by Greg Cox
“Depends on how you define ‘useful,’ Colonel.” He brandished an oversized butterfly net that he had commandeered from the Unnatural History wing. “In the rhyme, the errant goose is ultimately caught and reclaimed by … Mother Goose, which is probably not the outcome we would prefer.” He recited the verses:
Jack’s mother came in and caught the goose soon,
And mounting its back, flew up to the moon.
Baird recalled Mother Goose departing the abandoned theme park atop the back of the giant gander. She decided she didn’t want to see the crone launching her own space program anytime soon.
“Yeah, let’s not ask her for help.”
Arriving at the Reading Room, they found that the goose had already flown the coop, leaving behind a frightful mess—and a gleaming ovoid souvenir. A large golden egg rested on the bright-red carpet, reflecting the light from the overhead lamps. It was the size and shape of an ordinary goose egg, but its metallic gold sheen was no mere decoration or trickery. This was the real thing: an actual golden egg, freshly laid.
“That’s our bird all right.” Baird picked up the egg, which was heavy enough to be solid gold all the way through. It was also, somewhat disturbingly, still warm to the touch. “And I don’t think she’s gone far.”
“Let us hope not,” Jenkins said. “The Library is almost unlimited in its breadth … and I’m not wearing my running shoes.”
Baird took a moment to admire the lustrous egg. “Gotta wonder how many of these little beauties Ezekiel has made off with.”
“Not a one,” Jenkins stated with confidence. “I maintain a tight inventory of the goose’s output and there are no discrepancies, at least not in this century. I suspect Mr. Jones considers thieving from the Library insufficiently challenging to excite his interest … thank goodness. My own impression is that, ultimately, his criminal exploits are driven more by ego than avarice.”
“In other words, it’s all about the bragging rights,” she said, thinking it over. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” She turned her attention back to the task at hand. “Where do we look next?”
“It’s quite simple, Colonel.” Jenkins located a second egg at the other end of the Reading Room, before the far exit. “We follow the eggs.”
Jenkins knew whereof he spoke. Departing the disordered chamber, they found a trail of eggs leading them on a circuitous path through the Library, with a new egg turning up every hundred feet or so. Baird gave up trying to collect them all, at least for the time being, but they’d soon located enough golden eggs to fill a decent-sized basket, assuming you were strong enough to lift it.
“This is a lot of eggs,” Baird observed. “She usually this … prolific?”
“Hardly.” Jenkins continued to grip the handle of his butterfly net, which had reportedly been used to catch a Mothman or two in the past, although that had been well before Baird’s time. “No doubt the same magical upheaval that excited the goose in the first place has increased her productivity as well. All the more reason to get her safely penned up again before—”
A worried expression worried Baird as well.
“Before what?” Baird asked. “Everything’s cool as long as the eggs stay inside the Library, right?”
“Not necessarily.” His saturnine countenance went from concerned to pained. “Centuries of unbridled human desire and adoration have imbued gold with a certain mythical cachet that transcends its merely physical beauty and rarity. I’m concerned that the presence of this much scattered gold might … provoke a response … from certain other items in the collection.”
Baird didn’t like the sound of that. “What items? What kind of responses?”
Before he could elaborate, a loud thumping noise came from somewhere up ahead. The clamor, echoing down the corridor toward them, didn’t sound remotely like an overstimulated goose in flight, but more like a heavy object being knocked about. Jenkins released a weary sigh.
“See for yourself,” he said.
Rushing forward to investigate, Baird found herself in a wood-paneled gallery she wasn’t sure she had ever stumbled onto before. Shelves and pedestals displayed a variety of arcane relics, but her gaze was instantly drawn to the source of the ruckus: a large eighteenth-century treasure chest rocking back and forth atop an X-shaped pedestal.
As in X marks the spot?
The chest, which was built of sturdy oak timbers reinforced by iron, looked like something straight out of Treasure Island or an Errol Flynn movie. A metal padlock held the lid shut, even as the entire chest bounced violently upon its perch as though possessed. The unseen contents of the chest rattled as well, shaken up by the chest’s inexplicable perturbations.
