by Mary Bowers
“Fine,” he said, unpacking his power cords and setting up again. “You take her home and come back. By then I’ll have it ready and we’ll watch an episode together.”
As it turned out, we watched three.
* * * * *
Michael texted me at around 10:00 and asked me where I was, and I managed to make things sound much more prosaic than they were. Since he’d apparently just gotten home and found me AWOL, I counter-attacked by asking him where he’d been all this time, and between him telling me about dinner with his friends from the City Council and explaining why I wasn’t invited, and my realizing to my horror that all the time I’d been chasing robots around the alleyways, Michael had been just across the street from Girlfriend’s at a restaurant, we managed to have a civil back-and-forth and send affectionate emoticons before ending it. That was after Ed and I had seen three episodes of Sparky and the Gang, but just before we started to discuss them.
“Is he mad?” Ed asked uneasily.
“Nah. He’s not a control freak.”
“You didn’t tell him you were with me all evening, did you?” Ed has this delusion that Michael is jealous of all men I speak to, including him. Never having been in a committed relationship, Ed believes everything he sees on the true crime shows.
“I told him I was with you, Florence and Purity, and that I had Bastet with me. Even a jealous fool wouldn’t be able to make anything X-rated out of that combination, and Michael is anything but a jealous fool. He’s probably assuming we had a séance. He won’t even ask about it.”
He seemed unconvinced, but said no more about it.
“So it looks to me,” I said, staring at the computer screen we’d been watching, “like they deliberately cultivated distinct personalities. Ricky is the lover boy, Sparky is the eccentric genius, and Phineas is the aristocratic dilettante.”
“I suppose you could say that. I was always too interested in the projects they were working on to think about the structure of the show, but they definitely present different facets of the scientific mind. You learn to expect different things from each of them. If it’s something you can see and touch, it’s handled by Sparky. He puts things together and makes them run. If it’s a far-out concept, like time travel, it’s Phineas.”
“Jules Verne vs. H. G. Wells,” I suggested.
“Yes. Yes, I guess you could say that.”
“And Ricky?”
“Sex appeal.”
“No brains?”
“Oh, Ricky has brains. I think he resents it that because women are attracted to him, he doesn’t get credit for being as bright as he is. He has a degree in mathematics, which doesn’t lend itself to visuals for a TV show. Watching Sparky build a robot that can walk your dog is more fun than having Ricky give a lecture on linear equations.”
“I sat and watched their Q&A session at ParaCon. Purity asked a question about Wee Folk, and Sparky handed it off to Ricky. Said he was an expert in folklore.”
“On their show, they never made that part of their theme. I suppose they all have a smattering of folklore. People like us tend to be interested in legends and folktales, no matter what our specialty is. But I think Sparky just handed off Purity’s question to Ricky hoping she’d be thrown off-track by his looks. She’s been a fool for a pretty face before,” he added, seeming to remember something unpleasant.
“She’s not the kind of woman men are usually attracted to,” I conceded. “She always seems to want men to pay attention to her, but then she puts on frilly dresses and wears her hair in a way that would look cute on a 4-year old, and everybody edges away from her like she’s possessed or something. Purity’s in her forties! She needs an emergency make-over, before she turns into the old lady from Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?”
Ed was nodding. “It’s an unfortunate professional image she cultivated when she was in her teens, I think. Now she’s stuck with it.”
“Is that it?”
“It’s my best guess.”
“Well, I hope she doesn’t conceive a passion for Ricky. He’s got other fish to fry. She didn’t really seem angry with him though, did she? In fact, the only one she really seemed to be angry with was Sparky.”
“Sparky takes the heat for whatever the three of them do together, but to be fair, he seems to get more than his share of the credit, too.”
An idea was forming in my mind, something I couldn’t quite put into words.
Which reminded me. “Ed, I’ve been meaning to ask you. The morning you opened ParaCon, were people wandering in and out of Orwell’s dressing room? I’m trying to work out everybody’s movements during the time the frosting must have been poisoned, and see if I can eliminate anybody. Maybe it wasn’t ‘one of us’ after all. Did any groupies get in and rummage around for souvenirs?”
