“Yes, sir,” Patrick said with a nod. He silently prayed that he wouldn’t die now to prove Valen’s statement.
“Lower your weapons, guards,” a man shouted. He pushed his way through the soldiers. He wore a senator’s toga like Rufus.
The soldiers looked confused.
The man stood between the soldiers and Patrick. “This is the Forum. It is for debate and discussion. We will not have bloodshed here.”
The soldiers lowered their swords and spears.
Rufus fumed. His face was still as red as his hair. His hands were clenched in fists. “Cosmus, this is none of your business.”
Cosmus ignored him and said to the soldiers, “The last tremor damaged the treasury. We need extra guards at the temple of Jupiter.”
Most of the guards hurried away across the grass. Only two remained nearby. They stood at attention next to a pillar.
Patrick sighed with relief.
Valen leaned on his staff. He looked weak again.
Rufus stepped up to Cosmus. He said, “Didn’t you hear what the old man said? He dishonors our gods.”
Cosmus looked at Rufus and spoke calmly. “And you dishonor our law. Valen is a Roman citizen. He can’t be punished without a trial.”
Rufus’s nose twitched. Then he pointed at Patrick. “This boy defied me in front of the guards. He should be whipped,” he said.
Whipped! Patrick took a step backward. He glanced at the two guards. He wondered if he could outrun them.
“The boy was defending a Roman citizen,” Cosmus said. “He showed great courage. You will not have him whipped.”
Rufus opened his mouth as if he might say something. Then he turned to Valen and shook a finger at him. “Stay out of the Forum, old man,” he said.
Rufus turned on his heel and marched away. The two Roman guards followed him.
Valen smiled at Cosmus. “I owe you thanks,” Valen said. “Because of you, I will live to preach another day.”
Cosmus shook his head as if in wonder. “I saved your life this time, Valen,” Cosmus said. “I may not be around next time.”
“Maybe next time you will join me. We can preach the good news together,” Valen said.
Cosmus frowned. “My wife believes in your God. But that doesn’t mean I ever will.”
Valen smiled. “One day . . .”
“I’m a Roman senator,” Cosmus said. “My belief is in the power of the state. And my duties are to its needs. Which is why I must see to the temple treasury.”
“Give your wife, Grata, my regards and blessing,” Valen said.
Cosmus stepped close to Valen and said, “Rufus hates Christians. Stay out of his way, or you will suffer.”
“If I suffer for Christ, then I suffer gladly,” Valen said.
Cosmus snorted. Then he eyed Patrick. “What’s your name, boy?” the senator asked.
“Patrick,” he said.
“That is a variation of Patricius. Are you the son of a nobleman?” Cosmus asked.
“My father is a noble man,” Patrick said.
“Well, Patrick, see to it that Valen is taken somewhere safe,” Cosmus said. He pulled a coin out of his tunic. He tossed it to Patrick.
Patrick wasn’t fast enough to catch it. The coin landed in the grass.
Cosmus turned to walk away. Patrick realized this might be his only chance. He had to warn Cosmus about the volcano.
“Sir,” Patrick called out, “that mountain is going to explode.”
Cosmus turned around again. “What did you say?”
Patrick pointed at the mountain peak. It loomed over the Forum from the west. “Everyone in Pompeii will die if they don’t leave. You can order them to go!”
Cosmus laughed. “You and the old man are a funny pair,” he said. “Valen believes that everyone can live forever. Yet you believe we are all going to die.”
The senator turned and walked away.
“Wait!” Patrick said. He was about to chase after the senator. But Valen gripped Patrick’s arm tightly.
“You’re right about the mountain,” Valen said in a low voice. He let go of Patrick’s arm. “A trial by fire is coming for Pompeii.”
“We have to do something to warn the people,” Patrick said.
Valen’s eyes seemed to glow with purpose. “Follow me,” the old man said.
The Soap Shop
“Interesting,” Eugene said. “What is Mr. Whittaker’s program about?”
