Higher Mythology

by Jody Lynn Nye

  “We’ll get her out,” Keith promised. “Soon.”

  “To think she was so close to home as this,” Holl marveled, dandling the baby until she stopped crying. “I can’t wait to see Maura’s face.”

  Maura vacillated between joy, relief, and tears when her daughter was restored to her. She wept, but gladly, tears glistening in the corners of her smile. All the Little Folk were gathered in the main room of the house, crowding around her, Tay, Holl, and Keith, clucking over the baby or the handful of photographs Keith was passing around.

  “You’re a hero,” Maura told Keith gratefully, clasping Asrai in her arms. The baby was all coos and gurgles now that she was reunited with her mother. Maura refused to turn her loose even to let her be held by adoring aunties and uncles.

  “I only get a small part of the credit,” Keith insisted. “It was Frank’s balloon and his driver that got us in and out of there, and I wouldn’t have been able to grab her at all if Tay hadn’t glued that security man in place when he did.”

  “We all did our part,” Tay said, grinning as Maura leaned across the chuckling baby in her arms and kissed him on the cheek. “We’re all heroes.”

  “And we owe a lot to our new friends,” Keith finished.

  “A marvel,” the Elf Master said, turning the instant photographs over and over again. “To think we haf nefer suspected their existence. Although since you say they cannot descend to our stratum, nor we easily to theirs it vill be difficult to establish close relations.”

  “They have a way of making themselves heard,” Keith assured him. “I’m going back up as soon as I can to learn more about them.”

  “We ought to have a celebration,” announced Dunn.

  “No,” Maura said, moving to Siobhan and putting an arm around her waist. “Not until we are all together again.”

  “Oh, that girl,” Siobhan said, dabbing at the corner of her eye with the edge of her apron. “She’ll be thinking it’s all an adventure, I am sure.”

  “It’s her Progressive upbringing,” Keva, Tay’s grandmother and Holl’s elder sister, said, glaring.

  “And there they were, in the center o’ that polluter’s home?” Curran demanded, his eyes almost glowing with anger. “That woman has much ta answer fer.”

  But first, Mona Gilbreth’s representative had something to say for himself. The telephone call came almost on the heels of the triumphant return of the rescue party. The man on the other end of the line was angry.

  “We were willing to cooperate and do this peacefully,” he snarled. “Now you’ve ruined it.”

  Holl had answered the call. “How? By bringing home an infant who was too young to be away from her mother in the first instance?” he asked. “You were doing her more harm by not giving her back right away. We’d have forgiven.”

  The bass voice nearly leaped out of the phone. Holl held the receiver a distance from his ear. “Yeah?” the man growled irritably. “Well, you don’t make the schedule around here. I do. Since you can’t be trusted not to play tricks we’ll do things my way when I’m good and ready.” The bang as the other end was hung up resounded from the kitchen walls.

  “They can’t keep us from getting Dola back,” Keith said, slamming his fist into his open hand. “We know where she is now.”

  The Master shook his head. “If someone found something I sought to conceal, I vould move it as soon as I could. This call vas evidently their vay of informing us that vas vhat they are doing.”

  “Oh,” Keith said. “Otherwise they would have said ‘we give up, come and get her’?”

  “An ofersimplification, but essentially correct,” the Master granted, leaning back in his lecturer pose with his belly stuck out. “Her location is vun of their trump cards in order to force us to do as they wish. Vun of ours is that she must do nothing more to antagonize us, or be reported to the authorities. It is much easier to hold on to a stolen child than to clean up spilled liquid. But still it is a standoff.”

  “Ve ought to haf left a spy,” Aylmer said. “He could haf said vhere they take her.”

  “We don’t have to,” Keith said, grin widening until it threatened to consume his ears. “We know how to trace her now. And we’ve got friends in high places.” He pointed upward.

