by John Purcell
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In my father’s memory, the Castle was an ornate building of red sandstone, topped with turrets and spires. Now, it was a battered wreck. Sometime in the intervening century, it had been used for target practice. Bullet holes pockmarked every square inch of the exterior. Not a single windowpane remained. Heavy weapons had been used to blast away the turrets and spires.
The bell tower had escaped outright destruction, although it had its share of pockmarks and shattered windows. One of the windows, at ground level, had been enlarged with a sledgehammer, and the red sandstone rubble beneath it had been piled up to create steps. Above this opening, a hand painted sign read: ORACLE GO UP. Two arrows, painted on either side of the words, pointed toward the sky.
I looked up “Oracle”: In Greek religion, priest or priestess who imparted the response of a god to a human questioner. Many observed signs, such as the motion of objects dropped into a stream, the movements of birds, or the rustle of leaves. Often dreams were interpreted.
Just below that was a second entry, “Oracle Bones”: Bones used for divination by the Chinese during the Shang Dynasty. These records of divination, which were incised on the shoulder blades of animals (mainly oxen) and on turtle shells, contain the earliest form of Chinese writing. The bones were heated to produce cracks from which “yes” or “no” answers were somehow derived.
All this confirmed that King Wen was advertising himself as a fortuneteller. It also suggested he was either Greek or Chinese.
I climbed the makeshift stairs and stepped through the opening. A spiral staircase wound upward, into the shadows. I followed it all the way to the top and found myself on the threshold of an octagonal room.
The room was sparsely furnished. In the center, a low table stood on a bamboo mat, a teapot, teacup, and VaporFlask resting on top. Near the north window, a breadfruit tree grew in a huge pot. A similar pot, containing a hazelberry bush, sat near the south window. The only other furnishings were a bare mattress, placed against the far wall, and the wooden chest that sat next to it, doubling as a headboard. High overhead, the Smithsonian bell still hung in place. By some miracle, it had survived target practice.
Standing between table and mattress was the oldest man I’d ever seen. His face, despite its countless wrinkles, was clearly Chinese. White hair spilled across his shoulders. His body was so stooped that his long white beard threatened to touch the ground. The wooden staff he clutched seemed to be the only thing holding him up. King Wen did indeed seem a thousand years old.
He squinted in my direction. “Teo, is that you?”
I wasn’t sure how he knew my name. “Yes.”
“Come closer.”
As I crossed to the table, his mouth spread into a grin, revealing a full set of teeth. He said, “I wait for you long, long time.”
“You’ve been waiting for me? Why?”
“Your father give me message. I wait long, long time to tell you.”
“You knew my father?”
“Yes. He give me message.”
I had my doubts. “What is it?”
“Your father…” King Wen staggered to the left, then steadied himself with his staff. “Your father tell me…” He clutched at his heart, gasping. “Your father tell me to tell you…” He gasped again. “Your father tell me he want me to tell you…” His knees buckled and he went over sideways, still holding his staff.
I watched him sprawl onto his back and lie still, eyes closed, not breathing.
It seemed improbable that King Wen would drop dead just as he was delivering this message. As I knelt down to feel for his pulse, his eyes snapped open and he whipped his staff at me, taking me by surprise. It whacked my head, hard, just above the ear.
He sprang to his feet.
I stood up. “Why did you hit me?”
“I try to knock all that death from your head. Too much thinking!”
“Do you really have a message from my father?”
He shrugged. “Just kidding! But I work with him, long, long time ago.”
“You worked with Joseph Clay?”
“Yes, yes, of course! Joseph Clay! He help me fake my own death!” He paused, looking alarmed. “Uh oh! Now King Wen think about death!” He whacked him self on the forehead with his staff.
I was fast losing hope. “Did you really know my father?”
This seemed to anger him.
He said, “You got one-track mind!” and swung his staff at my head.
He was very fast, but this time I was ready and I ducked under it. I decided to stop asking about my father.
I said, “Dr. Nightingale tells me you were a scientist for the GR.”
“That lady don’t know science if it bit her ass!”
“You don’t think she’s a good doctor?”
He swung his staff at me again.
I ducked just in time. “Why do you keep doing that?”
“You need ducking practice!”
“I’d feel safer if you put it down.”
He snapped the staff across his knee and tossed both halves out the window. “Happy now?”
“Can we sit down and talk?”
Suddenly, he was all politeness, bowing deferentially. “Please, will you join me in a cup of tea?”
“No, thank you.”
He flung his arms wide. “Why not? There’s plenty of room!”
This joke amused him no end. He doubled over with laughter. Gasping for breath, he said, “You want me to get bigger cup?”
He finally pulled himself together and we sat down on the floor, across the table from each other.
His face became serious. “Forgive me, Teo. I like jokes too much. Everybody say I got bats in my belfry.” He gazed up at the tower ceiling, looking puzzled. “I don’t know what they mean.”
I hoped to get a straight answer out of him before he went berserk again. “How does Queen Scarlett get her electricity?”
His eyes came back to me, the gleam of lunacy gone. “All power from Arctic come down rail lines, just like trains, same tunnels. Big, big cables, right beside tracks. Go to every Dome. If Queen Scarlett need electricity, she gotta get it from Domes.”
