by Ward Wagher
Breakfast was prepared by Mrs. Saule, and consisted of bacon, eggs, and hash browns. Once again, the guests thought the meal was excellent. The storm had passed through and the sky was clear. It was very cold outside. The old lady bundled up and led them back to the barn, where the grasshopper showed a full charge on its accumulators.
“Indianapolis Control, this is Palatinate One,” Abby spoke to the radio.
“Good morning, One, this is control.”
“Control, requesting direct vector to Indianapolis Field from current coordinates.”
“Direct vector granted. No traffic at this time. You may lift off at pilot’s discretion.”
Abby nodded. “Pilot’s discretion confirmed.”
She looked around the small cabin. “Everyone buckled in?” she asked.
“I really hope it is going to be a smoother ride this morning,” Maggie commented.
“There is always a bit of bumpy air after a major storm goes through,” Abby explained. “However, it will be nothing like yesterday.”
“Good to know,” Larry said. “Yesterday was unbelievable.”
Winkleman said nothing, but merely nodded.
The low buzz of the fans intruded into the cabin as she lifted the craft and eased it through the open doors of the barn. Mrs. Saule stood to one side with her hands on her hips as she watched them leave. Abby applied more power and allowed the grasshopper to gently climb. There were some bumps in the air, as she had said, but it was mostly a smooth ride.
“Apropos of nothing at all,” Winkleman said, “that was a most unusual experience.”
“All things considered, it was a pleasant enough stay, say, compared to crawling under a snowdrift,” Larry said.
“That, young man, is the truth,” Winkleman shot back. “We should be thankful we are alive to talk about it.”
“For sure,” Abby said fervently.
“And how would you describe your piloting experience yesterday?” he asked Abby.
“Well, Sir, flying through weather like that once in a lifetime is quite enough, thank you very much.”
“Not done that before, eh?”
“This is the kind of weather they warn you about in pilot training. It breaks aircraft and kills people. We were very lucky.”
“Remind me to listen more carefully to you next time,” Winkleman said.
“And what about Mrs. Saule?” Maggie asked.
Winkleman turned around in his seat and looked at Maggie.
“Talk to me, Margaret.”
“The housing manager in Cambridge is named Mrs. Willow, and she looks very much like Mrs. Saule, and she is a ferocious old biddie. When we traveled to Columbia, we visited the college there, and the receptionist was named Mrs. Weidenholz, who also looked very much like Mrs. Willow.”
“And those other two names also mean Willow,” Arthur commented to himself. “Very well, Margaret, what else did you observe?”
“When we returned for a second visit to the college, there was a new receptionist who told us that there was no record of a Mrs. Weidenholz employed there. Oh, and Mrs. Saule called Abby Colonel. How would she know that?”
“I noticed that, too,” Arthur murmured. “Was there anything else?”
“The room where I slept,” Maggie hesitated. “It was decorated exactly like the room in the house where I grew up. I mean, exactly.”
Winkleman pursed his lips and looked over at their pilot. “I caught the Colonel reference, as well. I suppose, Abigail, we might want to start a quiet investigation after we get back home.”
“Understood, Sir,” Abby said.
The conversation dwindled as they flew through the now quiet sky towards Indianapolis. While the airport had been plowed, they could see enormous snow drifts from the air as they descended. Once again Abby flew them through the doors into the hangar where the car waited for them. There was also a small welcoming committee.
“Ah, Paladin,” one of the men stepped forward. “We are delighted you survived the storm yesterday. The size and violence of it was unanticipated.”
Winkleman smiled as he shook his hand. “I am glad to have survived it. Fortunately, we found a farm to shelter overnight. So, I am actually quite rested.”
“I am embarrassed,” said the next man, whose voice Maggie recognized as the head controller for the Indianapolis airport. “We did not see it coming.”
“It ended well,” Winkleman said. “How are the roads into the town?”
“We’ve got the main streets plowed, and that’s about it, Sir. There was a lot of snow, not to mention the drifting.”
“That’s fine. We can drop my friends off at the hotel and then go to my office, I guess.”
“That should be no problem, Sir.”
Winkleman looked around the hangar. “While I appreciate your greeting me, I don’t expect you to stand in a cold hangar.”
The greeting committee chuckled and began moving to the door into the offices. Abby followed. Arthur led the way to the car, moving at his usual canter. Once again, the old man climbed into the front seat and Maggie and Larry got into the back. The driver took them out the still-open hangar doors, and around to the access road from the airport.
“Sometime before you leave for Boston, my investigator will come to see you,” Arthur said. “His name is Philip Guidard. Feel free to share anything with him that you would with me. There are some things that have been happening that make me uncomfortable, and I would like to learn more.”
“I understand,” Larry said. “This has been very strange.”
“Understand,” Winkleman said, “this in no way affects our agreement, Lawrence. Your work will be important to the Palatinate. But I have come to realize there are people out there who do not necessarily share my aims or desires.”
“Are you or we in danger?” Maggie asked.
