Back Under The Stairs - Book 2 in The Bandworld Series

by John Stockmyer

  "Hardly any damage as it turned out," John said, wishing he'd never broached the subject of the lightning strike.

  "You'll know better next time. For now, ta-ta." And Kitterman was off. Followed by Gaber. Also off.

  The others gone, Paul squealed his chair around so he could reach the office door with one, wide-as-a-barn arm to nudge the door forward; listened until the door shut and the latch clicked. "You did install a lightning rod, didn't you?" Paul growled. John nodded. "You could have said that."

  The fact that John had put up a lightning rod lay at the heart of the problem, something John would have told Paul except that Paul seemed so ... strange ... today.

  John glanced over at the slumping chairman to find Paul pushing on his brow ridges with the "Jolly Green Giant" fingers of both hands. A sure sign of a sinus headache, not much mental help to be expected from Paul, today.

  Ruefully, John remembered how old Fredericks had warned John about lightning rods. Specifically, about how faulty installation could put your house at greater risk than an unprotected roof, advice John had paid attention to, John watching carefully to make certain the workman fastened the wire from the rod to a metal stake driven into the ground.

  Then, yesterday -- in the dead of night -- Kerboom!

  John had come awake to find himself sprawled on the stairs, rain water dripping on his head. As it turned out, a lightning bolt had charred a quarter-sized hole through the room and downstairs hall floor, going to ground under the house.

  After John had stopped shaking at the thought of how close he'd come to being lightning-fodder, first getting a towel to dry himself, John had done the right thing. Called the fire department.

  No hot spots found, the fire truck had rumbled off, John solving the rain-in problem by putting a bucket under the hole in the roof.

  Deciding that seeing an old man's face disappear under the stairs was the result of his "wiring" being scrambled by the strike, John went back to bed for what was left of the night.

  And John might have continued to consider this "old man" image to be a figment of his lightning-fried brain, except that, coming downstairs this morning, John found the triangular door under the stairs open, the nails John had driven in to secure it, pried out. Opened with one of John's own kitchen knives, no less, John finding the knife on the hall floor along with a filthy blanket.

  What was really worrisome about this lightning bolt business was that, before gunning off to school that morning, John had checked out the lightning rod that had failed so spectacularly, to discover that, just above the stake, someone had cut the copper grounding wire.

  Except that the word cut ... didn't quite describe the way the wire looked. Chewed through, was more like it.

  John would have liked to have discussed all this with Paul -- the sanest man John knew. Except ....

  "Something wrong, Paul?"

  "How'd you get to know me so well in such a short time?" Paul groaned, managing at the same time, an appreciative smile.

  "So ...?"

  "Probably nothing."

  "So ...?"

  "You know how doctor's are."

  "You're sick!?" Men Paul's size weren't supposed to get sick. Like ministers didn't get sick. Or doctors.

  "It's Ellen."

  "Ellen ...?"

  "I think I told you Ellen had trouble carrying the last baby. This time, the Doc. wants her off her feet as much as possible."

  "Anything I can do?" Though John didn't know what he could do, he would have done anything to help Paul: helping Ellen the same as helping Paul.

  "You free for a lot of babysitting?"

  Before bachelor John had a stroke, Paul grinned. "Naw. I got that fixed. Ellen's mother is coming to stay until the baby's born."

  As John had thought, this was definitely not the time to bother Paul about a broken wire or about John seeing the apparition of an old man "disappear" under the hall stairs as the lightning bolt struck John's house.

  Returning to his "vision" of the man under the stairs, John wondered if this could be the person John thought he'd seen spying on him from the fringe of woods around the house? (Thinking along those lines, the old fellow getting into the house could also explain John's "missing food" phenomena.)

  The thought of lightning -- nature's static electric powerhouse -- caused John's tired mind to skip to one of the pleasant surprises he'd had on returning to Kansas City. That time didn't "count for much" when traveling between the worlds. As this world measured time, being in the "other reality" for many months had used up but a single day.

  Suddenly, John's blood was singing!

  Remembering that he didn't want to disturb Paul, John leaned forward to "ground" his elbows on his battered desk. Steadied himself by resting his chin in his hands.

  Though John hadn't thought about it until this very moment, finding a way to travel to another, "timeless" world fulfilled the dream of the Spanish explorer, Ponce de Leon. By being able to travel to a "zero-time" world, wasn't it the case that John had discovered the elusive Fountain of Youth? Or to put it another way, given the time dislocation between worlds, wasn't John now in a position to live -- effectively -- forever!?

  If he played it right, John could teach here at Hill Top College during the week -- enjoy the luxuries of this world -- then "static himself" into the other world to "rough it" for months and months, returning to this world to find that those months had cost him only a day or two of life in this world. Repeating this pattern, John could extend his life experience by several hundred years compared to the lives of "one-worlders."

  There were dangers in the other reality, of course: getting "drunk" with crystal-power; succumbing to crystal-sickness -- the desire to stare at those fascinating, shifting images in Zwicia's, larger crystal.