“Disasters,” Beth said. “But I don’t know which one. There are numbers.”
More static, and then Eugene said, “Tell me the numbers.”
Beth read the first two numbers. “North 40.8167 and east 14.4333.”
“They are coordinates,” Eugene said.
There was more static. Beth heard only fragments of what he said next. “. . . an atlas . . . a location in Italy . . . the coast.”
“Okay,” Beth said. “The next number on the list is 4,203 feet. And the words cave canem. Is it the name of a cave?”
“It’s not about a cave. It’s Latin,” Eugene said. His voice was clear now. “It translates literally as ‘Beware of dog.’ ”
Beth shook her head and pushed the button. “It has to mean more than that,” she said. “Would Mr. Whittaker create a program about scary Italian dogs?”
Eugene said, “I can’t always know what Mr. Whittaker is creating or why. Did Mr. Whittaker name the file?”
Beth looked back at the laptop. “The file is called ‘Adventure A-D-7-9.’ ”
“What?” Eugene cried. His voice sounded distorted through the intercom speaker.
“What’s wrong?” Beth asked. “What does it mean?”
The intercom crackled. Then Eugene said, “The 4,203 feet is the height of Mount Vesuvius. In AD 79, lava destroyed the city of Pompeii. And everyone in it!”
Patrick followed Valen through the city. The streets were filled with wealthy-looking people, slaves, and children. There were stray dogs and even a herd of sheep. Patrick and Valen pushed their way through the crowd. They said “Excuse me” and “Pardon me” a lot.
The smell of roasting meat seasoned the air. Restaurants lined an entire block. Bright-colored pictures were painted on their walls. There were pictures of animals and men fighting in battles.
Valen and Patrick passed by a vendor selling vegetables and fruit. The foods were displayed in baskets. The carrots were as thin as pencils. The berries were pale and small.
Patrick remembered Juliana’s comment about the food being scarce. She was right. The pickings were pitiful.
Suddenly Patrick saw a familiar face a few yards away. Junius!
The slave was at the blacksmith’s forge. He was handing money to the blacksmith. The blacksmith handed Junius a knife.
Junius looked toward Patrick.
Patrick’s and Junius’s eyes locked.
The slave smiled slowly. He lifted the knife and pointed it at Patrick. Then he turned and raced away.
Patrick tried to chase him. But a herd of goats walked across the road. The animals bleated maa-maa and huddled together.
Patrick couldn’t pass through them. He watched as Junius fled into the crowd.
Patrick sighed. What was Junius going to do with the knife? Nothing good, Patrick thought.
He returned to Valen. The old man had stopped at a door.
“This is the soap factory,” Valen said.
Valen pointed to a mark near the top of the door. Some simple lines had been drawn to look like a fish. Valen tapped the fish outline with his staff. “A fish sign means there are believers inside,” Valen said.
Patrick had seen the symbol on bumper stickers and T-shirts back home.
Valen winked at Patrick. “The fish outline is drawn with soap. That’s our special sign,” he said. “Come meet some of those ‘fish.’ ”
Valen entered the soap-maker’s shop.
Patrick followed him inside. Wood barrels were stacked on one side of the room. One of them was open
. Patrick could see the barrel was full of ashes. That’s why it smells like a campfire, Patrick thought.
Brick ovens lined a wall. They looked like tiny fireplaces. Metal ladles and large iron pots hung on racks above the ovens.
The ovens each had a metal plate on top. The round plates were small stove burners. Pots sat on the hot plates. Thick, white mush bubbled inside the pots and made glopping noises.
At the end of the room was a large marble-topped table. Wood molds were filled with the white soap. Patrick assumed they were cooling into their brick shapes.
A tall, thin man rushed forward from a back room. He had a beak-like nose. He was wearing a plain tunic. “Valen!” he called out. He kissed Valen on each cheek.
Valen said, “Grace be to you, Nonus.”
