Mythology 101
Page 31
“Don’t worry,” Keith said. “It’s not what you think. Trust me. Please.” He walked her through the stacks and took out the glowing key. Diane stared at it disbelievingly. Keith put the key in the lock and turned it.
“What IS this? This is just to scare me, right? It’s a make-out corner,” she determined pugnaciously.
“Nope,” Keith said, pausing. “I want to present you to the greatest teacher in the world on ANY subject, including biology.”
“You mean you?” Diane asked with mock skepticism, turning into the bright room. “Hi, there, Mr. Alfheim,” she called. “How nice to see you. What are you doing down here?” Then her eye took in the unique characteristics of the room’s inhabitants. Her jaw trembled and fell open. “Oh, my,” Diane said. Keith gently propelled her inside and closed the door.
“Good afternoon, Mees Londen. Von’t you sit down?” the Elf Master suggested, pointing to an empty desk next to Marcy. It was Carl’s.
“If it’s all the same to you, Master, I can move,” Enoch volunteered, lifting his books and leaving the desk next to Keith’s vacant. Keith winked at him. Enoch smiled as he settled down between Marcy and Lee.
Diane’s eyes followed the child-sized figures with wondering fascination. “I don’t believe it.”
“You’d better,” Keith informed her. “These are my best friends.”
“I know what she’s thinking,” Marm complained. “‘Those ears.’”
“They all do that,” Holl chuckled as the Master rapped on his easel for order.
O O O
To Keith’s delight, Diane fitted in with the current class as if she had always been there. Teri gave him a silent thumbs-up behind her back, and he grinned. When the session broke up for the day, Holl suggested that she would be welcome to help box and wrap orders, since extra hands would be useful. Keith was delighted. Holl always voiced the others’ opinions, and their opinion seemed to be that they were happy to have Diane with them.
Keith was pleased to have gotten his secret off his chest to Diane, but he was equally pleased as to how well she was handling getting to know everyone. She had an easy facility for making friends, and it didn’t take long before she stopped noticing the differences between the Big Folk and the Little. Within an hour, she was chatting as freely as she would anywhere else. Maura and Candlepat liked her immediately, and involved her in a passionate talk about fashion that made Keith want to flee the room. The look on Holl’s face told him probably he’d have company.
Diane instantly agreed to help pack up Hollow Tree’s merchandise. “To make things move more quickly,” she said. “Ms. Voordman’ll have a fit if the Hollow Tree shelf drops empty again.” She went through the new items with careful, awed hands. “Ms. Voordman’s going to love this jewelry,” she said, holding a necklace of tubular beads up to her throat, and then reading the tag. “She won’t be able to keep it in stock.” She paused and stared. “Diane Teri Designs? What’s this?”
“Well,” Keith admitted sheepishly. “Teri gave me the idea, but they thought they should put your name on them, because you’re my lady. In the end we compromised.”
“Take it,” Maura said, thrusting the necklace on her. “We’d be pleased if you accepted it as a gift.”
“Oh, I can’t,” Diane protested, admiring the tiny lady timidly, almost afraid that by looking at her she might break her. “What about you? You’d look beautiful in something like this. You should have it instead.”
“My man is the one who makes them,” Maura said, proudly glancing at Holl. “I can get others.”
“So,” Diane asked Holl over a packing crate full of bundles, “why do they call you the Maven?”
O O O
The next morning, Wednesday the 15th, Keith and Diane cut all their classes, and spent the day taking the parcels around to his many clients. They waited impatiently at each stop for the owners to write out checks. “I don’t know why you’re in such a hurry,” one shopkeeper admonished him, looking up at the two nervous faces across her counter. “I always pay within thirty days.”
“Taxes, Mrs. Geer,” Keith answered pathetically. “They’ll skin me and hang me out to dry if I don’t get in a quarterly payment.”
