“No. I suppose I never was really mad at you. I’m just so frustrated that there’s nothing I can do to help.”
“That is where the nimble brain of Keith E. Doyle comes into play,” he said, and explained his plans for Hollow Tree Industries. After a careful look around to make sure no one was watching them, he opened the case and slid it over to her side. Marcy’s face lit up as she poked through the wooden gifts.
“These are adorable,” she said. “And you’re terrific. Who else would think of something like that?”
“Only another deranged mind,” he assured her.
“No,” Marcy waved that away. “You’re not deranged. A little weird, yes. Can I do anything to help out?”
“Not really,” Keith said, considering. “Wait. There is one little thing. You could tell me what’s going on in class?”
Marcy giggled. “Fashion is happening in class. The Master is using the phenomenon to demonstrate his favorite principle of cultural adaptation to customs. Today, Maura showed up in a blue denim pantsuit. Catra wore a patterned skirt and a blouse made of old sheet material, and Candlepat had on a sundress and headband straight out of a Vogue magazine which Teri brought for her.” She grinned impishly. “It is sort of startling in star-spangled green, but the line is good, and it is very form fitting. The guys really noticed. Quite a contrast, since the rest of us are all in winter clothes. How old is she, anyway? Fifteen?”
“She’d be a lot more likely to tell you than me,” Keith said.
Marcy smiled. “It’s been very quiet this week. I think everyone misses you. The Master is being very patient with us. Now that I know we’re not going to be tossed out of the class, I can relax, and maybe the others will soon. Though I was stuttering so much today that he stopped me and promised he wouldn’t bite me even if my ideas were far-fetched. His kindliness frightens me more than his gruffness does.”
“I know what you mean. He’s a great teacher. I respect him, but I’m scared of him, too,” Keith said earnestly. “I would never deliberately want to make him mad at me.”
O O O
That evening, he met his roommate coming toward him in the hall, looking furious. Keith started to dodge past him with a pleasant word, but Pat grabbed his arm, turned him around and marched him back toward their room.
“All right, Doyle,” Pat snapped. “This is getting to be a habit.”
“What is?” Keith asked, trying to free his arm, but Pat’s long fingers had embedded themselves in his biceps.
“The room got trashed again!”
“You’re kidding!” Keith pulled free and broke into a run in spite of the weight of the sample case in his hand. He dashed through the door, and a deluge of water splashed down on him from above. The case crashed heavily to the floor. “Wa- wa- water balloon,” he gasped.
“That’s weird,” Pat said, coming in behind him. “I’ve been through that door already. Twice.” He squinted over the bridge of his long nose at the lintel, and at the empty scrap of rubber on their rug. “Why didn’t it fall on me? There’s no tape or anything on the wall.”
“I don’t know,” Keith said, dabbing at his face with a towel. “Maybe it was balanced funny. Or maybe whoever it was just planted it. Someone from this dorm, like Carl, for instance! What is it with everyone and water today?” He surveyed his half of the room. Once again, there was cola on everything, but this time he saw pieces of a book that had been slashed up and stuffed into the plughole of the sink. It was the Field Guide to the Little People. He ripped the soaked coverlet off his bed, and found that it had been short-sheeted. “Thorough job,” he commented.
Pat snorted. “Why would you think it was Carl? Plenty of people want to kill you. I want to kill you myself. I was planning to get to sleep early tonight!”
“I’m sorry, Pat,” Keith said, but his roommate wasn’t listening. “I’ll keep it down. This’ll probably take me all night.” Sighing, he went in search of cleaning supplies.
O O O
Two hours later, leaving a snoring Pat behind, he sneaked out of the dorm and crossed the campus to the library building. A security patrol car shone its spotlight on him but drove on, disinterested in a single student.
