by R.A. Graves
Stanley Post took them to City Hall. They parked in front of the building rather than the lot on the side, and then they walked right up to the front door instead of using the public entrance. Engraved into the rock above the doors were the words, 'To Harvest The Unseen.'
A secretary waited for them beneath the motto. She was half Debora’s age and twice as bright, but only in appearance; her hair was dyed a sun-yellow and her makeup applied in thick vivid colors. She did a pivot as they approached, barely greeting them, and led the way through a maze of hallways to a windowless office tucked deep inside the building. Mayor Drasscol was already there and gestured them into large, angular wooden chairs. Two other men were there too, both with wire frame glasses and suits with tightly knotted ties. Michael took an extra long look at them. They were identical, like one man sitting next to himself. The secretary sat down beside them, a note pad wedged between her arm and torso, ready to write.
“We won't be keeping minutes,” Mayor Drasscol said. The young girl folded the note pad against herself compliantly. “Actually, we won’t need you at all.” He waited for her to understand. She stood offensively and walked out with brisk protest.
After she had gone, the mayor still stalled, standing before the room not saying anything. He wiped his forehead and Michael could see the phantom shape on his bare wrist where the watch should have been, where it would have been if he hadn't been greeted by a ninja.
The mayor sat down and propped an elbow on the conference table. He pinched his finger and thumb into the corners of his eyes at the bridge of his nose and blew out a long breath.
One of the identical men finally broke the silence. “Mr. Mayor, shall I?” The mayor waved his hand at him giving him the go ahead and the man turned to Michael and Debora.
“We need to apologize,” he said, “you are somewhat in the dark about the truth and seriousness of our situation.” Debora started to talk but the man cut her off by speaking louder and faster. “In fact,” he said, “you may not even believe it. You know that the watch is important and has been in our city's history for many generations, and you may now realize that there are those out there that are willing to do anything to get it.” Michael and Debora nodded. The other identical man jumped in.
“The watch itself is nothing of value, but in the back of the encasement is a small leather map.”
Michael couldn't help but laugh. “A treasure map?”
“Not of traditional sorts,” said the twin.
“A map for what then?” Debora asked.
Michael took a guess. “The other watch; Mayor Drasscol's is just the replica.”
“Yes, but actually,” Stanley said, “It’s not technically a watch, in that it doesn’t tell the time.”
“Alright,” Michael said, “But why is this other watch, or whatever it is, so important?” He looked around the room for an answer and did not receive one.
Finally, Mayor Drasscol took his hand from his face. “I guess this is the part you won’t believe. Are you at all religious?” Debora nodded but Michael shrugged and bobbled his head back and forth.
“Just tell us anyway.”
“It is called a complicator. It is one of the devices that grant authority to its possessor…”
“Wait, one of the devices? There are more of them?”
“Yes. Whether they actually grant physical power is not fully understood, or agreed upon, but this one in question is said to be able to reshape the earth as we know it. Others believe them to be simply the ultimate symbol of evil, man’s superiority over God.”
Debora leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “Let’s suppose, for a moment, that the complicator does have some sort of power. How does the possessor use it?”
One of the twins picked up from there. “There is nothing magical about the complicators. They would be used in conjunction with the Machines of the Earth.”
Michael sighed loud enough to interrupt the room. He crossed his arms and leaned his chair back.
“Michael, please,” the Mayor said. “Try to keep an open mind.” His deep scratchy voice was able to give a small amount of credibility to what the twin was saying. The Machines of the Earth was a major tenet of religious belief, that the world was not natural, or accidental, but a creation- presumably by God. Michael uncrossed his arms and let his chair fall back to all four legs.
“Anyway,” the twin said, pushing his glasses tighter to his face. “The complicators just allow a choice of how those machines will work.”
“You already know that before the Great River was carved out, all the waters flowed to the east, to the old delta, which is where civilization started.” Michael leaned forward. Now he was intrigued. He knew the Great River was not always the geographical shape of the world, but he had never bothered to wonder what was before that.
“As the population multiplied,” the twin continued, “people were dispersing over the entire earth. A group of them found a place and decided to build a city. No more would they disperse, but they resolved to congregate. As the city grew it needed more and more resources so it was decided that rather than going to the resources, they would bring the resources to themselves. They diverted the river to the Great City.”
“Geniuses,” Michael said.
“But in doing so, they brought death to the earth. The delta dried up and people were left with the choice of joining the Great City or working as slaves in the quarries that helped build the city.”
“Why aren’t people taught about all this?”
“I guess it's too bound up in religion to be counted in history, and it's too historic to fit the religious needs of the day. Besides, people all too easily forget about the lives of their fathers.”
Michael bit his lip. “Where is the complicator in this history lesson?”
“It’s not complicated at all,” the twin said, laughing at his own joke. It was the first non-serious display any of them had made. No one joined him in his amusement. “Anyway,” he continued, “Great City Officials believe that with the complicator they will possess the ability to command the earth to do as they will; put a mountain here, move a river there.”
Michael smirked disbelievingly.
“Of course,” the other twin started, “that is not likely how the complicator works. No one knows exactly what would happen if it were to be used. That is precisely what makes it so dangerous, why Wind Quarry has been its guardian for hundreds of generations.”
“We’ll get it back,” Debora blurted out. Michael glanced at her with wide eyes.
They left the building going out the same way they came in. Debora leaned toward Michael as they walked the long hallway. She whispered, “I remember something from the research that might help.” She looked back to make sure no one was too close, then leaned closer. “There might be another map.”
Nine