Baird eyed the rambunctious chest as cautiously as she might have once viewed a possibly live WMD back in her counterterrorism days. She skidded to a stop, uncertain if she needed to “defuse” the chest somehow—or dive for cover.
“Now what?” she wondered.
A violent tremor dislodged the chest from the pedestal, causing it to crash down onto the hardwood floor of the gallery. The padlock came loose, clattering onto the floor as well, and the lid sprang open, revealing a treasure of gold doubloons, jewelry, plates, and goblets. The smell of gunpowder emanated from the interior of the chest, evoking images of pirate ships firing broadsides at Spanish galleons, or perhaps the burning fuses Blackbeard was said to have woven into his eponymous facial hair to make himself look even more demonic. As Baird gaped wide-eyed, the lid of the chest opened and closed repeatedly, making it look like a pair of snapping jaws.
“I was afraid of this.” Jenkins came up behind her. “All these loose eggs, scattered carelessly about, have awakened the Dead Man’s Chest … and its voracious appetite for gold.”
Baird spotted another shiny golden egg lying at her feet. She picked it up.
“It’s after these?” she said. “But it’s just a wooden chest. How can it—?”
Peg legs sprouted from the base of the chest, lifting it up off the floor.
“Never mind,” Baird said, as the chest scuttled toward her like a crab, its “jaws” snapping hungrily.
“Watch out, Colonel!” Jenkins said. “It’s after that egg!”
Heeding his warning, she lobbed the heavy egg at the oncoming chest to keep from getting gobbled up with it. “Here you go, Cap’n Pac-Man.”
“Wait!” Jenkins cried out too late. “You never want to feed an enchanted treasure chest!”
Now he tells me, Baird thought. She watched helplessly as the animated chest caught the egg in its open maw. Its lid clamped down. Crunching noises emerged from inside the chest as it apparently chowed down on the golden egg.
“And why do you never feed a treasure chest?” Baird asked.
“The more gold it consumes, the hungrier it gets,” Jenkins explained. “Soon the eggs alone will not be enough to satisfy it.”
“Can’t get enough booty, huh?” she said. “Typical.”
The lid of the chest sprang open again, revealing no trace of the captured egg. Still hungry, the chest spun about like a hound after a scent and took off into the bowels of the Library as fast as its peg legs could carry it.
Which turned out to be pretty damn fast.
“Oh, dear,” Jenkins said. “What did I say before about escalating crises?”
Baird braced herself for more bad news. “Don’t hold back. How much does this suck?”
“More than Vlad Tepes’s family reunion,” Jenkins replied. “This is not just about the goose anymore, Colonel, or the eggs. There is no shortage of priceless, irreplaceable relics in the Library’s care, and they are all in danger as long as that ravenous chest is on the prowl.”
“So how do we stop it?” she asked. “A magic cutlass? An old-fashioned ship’s cannon?”
Jenkins shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s more complicated than that.”
“Isn’t it always?” Baird said.
“We can’t risk destroying the chest,” he exposited, �
��for fear of releasing the evil spirits trapped within it.”
“Evil spirits?”
“You’ve heard of the fifteen men on a dead man’s chest?” Jenkins treated the question as rhetorical, continuing, “Well, it’s actually more in than on, and they were very, very bad men.…”
She took his word for it. “The fun never stops, does it?”
“Not in my experience, no.” He contemplated the direction in which the ambulatory chest had vanished. “At the risk of stepping on your toes as our resident strategist, I suggest we divide our forces. I’ll continue after the goose while you pursue the chest … and prevent it from consuming any of our more precious treasures.”
“Works for me,” she said.
“Good luck then, Colonel,” he said solemnly. “I can’t impress upon you enough the vital importance of the task you’ve taken on. The Library does not merely hide its collection from the world; we also have the considerable responsibility of preserving it for posterity. The unique documents and relics in our keeping belong to all of humanity and history, even if many of them need to be kept under lock and key for any number of compelling reasons.”