  When darkness came, Mona oversaw the packing of all Dola’s borrowed goods into Jake’s pickup truck. There were more things to go: food supplies, and gear for a live-in guard. She intended Pilton to keep an eye on Dola until things were settled with Uncle H. Doyle. They couldn’t keep her in the office any more, not when her adversary had the organization to pull off successful, lightning-fast and virtually undetectable incursions as he had. She wondered if he had had commando training, or something like it.

  They’d never find the child where Mona was sending her now. Mona had other things she needed to do, and would be relieved to have her unwanted charge out of her back pocket. With almost a week wasted, her campaign was suffering. Her campaign manager had called to complain she wasn’t giving him enough opportunities for public appearances. How could she leave, when at any moment someone might discover two kidnapped children incarcerated in an unused office of her factory? What she was doing now, she thought, she should have done at once a week before.

  As before, the two men escorted the child to the cab, put her in the front seat, and sat on either side to box her in. Dola glanced up at them distastefully. Williamson turned on the engine and revved it a couple of times to help warm it up. Mona stepped up and leaned in the window.

  “You know where to go,” Mona said, making the question a statement.

  Jake nodded silently, staring straight ahead with his hands on the wheel. Skinny stared at the Boss-lady. Neither of them looked at Dola. She felt like an inanimate parcel once again. She thought of kicking up a fuss and rebelling just to get the attention a living being deserved, then looked around her at the three solemn faces. Better not.

  “Make sure you’re not followed. And take care she doesn’t learn the route in,” the Boss-lady said enigmatically. “I don’t want any more surprise raids.” She turned away. Dola wrinkled her forehead, trying to puzzle out what the Big woman meant. It became evident when Jake took a handkerchief out of his pocket and folded it diagonally. They were going to blindfold her so she couldn’t see where they were driving. As if she could have told her relatives where to look. As if she had needed to, if the Big Folk had only known.

  The cloth between his hands came toward her, an awful parody of Dola’s vision-making ritual, and she shrank away, revolted.

  “C’mere, dammit!” he growled.

  Skinny seized her from behind, pinioning her arms. She twisted her head wildly, refusing to give in. Swiftly, Jake shot out a hand and caught her by the jaw, pinching in her cheeks with one gigantic thumb and forefinger. He brought his big face close to hers.

  “You knock it off, or I’ll tie you to the bumper. Got it?”

  Terrified, Dola froze. Making no further resistance, she let him tie the cloth around her eyes, which he did swiftly and efficiently. Pilton let her go, then she felt a heavy strap drop across and tighten in her lap. The truck started to move forward. She sat, meekly quiescent, her face burning where the cloth rubbed.

  She wondered what horrors awaited her at the next stop. Were they going to lock her into a tank, as Skinny reported the Boss-lady had threatened? Or worse, were they taking her to some Big Folk fastness from which she would never emerge? Tay had found her once. She hoped he could locate her wherever she was going, and carry her off home.

  Dola wondered how her father and Holl had located her at all in the smelly factory. She had felt nothing outside the confines of the cold office building. It must be something that Keith Doyle had done. He had so nearly gotten her out of there! She almost ached with the knowledge that she could have been free, if she had been just seconds quicker in climbing out of the window.

  The road changed from smooth to rough. Dola was jostled and thrown against the restraint of h
er seatbelt, unable to guard against the acute turns she couldn’t see coming. Jake swore under his breath.

  After an interminable and bumpy drive, the truck swerved sharply to the left and stopped. Someone lifted her down and set her on the ground next to the warm-smelling truck. Her blindfold was removed.

  Smoothing down her mussed hair, Dola looked around her. It smelled green and wet around her, a relief after the week she had spent in the confines of the dusty factory. They were deep in the woods, far away from any other lights than moon and stars. In the almost-full darkness, a black shadow loomed upward before her, one with an angular, peaked top: a house. The walls were made of rough-hewn logs, chinked with grey material that picked up what little light the quarter moon provided. Jake stepped under the eaves and became a bulky shadow as he fumbled with the key in the door. It opened, creaking, and he reached in to switch on the lights. He motioned Dola inside. She felt Skinny’s hand in the middle of her back, urging her forward. She went.

