The Lost Days

by Rob Reger

  Not a bad idea, that sandstorm. At the very least, it might keep the construction crews from their work. Maybe. For a while.

  I’m back at the El Dungeon now, wondering where I can find an oscillating vortical accelerator and an astrogendetic gyroscope. As well as an ablation shield, a guide wire lumen, and all the other assorted mechanical sundries I will need. Am thinking the junk-mail factory is not a bad place to look. Have to wait until dark to try that, though, since there are still a couple of police officers roaming the streets, scavenging the abandoned homes and stores.

  In the meantime, I also need a nice, private place to build this thing. Am wondering if that lab coat I found in the secret closet is any kind of clue…Great-Aunt Emma WAS an inventor. I just bet she had some kind of laboratory down there. Most likely behind that locked door. Will just have to break in there and check it out.

  Later. Much Later

  The locks on the door down in the secret closet are tougher than I expected. At first I was really surprised. Not to mention discouraged. Then I remembered whose secret closet this was. Come on. Of course the locks WOULD be tough, but surely Great-Aunt Emma expected that some little great-niece of hers would come along someday and try to open them? And she’d want to let that little great-niece in, I just know it.

  The cats and I stood around for a while as I was thinking all this and gazing at the locks and trying to, like, convince them to open through the sheer force of my mind, or Great-Aunt Emma’s spirit powers, or something. Absolutely nothing happened, and then I started to feel foolish and thought I might as well take some kind of concrete action toward opening them, instead of standing around like a drooling idiot.

  So here’s what I’ve learned:

  The top one looks like a straightforward bolt with a basic steel knob, but I can’t turn it. I mean, it’s really solid, and I’ve already tried pliers, boltcutters, and a blowtorch. (Local hardware store closed forever=lots of perfectly good, easily fixable tools in Dumpster=paradise.)

  The middle one looks like a tiny stoplight. There’s a small circle of glass in the door, and red, yellow, and green lights behind it. The yellow light is lit.

  The bottom one consists of a row of dials, like the ones on a combination lock, only with letters and spaces, apparently dialed randomly. It looks like this:

  I’m not sure, but I am probably supposed to dial in some code phrase that will open the door.

  Have tried OPEN SESAME, PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR, and a few other variations on that theme. Nothing.

  Will have to ponder this upstairs. Am expecting a visit from Schneider.

  Later

  Schneider came into the El Dungeon looking all a-flutter and practically yelling, “I’m the mayor of Blackrock!”

  ME:

  That was fast.

  SCHNEIDER:

  Yeah! It was great! The mayor swore me in about an hour ago. Right before he left town.

  ME:

  Are you sure YOU want to stay? There won’t be many buildings standing by tomorrow.

  S:

  That’s what I’m here to talk about.

  ME:

  [Noticing Ümlaut’s crew listening in.] Let’s walk.

  [We strolled over to the minipark and continued our powwow in the peace and quiet of the nearly deserted town.]

  S:

  We have a small problem. Everyone knows that Emma LeStrande owns the El Dungeon, but…well…

  ME:

  Spill.

  S:

  There’s no proof.

  ME:

  What?!

  S:

  I don’t know. I’ve looked in all the official records, but there’s nothing anywhere that says she owns it.

  ME:

  So…

  S:

  At this point anyone with a reasonable claim could take ownership. I guess that’s you or Attikol.

  ME:

  What kind of claim does HE have?

  S:

  Money.

  ME:

  Right. Well, who decides?

  S:

  Me, but I need three councilmembers to sign off on my decision. Luckily there are still three left in town. But they’ve all been approached by Attikol already. I assume they’ve taken some bribes.

  ME:

  This sucks rocks.

  S:

  Word.

  ME:

  Didn’t we have an agreement about you not using teen slang?

  S:

  Sorry. Real sorry about that. Oh, also, one other thing, for what it’s worth: I found out for sure that the building got painted beige BEFORE Emma died. Isn’t that…strange?

  ME:

  It doesn’t make any sense.

  S:

  I know.

  ME:

  Unless Emma…wow.

  S:

  Yeah, huh?

  ME:

  Wild.

  We agreed to meet in three hours at City Hall to see if we could talk the remaining councilmembers into seeing my side of things. Am about to sneak over to the junk-mail factory, to practice my lockpicking and looting skills.

  Later

  Excellent loot at the factory! Also, am glad that the locks were so much easier to pick than the ones in the secret closet. I now have my oscillating vortical accelerator and astrogendetic gyroscope and everything else I need. Also, it was great fun poking around in the deserted factory. I LOOOOOOOOOOVE deserted factories! I scored some great cortical snippers, a modulated catheterizing burner, and a really nice heavy-duty fluorescent polarity iron, which might help with Great-Aunt Emma’s burly locks. Am really hoping I can get that room open and build my sandstorm generator before my City Hall meeting. Time is a-wasting!