Keith found the plastic sack without difficulty, and pulled it out of its hiding place, brushing drops of water and wet leaves from its surface. As he was walking back toward Power Hall, a knot of drunken-sounding frat brothers turned the corner and started weaving their way toward him. A group that large, especially in their uninhibited condition, spelled trouble for a lone dormie out by himself. They’d probably stop short of beating him to a pulp, but there were other kinds of trouble they could make for him. He didn’t want to have to explain his presence or his burden to the security force.
He froze, looking for a place he could conceal himself and his bag of magical toys. This was a path lined with high, thick thorn bushes that had once been part of the college’s formal gardens. He could force himself between the leaf-bare branches, but he wouldn’t be able to pull free again without help.
To his surprise, the frats streamed around him as if they couldn’t see him. They passed so close he bet that he could guess the brand of beer they’d been drinking, but not one of them touched him. As soon as they were gone, he unfroze and tore down the path toward Power, refusing to question his good fortune, miracle though it seemed. He found that his pulse was racing.
He sneaked back into his dorm room without turning on the lights. A quick peek inside the bag with his miniature flashlight told him that everything promised was there. The white wicks of the lanterns gleamed faintly from their dark cages. “Ha-HA,” he cackled under his breath.
“For God’s sake,” Pat yelped from the other bed. “Go to sleep!”
***
Chapter 18
The new Accounts officer at the Midwestern Trust Bank explained the whole system again patiently to the eager red-haired teenager. He looked as though he had been explaining the same thing to dim customers for the past sixty years or more. “If you want a business checking account, you have to maintain a balance of a thousand dollars, or there’s an eight dollar service fee each month. If you want my advice, young man, just open a personal checking account. The bank doesn’t care what name and address you have printed on the checks.”
“Fine,” Keith said, appearing to understand at last. “That’s what I want.”
“Good,” the man said, passing a hand over what was left of the thin brown hair on his head. His round face folded into the semblance of a Parker House roll as he smiled at Keith. “Now, if you’ll just fill out these forms, we’ll get you your temporary checks.” The man swept Keith’s three deposit checks away, and took them over to a teller’s window. In a few minutes, he was back with an important-looking slip striped in blue and tan. “Here’s your new account number.” Keith looked up from it at him.
“Um, I want my nephew to be a co-signer on this account, but he hasn’t got a Social Security number yet. He’s twelve.”
“That’s no problem,” the banker said. “Only one of you needs to have one. I assume you do. What’s the account for, if I may ask? Boy Scouts?”
“Junior Achievement,” Keith said.
O O O
Three days later, two boxes arrived for Keith from the student Print Shop. Cackling happily over the contents, he hurried down to the elf village, the cardboard boxes cradled in his arms. The stone door opened for him, showing him that some changes had been put into operation since he was there last. He smiled and greeted everyone, but didn’t explain his presence until he reached Holl’s hut. Holl lived alone at the edge of Curran’s clan. Like the other cottages, it was built of odd pieces of wood, but they seemed to be arranged in a handsome and subtle pattern that used both color and texture as motifs; most appropriate for a woodworker and the son of a woodworker. The sloping roof was incised with a pattern of rounded slates. There was no need to keep out weather, so its builders could concentrate on form rather than function. Its
door stood open.
The young elf was at home, poring over a thick leather-bound book with print so small that Keith couldn’t read any of it from three feet above the pages. A carved shelf was fastened to the wall just underneath the glass-less window. It was full of books, all borrowed from the library upstairs. Beyond a partition wall from which a curtain was drawn back lay a simple frame bed spread with a patchwork quilt and pillow, and a chest with the lid thrown open. The windows were hung with curtains in a film-thin red and blue weave through which the village’s curious lighting shone almost unabated. Holl’s woodworking tools were neatly placed on a worktable against the wall between the two rooms. The cottage was a neat little bachelor’s apartment.
Holl looked up at the gentle tap on the door, and gestured his friend inside. Keith ducked under the lintel, laid the boxes down on the low table and opened them up.