  Dola could tell that Skinny was uncomfortable in these surroundings, but she was delighted by them. The place, though it was musty, had an honest scent to it, of wood, stone, water, and growing things. She walked around, touching things. A huge tile and flagstone fireplace was built into the center of one wall, which bulged out above the mantle to show the girth of the chimney. Over the hearth itself she saw a heavy hook meant for holding a pot, and an iron door in the chimney in which lay a shelf for baking bread. There was no other stove, so this was where the little house’s intimates cooked their meals. Her supposition was borne out by the fact that a small refrigerator in the base cabinet of a Welsh dresser was plugged into the wall next to the hearthstone. Iron pans and pots, and a few lighter ones made of aluminum were inside the upper cabinet alongside an array of mismatched plates, cups, and utensils. Dola hoped she would be allowed to cook. Since moving to the farm, cooking over open flame without worrying about the library cleaning staff calling the fire department over the smoke had been great fun for all those inclined towards culinary skills. The novelty had not yet worn off.

  Leading off from the main room were three doors. Beyond the nearest was a bathroom not unlike the one attached to the office in which she had been living, but with a rusty, white-enameled bathtub to one side. The other two doors swung open into bedrooms. Between them, a queer little hatch concealed the broom cupboard, containing cleaning supplies, broom, mop, dustpan, and pail. She ran a finger across the top of the hatch. It came up black with dust. If the next day was fine, Dola resolved to clean out the house and freshen it up. The cabinet also featured a horizontal bar, presumably for hanging up clothes, the fuse box, and a couple of painted wheels the size of her hand. Jake shouldered past her and turned both wheels clockwise, then went into the bathroom and the small sink alcove next to the Welsh dresser, where he turned all the taps on full. Tortured groaning and juddering sounds came from beneath the floor, and rusty water gushed into the basins.

  The furniture in the main room consisted of an elderly couch with scratchy tweed covering; two battered end tables bearing lamps; a deep, padded armchair as old, she was sure, as the Master; a rug made of an endless, multicolored spiral; and two spindly-backed wooden chairs. It was all ancient but solid. Dola examined it with the experienced eye of a craftworker’s daughter. The furniture had been so well made that with a change of upholstery it would be good for another lifetime. The rug just needed a thorough cleaning.

  Jake and Skinny watched her explore for a while, then went out to get her things. Jake put a heavy box of foodstuffs down beside the fireplace. Skinny threw her sleeping bag into one of the rooms, and more bedding into the other. He had evidently been assigned to stay with her. To judge by his wordless mutters and sour glances, he was unhappy about it.

  On his next trip in, he dumped the carton containing her borrowed books and magazines next to the end table. Jake, carrying the last load, nodded briefly to Skinny. He pulled a shotgun out of the box, broke it to check the load, snapped it together, and handed it over to the thin man.

  “I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow,” Jake said, pointedly not looking at Dola. Skinny nodded back. Jake walked out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

  Dola looked uncomfortably at the gun. She’d never been so close to one in her life. It was chilling. The thing, meant only to take lives, had no aura except the cold radiation of steel. She wondered suddenly if she was ever intended to go home again. Was Jake leaving so he didn’t witness her murder? Holding her breath warily, she watched the man study the gun.

  As soon as the sounds of the departing truck died away, Skinny chucked the shotgun into a corner of the couch, and Dola breathed again.

  “No television, no telephone, no video games, nothing, and the store’s ten miles away,” Skinny complained, dropping into the armchair. Dust flew out of the cushions. He coughed. “Ain’t that the pits?”

  “I’ll miss none of those things,” Dola said truthfully. “What is this place?”

  “Hunting cabin, belonged to Ms. Gilbreth’s father,” Skinny said offhandedly. “She comes here herself sometimes. Dead shot with a deer rifle.” He looked around, discontented. “Got nothing but the bare bones here. I don’t like sleeping in strange places. Too many creepy noises.”