“I would think that not to be likely,” he said. “This is a peaceful place. And, here we are at the hotel. I will not be able to meet you for dinner tonight. I will arrange matters so that we can get together one more time before you leave for Boston. For one thing, I plan to provide you with a letter of introduction to the academics at MIT. Plus, I will give you a letter of credit for the Bank of Boston. You will be able to draw your stipend from there.”
“You have been really good to us,” Larry said.
Winkleman grinned broadly. “I believe the common rejoinder is, hey I’m a nice guy. And, I do try to be decent to people. But I also have some expectations, Lawrence. I am counting on you to make a major contribution to the Palatinate in the years ahead.”
“I shall do my best, Sir.”
“I know you will.”
Maggie and Larry were greeted by the staff as they walked through the lobby. The people seemed delighted to see them. They took the elevator to their floor, and Maggie followed Larry into his room. She stepped past him and flopped down on the bed.
“Can you believe everything that happened?” she asked. “I thought we were going to die, yesterday in that storm. Then that Mrs. Saule, and everything.”
“At least Arthur saw some of the same things we have been seeing. I think we can now make a good case that we’re not going crazy.”
“Unless this whole thing is just a dream,” Maggie said.
“I have actually given that some thought,” Larry said. “I don’t think it holds water, though.”
“What, did you pinch yourself?”
He laughed. “No, but this doesn’t seem to have the tunnel vision of a dream. I’m pretty confident I’m awake.”
“So, what do you want to do?” She asked.
“How about if we find a corner of the lobby where we can work until lunchtime. Arthur is serious about me producing for him. I need to get busy.”
“I’m glad I didn’t have to remind you,” Maggie said. “You’re learning.”
“Oh, give it a rest, Mags.”
After a relaxing lunch, Larry and Maggie sprawled in the lobby of the hotel. The furn
iture was surprisingly comfortable, and the hotel staff seemed happy to ply them with unlimited cups of coffee as they worked at their computers during the afternoon.
They looked up as a small, nondescript man slipped into a chair in the conversation nook where they worked.
“Philip Guidard,” he said by way of introduction.
“Larry Berthold and this is Maggie Bosstic.”
“The Paladin spins an interesting tale,” the little man said. “He indicated you had witnessed some of these things.”
Larry nodded. “Correct. Arthur told us you would be coming to talk to us. Are you a detective?”
Guidard shook his head. “I have worked for the Paladin for thirty years. I guess you could call me his personal trouble-shooter. I would like to spend some time with you to explore this mystery, as the Paladin calls it.”
“We are leaving the day after tomorrow for Boston,” Maggie said. “I guess other than that, we can give you whatever time you need… since you’re working for Arthur.”
“Yes, the Paladin has become a good friend over the years,” Guidard said. “He holds you two in high esteem.”
“I think he is amazing,” Maggie said.
“He is a great man,” Guidard said, simply.
He placed his hands on his legs. “Well, I shan't devour all of your time. I understand you also have work to do. I think maybe three or four sessions over the next couple of days should work. I suspect I shall have to travel to Boston as a part of this. Shall we meet at dinner, tonight?”
Maggie looked at Larry, who shrugged. “That would be fine,” she said. “What time?”
“I will have a car here at six o’clock,” Guidard said. “I know of a nice restaurant. It is also quiet and discrete. We can have a pleasant meal and explore these strange occurrences.”
“That sounds good to me,” Larry said.
“So, then, I must be off.”
With that, he stood up and walked quietly from the hotel.
“I think you could lose that guy in a crowd,” Maggie commented.
“No doubt,” Larry responded.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The ancient airliner shook and rattled as it flew over the northern part of the continent towards Boston. Another storm had blown through the area the on the previous day, and the air was still rough.
“This isn’t an airplane,” Larry said, “it’s just a collection of parts moving more or less in the same direction.”
“That’s really comforting,” Maggie said bitingly. “The next time we go to Indianapolis I would like to take the train. It’s more civilized.”
“And slower, too. They haven’t had an airplane crash in decades.”
She looked out the window at the snow-covered landscape as it swung below them. From their altitude, it looked like virgin wilderness, which it mostly was. With the dramatic decline in population, the great eastern forests had reclaimed their grip on the countryside. Aside from a few villages and small holdings, mankind was a distant memory.
Maggie looked over at Larry. “Do you think Arthur is right about why his town is fresh and new, and it seems like Cambridge is falling down around us?”
“Cambridge is falling down around us. And, I don’t know. I’d like to say Cambridge is in a tougher area than Indianapolis, but I don’t really think it is. Plus, Montreal is no great shakes, either.”
“But the town councils work hard to take care of us,” she argued.
“That’s what you told Arthur. What did he tell you?”
“That if we swaddle people, they will never dare.”
Larry had been staring into his computer display. He looked up and gazed into the distance. “I’ve been thinking about that, Mags.”
“And what do you think?” she asked.
He swung his head back and forth, slowly. “I don’t know what to think. What he told us sounds like Capitalism.”
“And that is what destroyed us,” she interrupted. “Everybody was out for themselves, and when things started to collapse, nobody pulled together. And it all tumbled down.”
He gazed ahead, still.
“What?” she persisted.
“You’ve told me, often enough, about the complexity of the environment and the climate.”