  Later

  Tried all my fancy new tools on the top bolt, but no dice. And, still NO idea what to do about the other two locks. Had to leave for my meeting at City Hall, so I told Raven to go down into the closet and see if she could muscle that top bolt open. Closed up the café and bailed. Fingers crossed!

  Later

  Oh frackalacking jabberwocking gramfadiddling…uh…fram-cheese!!!!

  No swear words can convey my excitement right now, because the El Dungeon is MINE!!

  Here’s how it went down:

  Met Schneider and three councilmembers in the mayor’s office (uh, Mayor Schneider’s office, that is), and he laid out the situation for them. They were acting all nice and agreeable and VERY sorry that there was nothing they could do for me. First off, even though it was great that I had in my possession a letter from Emma addressing me as her great-niece, there was nothing to prove the letter was actually written to ME. It was also nice how I looked just like her, but that wasn’t exactly irrefutable evidence, either. They’d even be willing to let all that slide, if not for the sad fact that, unfortunately, there was nothing, anywhere, in writing to prove Emma actually owned the El Dungeon in the first place.

  Then I had a brainwave.

  “Park bench,” I said to Schneider, and he slapped his forehead.

  We mobilized the councilmembers for a quick field trip down to the minipark, where we were able to show them, IN WRITING, in brass letters an inch high, our proof that Emma was indeed the owner of Blackrock’s first and only café.

  (I did have a moment of terror when I realized the bench now read “Emma LeStrange” and remembered my letter-flipping incident back on Day 6. But then I realized, if they were willing to accept an inscription on a park bench as proof of ownership, one wrong letter wasn’t going to be the deal breaker.)

  The three of them looked at the bench, nodded, murmured a little legal talk, and then politely mentioned “compensation.”

  Schneider shook his head. “No more bribes, honorable councilmembers,” he said. “It’s not going to work like that anymore. Uh, besides which, we’ve got nothing to offer you.”

  There was a little more polite legal talk, and then the next thing I knew, everyone was handing around documents, shaking hands, and signing off, and
then I was the new legal owner of the El Dungeon, just like that.

  “Hey, Schneider,” I said when the councilmembers had left us there at the minipark. “What just happened?”

  “You got lucky, kid,” he said. “Attikol did talk to them about a payoff. But he never came through, and what do you know, rumor has it that he’s low on money. So, even though your evidence was kind of pathetic, you really had no competition. So you won this round. But like I’ve said, I really doubt that a question over legal ownership will keep him from knocking this building over if that’s what he wants to do. I hope you have a plan.”

  Yeah…me too.

  Later

  Poor golem! Poor poor poor poor golem!

  I am a very bad golem-commander!

  Raven broke all her fingers, wrists, elbows, and shoulders working on that evil bolt down in the closet. Had to work very hard to repair her. Thank goodness for the local deserted hardware store and its well-stocked Dumpsters. She said it did not hurt, but still. Am feeling like a big jerk.

  I feel bad for even calling this good news, but she DID get the bolt open. I wish I knew how to reward her.

  One down, two more locks to go.

  Later

  Still no ideas on those locks, but I’ve built the amplitudinal sandstorm generator as per Aunt Emma’s specifications. Since I have no lab to work in, I had to just move aside some furniture and use the El Dungeon. Installed the completed device in the middle of a deserted intersection, just for fun. And cranked it up. Should see results some time tomorrow. Am going to spend the night pondering the further details of my plan for convincing Attikol to leave here forever.

  Day 28

  Ümlaut brought me a note from Jakey this morning. Here it is:

  * * *

  Whats up Earwig how are you. I would come see you but I am scared to get larginitus. Are you better yet? I am so borred. We haven’t done a show in like three days because everyone left town. I think we are going to leave town soon too. Attikol is almost done with his chalenge. That bayje building where you are staying is the last one and he will probly get it moved today and then he is going to ask Raven to come with us. And I know you didnt want to come with us last time I asked you but where else are you going to go if you dont have your memery back? And there is going to be nothing left here pretty soon. Well just wanted to say hi or bye or whatever. I hope you are OK

  Your frend fiend friend Jakey

  * * *

  That was pretty depressing by itself, but then Molly Merriweather marched in with her suitcases and her big smile and her positive, can-do attitude and that made it even worse.

  MOLLY:

  Man, where is everyone? This place is dusted!

  ME:

  Told you not to come.

  M:

  Yeah well, let’s solve that mystery of yours so we can move on to a new town, ’K? And don’t worry, I won’t say the code word this time!

  ME:

  [Suddenly unable to breathe.] CODE…WORD? WHAT…CODE…WORD?

  M:

  The one that made your memory come back. Oh, right. Of course you don’t remember that.

  ME:

  [Ears buzzing. Hands itching to grab Molly and shake the code word right out of her.] WELL? What are you waiting for?? Tell it to me right now!!

  M:

  No way, man. You got really mad at me last time.

  ME:

  But…I…I did?