“Which Dome?”
“Probably closest one. I betcha million bucks she run cable right down the street. Just like big, big extension cord. Way too hard to bury.”
“Where would she attach it?”
“Gotta reach sub-basement. For that, she gotta dig. Look for deep, deep hole.”
I couldn’t quite picture it. “Are you saying Queen Scarlett went out there with a shovel and dug a hole?”
“No, no, never! She lazybones! She make slaves do it.”
“Negroes from the Domes?”
“No, no, her soldiers. Same thing. Both slaves.”
“Her soldiers are all Negro?”
“Only way out of Domes. Pledge fealty, move to skyscraper, get more food.”
“Suppose I wanted to cut her power. How would I go about it?”
King Wen picked up his teacup and took a sip. “Chop with ax.”
I thought this was just wordplay. “I didn’t mean it literally. I need a way to blackout her skyscraper.”
“Chop with ax.”
“You mean the cable?”
“Yeah. Not too thick, you very strong. One good whack do the job.”
“Won’t I get a shock?”
“What do you care?”
This wasn’t really a surprise. “So you know I’m an android.”
King Wen crossed his eyes and made buckteeth.
I said, “Joseph Clay told you about me.”
He tilted his head, but kept the idiot face.
“Please be serious. Did he ever tell you why he built me?”
The teacup came flying at my head. I ducked under it and it shattered a
gainst the wall.
King Wen was angry again. He shouted, “Your father tell you to duck?”
I thought this was a rhetorical question.
He shouted it again. “Your father tell you to duck?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why you duck?”
I thought this was a real question. “I ducked because—”
“Silence!”
He sat there glaring at me. I stared back, trying to find meaning in his behavior. Despite Dr. Nightingale’s assertions, I didn’t believe King Wen was the least bit crazy.
He suddenly burst out laughing, as though this were just another one of his jokes. “Now I tell your fortune!”
He hopped up and went over to the wooden chest, returning with a thin black book and bundle of twigs. He sat down and started sorting the twigs rapidly into piles.
I said, “What are you doing?”
He didn’t look up. “Hush. Think what you want to know.”
There wasn’t any doubt what was on my mind: I wanted to know what would happen once we reached Baltimore. I didn’t see how sticks would provide this information.
King Wen’s fingers flew but the process required him to sort the twigs again and again. He finally let out a grunt and set them aside. Opening the book, he flipped pages until he found the right one. “You get Hexagram 9, Small Cattle.”
This wasn’t a promising start. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That just title. Main idea. Judgment say:
Sign of the Sacrifice.
Thick clouds and no rain,
From my west field cometh.”
This sounded like a weather report. “So it’s not going to rain today?”
He shook his head. “Oracle speak of one thing, mean something else. You also get moving line:
It rained and it cleared.
A carriage picks you up.
Danger for a woman.
After the full moon,
Misfortune for a gentleman.
At least this made some sense. The first line seemed like a reference to the flood in the storm drain. The second line was more specific, a direct reference to Humphrey, it seemed. The third line made sense when applied to Luma. It was a reference to Queen Scarlett’s attack on the Abraham Lincoln. And we had seen the full moon rising over the ocean that same night. There was only one problem: all these events were in the past.
I said, “This is my fortune? You’re saying this will take place in the future?”
King Wen shrugged. “Could be future, could be past, could be right now.”
“Is that it?”
“No. You get moving line, change to Hexagram 5, Waiting:
The penalty is a goblet of wine.
Sign of the Sacrifice.
Good omen.
Auspicious for crossing the great stream.”
This seemed like gibberish, except for the title, Waiting. We wouldn’t be leaving for Baltimore until mid-afternoon and I had nothing to do until then.
In some ways, the Oracle seemed accurate, in other ways, vague.
I said, “What am I supposed to make of all this?”
“You solve it, like riddle. But be careful. Oracle echo your own mind. Try not to think.”
“How do you solve a riddle without thinking?”
This time, the book came flying at my head. I ducked under it.
I expected him to start shouting again but he just smiled. “You go now. King Wen run out of things to throw.”
I got up and went to retrieve the book. It had landed face up and now lay open on the floor. When I picked it up, the page was turned to Hexagram 13, Gathering.
I took a second to scan the text, then handed the book back to King Wen. “Throw it again if you like, but I’ve got a question about my father.”
He stuck his fingers in his ears.
I went on. “Could Joseph Clay have been Cassius? The first Cassius?”
He unplugged his ears, considering the idea. “Impossible. GR watch him day and night. Joseph Clay never leave Richmond. No travel privilege. Go to work, take train home, sleep. Go to work, take train home, sleep. Back and forth, back and forth! That’s it! Whole life!”
As I headed for the doorway, something else crossed my mind. I turned. “One last question. Not about my father.”
He clutched his skull, gritting his teeth.
“The air around here seems fine. Why is the air so bad in China?”
He frowned. “You misinformed. Air in China okay.”
“Really?”
“No joke.”
“All right. Thanks.”
“Don’t forget to duck!”