Behind him, anyone who wasn’t busy had followed him from the entrance, and milled around outside the low doorway, speculating on what the daffy Big One was doing now. Even some of the elders, without abandoning their poses of disinterest, found a reason to hang around the neighborhood.
Holl closed his book and pulled the boxes across the table to him. Examining the contents, he paused to peer up at the tall student. “An appropriate conceit, though bold,” he said, tapping the letterhead and the line artwork which accompanied it with his fingertips, “but has he seen it yet?”
Keith had no doubt as to which “he” his friend meant. “No,” he admitted guiltily.
Holl rose from the back-less wooden bench that served as his desk chair. “Well, we’d better go right away, before someone else tells him.”
Desperately, Keith threw up a hand to stall him. “Um, there’s no need to do that right now. I’ve got some other things for you, too.” Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to use the face from the tag for the logo. He was embarrassed at his own audacity. But it had been almost like a sign to see it there in Voordman’s Gift Shop, the little man in the tree, smiling out at him. Looking so much like the Elf Master.…
“Oh, no,” said Holl, enjoying Keith’s discomfiture a little, but also serious about making his point. He waved the order forms in Keith’s face. “Now, you can’t use them if he doesn’t like them. The cooperation would end before it fairly began. You’d have to have them done over. No sense in prolonging the situation.” He grabbed one of Keith’s wrists and pulled. The blond elf was amazingly strong. “Oh, and bring the stationary, too.”
O O O
Keith shifted from foot to foot as the elders passed copies of the order forms around. “It’s an insult,” Aylmer said, thumping the paper with the back of one hand. “Using a likeness. Has he no respect?”
“It was available as stock art,” Keith protested uncomfortably. “Cheaper than a custom drawing.” He towered over them, waving his arms for attention, but they ignored him, as they would ignore a tree swaying overhead. “We’re on a pretty tight budget.”
“What happened to all his easy promises for our privacy?” Curran asked acidly.
“Ah, go on,” Holl said. “Nobody knows any of our faces.”
Most of the younger folk were looking over the elders’ shoulders, pointing and laughing. Keith felt like an idiot. His fellow students came in to ask what the joke was, and they, too, had a chuckle over Keith’s slyness. The room divided into two parties: the Keithites, and the Anti-Keithites. The groups were similar though not identical to the Progressives and the Conservatives. Holl and all the younger elves that were on his side made up the first group. They thought the idea of using the village schoolmaster as their logo was funny. The Anti-Keithites, the elders and those against the scheme, were all for disemboweling him on the spot. Both parties were loudly vociferous about their opinions, and Keith ceased to try getting anyone’s attention. There was no way he could be heard over the din. Suddenly, someone let out a piercing whistle, and the whole room fell silent.
O O O
The Elf Master appeared at the mouth of the tunnel. Curran called to him. “The Big One has brought something you must see.”
“It’s just business stationery and cards, some with my name on ’em, and some blank so anyone can use ’em. And these are the order blanks. Really nothing to look at. Not important.” Keith pulled the boxes away as the Elf Master came over.
“May I see them?” the teacher asked, holding out a hand to Keith. The boy blanched, swallowing hard.
“Oh, you don’t need to.…” he protested weakly.
The Master deftly slipped the box out of his arms, opened it, and his eyes narrowed. “Hmmm.” The Anti-Keithites smiled with vindictive satisfaction. This time the Master wouldn’t be so eager to defend the irresponsible, irreverent Big One. Keith shifted his gaze from the stationary to the Master’s face and back again. Had he managed to alienate his newfound friends yet again? He wished passionately that he would learn to consider consequences before he acted.
The Elf Master didn’t say anything for a long moment, and then croaked out one sentence. “Appropriate for the marketing strategy.” Keith almost fainted with relief. The Keithites cheered.
But that was not all the Master’s thoughts. “And a fine likeness, as well,” he said.
***
Chapter 19
Lloyd Patterson slammed his gavel on the desktop. “Order! Order, dammit!” The roar of conversation quieted, and Lloyd cleared his throat. “I declare that this meeting of the Inter-Hall Council is in session. Vernita, take the roll.”
