Advanced Mythology (26 page)

“Doris?” Mr. Collier asked blankly.

“He’s got a pet name for it,” Pat explained, his long face twisted in mournful amusement like a Lewisian marsh wiggle. “He’s in love with the darned thing. There’s a framed picture of it on his desk. Uh, right next to one of you,” he hurried to explain, as Diane tapped her toe meaningfully on the floor.

“Bad timing, Shakespeare,” Dunn scolded him.

“Oops, sorry,” Pat said, ducking his head.

“Doris is my only rival,” Diane said plaintively to the room at large.

“Not a serious one,” Keith said. He tried to recover the situation without explaining his secret plan. He realized the only way to save the situation was to jump in with both feet. He looked at Diane with sincere hazel eyes. “I mean, I would never think of asking
her
to look for engagement rings with me.” He took Diane’s hand with a meaningful expression. The Folk let out little exclamations of surprise and pleasure.

Diane brightened right away. “Oh! When?” she asked. “I don’t have to work tomorrow.”

“No, not tomorrow,” Keith said hastily. His heart sank when she looked hurt all over again.

“So you’re not serious,” she said with a wry twist of her mouth. “It was just a ploy to get out of trouble over Doris.”

“Yes. I mean, no! I
am
serious. About us, I mean. Maybe I’m being too cautious, because we haven’t graduated yet. Let’s go look at rings. Really.”

Diane’s eyebrows went up. “So why
not
tomorrow?”

Keith spread out his hands. “Because I’ve looked at both jewelry stores in town. I want something nicer for you. There’s a lot more to choose from up in Chicago. You promised to go home for Christmas, and so have I. Why don’t you come up the week after New Year’s? We’re both still off classes then. We’ll make a special occasion of it. I might even spring for play tickets. What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Diane asked, kissing Keith as the elves beamed their approval. “It’s a date!”

***

Chapter 25

“Still nothing on Doyle?” Beach demanded. VW shook their heads, looking ashamed of themselves, like a couple of schoolboys caught not having done their homework. “You’ve been trying to find him for almost two months! How the hell does he do it? He’s eating and sleeping, right?”

“Yeah,” Vasques said surlily. “We’ve been in his apartment a dozen times. His bed’s slept in. His clothes are in the laundry basket. There’s stuff with his name on it, but we have never found him there, no matter what time of day we go in.”

“Has he changed to the night shift? Is he sleeping days?”

“We thought of that,” Wyzinski said. “I got a jumpsuit and a toolbox, went in as an electrician sent by the building management to look at the wiring. The black kid was there, but no Doyle. We keep going back to PDQ, using every excuse in the book. Everybody’s just seen him a minute ago, but no one ever knows where he is. He’s ducking us like a pro.”

Beach stroked his chin. “I didn’t believe he could be a government agent, but I’m changing my mind. This could be bigger than we thought. Keep your eyes open. I must talk to him. I can’t wait forever.”

* * *

Leaning into the wind blowing bitterly off the lakefront, Keith trudged beside Pat across the street and onto the edge of the Navy Pier complex. January was making its presence felt with near-record snow. For the first time in weeks the temperature had risen above freezing, but that meant only there were puddles of slush under curbs, waiting to shoot up the pants legs of the unwary. Pat’s jeans were tucked into theatrical-looking boots that went along with his mood and his current job. Both of them had woolly hats pulled down over their ears.

“I’m going to have ‘hat hair,’ and the makeup crew is going to make fun of me all through rehearsal again,” Pat complained.

“I thought Uriah Heep was supposed to have hair that stood up,” Keith shouted over the wind.

“He is, but mine won’t stay that way without a ton of hairspray!” Pat called back. “They’ll have to blow dry it, and I’ll look like a lacquered hedgehog.”

“The show must go on,” Keith said encouragingly. “It’s a great role. You’re the villain.”

“Please! We villains prefer the term ‘antagonist.’”

“You mean you don’t believe in a specific God?”

“Thanks,” Pat said crisply, yanking open the door of the Children’s Museum. The two men scooted inside out of the cold. “That’s so old it went out with vaudeville. Say, speaking of doubles acts, how’s the old married couple getting along?”

“They’re still in their own little world,” Keith said with an avuncular smile. “Neither one seems to hear anything anyone says. It’s getting really old as far as Holl’s concerned. He ought to know better, but he doesn’t remember what it was like when he was walking into walls whenever Maura said his name.”

Pat made a face. “Yeah, you’re a fine one to talk. How many people here think Keith is going to walk into walls for six months when he and Diane finally get hitched?” Pat hoisted a long arm into the air. “Brr. That gust just went right up my armpit. How come it’s this cold inside?”

“That’s Mother Nature getting even with you for being unsympathetic. Enoch and Marcy had to hang on longer than Holl did before they got married. They’re so happy. The others ought to give them a break.”

