The Histories of Earth, Books 1-4: In the Window Room, A Prince of Earth, All the Worlds of Men, and Worlds Unending

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The Histories of Earth, Books 1-4: In the Window Room, A Prince of Earth, All the Worlds of Men, and Worlds Unending Page 30

by Steven J. Carroll


  Though Ata was not convinced, and his eyes told it. ���I’m not a prince, like you are. I don’t have the same duty.��� And he shook his head to show that he was in this to save his father, most importantly.

  However, they could not argue about this at the present (which they might have). The ringing had started. They would soon be ���reflected���.

  A brighter light than the distant sun rays began to glow around Timothy.

  ���It’s time to go,��� he said, taking Ata’s wrist, and the light became a solid orb around them.

  And presently, poor old Pierre Legrand saw something he would never have suspected that morning, while he sat on his stool, milking his goats. He saw his young visitors, lifting in a circle of golden light high above his field, until they were shot at an unearthly speed straight into the heavens. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped his brow, and let the goat get away from him, because he had never before seen anything like it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A Darkened Cavern

  With light travel, as with most all types of travel, the return trip is always much quicker. Within seconds the boys were pulled back through the expanse of space, through the portal of a glowing cave painting, and into a hidden cavern room with a singular round hole in the ceiling that let in a column of natural light.

  The room itself and the artwork upon the walls was breathtaking, instantly known to be ancient and spectacular, and it would have been an immensely beautiful thing, if they had not been surrounded by villains.

  Directly in front of them stood the man in gray, the man whom Timothy had seen from the balcony of his parents’ rented flat, and who’d surprised him in the museum library. To either side of the man were Barbara, and Mr. and Mrs. Wolcott, each with an armed guard to detain them. And behind the man, in his shadow as it were, was the Professor, looking sheepish and overpowered, the same way he’d looked in the museum.

  And almost as quickly as they’d come into the room, and before they could react, two other guards came from the dark patches behind them, grabbing each of them tightly and uncomfortably by the arm.

  The man in gray spoke to Timothy with a look of victory, ���Not the sort of glorious rescue you’d hoped for, am I right?���

  Yet Timothy didn’t answer, he was too mad to say a word, and all his would-be retaliations came out as angry breaths through his nose.

  And as if he were glad to see him so angry, the man in gray said coyly, ���What was that? [as you might say if you’d meant for someone to speak up] Oh,��� he said demeaningly. ���Silence…���

  Then taking several echoing wide steps toward the boys, he said to Timothy, ���You know, I had hoped for a war between us, something to stir things up a bit.���

  Then he came and stared down at Timothy. ���But alas… you’re just a boy,��� he said, patting Timothy on the cheek like might be done for a small child. And he continued, ���Not a prince, like I’d heard,��� glancing over his shoulder at Barbara, to show that she’s the one that had given him away.

  Barbara looked ashamed for having told their secrets, but Timothy didn’t blame her for it.

  He looked straight into the face of that sinister man, saying bravely, ���This is a war. And we’re going to win.���

  The villainous man exploded backward with excitement. ���There. Ha!��� he laughed. ���That’s what I like to see.��� He paused there for a moment, holding his chin, as if to examine his enemy. ���Now we can begin,��� he announced, and held up his finger like he were recalling something. ���Professor, continue with the translation, if you will.���

  ���Yes, sir,��� the Professor replied, pushing his glasses further onto his squatty face. He scuttled back to a line of artwork painted upon the cavern wall, and it stretched nearly the length of an entire side of the room, like the high art of a Renaissance church.

  The scientific old man was making notes with a scratch pad and pen. When Timothy and Ata had arrived, they had caught him halfway through a translation of the ancient text written upon the edges of the cavern painting; From the images within the artwork, you would think the text to be about some long forgotten vast civilization, lost in the passing of time.

  All of them stood and stared at the wondrous mural. (Which all those who’d come to Gleomu before, had seen multiple times, but that did not make the painting any less marvelous.)

  Every now and again, Professor Asim would stop writing, to mumble some words to himself, or call out, ���fascinating, simply remarkable���, but never with any other explanation.

  After a long while, the man in gray asked impatiently, ���Aren’t you finished yet, old man?���

  ���Yes, almost, almost…��� Asim repeated, and then a few seconds later, placing the last period on the page, he said aloud, ���There,��� speaking with finality.

  When he had finished, he took a step backward in order to take in every frame. He swiped his tousled hair out of his eyes, and pushed his glasses still further up onto his rounded nose.

  Then stretching out his hands, as if to herald something unbelievable, he said in a presenter’s tone, ���The History of the Great Assyrian Empire, and the Seven Worlds of Man.���

  ���What?��� the man in gray said, scoffing.

  And Asim turned to see the group’s dumfounded expressions. ���You don’t see it?��� he said, motioning toward the painting.

  ���No, I’m afraid we don’t,��� Wilbur answered for them, what they’d all been thinking.

  ���No?��� the Professor said, looking around at the group for confirmation, and finding they all were just as clueless.