“Of course. I understand perfectly.” She bent her head over the checkbook and plucked the pink slip away from its perforations. “Many happy returns of the season.”
It took them hours to get around to all of Keith’s scattered customers. Most of them were as understanding as Mrs. Geer had been, but others had passed over tart remarks about economy along with their checks. Only a few were unsympathetic enough to insist on the standard 30 days, but in the end, there was enough in their hands to make the payment. At five minutes to five, Keith roared up to the front door of the Midwestern Trust Bank, and leaped out. “Sit in the driver’s seat, will you?” he shouted to Diane as he ran inside, not waiting to see if she moved.
There was a long line for the tellers’ windows, and Keith nearly died of impatience before a teller beckoned him over. He drummed on the counter while the girl counted the checks and then added up the total on her machine, until she stopped and looked annoyed at him. He flashed her a toothy smile, and put his hands behind his back. She went back to her addition.
At last, all the paperwork was finished. Keith stopped at one of the convenience tables and wrote out his checks to the IRS and the Illinois Department of Revenue and sealed them with the appropriate forms into stamped envelopes. He saluted the guard who opened the door to let him out into the street, and heard the click of the deadbolt lock behind him. Throwing an OK sign to Diane, he trotted over to the mailbox, yanked down the handle and threw the envelopes inside.
“Good evening, Mr. Doyle,” a thin voice said from practically next to him.
“Yaah!” Keith jumped in surprise. Mr. Durrow stood there, his lips pursed in a tiny smile. This was the sort of effect IRS agents lived for. He was pleased.
“I just mailed the check, honest to God,” Keith wailed in protest.
“I know,” Durrow said austerely. “Your next payment is due June 15th.” And he walked away without changing expression.
O O O
The Historical Society met with the press on campus. Director Charles Eddy was pleased to announce to the newspaper-reading and television-watching public that “Gillington Library has attained monument status, and it will be cared for in perpetuity. It is my honor to have discovered this worthy structure in our midst and brought it to the attention of those who care about the history of America.”
There was some scattered applause. Eddy smiled fatuously, posing with a broad gesture to the high doorway. Several cameras flashed in his face. “We are proud to have such a fine example of Civil War era architecture in our own little town, and we want to make sure it will be available for our children to appreciate.” There was much cheering and confetti-throwing as Eddy presented a small plaque to Mrs. Hansen, and they shook hands for the cameras. Eddy was pleased to note that he would have his picture in several papers by morning.
O O O
Brushing confetti out of his hair, Keith went to announce the good news to the Little Folk.
“That’s a blessing,” Holl told him. “Now there is no need to hurry up to get to the farm. It will take quite a lot of work before it is habitable to our standards.”
It hadn’t struck Keith until that moment that his friends would be moving just that much further out of reach. His heart sunk in his chest. “How much time before you go?” he asked with a long face.
Holl chucked him on the shoulder. “Cheer up, widdy. The Master won’t leave the students while the course is in session. Perhaps we’ll go in the summer. We’ll be staying a good while yet.”
“Just as well,” Diane put in, coming over to them with a handful of flowers from the village garden and a paper-covered bundle, “since I need to finish the Biology course. Don’t abandon me now, just when I think I could pass!”
The Master regarded her. “V
e keep our responsibilities in mind, Mees Londen.”
“We can’t do without you in any case, Keith Doyle,” Holl continued. “We’ll need help getting there and moving all our things, and finding sources for wood and plaster and the like.”
“You bet.” Keith got a dreamy look on his face and studied the glowing ceiling. “I’ve been formulating a plan to help with that. I have these friends.…”
“My dad drives a big van,” Diane interrupted eagerly. “I’m sure he’d lend it to me if I tell him I’m helping some friends move house.”
“Uh-huh, and I think I can get a deal on bulk plas—”
Holl searched the heavens in exasperation. “We didn’t know when we were well off. Now we have two like Keith Doyle.”
