he added, with a grin, “she wants me to take her shopping.”

“Uncle Keith generous to his niece?”

“To a fault,” Keith said, “as the Californians said about the San Andreas. So, is it okay if I…?”

Dorothy waved him out the door. “Later, champ. Bring her by to say hello. I know some
really
expensive stores I think you should take her to.”

“Ouch, my aching wallet. Thanks, Fearless Leader.”

* * *

The production house handling television spots for America’s Shoe was within walking distance of PDQ, but too long a hike from the train station, especially for one of the Little Folk. Keith took the Mustang to the Amtrak station just in time to meet Dola on the platform. There was just a split second of concern as Keith wondered if he would recognize her in the crowd, then realized he was silly to worry. The girl he thought at first was a five-year-old coming towards him on the platform, wearing pink coveralls and a flowered shirt and a floppy hat pulled down over her ears, started waving when she saw him. Unlike some of the other Little Folk, Dola was not in the least disoriented by being in a crowd of Big People.

“Hi,” Keith said, coming to meet her and pick up her suitcase. “Ready to become more famous?”

“It is a job,” she said, with a grownup air that made Keith laugh.

“You’re doing it really well. You’re getting fan mail, you know. The company thinks you should be answering it.”

“I know,” Dola said, “but must I? They don’t know anything about me other than what I look like. I get such funny questions, such as what do I like to eat and what music I listen to. I am afraid they may become more personal, and we don’t want that.”

Keith didn’t have to ask who “we” were. He shook his head. “I can ask the rep handling America’s Shoe to get someone to answer the letters for you. If you want, you can give her some information so she doesn’t have to make it all up.”

“I think I would like that, Keith Doyle,” Dola said solemnly. Keith chuckled. She was just like a miniature grownup sometimes. The elves matured slower than humans physically, but they had an old, wise view of the world from childhood.

“Let’s see what we can do.” He bowed her into the Mustang as if she was visiting royalty, and pulled out of the underground parking lot. “Great weather we’re having for November,” he said, knowing he was talking too fast. “No snow yet. I can’t take you back tonight, but you can stay in the apartment tonight. You can have my room. I’ll sleep on the couch. Is that okay with you? We’ll drive down after work tomorrow.”

Dola cocked her head. “You are going to ask me about how things are going at the farm,” she said, following his train of thought far too well. “Please don’t ask me again, Keith Doyle. I’m not supposed to talk about home. Please.”

Keith tried not to look disappointed. She had followed his train of thought far too well. “I won’t ask, if you promise me that there’s nothing I can do to help.” She hesitated, and he jumped on it. “There is something wrong. Is someone sick?”

“Well … no …” But she sounded uncertain.

“Is it me?” Keith pressed. “Something I’ve done?”