  “Oh, I like it,” Dola said, looking around herself and assessing the possibilities of the place, too curious to be haughty. “It’s nice here. No humming things.”

  “Brr,” Pilton said. The water was now running clear. He shut off the taps. A wind, autumn-cool, swept in under the door, across his feet, and set up a whirlwind in a cloud of dust on the floor. “No insulation, neither. I like a place that has things all set up for comfort, not a lonely cabin out in the middle of nowhere.” Rustling and squeaking erupted outside. Skinny spun on his heel. “What’s that?” he hissed.

  Sitting on the hearthrug, Dola listened, her sensitive hearing picking up more detail than he could distinguish. The rustling became the movement of wings, the squeaking the voices of animals. “There are birds nesting in the eaves.” She pointed. “Up on that side.”

  “Right,” Skinny said at once. “I knew that. Nothing to worry about, right?” His voice went up half an octave on the last word.

  “It’s nice here,” Dola said in a soothing voice. Listen to me, she thought. I’ll be telling him stories next.

  “Uh-huh. You ought to get ready for bed, you know.” Skinny walked into the room he’d designated as hers. She followed and watched him flatten out the sleeping bag on the bare, striped mattress, and plump up the thin pillow. He rummaged in the brown paper bags until he found the nightlight, and plugged it into the wall next to the bed. Its soft yellow glow warmed the honey maple floor. “That’ll do you.”

  “It will,” Dola said, watching him. She smiled slightly, feeling the calm night beyond the cabin walls raising her spirits. “But you can take the nightlight away. I won’t need it in such natural surroundings.” He bent to pull the unit out and headed for the door. Dola called out after him. “And thank you,” she said.

  It was the first time she had said it to him, and Pilton was charmed. “No problem,” he said. He paused, as if he was going to say something, then seemed to change his mind. “You and I’re gonna get along just fine here. G’night.”

  “Good night,” Dola said. An owl hooted beyond the walls. Skinny went white around the eyes, then caught himself, and threw her a sheepish grin. He shut the door behind him.

  In the middle of the night, Dola got up to go to the bathroom. When she passed Skinny’s room, the glow of the nightlight shone out from underneath his door.

  ***

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Mona Gilbreth, in full power suit, strode into the PDQ offices with her head high. It felt as if the beams of the brilliant Chicago sun were shining just for her. People had paused on the street when they saw her, standing back just a little in awe, the way they would in the presence of a celebrity. She was known, and it made her feel wonderful.

/>   The taping at the television station had gone very well. The television interviewer was deferential, and stood strongly behind all female candidates no matter what their affiliations. The fact that she was a native daughter of Illinois made him stress the fact that his state was sending more women to Washington this year than any other state. Her campaign manager was delighted with the tape, which could raise her standing in the polls still higher. Her rating was already at an all-time high. Not bad for a campaign run strictly on the cheap. The station had given her a high-quality copy of the interview. There were a few sound bites in it that would make good ads.

  Donations were still not pouring in, the curse of all smaller candidates in a tough economic year. Her manager had hinted that she should throw in more personal money to cover the bills that were piling up. She pretended not to understand, and he let the subject drop, saying that the creditors would undoubtedly wait until after the election, especially if it was successful. Mona knew he had hopes of becoming her aide in Washington—and why not? He was a good organizer, great with people. He could get blood out of a stone, which it sounded like he was having to. He was definitely earning his place on her staff.

  The telephone call from Jake the night before reported that the child was giving no trouble, for which Mona was grateful. She was going to have to let the girl go sooner or later, but not until she elicited a promise from H. Doyle to let her alone in his turn. She sighed. Money would be nice, too. All that could be dealt with when she went home.

  Paul Meier met her in the gray marble lobby, and escorted her personally up to the conference room. Mona looked down her nose at the hawk-faced man, granted him a gracious smile. In the elevator, he complimented her on her suit, her hair, and her shoes, picking with unerring instinct the three items in which she had taken the most professional pride that morning. No question, he was good at his job. Whether or not the performance was put on, it still made her relax and feel expansive.