Pat took off his hat and ruffled his hair. The lank, black strands tumbled like a limp haystack. “I am sure they are, my dear boy. But when you’re not in love everyone who is just seems so sappy. How many people don’t think they’re going to wait a whole year before trying to hatch a baby?” Both he and Keith raised their hands. “Unanimous. Nice to
see
you there, by the way. I appreciate you keeping that spell off, or whatever it is. Not that I object strenuously. If I have to have one thing blocked from my sight, it would be your silly mug.”

“Thanks heaps,” Keith said sourly.

Ever since the snowy night he’d nearly been run off the road, Keith had been using the anti-attention charm Holl and Enoch had taught him almost all the time. Pat and Dunn hated it because they found it uncomfortable to carry on a conversation with someone whom they couldn’t look at directly. Moreover, the parameters of the spell meant that they ended up staring at whatever Keith had made the focus of the spell at the moment, such as the television or a wall fixture. Dunn finally started asking him to lay the glamour specifically on what he wanted to look at at that moment, such as his dinner plate or manuals he was reading.

It was worse at PDQ. Having the spell going all day meant that people were always looking for him and never finding him. The only places he felt safe leaving it off were in the security of Dorothy’s small office or the men’s room. He had to go without it during sessions in the boardroom, but the rest of the time he was basically invisible. It meant limiting his involvement in the filming of the new commercial. The script had been changed by Rollin when Keith couldn’t be found. Keith still had been able to offer a change that he thought was pretty effective: adding images of Origami’s features to the adventure the child had on the little screen. But Keith could tell his invisibility was wearing on the tempers of even his champions like Dorothy and Paul. He couldn’t help it. Staying out of sight was not for his sake, but for the sake of more than eighty others.

Since he had the opportunity, Pat studied him.

“You look tired. Are you that worried about these people?”

“They’re a real threat to the elves,” Keith said seriously. “I’ve got to keep out of sight until they get bored and go away. The trouble is, I’m just running out of gas. It’s nice to have a few weeks off from school. I thought I could handle it all, but between the commute, my classwork, my job, and … you know …”

“The bibbity-bobbity-boo,” Pat interjected lightly.

“… I barely have time to breathe.” Keith frowned as they trudged up the concrete stairs that led to the theater. He pulled open the glass door without seeing it. “I keep wondering if I shouldn’t have postponed business school when PDQ hired me. I thought I could do it all with no problem, but my class assignments are getting more complicated, taking up hours I don’t have because I’m working full time. It’s blowing up the rest of my life.”

“Nearly threw the whole Diane thing in the dumpster last week,” Pat said with sage sympathy.

“Yeah,” Keith said. “I’ll make it up to her. I was going to wait until I could just buy the ring and give it to her right there. I mean, I’ve studied the literature. I do not have anywhere near the two months’ salary saved up yet.”

“Two months’ worth?” Pat exclaimed in horror.

“That’s what they say, but I haven’t been working a whole year yet, and who knows if I can stay on this gravy train? I hope she doesn’t mind picking one out and waiting for me to make time payments.”

“Don’t worry. She’ll forget all about the disappointment of not being engaged to you when she sees me utter the famous phrases of the odious Uriah Heep. ‘Too ’umble,’” Pat said, his lanky body collapsing into a comma over his clasped hands washing themselves.

“It’s type-casting,” Keith said, grinning. “It’s you to the letter.”

Pat gave him a superior smile. “Thank you. I thought it was a brilliant portrayal, some of the elements of which I drew from my very rich life. I’d be living in very much more ’umble surroundings, if it wasn’t for you and Dunn taking me off the streets. You guys keep a much better grade of food in the fridge than my other acquaintances of the theat-ah.”

Keith tugged at his carroty forelock, peeking out from under the edge of his gray wool cap. “Our pleasure. We’ve got to support the arts, you know.”

“You’re getting your money’s worth. This is a very true-to-life
David Copperfield.
I think the CSR is pretty brave for trying to make money off Dickens.”

“Brr. This is a Dickensian season, for sure. Whenever I had to read
Oliver Twist
in school I always pictured England being cold and bleak.”

“He ought to have lived in Chicago,” Pat said. “That’d teach him what winter is
really
about. But it’s worse out here on the pier. Well, here’s where I get off. You mere mortals will have to wait until the opening to see our brilliant performance.”

“Oh, yeah!” Keith said, remembering. He reached into his pocket. “I got paid today. Here’s the money for the tickets.”

“Thank you,” Pat said, plucking the white envelope out of his fingers. “I’ll make sure you get good seats.”

“Thanks,” Keith said. “That’ll help.”

“Hold still!” a woman’s voice pleaded over the sound of wailing that echoed off the walls. Pat’s dark eyebrow arched.

“Somebody needs to go home for a nap.”

“No,” Keith said, spotting the source of the sound. “She’s hurt.”

A little girl no more than four years old with black pigtails sat on the hard tile floor, sobbing, as a room mother tried to spread a bandage over a scrape on the child’s shin. The girl wasn’t cooperating, kicking her leg out of the harried woman’s reach. Keith dropped to his knees beside them.