“Now how bad could that be?” Marm inquired, frowning at his neighbor. He flipped a hand out and enumerated the blessings of Keith Doyle on his fingers. “Look at all the good he’s done us. Found us a new home and the means to acquire it. Been a good friend.”
“I agree,” the Elf Master added. “I do like him, but I must admit he drives me mad.”
“Me, too, but I like him anyway,” Diane said agreeably. The Elf Master didn’t seem to intimidate her. “I have a present for you, Keith. From Ms. Voordman and me.” She handed him the bundle, and he stripped the paper off of it. “This is thanks for everything, including the scholarship. Even though I know now it was phony.” She looked at the others regretfully.
“You may still haf it at least for this year,” the Master stated graciously, sketching a little bow to her. “I haf not changed my opinion of you, though I know not how finances will fall out in the years to come.”
“Thank you,” Diane said gratefully, turning to him. “I didn’t know how I was going to break it to my father.” Behind them, Keith let out an exclamation.
Underneath the wrappings was the original ceramic elf-in-a-tree from the Country Craft shop. “Now that I’ve seen the original, I know where he got the logo for your company. It wasn’t just a fantastic myth.” Diane grinned, winking at the Elf Master. He gave her a stern look, which made her smile more.
Keith hugged her. “Thanks, Diane. Listen, I have to tell you. Wait ’til you hear about my project for next year,” Keith said enthusiastically, holding the figurine carefully. “I’m going to be taking archaeology, you know. There are still reported sightings of the fair folk that no one’s ever been able to disprove. Maybe I can find historic traces. You know—and, Holl, you haven’t heard this one yet. I figure, if I can get up high enough in a hot air balloon—an airplane is too noisy, you’d scare ’em off—I can find out if there are really air sprites up in the clouds. There’s much more atmosphere than there is surface on this planet, and I’m sure Nature never wasted it. But if I don’t find anything there.… Wait, Master! Where are you going?” The Elf Master turned and walked away, shaking his head as if it hurt.
“Progressive,” Aylmer stated, teeth clenched around the stem of his pipe. “You are too progressive.”
“Perhaps we should make statues of you, Keith Doyle,” Holl said wryly, “as a fantastic myth.”
“Yeah,” Diane agreed. “But it shouldn’t be an elf for you, Mr. Keith Doyle. I looked it up. It ought to be a gremlin. I found it when I was researching my Mythology paper. There you were, right in the dictionary. ‘Gremlin: Mythical creature. Meddling spirit.’”
With a mischievous grin on his face, Keith bowed to them. “That’s me,” he said.
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About the Author
Jody Lynn Nye lists her main career activity as “spoiling cats.” When not engaged upon this worthy occupation, she writes fantasy and science fiction books and short stories.
Before breaking away from gainful employment to write full time, Jody worked as a file clerk, bookkeeper at a small publishing house, freelance journalist, and photographer, accounting assistant and costume maker. For four years, she was on the technical operations staff of a local Chicago television station, ending as Technical Operations Manager.
Since 1987 she has published 45 books and more than 110 short stories. Although she is best known as a collaborator with other notable authors such as Anne McCaffrey (the Ship Who series, the Dinosaur Planet series), Robert Asprin (Dragons and the Myth-Adventures), John Ringo (Clan of the Claw) and Piers Anthony, Jody has numerous solo books to her credit, mostly fantasy and science fiction with a humorous bent. Her newest book is Fortunes of the Imperium (Baen Books), the second of the Lord Thomas Kinago books, which she describes as “Jeeves and Wooster in space.” Over the last twenty-five years or so, Jody has taught in numerous writing workshops and speaks at schools and libraries, and teaches the two-day writers’ workshop at DragonCon in Atlanta. When not writing, she enjoys baking, calligraphy, travel, photography and, of course, reading.
Jody lives in the northwest suburbs of Chicago with her husband, Bill Fawcett, and Jeremy, their cat. jodylynnnye.com
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