The man named Nonus smiled at Patrick. Then he turned to Valen. “Who is this?” he asked.
Valen put a hand on Patrick’s head. “This brave, young man is Patrick,” he said. “He has important news for the church.”
“What news?” Nonus asked.
“Pompeii is going to be destroyed by the volcano,” Patrick said.
Nonus’s eyes widened as large as quarters. “Our brothers and sisters need to hear this.”
Explosion
Beth hit the talk button on the intercom. “What can we do?” she asked Eugene. “We need to get Patrick back before the volcano erupts!”
There was only a bit of static for an answer. She tapped the intercom button twice. “Eugene! Eugene!” Beth cried. “What’s your plan?”
“We must procure supplies,” Eugene said. But his voice wasn’t coming through the workshop intercom.
Beth turned toward the doorway.
“I’m attempting to find new circuit boards,” Eugene said as he walked down the stairs into the workshop. “The Master Control unit in the Imagination Station had a meltdown, to use the popular expression.”
“What does that mean?” Beth asked.
“Rebuilding it will take a long time,” Eugene said.
“Patrick needs out now,” Beth said.
“I understand the urgency,” Eugene said. “But I’m at a loss for any other options. The sooner we find the circuit board, the sooner we can rescue Patrick.”
Beth groaned. “I’ll help you look,” she said.
Beth crawled under tables and searched through boxes. She found broken alarm clocks. Copper wire and plastic wire and metal wire were in a tangled mess. One plastic bin contained three-dozen VHS tapes. They had been painted hot pink.
“I don’t see it,” Beth said to Eugene. “Have you found anything?”
“A working model of the first Ferris wheel,” Eugene said. “It’s constructed from a bicycle wheel and stale marshmallows.”
“How is that useful?” Beth asked.
“The possibilities for harnessing centrifugal force are intriguing,” Eugene said. “This could become a renewable source of power.”
“You mean to power the Imagination Station?” Beth asked.
“Possibly,” Eugene said. Then he frowned. “But there isn’t enough time to test the theory.”
“Where would Mr. Whittaker keep circuit boards?” Beth asked. She was trying not to panic.
“The storage room in the back,” Eugene said.
Eugene went to a door in the far corner of the workshop. He pulled a key ring from his pocket. He unlocked the door and then pushed it open.
He stepped inside first. He found a light switch and flipped it on. Beth followed him in.
Inside, there were several large objects covered in tarps.
“What are those?” Beth asked.
“Old inventions,” Eugene said.
“What kind of inventions?” Beth asked. “Will they have circuit boards you can use?”
“That is a very good question,” Eugene said. He yanked a tarp off the closest object.
Beth looked at the invention and gasped.
“Now that’s a surprise,” Eugene said.
Nonus took Patrick and Valen to the back of the factory.
A group of adults was inside a small room. They were on their knees with their heads bowed. Others held hands. One man led the group in prayer.
“Brothers and sisters,” Nonus said.
Everyone looked up.
“This young man has a word for us about the volcano,” Valen said.
The church members sat back on the ground. Valen nudged Patrick to the front of the room.
“Tell them what will happen,” Valen whispered.
Patrick swallowed hard. He tried to remember what he’d learned about volcanoes at school.
Everyone watched him in silence.
“Well,” Patrick said, “first, ashes will fall from the sky. Then lava will pour out like a river and cover everything.”
Some of his listeners put their hands to their mouths. Others frowned. A couple of them closed their eyes. Then they lifted their hands in silent prayer.
“Oh, and there will be poisonous gas. That will make breathing really hard,” Patrick added. “It could suffocate us.”
Valen put a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Thank you, my boy,” he said.
Nonus stepped forward. “We must leave,” he said.
“How?” one of the believers asked.
“I know a captain who has a boat,” Nonus said. “It was still in port this morning. He was waiting for a crate of my soap. Perhaps he will take us across the sea.”