  ���Well it’s as plain as the nose on my face…��� the professor muttered to himself, pushing up his glasses again, and turning back toward the painting to begin his story. And he told it, while glancing down to read from his transcribed notes on his pad of paper, and with his large pen tucked comically behind his ear.

  ���The History of the Great Assyrian Empire, and the Seven Worlds of Man,��� he read aloud, the first line of text from the wall, to begin his story.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A Long Ago Story

  Professor Asim read the text from the wall, with his audience following along through the frames in the painting that depicted each elaborate scene. And he read with stuttered pauses, when he would sometimes forget his translations.

  ���In the glorious second year of the reign of King Tiglath-Pileser III, during the war for the Great Empire. The King sent riders to the East, so that they would purchase chariots of battle for his mighty armies.

  However, their trip became treacherous as they came to the fork of two river, so that they had needed to cross at another point. And having lost their path by blackest night, in a storm of wind and rain, the riders took shelter for themselves and for their horses, within the ruins of an ancient tower in the land of Shinar; A tower of marvels that had been long ago abandoned��, and did stretch toward the heavens.

  As the night pressed on, the winds and floods of rain grew stronger, and were violent in their tempers. The men felt great fear, building torches so that they might travel further into the tower’s heart. And at its core they broke open a passage door to a mighty room, one that had been left shut and locked since histories long forgotten. And in this room they found seven maps…���

  The Professor paused, ���No, it’s not maps, that can’t be right…��� he said, speaking to himself, and crossing a thick line through the word on his scratch paper to block out the error.

  ���Maybe worlds?��� he continued, before starting to chew at the end of his pen.

  ���Is it globes?��� Matilde Wolcott called out bravely, while still held in the custody of one of the man in gray’s burly henchmen.

  ���Yes
, exactly that,��� he answered excitedly, and then turned to thank Mrs. Wolcott properly before continuing.

  ���Yes, as I was saying… that’s right, seven globes,��� he said.

  ���And when the men had returned again, bringing with them the chariots for war, they came again to the King, to his throne room, and told him of all that they had found.

  And upon hearing their news, the King, who was wise beyond all measuring, ordered the best of his learned men to seek out what these strange discoveries might be, bringing them back to his palace, where they should be kept in utmost safety.

  Many days did the King’s scientists search for answers, his scientists of math, and of the stars. Until they uncovered their secrets, that these globes were indeed chariots of pure light, made for travels to the worlds above.

  And from then on, the King and his successors did establish his Great Empire in the heavens: Six worlds, and seven including our own, to rule the expanse of the sky, until time itself should end.���

  Upon completing his story, the Professor, still astounded by what had been written upon the cavern walls so many ages ago, repeated these words aloud to himself, over and over again, ���Fabulous. Simply remarkable.���

  And with this, the incorrigible Wilbur Wolcott, while still held hostage, began to speak as though he’d been discussing the matter in his sitting room, over a hot cup of tea, saying, ���You know, that does shine a light on a great number of things I’d been wondering about. Except the one thing I still don’t understand is-���

  But he was cut off rudely by the man in gray who’d sounded as if he were whining, or had been so desperately disappointed.

  ���Is that all?��� he moaned, dropping his hands in disbelief. ���Just six planets, somewhere. No map of how to get there?���

  However, to that accusation Professor Asim was quick to respond, saying, ���No, well there is this bit of numbers, I think, at the bottom… which could tell us how to get there.��� He said this while tilting his thick rimmed glasses, and squinting at, presumably, a chart painted into the last scene of artwork, that used some ancient hieroglyphic numbering system.

  Turning to look over his shoulder, he said, ���It’s horribly complicated, though, but if I had some help, I might be able to decipher it by…��� He paused to think, before continuing, ��� …at least by morning,��� he said with a shallow confidence in his voice.

  ���Morning?��� the man in gray spoke plainly, and was not amused, making a pointing gesture to his guards, to order them to raise their guns at the old scientist.

  ���Asim, you disappoint me.���

  His evil smile returning to his face.

  The professor glanced around the twilight cave, obviously frightened by the barrels of their guns, and he used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe his newly formed sweat.

  ���I’ll hurry,��� he announced.

  ���I should hope so,��� was the man in gray’s reply. And with his guards still holding Asim at gunpoint, that villain asked, ���Who wants to help our friend here? Anyone?���

  And with those words, most eyes set on Matilde, who was by far the most experienced linguist and light traveler of the group. She raised her hand to volunteer without making a sound and was led to the cavern painting by her guard, and she stood staring at the chart for some moments, until her keen eyes began to derive a pattern.

  Pointing toward a common hieroglyph on the chart, ���You know, I think this one might be-��� she began to say, but was interrupted by the professor, shoving his scribbled notepad oddly in front of her face.

  ���Here’s what I have so far,��� he said, pushing the pad into her hands.