“Absolutely not! As soon as Orwell and his group arrived, I showed them to the dressing room and as far as I know, at least one of them was in there at all times.”
“As far as you know?”
“When I started getting distracted by other things, I recruited Sparky to stand guard. His booth is at the end of the line, on the same side of the room and not far from the dressing room. He had a clear view of the door, so I asked him to keep watch. Nobody could get in, either from the hall or the back door, without him seeing. There were times when Gavin, Vanessa and Pixie left Orwell alone in there, but if he came out too, Sparky was going to go and stand guard in front of the door until somebody came back. When Orwell did come out, it was almost time for his speech. Instead of going to the podium, he went off and hid himself in the audience, but Sparky didn’t see that. He was more concerned with getting to his seat before the salutation began, and Pixie had gone into the dressing room as Orwell was leaving, so Sparky didn’t bother to guard it. He figured Pixie was supposed to do that. I asked him later if the room had ever been left empty and he said no. So I’m absolutely sure: no groupies got into the dressing room.”
“What about the room where Purity gave her workshop? Were there any other workshops? Was the room left empty after we set it up?”
“Purity let her workshop run overtime. I knew she would, and that wouldn’t have left enough time for another class before the welcoming speech began. Nobody would’ve been interested in attending a class while the speech was going on. A live appearance by Orwell Quest could very well be a once-in-a-lifetime deal.”
I was silent for a few moments, just staring at him. I couldn’t believe Ed hadn’t realized the implication of what he’d just said. Before I could comment, Ed suddenly said, “You should talk to Paracelsus.”
“Who?”
“Paracelsus. He was a sixteenth century scientist.”
“And . . . he’s making an appearance at ParaCon?”
“Yes. Actually, when Sparky got the question about the philosopher’s stone, I was surprised he didn’t throw it over to Paracelsus instead of Phineas. He was sitting right there.”
“Wait. A sixteenth century scientist was sitting right there?”
“Yes. He kept fanning himself with his velvet cap. You can’t have missed him.”
“You mean Nostradamus?”
“Everybody makes that mistake. I don’t know why. Anyone should be able to tell the difference.”
I glared at him, but didn’t bother to argue. “Whoever this guy is trying to impersonate, why should I talk to him?”
“Oh, he goes way back with Sparky and the guys. In fact, they almost included him in the show. In the end, he refused to sign on. He’s a bit of an egotist, and decided the show was beneath his dignity. He wanted to be a headliner, not just one of the Gang. Kind of like the real Paracelsus, who offended everybody he ever met. But he’s still friends with Sparky, which he probably wouldn’t be by now if he had decided to do the show. If you want to know more about Sparky, Phineas and Ricky, you can ask him. He’ll give it to you, warts and all. And tell you why he’s smarter than all three of them put together.”
I sighed. ParaCon ag
ain. But as I’d already realized, this would be the last day of the event and I wouldn’t get another chance. Something about the dynamic among Sparky, Ricky and Phineas looked like a red flag to me, and I knew I needed to follow it up without asking them anything directly.
“Are you sure this guy is going to be there?” I asked. “What’s his name again?”
“Paracelsus. Be glad you don’t have to try to remember his full name, which was Theophrastus Philippus Aureolus Bombast von Hohenheim. Paracelsus was the name he gave himself, proclaiming himself smarter than a great philosopher. Yes, he’ll be there. Sparky paid his entrance fee for all three days so he could man the booth while the other guys are making appearances together. He’s planning on traveling back to Savannah with Sparky. He lives there.”
“Okay. I’ll be there.”
“That’ll be nice,” he said.
I gave him a wan smile. For some reason, Ed feels more grounded while I’m around, and I think that’s why he appreciated my being at ParaCon as much as I had been. Being around Ed has the opposite effect on me, but I liked giving him moral support.