One woman clutched her hands against her chest. “There are thousands of people in Pompeii,” she said. “They aren’t believers! They will die in their sins!”
Valen lifted his hand. “We’ll warn as many people as we can,” he said.
“How will we tell so many?” asked the woman. “You shout in the streets, but no one listens to you.”
“We’ll go door to door and house to house,” Valen said.
“People may care about their eternal souls if the volcano erupts,” Nonus said.
One of the men looked a lot like Nonus. He was tall and thin. He had a large nose too. Patrick knew they must be brothers.
“If we’re going door to door, we won’t be on the boat,” Nonus’s brother said. “We could lose our lives.”
Valen nodded. “You’re right, Octo. Each person much decide what to do. If you want to go to the boat, then do so now. If you want to warn others, then let us be quick about it.”
“Where will the boat take us?” another man asked.
“To Rome,” Valen said. “The church leaders there will help us find new homes.”
Nonus said, “I’ll pay the captain of the boat. But he’ll want to leave when the tide goes out. We have until midday.”
Noon, thought Patrick. How much time does that give them?
Valen raised his arms and gave a brief prayer of dismissal. Then everyone began to hurry out.
Nonus hugged Valen. “You’ve been like a father to me,” he said. “Be careful. Come to the boat as soon as you can.”
Valen kissed Nonus’s cheek. “Godspeed,” he said.
Then Nonus left. Valen and Patrick went to the soap-making room.
The man named Octo was busy putting out the oven fires. “This is the end of our soap-making business,” he said.
Valen opened the door.
KABOOM!
The earth suddenly shook.
Valen stumbled out the door. His staff went flying.
Patrick tried to grab the doorframe. But the ground shifted too much. It was as if the earth had turned into a wave. Everything rolled with it.
Patrick fell too.
Patrick could see Valen sprawled on the street. The old man’s lips were moving. He was talking, but Patrick couldn’t hear his words. The explosion had made his ears ring.
Patrick lifted himself onto his elbows. He half crawled out to the street. He reached for Valen’s staff. Then his eyes went to the mountain.
Gray-and-white smoke rose from the mountaintop. It grew into a giant mushroom s
hape.
Patrick looked around for the Imagination Station. It has to be here, he thought. This has to be the end of the adventure.
The Old Car
“An old-fashioned car?” Beth asked.
“It may have been a car at one time,” Eugene said.
It sure looks like a car, Beth thought.
The frame of Mr. Whittaker’s invention was an antique car. But instead of four wheels, this one had three. Two were in the back, and one was in the front. The wheels were lying on their sides. They made a platform for the car.
Long metal tubes ran along the sides of the car. They looked like bugles, only a lot longer. The engine block had three small antennas with coils on top. Another large, coiled antenna jutted out from the back.
“So what is it?” Beth asked.
“One of the original models for the Imagination Station,” Eugene said.
Eugene walked over to the machine. He reached down to a crank that stuck out of the front. He turned it quickly. The gears inside made a grinding noise.
“You have to wind it up?” asked Beth.
Eugene continued to turn the crank. “Yes. It’s self-powering,” he said. “No need for outside electricity or generators.”
Beth was interested but confused. Why was the invention hidden away under a tarp? “Does it work?” she asked.
“I believe so,” Eugene said. “Though I didn’t know it was still here.”
“Why is it in a closet?” Beth asked. “Why doesn’t Mr. Whittaker let us use it?”
Eugene eyed her for a moment. It seemed he was deciding what to say. “This invention was unstable,” he said.
“You mean it kept falling over?” Beth asked.
Eugene smiled. “No. The internal power source provided too much power at times. Other times, it made too little. That caused the program to behave strangely,” he said.
“Is it safe?” Beth asked.
“It’s safe enough physically,” he said. “However, the user might become confused.”
“Confused?” she asked.
“Nothing to be concerned about,” Eugene said quickly. He began to breathe heavily. Winding the crank was making him tired.
Doomsday in Pompeii Page 3