  (And you should know that at this time, he and Mrs. Wolcott and the guard, were not so far away that they couldn’t be easily overheard by the rest of the group, and any amount of whispering would have been sorely dealt with of course. However, subtle glances, an instant glimpse of the eyes could go undetected, since her guard had not been paying too close attention. So that the impetus in the professor’s quick gaze could be seen by Matilde, and by no others, which is what he’d had in mind. A look that you would instantly know means, ���Hush, I have something important to say.���

  Although, the act of handing the notepad was however seen, so that the man in gray called out, ���What are they writing?���

  Though thankfully, their unobservant guard, glancing at the scribbled pad of paper, said, ���Nothing, sir. Just looks like numbers.���

  ���Watch them,��� the man in gray commanded, as if both an order and a threat.

  ���Yes, master,��� their guard answered back.

  Albeit, he was not so clever, nor as observant, as Mrs. Wolcott, and more importantly he did not have the professor’s critical look stuck inside his memory. For what had seemed to be only lines of numbers was actually this: (which I do admit, does seem to be merely a meaningless string of numbers, to the causal observer.)

  ���9 ��� 23 1 14 20 ��� 20 15 ��� 8 5 12 16,

  6 15 12 12 15 23 ��� 13 25 ��� 12 5 1 4.���

  Yet to Matilde Wolcott, who’d much appreciated word puzzles, she knew it almost immediately to be some manner of hidden message. Though since she could not write anything down on paper to help her decode what it had said, for fear of being caught, it took her several minutes, and some discreet counting on her fingers, to discover what those numbers had meant.

  And as soon as she had it, she wrote her own response on the pad, below that hidden coded note, these three numbers:

  ���25 5 19.���

  Followed by her own understanding, flickering glance.����

  *

  �� In this instance, the word that was actually used was corrupted, though the Professor wrongly translated it as abandoned.

  ���� I’ve decided not to write out his message here, in letter form, on the page, at the chance that you, dear reader, might also fancy word puzzles and a good challenge. However, if you find yourself to be honestly lost, or else to be too curious with what should happen next to be at all bothered by puzzles, then you may skip ahead, and find his finished message written into the lower margins.

  Chapter Seventeen

  More Danger that Night

  By then, it was nighttime in Gleomu, and their hidden cavern was almost completely darkened: Except for a few strands of distant starlight coming through an ornate painting, drawn upon the face of a wide center column, near to where the globe was positioned.

  And in the sheltering darkness, Ata tried delicately to retrieve something, something from his back pocket that had evaded their enemies’ watchful notice, but only because they hadn’t known to look for it. That thing being, of course, Ata’s electromechanical ball that he’d used along with his forearm bracelets, which had been taken and placed across the cavern along the opposite wall; One armband resting on the cave floor, and the other set upon a small ledge above it, so that neither band would touch, but placed in such a way that the most spectacular throw might dislodge it from its rocky shelf.

  And even more amazingly was that, as providence had provided for them, Timothy had a rock near him that would be just the right size and shape for throwing.

  ���Psst… you awake?��� Ata whispered so that it could almost not be heard.

  It was very late by that time, so that both Timothy and Ata’s guards had been in a deep sleep for nearly a half-hour. Though Timothy himself was awake, and he’d been staring across the nighttime cave at Barbara, who’d been asleep for longer than an hour.

  ���Why should she have to suffer through this, just because my family found an old globe in an attic?��� were his thoughts, as he turnt his head slowly to show Ata that he was indeed awake.

  Ata pointed like a tapping woodpecker, toward the rock near Timo
thy’s knees.

  Though, if facial expressions could speak in words, Timothy’s might have said, ���So… it’s a rock. What about it?���

  And then through a series of very subtle head nods and pointing gestures, Ata laid out his plan, a plan that they would only get one try at, and even still, Timothy had to be a fantastic thrower.

  When all was decided, slowly Timothy cupped the rock into his hand, and Ata counted down, mouthing the numbers as he did so, ���One, Two-���

  ���Finished!���

  There erupted a bone startling yell from across the cavern, that they had not been prepared for.

  ���We have them,��� the Professor yelled to wake the group from their slumbering state.

  ���Yes, the coordinates,��� Matilde said to clarify. ���We’ve translated the chart,��� she said, her voice shaking, ever so slightly.����

  In the commotion that followed, Ata slipped his mechanical ball back into his pocket. And the boys both gave each other glances of desperate relief, for they had so nearly been caught hopelessly redhanded.

  It was comforting to hear, Timothy thought, that they would soon be headed home to Earth, although in his belly he knew he could not allow it. He felt a weighing responsibility to keep these coordinates for the Worlds of men, away from these heartless villains. And especially the globe, if he could manage it: For after all, what good are keys without a doorway, or a ship’s wheel without a ship. And as so, it was his duty as a prince of Earth to defend it.

  In that way, Timothy and Barbara, Mr. and Mrs. Wolcott, and Ata and his father were hoisted roughly from their positions on the stone cave floor, and were made to stand around the globe of Gleomu, as the Professor and Matilde set new coordinates for their return trip. Matilde knelt down to charge the globe, turning its magnificently old brass crank, as light began to emanate in audible spirals, outward from the globe, splashing against the high walls of their secret cavern.

 

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