Chapter 19
Silence. No sound was heard in the parlor then, except...tick...tick...tick...Jack and Aleister both noticed it at the same time, and stared into the corner where the old clock, Ben, was ticking once more.
Yeats spoke then, 'Yes, I took the liberty of setting Grandfather Time back upon his appointed rounds...' Yeats sat back upon the sofa, crossing his lengthy legs before him. Leaning back, his gaze settled upon Aleister then. 'Parsons!' Aleister's head went up as though his bridle had been jerked. 'You, are excused.'
Aleister stood, exiting without a sound, after sparing a sympathetic glance at Jack as if to say 'good luck old boy...'
Jack knew he'd need more than luck.
Neither man said a word for some time. Jack remained as still as possible under the eagle-eyed gaze of his superior. At last Yeats said, 'You are treading very dangerous ground here.'
Jack began to reply, but Yeats held up a hand. '--and, you have thus far, shown yourself to be capable of the most egregious errors in handling this entire business. I am tempted to ground you, both, indefinately.' Yeats continued to stare at him, his gaze narrowing. Jack knew what that meant: no timewalking.
Yeats continued: 'Your rash actions taken seemingly without consideration of consequence, nearly resulted in the displacement of Miss Page, and possibly Mrs. Stein as well. They must not be so imperiled! YOU, however, are expendable! Have I made myself clear?' The Eagle glared at Jack beneath tufted brows. Jack seemed to be his prey.
Young Van Horn was obviously trying to get hold of himself, struggling with many conflicting emotions. He had believed, sincerely believed, that everything they had done had been necessary to protect Emmeline and Alice....but, after seeing, or rather not seeing Emmeline after the timewalk, he had to admit to himself that it had been a bad move. Perhaps, she had nearly been lost, for good. And it was their fault. His fault.'Yes, of course. You are right,' was all he could manage at last.'Please forgive us, sensei, I take full responsibility.'
Yeats released Jack from his gaze and sighed then, looking out the window at the grey sky.'Do not 'sensei' me nor pretend that you even practice anymore! I do not want to hear your excuses! If you had more wit, more practice! --and less spastic reaction, you would have spared many.' he sat then, staring seemingly at nothing...
'Patience.' the Head paused.
'You have yet to learn.'
(tick...tick...tick...)
'I have not yet decided what course to take from here. I shall have to consult with...some others upon this matter.' He looked back at Jack then. ' Meanwhile, you and Parsons will return to Crowley House as soon as possible. Take only what is absolutley necessary. That means: LEAVE THE ARTEFACT HERE. In the safe.' The Heads' magnetic gaze again locked upon Jack and forced him to stare into his eyes. Only then did Jack notice what color they were. Gold. Like a panther. Or a wolf.
. . . . .
Pankhurst Library was a busy place that morning. It was a Tuessday which meant storytime for the children. Downstairs Emmeline was running the desk whilst Alice sat before the hearth at the end of the room with a semi-circle of young children gathered about her, reading from a large book of fairy tales, which she would open occasionally to display the artwork within, to the 'Oooh's and Aaah's, of her attentive little audience. Today's featured story was 'Cinderella' which had been requested by many of the girls. The lads would have their turn later next week with Paul Bunyan and his Big Blue Ox, but for now it was Ladies' Choice and they listened as quietly as young boys could...
One of the older girls came up to the desk then. Emmeline recognized her as one of their 'regulars'--kids who popped in after school or on holiday breaks such as this, avid readers at an early age. 'Hello Cynthia! What have you there?' The girl, a dark haired lass of about 11 years, smiled and produced Anna Sewell's 'Black Beauty'--also a favorite of many girls her age, and bookmarked already in the middle of the book. Ah, horse fever! Em knew it well.'A fine choice! Miss Sewell's book is becomming ever more popular here in the states now! I enjoyed it myself.' Em admitted, as she stamped the due date on the check out card and slipped it into the the book cover.'I see you've made great inroads upon it already!'
'Oh, yes, Miss Page!' Her dark eyes flashed. 'But, the carriage horses in London! They were treated so poorly, some of them! Oh, and when Beauty meets his old friend, Ginger! Oh, Miss Page! It's too awful! Ginger was old then, and tired-out, and they just wanted to work her into the ground!' The girl looked near to tears.