  In other ways, however, the "danger differential" was pretty much a wash. Here, you caught diseases, most of them curable with antibiotics. There, you didn't catch germs at all. The reason? Healing magic in the light (the same, daytime magic that made it possible for anyone, by concentration, to light the cool flame of a fire stone torch or to think fire stones into heat for cooking.)

  Language was no problem in a world where magic in the daylight automatically translated all languages. After down-light (when most people could only understand the language of their native band) you went to bed, anyway.

  Now that John knew the style of clothing worn there, he'd have no problem with that.

  As for transportation, he could borrow the static electric generator again.

  No. Not ... really ......

  True, he'd had no trouble using the power of the Van de Graaff to get to the other world. The problem, as before, was getting home, John reluctant to rely on magic to do the trick a second time.

  Trying to calm down, John listened for a moment to Paul shuffling papers on the adjoining desk.

  John glanced at his watch. "About time for class, Paul."

  "Right."

  And Paul was up, John following him into the hall where the big man "blazed" a trail through milling, class changing students.

  Thinking about a possible return to Stil-de-grain, John looked around him with "new eyes." Was this the "reality" John wanted? Teaching reluctant students? Wasn't there something to be said for living history, making history, as opposed to reporting the triumphs and tragedies of others?

  Continuing to think about playing the "two world" game, John discovered that something was still nagging at him about Jiles' photographic equipment: the camera items of the other day. Could photography be used in some way to help John in the other reality?

  As John turned into his classroom, additional ideas were coming to him. For instance, before journeying to the other world, a trip to a jewelry store was a must!

  And there was something else John had just remembered! Perhaps the "key" to the other world "lock." John smiled. The keeper of the key? Who else but Jason Fredericks!

  No need to rush, though. If this "two reality" strate
gy worked out like it might, John had ...... all the time in the world!

  * * * * *

  Through a short lobby adorned with a single, artificial, potted palm, John emerged into a larger room that smelled of ... dust, paint, old canvas, hot lights, rancid make-up, and mildew.

  Antique spotlights decorated the room's ceiling, a scratched display case containing fancy old playbills dominating the room.

  "May I help you?" said a quiet speaking, middle-aged man behind the case.

  "You have costumes for rent?"

  "In the back. And what would you be looking for, sir?"

  "Tunics."

  "Tunics? Doing some Shakespeare, are we?" The man smiled widely.

  "No." The smile faded ... slightly.

  "This way, please."

  Tagging along, John was led, first right, then left through a hall that took them to "the back" -- which turned out to be an unpainted, concrete barn-of-a-space featuring row after musty row of clothes racks crowded with costumes on wire hangers. Along the walls were beat-up metal shelves holding hats, gloves, muffs, scarves, canes, costume jewelry, and shoes.

  Following the man as he threaded his way through racks and more racks, they came to a clothing stand at room's end holding robes plus brown, black, and white tunics.

  If John had been worried about finding clothing that would look right in the other world, he could rest easy. A bit of gold striping stitched down the front of any of these outfits would do.

  John picked a brown tunic off a hanger, measuring it for size against his body. "How much to rent this one? For a week?"

  "Twenty dollars. That includes the dry clearing fee on its return."

  Not bad. "OK. I'll take it."

  Which didn't mean John was committed to a second trip to Stil-de-grain, he reminded himself.

  "Footwear?"

  John was glad the man had mentioned that. "What do you have?"

  The man padded off to one of the wall shelves. Turned to look at John's feet with an appraising eye. "Size 10?"

  "Just about."

  Turning, the man pulled down half boots from the back of the shelf, boots that were remarkably like the heavy leather, work boots worn in Stil-de-grain. "How much for a week?"

  "Twenty dollars."

  Figured.

  At the front counter again, the man filled out the rental form. "If I may see your tax-free slip ...?"

  "I don't have one."

  "You're not representing a not-for-profit theater group, then?" Plainly, the man was puzzled about John's intentions.

  "No."

  "A commercial dinner theater?" The man was all smiles once more. Legitimate theater was his life.

  "Sorry. This is for ... sort of ... a dress up ... costume party."

  "Really? Around Halloween, people come in here in simply droves. The women all want to be Queen Elizabeth. Or Cleopatra. Or something equally tacky. One year, would you believe, the Henry Kissinger mask was popular." The man sighed at having to serve philistines.

  "This is more of a private party for a friend."

  "We also have leather ... costumes."

  No sign of John being interested, the man sighed again. "I'm sorry. But since only theater people rent costumes at this time of year, I'd assumed ... What I mean is, I'll have to charge you tax in addition to the forty dollars."

  "OK." And that was that.

  * * * * *

  "Would you be looking for a 10 karat piece? Fifteen? Or our best 24 karat chains?" On a clear plastic display stand on top the jeweler's counter, were enough gold chains to weigh down Mr. T. Regular chains. Twisted chains. Chains that looked and moved like golden serpents.

  If you wanted to buy gold in some form other than coins, a jewelry store was your best bet.

  The last time John was in the other world, he had no money -- less of a problem after John had hooked up with Golden, Golden turning out to be as rich as his name. This time -- assuming John actually went back -- John wanted to take something with him that he'd have no trouble turning into the coin of the realm, gold his best bet.