She nodded. “Our ancestors consistently underestimated how complex it is. Every time I think I’m getting my arms around it, something else pops up to demonstrate how little I really know.”
“Do you suppose the economy is that complex?”
“Oh, surely not!” she promptly replied.
“According to Arthur, they just turn the economy loose and don’t even try to control it. What was it he said? The market is always efficient.”
“And sooner or later it will turn around and bite them big time,” she declared.
“You sound pretty sure of yourself,” Larry said.
“Aren’t you?”
“If that is the case, why did we accept this gig?” he asked.
“We didn’t have a choice,” she sputtered.
“Right. I lost my stipend at MIT. It was explained that they were reallocating a scarce resource.”
“Right,” she said. “That makes sense. And, if you don’t deliver, Mister, Arthur will cut it off, too.”
“Stay with me, Maggie,” Larry said. “Help me think this through. Arthur is providing our stipends from his own funds, not the council, or whatever they call their government.”
“Well, of course. He’s rich. He can afford to do that.”
“And why is he rich?”
Maggie was quiet.
“Is it because he was willing to gamble with his money on the chance there would be a payoff. And apparently, some of his bets paid off.”
“I think you’re confusing me,” she said.
“I think I’m confused, too.”
They rode along in silence, other than the cacophony of the airliner, each pondering the imponderable. The flight lasted less than an hour, and the relic coasted down to land in Boston. The decrepit airport seemed welcoming to them as the plane rolled to the gate. They collected their meager luggage and walked towards the exit doors of the crumbling terminal.
“And how are we going to get up to Cambridge?” Maggie asked as they walked.
Larry shrugged. “I don’t know, Mags. We’ll figure out something. We’ve got money to hire a car.”
“And probably get robbed for our trouble.”
Larry stopped. She continued a few steps and stopped to look back at him in puzzlement.
“What?”
“I think we’re mixed up, Mags. You’re supposed to be the optimistic one. Shouldn’t I be the one in the just kill me mood?”
She looked at him in surprise, then burst into laughter. “You’re right, Larry. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. Let’s get outside. We’ll figure something out.”
Larry shook his head as he followed her out into the snow. Parked in front of the terminal in his elderly car was Seb Sylvester. When he spotted them, he climbed out and waved. The stiff wind caught his comb-over, exposing his bald pate. Maggie giggled.
“Hurry, get your stuff in the trunk, and let's go. I’m freezing out here.”
They followed his bidding and got into the car. Seb got behind the wheel and raked his hair back into place.
“What, the heater quit working in this pile of junk?” Larry asked.
“No, it works fine. But I don’t have enough CNG to sit out front running the heater.”
“Don’t let him bother you,” Maggie said, touching his shoulder. “Thanks for picking us up. How did you know we were coming?”
“Your message must’ve got through to somebody,” Seb said as he pulled away from the curb. “Mrs. Willow cornered me in the dining room and told me I had to come to pick you up. As you well know, one does not trifle with Mrs. Willow.”
Maggie looked over at Larry, who raised an eyebrow.
“Well, we’re glad you’re here,” she said. “It woul
d have been a long, cold walk.”
“Considering this town,” Seb said, “you would be right. You wouldn’t show up alive.”
“True enough,” Larry said. “The airport authority keeps things around there pretty calm, though. We won’t talk about the rest of the town.”
“Too true,” Maggie said.
“Just keep moving, Seb,” Larry said.
“Oh, believe me, I will.”
“You got enough gas to get home?”
Seb looked down at the pressure gauge. “Oh, more than enough. I found the leak. Loose fitting. I tightened it up. We’re golden.”
“Nice to know,” Maggie said. “I don’t have to worry about either running out or turning into a ball of blue flame.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Seb said. “Mama Sylvester’s little boy fried to a crisp would not make her happy.”
“While we’re talking about it, Seb,” Larry said, “stop by tank station and let me fill you up. You’ve driven me around enough.”
“Naah. I’m fine.”
“No, I insist. The good news is I have a new stipend. Art… my benefactor insisted that I pay all my debts.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Sylvester said. “I’m happy to help you out.”
“Then let me help you out,” Larry insisted.
“If you’re going to be difficult about it, I guess I’ll have to acquiesce.”
Larry chuckled. “I’m glad you decided to see reason.”
“Larry and reason do not fit in the same sentence,” Seb muttered.
“Amen.” Maggie intoned the ancient benediction.
The fuel cell powered vehicles used Compress Natural Gas as the primary reactant, since gas was plentiful.
“So what’s been going on the past few weeks?” Larry asked, ignoring Maggie’s previous jibe.
“Oh, the usual,” Seb said. “Mrs. Willow has been terrorizing the first-form students. Fluffy and the dean got into a screaming match. The gas was off in the hall for two whole days. I thought we were going to freeze.”
“Wait, wait,” Larry exclaimed. “Tell me about Fluffy and the dean.”
“It got really loud,” Seb said, his eyes opening wider. “The Cambridge council cut our funding allocation. The dean told Fluffy to find some more students. Fluffy asked why he should hunt down more students when the dean just gets rid of them.”