Oh, my. Well, fiction is a good way to teach children about life. Even Alice over there, with her fairy tales for the young ones...Grimm, some of them. There were real wolves in the woods.'Yes, Cynthia, it is sad! But, you see, because Miss Sewell wrote the book, and made people more aware, conditions are improving...just see the trolleys all round and even motor-cars now! Soon, horses will be used just for pleasure riding and won't have to work so hard, eh?' Em smiled as she handed the book, not losing her young patron's place, back to the girl, now smiling as she took her leave, trotting back upstairs. Ah, youth! When did I last trot up those bloody stairs? Em shook her head knowing full well she never had.
"...and they lived happily ever after! The End!' finished Alice and her audience clapped delightedly with appreciation. Parents converged upon their wee charges and Emmeline was busy with check-outs for a time, as Alice put the chairs back around the little tables. When the crowd dispersed, they then noticed the new circulation supervisor standing at the bottom of the stairs, her arms full of papers and a frown on her face. For Regina Halfwaffle, there was nothing new in this. But Emmeline still feared some fresh hell from on high, as it were.
Alice approached the desk then and Halfwaffle thwacked her pile of papers down upon it and addressed them both. 'New Rules, for the New Year!' No hello-how-are-you's from the New Fearless Leader. Em and Alice looked at the paper pile without enthusiasm. 'Beginning with this:' the Soup as she was thought of by most, then handed to each a paper requiring a signature at the bottom. 'Read and sign.'
She then took a couple of small booklets' worth of pages and
handed them over, 'These, you will study and keep handy. The old circulation manual has been discarded, and This will be our new Bible, as it were! Treat it as such!' Hm, thought Em. Word from on High, indeed! Halfwaffle always did see herself as Above It All...to which she repaired,after issuing her edicts, returning then to her lofty aerie in the upper levels without so much as a fare-thee-well.
Alice put her glasses on and was frowning at the signature sheet. 'But...is this even legal? Emmeline, look at this, this, aaagh!' Alice was quite beside herself now, '"Employees will sign the new guideline as agreed upon by the Library Board of Directors. I,(name) do hereby agree to the following:Employees of Pankhurst Public Library who do not report on time for work upon their scheduled days will be subject to termination of employment, even if due to illness or injury,and the incidents of absenteeism are agreed upon to have been incurred more often than is acceptable by their supervisors. To remain in good standing as an employee of Pankhurst Public, I (name) do hereby sign below. (date)"!' Alice looked up at Emmeline over the edge of her glasses with a look of shock and dismay.
Emmeline was staring at the sheet before her feeling as though time was standing still suddenly. Something was shifting...as if a cold wind had suddenly come unannounced and allowed within.. This New Rule...was somehow lodged it in her brain on the same shelf as her conversation with little Cynthia...she thought of some of her older colleagues and friends. This did not bode well for them, or for any of us, she knew. 'What can this mean, Alice...?' she pondered.
Alice set her jaw. 'Trouble. That's what it means.'
. . . . .
An even colder wind off the Atlantic was whipping through the trees outside of the Van Horn estate. After the hurried departure of Jack and Aleister, Yeats had stayed on to take care of some things and close up after. He was allowing the fire to burn out while taking advantage of the lull in activity to sit down to an unhurried cup of java in the parlor.
He'd just taken a sip of the hot black brew when a flash of light burst before him, causing him to do the standard spit-take in surprise.
Standing before him, his ample mid-section straining buttons behind a hideously plaid waist-coat, stood Mr. Pudge, his face split in a beaming self-satisfied grin.
'Surprised?' Pudge asked.
. . . . .
Meanwhile, back at Crowley House...
Jack was scraping ash from the fireplace and then trying, thus far unsuccessfully, to start a new fire. Aleister was stamping his feet and huddling hard by with an old tartan afghan about his shoulders. 'I say, Jack, need any help with that...? This place feels cold as if it's been shut up for months!'
Jack looked up at Al, his face 1/2 black with soot from having wiped it with his chimney-sweeps' hands.
'Sorry I haven't Yeats' adept touch with salamander magic!--
but I haven't given up yet!--There!' At last he produced a meager flame which slowly caught the papers below his kindling.
'Black Jack, indeed!' observed Al, as Jack stood, nearly wiping his hands on his pants, but catching himself in time. 'I have the kitchen stove lit, and water on the boil. You could use a bath.'
'Obviously.' said Jack, who just stood there, looking grimy and cold and miserable, and feeling like he deserved it all, and more.
Al sidled up to the fireplace and inspected his cigar-box, feeling his ciagrillos for dampness. He cocked an eyebrow at his friend. 'I...don't know what you and Yeats were about after I left, but...don't take it so hard, old boy.'
Jack said nothing, staring at the small fire. 'Al...you don't know...but, it's all true what the Head had to say. I still can't fathom it, Yeats! I just can't wrap my head around it! But he had me dead to rights. Both of us, really.'