  "What I'm looking for is pure gold."

  "That would be your 24 karat chain, then. Nothing like the weight and feel of pure gold."

  Knowing John's preference, the jeweler selected several chains of varying length, taking them off rectangular display cards, trailing each one on a dark blue, velvet pad.

  "How much is this one?" John asked, pointing at the shortest and simplest chain. John was buying gold for something other than looks, after all.

  "Three hundred dollars." John tried to suppress a non-jewelry buyer's gasp.

  "And the others?"

  "Somewhat more."

  "It's a present for a friend," John lied smoothly. "If, for some reason, my friend doesn't like it, I could bring it back?"

  "Naturally, sir. We have a ten day, full refund policy."

  Ten days should do it. Plenty of time to decide whether or not to tempt fate by making another, otherworldly trip.

  Even with a ten day grace period to get himself out of financial trouble if need be, John had to make a hasty calculation of his dwindling funds before he decided it was safe to write the check.

  The check accepted, John had another question. "You also do jewelry repair?"

  "Certainly. This is hardly K-mart."

  "Would it be possible to solder something on an iron chain?"

  "Might I suggest ... a welder for such a ... purpose?" John had truly hurt the man's sensibilities.

  "No. I have in mind, something in the jewelry field. Something that would take ... delicate work. The kind only a jeweler could do."

  "That would be no problem, then," the man said, somewhat mollified

  * * * * *

  "Again? So soon?" This time, John had tracked the physics prof. to his office, John standing just inside the door.

  "As I think I said, I didn't have time for the experiments. Had to get the machine back to you like I promised."

  "A day late," John noting that, if you ever wanted something forgotten, Fredericks wasn't your man.

  "This time, instead of borrowing the Van de Graaff, how about loaning me the hand-cranked generator? Unless it's in use."

  "Don't use it at all. No need to."

  "Can you develop the same power with the older model that you can with the electric one?"

  "Just a matter of elbow grease."

  "Then would be all right if I borrowed it for a longer period?"

  "Don't see why not."

  * * * * *

  Leaving two more trips for later in the week; one to a camera store, John finally figuring out what had so intrigued him about Jiles' camera accessories; another to the discount store for a costume jewelry chain. Plus a return trip to the jeweler.

  After that, the weekend approaching, it was time to have a long, rational talk with himself about the pros and cons of taking another trip ... to never-never land!

  -9-

  Zwicia grunted. Always, as she stroked the violet crystal, there was pain. Yet she moved her fingers lovingly over the purple surface until the crystal began to turn to gray.

  Were the pictures forming? So soon?

  No.

  In the disk-as-mirror, she was seeing her wrinkled self. Withered face, hands like the talons of an eagle. Hair, thin and gray, and fluttering above her head.

  She was in her room in this cold, stone keep. Alone. Sitting on her chair beside her narrow bed, her crystal flat on the rough table before her.

  As she watched, the crystal cleared so that she saw, not her reflection from its surface, but down into the disk. She looked, as a watcher from a bank sees bright, quick fish through calm, translucent water.

  What? What, this time?

  Though stiff with age, her fingers seemed young again as they slid across the surface, then around the edges of the glass, so that, looking past her fingertips, she beheld the shifting images within the disk's center.

  Pictures. Deeper. Clearer.

&
nbsp; Yes! She saw again -- what she often saw at first -- the melting center of the world, luminous with heat, its light so blinding she mumbled a charm against the burning.

  On black ledges stood the men of old. The Founders.

  Magic shields sheltered them from the heat, their heads within hollow balls of radiant glass. They used ... machines ... to heat the earth's core below until the rock, flaring hot, was melted! Until the heart-stones of the world were liquid fire! Until rock rivers pooled to form the liquid, golden yoke of Eolia, mother-earth!

  Though, this time, the disk did not show the world from outside itself, Zwicia had seen that in the past. Watched the Founders from afar as they flew to this world in their hawk-machines. Had seen them descend through the mouths and cramped cave corridors to stand on ledges, from which they heated up the core far below until the rock was flaming -- white hot -- molten.

  This was a vision of Zwicia's world at its borning. She was sure.

  After the suited men had fired the igneous middle -- they withdrew, jumping from the black ledges to float ... up.

  Zwicia could see the vast, hollow mountain around them, its peak rising over the world's middle. See the Founders put in place the vitreous ball at the mountain's summit (like a jeweler sets a gem stone into the high pronged mounting of a ring.) Use their magic to start the crystal's slow rotation.

  This languid, turning ball was the orb, its revolution encompassing a single day and night.

  Starting the day, like an eye opening, the crystal cast its light upon the sky-dome edge, the reflection of the crystal's rays shining down as rings of colors -- at the edge, red. Inward: orange, yellow, green, blue with violet above the hollow mountain of the eye.

  On turned the slowly wheeling crystal-sphere until it was full day, after which, its dark, nether hemisphere began to rotate up.

  Steady as the advance of death, the eye was closing, the blackness spreading to the dome above, the dark rays putting out the light, of Hyet, father sky.