Keith sat in his place next to Rick, staring at a spot in the middle of his desk. He responded with a half-hearted “here,” when Vernita read his name, but was otherwise silent. The room was so full some of the student delegates stood around the walls and against the door for lack of seats. Rick had his feet on the chair of an empty desk, and his expression dared anyone to come and take it away from him. He had no takers. The general consensus among those present that followed college sports was that if Number 41 MacKenzie wanted an extra desk on which to rest his feet, he could have it. The RA observed Keith’s unusual depression with concern.
“What’s the matter with you?” Rick demanded, scratching at the place where the desk arm cut into his ribs. “This is your show. You should be thrilled.”
“Rick, maybe I should have talked to you before.…” Keith was interrupted by another bang from the gavel. He twisted in discomfort, only partially attributable to the design of the desk, the same iron maidens in use in the hidden classroom. He wished that he didn’t have such a vivid visual reminder before him of the spot he’d put himself in. The freezing countenance of the Elf Master stayed before him as he concentrated on putting his arguments in the right order.
“Quiet! Please!” Lloyd shouted. “The sooner we can have quiet, the sooner we can finish this meeting.” Vernita handed him the attendance list and he thanked her formally. She simpered, hair swaying, and sat down. “Before we get on to the reason we’re all here, does anyone have any other business, old or new?”
There was general pandemonium as the delegates forbore to mention any business, but dragged their seats to the two sides of the room, making it clear that they were interested only in the main event. Lloyd sighed, and banged the desk for order. “Okay, already. I can take a hint.”
“Go get ’em, Doyle,” Rick whispered. Keith didn’t move. Across the room, Carl Mueller had a wide smirk on his face as he got up and walked to the middle of the floor. He looked deeply satisfied for someone who had less than a third of the delegates on his side of the room. Rick wondered about his apparent confidence, and stared curiously at Keith, trying to decide if there was a connection.
“Mr. Chairman, I would like to have a vote taken on the proposal whether the Administration should build a new Sports Center or a new library building this year.”
“Anyone second?” Lloyd asked, looking around the room for raised hands. “Okay, seconded by Woods of Alvin Hall. The chair opens the floor for debate.” There was a
roar of voices, all trying to make themselves heard at once. “Order! May I remind you that there is a reason why this vote is being taken in full council? This is the first time the Administration has ever really asked for our input on a project of this size. Three million bucks! This is your big chance to make your mark on the University. Now shut up unless you want to offer arguments for debate.” There was some grumbling, but the roar sank into murmurs.
“Go!” Rick urged Keith. Reluctantly, Keith stood up, hand raised for recognition.
“Doyle, Power Hall?” It was a tentative question. Keith could feel Rick’s eyes on his back. He felt cowardly for not taking Rick into his confidence before but it was too late. He was about to make a fool of himself by reversing his position without informing anyone in advance.
“Go ahead,” said the chair.
“I’ve been in touch with the National Historical Society in regard to the Gillington Library building. In view of its age and intrinsic historic interest, they are investigating having it declared a historical landmark. If they decide in favor, the building cannot be torn down, even to make way for a newer structure. Therefore,” Keith took a very deep breath, felt his ribs vibrating with nervousness, “I must withdraw my previous proposal, and let it be known that I have no objection to asking for support for the construction of a new Sports Center for Midwestern University.” He turned away from the raw triumph on Carl’s face, and finished his speech staring down at the floor.
For a moment the room was silent, and then everyone started talking at once. Rick was at Keith’s side, yelling at him, but Keith wasn’t even aware he was there.
Finally, the RA’s voice penetrated his misery. “What’s the matter with you? You’ve just handed him the victory, you moron!”
Keith went back to his desk, and sagged into the seat. “I know. But I had to, Rick. That building turns out to be really pretty important. I didn’t think so before, but …”
Mythology 101 Page 16