“Which is why we don’t simply destroy them all just to be safe,” Baird said, nodding. The rules of engagement were clear: stop the chest without wrecking it, and before it wrecked the Library. “Any idea where that four-legged luggage is heading?”
“The largest concentration of golden artifacts is in the Antiquities section,” he advised. “I strongly recommend you get there first.”
“But what do I do when—?”
An elephant trumpeted somewhere behind them. Whale song inexplicably echoed in the distance. A dinosaur roared.
“If you’ll forgive me, Colonel, I fear the goose has stirred up the specimens in the Large Animals Room.” He rolled his eyes before rushing off with his next breath. “I swear, it never rains but it pours.…”
Baird was left alone in the gallery, facing the empty X-shaped pedestal and the unexpected challenge that just had landed squarely in her lap. “So much for the briefing,” she muttered. “This mission is a go.”
Yo, ho, ho, a pirate chest for me.
11
Ohio
The Banbury Fair was in full swing when Ezekiel and Mary arrived at the fairgrounds. Throngs of locals crowded the fair, which was spread out over several acres and buildings. Sawdust carpeted the midway, where food stands hawked corn dogs, caramel apples, cotton candy, and funnel cakes. A Ferris wheel offered a bird’s-eye view of the surrounding countryside. Prize cattle, sheep, and other livestock loitered in the stables. Games of skill and chance, almost assuredly rigged, fleeced the suckers, while offering teenage boys an opportunity to impress their dates by winning them an oversized stuffed animal. Fresh fruits and vegetables were displayed in elaborate arrangements. Calliope music issued from a vintage merry-go-round. A sunny afternoon cooperated with the festivities, providing a blue sky and pleasant fall weather. A chainsaw carving exhibition drew a crowd.
“I figure we can start with the pies.” Mary strode forward through the crowd, leading the way. “Baked goods are this way.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.” Ezekiel had resigned himself to the bossy librarian tagging along for the time being. Who knows, he thought. Maybe a native guide will come in handy.
It wasn’t as though he’d had a lot of experience prowling country fairs. Lost tombs, pricy mansions, world-class museums, and high-security installations, sure, but some dinky small-town jubilee? These were not his usual thieving grounds and for good reason. What was there to heist except piglets, chintzy sideshow prizes, or a blue-ribbon eggplant or whatever?
“No problems with me leading the way, Mr. Jones? Glad you finally see things my way.”
“It’s not like you gave me much choice.” He wondered again about her motives and decided that perhaps there was another good reason to keep her close by. If she is up to something, better that I know where she is. Keep your gooses close, or something like that.
He lifted a helium balloon from a souvenir stand, just for practice. It bobbed along in the air as he followed Mary to the pie display, which was set up in an open-air pavilion not far from the amusement park rides. Rows of freshly baked pies were arrayed on picnic tables beneath a log roof, while milling fairgoers admired them. Red, white, and blue ribbons singled out certain desserts for special honors. A cool autumn breeze carried the mouth-watering aroma of the pies. Ezekiel’s stomach grumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten for hours. He saw some individual slices on display as well, protected by plastic wrap. Fancying a particularly tantalizing slice of pumpkin pie, he sidled over to it and positioned his body to block any inconvenient eyes. Deft fingers reached toward the slice.
“Keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Jones.”
Busted, he thought, withdrawing his hand. Never underestimate an alert librarian.
“I was just admiring the fine quality of these baked goods,” he insisted.
“Uh-huh, right.” She steered him away from the tempting treat. “Refreshments are elsewhere after we find out if there’s anything to these crazy theories of yours.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Getting down to cases, he scanned the wooden pavilion, which hardly seemed like someplace you’d hide a lost copy of Mother Goose’s Melodies or even one-third of it. The structure was solidly built with a concrete floor, sturdy wooden supports, and a log-cabin-type roof. He rapped one of the timbers with his knuckles but heard no answering echoes; it was solid through and through.