I would never have dreamed of bringing Bastet with me. It simply wouldn’t have occurred to me. It’s not a good idea to bring pets into a place where there are too many people and they might be stepped on or frightened, and at this particular conference, everybody knew who she was and she’d need to be guarded like a celebrity. So bringing my pet cat wasn’t something I would ever have done if I had had a choice.
Bastet didn’t give me a choice.
Chapter 17
We arrived like royalty. Far from allowing me to guard her, Bastet walked ahead of me with her tail in the air, ignoring everyone in the place, and the crowd fell silent and parted for her as if they were afraid.
I had known somehow from the moment I decided I was going to ParaCon that morning, that I was taking her with me. The really maddening thing was, I vaguely remembered a dream – one of those dark, faraway dreams where I felt the warmth and smelled the incense of another place and time, and moved in time to music that hadn’t been played in 3,000 years. She had communicated something to me, then held it back when I awakened. But one thing that lingered was the knowledge that there was no other way: I was bringing her with me.
Since it was Sunday, the doors didn’t open until noon, and I decided to get there the minute they opened and get it over with before too many people arrived, but I had a minor crisis at the shelter when a volunteer lost her hold on the leash of a Sheltie, and I didn’t get to the old church until about 12:30.
I was flustered and defiant by the time I got in, ready to tell people to get away from my cat, but nobody seemed to want to get anywhere near her. They did take quite a few cell phone pictures, though, which didn’t seem to bother Bastet.
Ed materialized at the end of the pathway across the floor that people had cleared for us, skidded to a stop, goggling, and said, “You brought her!”
At this positive identification of the magical animal, whispers began and people ever so slowly started to edge forward.
“She decided she was coming,” I said tersely. Immediately, tones of wonder arose from the crowd. I shouldn’t have said it, but I felt so harassed by that time I didn’t care.
When I got to Ed I lowered my voice and said, “Okay, so where is this guy?”
“Paracelsus? He’s over by Sparky’s booth.”
I made eye contact with Bastet, who deigned to look at me. “We’re going this way,” I told her, and again, the few people that were in our way backed up, staring. I began to feel I could get used to this kind of power, but I knew I couldn’t. I never liked being the center of attention, and appearing at a gathering of paranormal investigators with a cat that was becoming a legend among them was like appearing in the clouds above the earth and hoping nobody noticed.
I put my head down and made for Sparky’s booth. By the time I got there, Sparky, Ricky and Phineas were all on their feet, gawping, and Paracelsus was lounging in a chair just to the left of the booth. He was the only one who didn’t stand up. He seemed to accept our presence as an homage to himself, and didn’t look surprised we were headed his way.
“I hear you’re not Nostradamus after all,” I said, just because it popped into my head.
He lifted a heavy black eyebrow at me, and I turned to Sparky. It was past the point where I could be subtle about all this, with about a hundred standing around staring at us and more people arriving all the time, but Paracelsus needed to be brought down a notch or two, and I wasn’t going to flatter him by ignoring everybody else and politely asking him if he’d mind chatting with me a while.
“So what’re you guys up to today?” I asked Sparky. “Any workshops going on?”
He took a moment to pull himself together, and as he started to speak, Bastet leapt onto the table of his booth and nearly unmanned him.
He managed to stutter out that they weren’t doing any workshops, but that there would be a demonstration of bot building at 3:00, with video of some of their bot battles. Nobody mentioned Big Bot’m, and I hoped they’d melted her down or something. She certainly wouldn’t be doing any demonstrations today.
After asserting her presence, Bastet had decided to act like a cat for a while, and she was stretching her head over a pile of books and sniffing delicately. Then, very decisively, she lifted a paw and batted the top book to the floor. There were ooohs and aaahs behind me, as if she’d done a magic trick. Before she could whack the next book I picked her up, which struck horror into hearts all around me. Sparky and Ricky actually took steps backward. Only Phineas and Paracelsus seemed amused.
“Nostradamus was a quack,” Paracelsus said, looking at Phineas rather than me. “A mind unable to reach beyond the bottom of his scrying bowl. He ignored the writings of Paracelsus completely. Foolish man.”