“Hey, don’t cry,” he told the girl. “It’s not so bad. Hey, look! See the clown?”

The girl’s lip stopped quivering long enough for her to ask, “What clown?”

Keith took his handkerchief out of his pocket. He put his two hands together and spread them out with the white cloth in between. On its surface he allowed the image of a jolly, brightly colored clown to appear. Its white face had a bright red nose and mouth and eyes with exaggerated blue lashes around it that matched its bright blue hair. Its baggy costume was covered with spots in all the colors of the rainbow.

“Look out!” Keith said in mock alarm. “Its spots are going to fall off! Catch them!” He made the dots rain off the clown’s coverall. The little girl put out her hands, but the blobs of color dissolved into air. She giggled, her bruise forgotten. “Whoops!”

“Are you a magician?” the woman asked, fascinated. She finished the bandaging job as quickly as she could while the child searched her lap and the floor for the missing spots.

“Wizard in training,” Keith said.

“Like Harry Potter?” the little girl asked brightly.

“Not exactly. No owl,” Keith explained. He tapped a finger on the end of the girl’s nose. “See if you can catch the spots next time.” He rose and stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket.

“Thank you,” the woman called as the two men turned away and climbed the stairs.

Keith caught Pat looking at him with a peculiar expression on his face. “You know, that is very impressive,” his friend said hoarsely. Keith realized that neither of his roommates saw him do magic very often.

He waved a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing. Enoch would be all over me for using a background. He thinks all illusions ought to be free-standing.”

Pat cleared his throat. “Nothing but special effects, eh?”

“Sort of. I’ve got to get back to work. See you later.”

“Thanks for the escort and the floor show,” Pat said. He waved to the uniformed black man standing by the glass doors. Recognizing him as one of the cast members, the guard stepped aside to let him in.

Pat flipped his hand in salute as he disappeared through the auditorium doors. Keith pulled his scarf tighter and hitched his collar up around it. He retraced the route he and Pat had just taken in. To his surprise, there were shops and pushcarts all along the pier. He could have been shopping for little trinkets to give Diane! Oh, well. He could do it on the way out.

There was just too much on his mind. When classes began again he’d have Entrepreneurship and Business Accounting, two heavy courses. The Master had stated that from Classical philosophers they were moving on to ancient poetry. With Keith’s luck he meant to have them learn it from the original Greek, Latin, and Chinese. He worried that the course load was becoming so heavy he’d have to give up commuting to Chicago or consider transferring to a distance-learning program. Neither would work, he thought, browsing to the next cart, which carried small wooden goods, among them a few baby teething toys made by the elves (Tiron’s and Candlepat’s, by the maker’s marks on the bottom). It was the Midwestern connection he didn’t want to lose. If only Holl could teach him teleportation, and take the commuting time off the table. He grinned, wondering how the cost for power expenditure for a transporter would look on a spreadsheet. No, better not to annoy Dr. Li right off the bat at the start of term.

Okay, forget school, Keith thought, stopping to turn over earrings on a pushcart display, and let the new Origami ads percolate at the back of his mind for a while. New file folder: Make Diane Happy Week. Dunn’s brother had recommended a good Italian restaurant for a fancy meal, maybe to celebrate finding that perfect ring. Keith had also been scoping out nice places on the Mag Mile. Diane wouldn’t be able to resist the after-Christmas sales. Banners and signs were everywhere trumpeting deep discounts on leftover merchandise. Keith had examined them all with a newly-educated eye, seeing if he could guess which stores were offering real deals. It didn’t really matter. He’d end up going into whichever ones Diane wanted. He might not be in the walking-into-walls stage, but his ladylove could ask for what she wanted. If it was in Keith’s power to grant, it was hers. In the meantime, a pair of blue-green crystal earrings that just matched her eyes would serve as a suitable offering.

Speaking of walking into walls, the crowd was surprisingly thick for a weekday afternoon. Hordes of grade-school kids crowded the front hall of the Pier, most likely waiting to go upstairs into the Children’s Museum. Keith was jostled by bored children rocketing around the enclosed space, their voices echoing off the high ceiling. Teachers and room parents, in desperate pursuit of their wandering flock, shoved through the crowd.

A man pushed close to Keith. He tried to make room, guessing that the other wanted to get past to the bookstore, but the man hung close until they were past the door. Wondering if he was about to have his pocket picked, Keith tried to dodge away toward the Information desk in the center of the atrium. A grip like a steel manacle closed around his upper arm.

“You’re tough to locate, pal,” a harsh voice said in his ear. Keith tried to tilt his head to see his captor’s face, but his scarf and hat prevented him from turning that far. The man jabbed him in the ribs again, this time with a blunt cylinder. “Don’t try to yell. I’ve got a silencer. They’ll never know why you dropped. Move. Out the door.”