Something’s wrong here, he thought. It was possible that there was a hidden compartment somewhere in the pavilion, but his gut was telling him that they were looking in the wrong place—and his instincts about such things were seldom wrong. “I’m not feeling this.” He looked beyond the pie pavilion to the rest of the fair. “Are there any other attractions here that might have something to do with a pie … or a pieman?”
Mary mulled it over. “Well, there’s probably a bake sale or two being put on by some civic group or another. Their booths would be over in the community hall, next to the art show.”
“Bake sales?” Ezekiel shook his head. Those didn’t sound permanent enough to hide a magic tome for umpteen years. “Anything else?”
“Come to think of it, the baking competition used to be held in the old Hobbies & Crafts building, but that burned down in the big fire of ’75, along with most everything else.”
His ears perked up. “Fire?”
“Oh, yes.” Mary was apparently a fount of local history. “A fireworks accident back in 1975 started a blaze that pretty much burned the entire fairgrounds to the ground. About the only thing that survived was the old carousel.”
Ezekiel grinned. Mental tumblers clicked into place.
“And how old is the carousel?” he asked.
“Let me see.” She gazed upward, not unlike Cassandra, as she peered back into her memory. “1919? 1920? Sometime shortly after the war.”
In other words, Ezekiel thought, around the same time the Mother Goose Treaty went into effect.
“Come on,” he said. “We need to ride that merry-go-round.”
He didn’t need Mary to guide him. She hurried behind him, struggling to keep up, as he followed the calliope music to an old-fashioned carousel in the center of the amusement park. Carved wooden horses, painted in shining colors, pranced in a circle, accompanied by a few more exotic beasts like whales and lions and unicorns. Laughing children, and more than a few adults, bounced atop the antique ride, which had obviously been kept in first-rate condition. Ezekiel generally preferred more high-tech amusements, but he had to admit that the carousel was pretty impressive. It was practically a collector’s item in its own right, which made him wonder just how much he could get for it on the black market … strictly in theory, of course.
First things first, he thought. “This has to be it. If what you’re saying is true—”
“Are you questioning my command of
the facts, Mr. Jones?”
“Not at all,” he assured her. “I’m just saying that this is the only part of the fair that’s old enough to be hiding those pages. And the carousel is just the right age for someone to have built a secret compartment into it.” His eyes widened as he examined the ride. “And check out that canopy!”
The top of the carousel was crowned by a peaked circus tent featuring alternating red and yellow stripes. Or, to be more precise, wedges.
“What about it?” Mary asked.
“Don’t you see?” He felt even more pleased with himself than usual. “The tent is divided into wedges. Pie slices!”
She looked unconvinced. “You don’t think that’s a stretch?”
“Nope! It’s all coming together now.” He circled the carousel, walking counter to its own rotation. “Let’s see, if I was going to hide a magic book in a merry-go-round, where would I put it?”
Decorative panels hid the machinery at the heart of the carousel, but seemed too thin and flimsy to hide the missing pages. Ezekiel’s eyes zoomed in on the galloping wooden horses on their poles, as well as the other carved beasts populating the ride. Booth-shaped chariots were interspersed among the prancing steeds for younger or more timid riders. One such chariot he observed was in the shape of a goose.
Mary also spotted the goose chariot as it spun past them. “There!” she said, pointing. “You think that’s where my family’s inheritance is hidden? If there’s actually anything to the stories, that is.”
“Maybe,” Ezekiel said. “But is it just me, or is that just a little too obvious?”
She gave him a look. “Hiding a long-lost book of nursery rhymes inside a carved wooden goose on a century-old carousel is your idea of ‘obvious’?”
“Compared to some of the tricky treasure hunts I’ve been on?” Ezekiel chuckled. “Absolutely.” He couldn’t resist trying to impress her. “You think that sounds devious? You should have seen the Book of the Fourth Magi. Every page held a different maze and you physically couldn’t turn each page before solving it, but, in the end, it turned out that the actual route to the lost treasure of Prester John wasn’t hidden inside the book at all, but stitched into the binding.” He puffed out his chest. “I’m not going to say that I’m the Librarian who figured that out, but I absolutely was.”