  M:

  Yeah, you said I was never supposed to know it in the first place. You made me swear on my ponies that if I ever saw you again, I wouldn’t tell you your real name, or the code word, or, uh, whatever other stuff it was you needed to forget.

  I put my head in my arms and sent powerful thought waves of aggravation toward that version of Myself who put me in this impossible situation. I was vaguely aware of Molly saying a bunch of “Hey, girl, I’m here for you” and “It’s all gonna work out fine.” It was enough to make me promise myself never to show weakness in front of her again.

  So I forced myself to recover from my three minutes of despair and get back to business. Unfortunately, it was not really possible for me to get back to business with Molly in the picture, asking questions about who was the hottest guy in town, and offering ridiculous non-solutions like “Hey—let’s ask Ripper what he thinks we should do!!” Eventually I had to admit defeat. So I made another promise to myself: I would do my best to neutralize whatever crazy plans she came up with, or die trying. Then I handed over my notebook and told her she had an hour to come up with something quality or she was off the case.

  At least she’s a fast reader. Within twenty minutes of flipping the pages and saying “Hmmm” and “Uh huh, huh,” she tossed the notebook back at me.

  MOLLY:

  So, can you program Raven to say whatever?

  ME:

  Probably. Yeah.

  M:

  Well there you go. Just get her to embarrass Attikol in public. You know, insult his manhood or whatever. He’ll never show his face here again.

  ME:

  [Very sincerely. Lying my cheeks off.] Molly, thank you. That is an amazing plan. I owe you everything.

  M:

  Hey, no prob! Let’s go check out your cool van, huh? We can drive around town and see what’s going on.

  Fine. Change of scenery. Cats and Molly and Raven and I closed up the café, piled into the van, and rolled out.

  We had been in the van only a couple minutes when I heard Raven say, “Sandstorm.”

  “Huh?”

  She pointed off toward the edge of town. “Sandstorm.”

  She was right, my sandstorm was building up, maybe a mile away. It was nice and easy to see, what with so many of Blackrock’s buildings lying in ruins. I thought we’d probably have an hour, maybe two, before it hit us.

  We rolled on. I stayed hidden in the back while Molly sat up front and took in the “sights” of Blackrock. That took about three minutes. We had seen all the rubble we needed to see, and were trying to turn down the alley behind the El Dungeon, when we were stopped at a construction roadblock. Molly leaned out the window to chat with the construction crew.

  MOLLY:

  Whatcha doing?

  CONSTRUCTION GUY:

  Gettin’ paid double time to get this building moved one inch to the east, if you can believe that.

  M:

  Oh, I believe it. How’s it coming?

  CG:

  Ain’t budgin’ a lick, is how it’s comin’.

  M:

  Really, why’s that? You all look pretty strong.

  CG:

  Well, see this wall here where the paint is chippin’ off? Down where the tractor blade has been workin’ at it? That building is made of solid black…I don’t even know, glass or rock or something. Never seen anything so hard. Broke a drop-forged steel blade off that tractor. And that’s AMERican steel.

  M:

  Aw, that shouldn’t stop you for very long.

  CG:

  ’Fraid so, unless we can get some heavier rigs up on in here.

  M:

  Wow. OK, well, you all stay cool now, you hear?

  I wished I could stay cool, but all I wanted to do was chain myself to the building to keep them from wrecking it. Well, at least they were stopped for now.

  Since we couldn’t park at the El Dungeon just yet, we drove on aimlessly. Suddenly there was this awful howling, I mean AWFUL, and the sandstorm slapped us like a big heavy sand-hand out of the sky. Got those windows rolled up fast and stopped the van, since we couldn’t see anything but sand out there anymore.

  “Uh, sorry, guys. I didn’t think it would hit this fast. We might be here a while.”

  “That’s cool, why don’t we get some good lines written for Raven?”

  I have to say, there is no way I would have come up with the sort of overblown, drama-dripping, soap-operatic lines Molly wrote for Raven. Tell you the truth, they were embarrassing: “Stand up and face me like a man
,” “What of your professed love for me?” “I gave you a challenge. Tell me, how have you fared?” Ugh!!

  But who knows? Maybe all that will be just perfect for him. Hey, he’s probably never heard Raven say a complete sentence. He’ll be lapping it up!

  About an hour later

  Still in the van, parked in the sandstorm. No sign of it letting up. We are all a little stir-crazy. Cats and Molly are bouncing off the walls. Am trying to distract the cats by tossing bits of wadded-up paper for them to chase, but they are just getting more wound up. I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time before one of them needs to use the catbox, which right now is the floor of the van. Am also trying to distract Molly with idle conversation. Pretty torturous for me since she mainly talks about her hundreds of acquaintances and their various dramas. I did find out one interesting thing: Molly says that after she met me, she went back to my house in Blandindulle, where she was indeed staying with my mom, and looked through all the photo albums there, and get this, our childhood pictures don’t look anything alike! So, chances are—and we both like this idea a lot—in a year or so, we won’t even look like each other anymore.