This was too much for Phineas, and he stepped up to continue an argument which had apparently been going on for quite some time.
“Nothing that Paracelsus published in his lifetime ever came to pass, the way events described in Nostradamus’s Quatrains did.”
“That’s because much of what Paracelsus wrote wasn’t published during his lifetime,” the other man shot back, instantly angry. “Jealousy destroyed him. Wherever Paracelsus went, he was shouted down by less-talented, smaller men.”
“I wonder,” Phineas said. “Can a man be great if he’s so obnoxious nobody can stand to listen to him?”
“Can a man be great if he spends his whole life making silly predictions in language so obscure they only make sense if you’re high? Quatrains, my ass. Nostradamus’s only worthwhile publications were his cookbooks.”
“You’re speaking of the Receptes, of course, but you can hardly put the Centuries in the same category.”
“I can and I do. Entertaining rhymes for housewives, children and village idiots.” Then he sat back and smiled, basking in the waves of anger coming at him.
Amid the hoots and jeers, I couldn’t hear Phineas’s retort, but it looked like a hot one.
Sparky and Ricky were both obviously tired of this private war. Sparky told them if they wanted to argue to go do it in the Activities Lounge and leave himself and Ricky to get things ready for the 3:00 demonstration.
“Not the Activities Lounge,” Ed said, coming up beside me. “There’s already a debate going on in there between the Theosophists and the Wiccans.”
“More of a war than a debate,” somebody behind me said.
“A lively discussion,” Ed said. “I don’t think anybody is using the Zone of Silence just now.”
I decided to intervene. I wanted to hear this discussion, and I don’t like small, enclosed spaces with no windows. The Zone of Silence was really just an old cloak room. Besides, with feelings running high all around the conference, it was only a matter of time before somebody needed to get away from it all, and that’s what the Zone of Silence was really for. The kitchen was out of the question; it was still taped off, and tw
o cops, including my friend Jack Peterson, were standing with their backs to it, watching us in obvious amusement. The workshop room was in use again.
Before I could say anything, another voice from behind me said, “Come on, Ed, let them do it out here in the hall. This is something we all want to hear, right, guys?”
There was a roar of assent, and both Paracelsus and Phineas looked gratified.
Phineas looked at Sparky and said, “Could you do without me for a little while? This won’t take long.”
“Go ahead. You’ve just been in the way this morning anyway. Last night you destroyed my best bot, and now you’re ditching the hard work just because you’re wearing your prettiest clothes.”
“I did not destroy the bot!”
“You were at the remote.” Sparky’s face flamed up and he began to look feisty.
Ed stepped between them all and said, “Please, use the front of the room. I’m sure we’d all be interested in an impromptu discussion between two experts on the talents of Paracelsus and Nostradamus.”
The crowd enthusiastically agreed. I had my cat in my arms, and I moved off with everybody else to find a seat. I had no interest in Paracelsus or Nostradamus. But whatever this guy’s real name was, he and Phineas interested me very much.
* * * * *
Only Paracelsus was in sixteenth-century costume – he’d worn a different outfit each day of the conference, each one looking like it cost a fortune – but Phineas was dressed for the part too. He looked like a Victorian gentleman who had nothing to do but inhale the fragrance of his cognac while constructing the exact turn of phrase that would demolish his opponent’s pet theory, all with elegance and style. Then a pinch from the snuffbox, a sneeze, and a simper.
For the last day of the conference, Phineas had gone deep into the wardrobe. Where he’d worn quiet black suits the previous two days, on this, the last day of ParaCon, he was wearing a long cutaway coat, well-tailored slacks and a brocade vest over a frilly white shirt. Clothing really does make the man, and putting on the fancy dress had changed Phineas’s personality in subtle ways. Like his friend Paracelsus in the soft cap and the long robes, he had put on a more interesting identity along with his clothing. His posture was more erect. His expression was more confident. It wouldn’t have surprised me to see him produce a walking stick and top hat.