Al put back his too-damp cigars and closed the box. 'Jack, I know you. And you know me, well enough, I hope, to know that we, neither of us, ever would have knowingly done anything to have caused harm to Alice or Emmeline. That we were trying, in good faith, to keep them safe! To keep them away from Flubber!'
'Yesss...' Jack looked up then and turned about, facing Al. 'I can't help but wonder though...why did Yeats warn us off Flubber? Why are we all back here now? I admit it was abit of hare-brained idiocy...some of the things I did. That business with the Professor's Box, and the Artefact...' Jack smacked his forehead with an ashy palm leaving yet another mark. He sighed. 'I wish we could see them. Emmeline and Alice. Just...to make certain they're alright.'
'That wouldn't be wise Jack, not yet.' Aleister took off his blanket, tossing it on the sofa. 'But I know how you feel. I'm not so dismissive of Flubber as our Head seems to be.
I wouldn't be surprised if he were to simply show up when we least expect it!'
. . . . .
Yeats stood and was wiping coffee from his otherwise immaculate jacket as he frowned at his intrusive visitor.
'MUST you EXPLODE upon the scene like...like Daryl Van Horn in a carnival show!?' he sighed and extracted a red handkerchief from his breast pocket, dabbing at the stains.
'Club soda, on the credenza, if you please?' he directed Pudge without glancing up.
Still grinning, the plaid suit with ample Pudge inside strode over to the bottles and made as if to aim the seltzer at Yeats.
Not looking up still, Yeats merely said,'Don't even think about it.'
Pudge sighed, and handed the much taller man the soda. Yeats
snatched it from him and sat back down, applying remedy to stain.
Unbuttoning his westkit, Pudge went to the mantlepiece, opening the cigar box. 'May I?' he enquired. Yeats merely looked at him briefly, then frowned at the assault upon the eyeballs that was his visitors' repulsive excuse for clothing. 'Nice suit,' Yeats observed.
Pudge extracted a fine Havana and lit it with a fingertip.
'Ahhh, you always did have decent taste, I must say!' he blew a satisfied cloud airways & leaned against the mantle then. 'Like it? I believed it might help me stay in character...rather Pagliacci, I thought!' he took a deep drag, blowing smoke ring punctuations..
'Rather more 'Bozo' I think.' Yeats countered, stuffing his kerchief back in his pocket. He stared hard at the plaid man through the cigar haze.'John, I do appreciate all your attempts to distract our wandering boys...'he took a small sip of now-cold coffee, '...but, alas, it didn't help in the end.'
'The lads are back in Pankhurst now?' asked John, sitting across from Yeats.
'They are. With strict orders to simply Let It Be, for awhile. I told them I would 'deal' with you.'
John, Mr. Pudge, raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
Yeats sat forward, elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands together before him. 'I am truly as much to blame for what went wrong as they. I know--' he held up a hand, 'I asked you to go to the theatre and get the ladies' frequency signatures in case we had to transport them elsewhere in a pinch! But, I had no idea that Jack and Al would get out of the blasted warehouse so quickly!' Yeats stood and strode over to the window.
John blew out a fresh haze of blue smoke. 'So...you didn't send them to kick me 'round and steal my Box? Mad timing that! Right at the stroke of midnight! How very...dramatic.'
'Lord and Lady, no!'Yeats turned to him. 'If I hadn't been in Council with the Elders ..I knew something was up right away of course, but by then it was too late to do anything , other than damage control.' He walked over to the fireplace and stared into the flames. 'Thelene was ready to roast me for that...mishap, she termed it. Bless her. We are to thank her, and the High Council, that it wasn't as catastrophic as it could have been.'Yeats paused, his shoulders relaxed. 'I don't deserve her.' he declaimed.
'No you most certainly do not.' John flicked his ash into the fire. 'Well, now what, then?'
'Now?' Yeats looked at John. 'Now, it's rather up to Emmeline, isn't it?' And with that enigmatic statement, Yeats went back to the window, John following. When he turned he squelched a grimace.
John had changed in an instant into a kimono, his hair, what little there was...plenty on the sides as he liked to say!
was gathered into a Japanese-style...sideknot.
'I wish you wouldn't do that. You look like Van Horn's goodbadugly brother.'
'But ever so charming!' The two men watched as the sun began to sink behind the low distant hills..
John spoke, 'How much Time do we have then?'
Yeats heaved a short sigh. 'Not enough, I'm afraid. Not nearly enough.'
. . . . .
.
