“No,” Durrow allowed, somewhat reluctantly. He looked askance at Keith, having developed skepticism about student businesses in general. “Very well. Based on the income so far this year, you will need to pay in this much per quarter,” he jotted down another number, “and if there are increases, you will divide up by the remaining quarters and pay them in that way. Providing there are no irregularities, your account will be entered in our computer files. Your next quarterly payment will be due by the quarter, April 15th.”
That gave him a couple of weeks to work it out. Keith agreed, and Durrow went back to the papers. The thin pen scratched out more numbers, adding up the accounts receivable, then the expenses, which he divided into several categories with remarkable speed. To Keith’s eye, it was working out very well. He began to think he might get out of that stifling office and back into the fragrant air, perhaps to take a walk later with Diane when the approving “um-hmm’s” ceased abruptly. “What’s this?” Durrow asked, going through the canceled checks in the latest bank statement, and holding one out to him. “This is a check for $2,000, made out to Cash, and the memo line says only ‘down payment.’ And another check, ‘property tax escrow’?”
Keith goggled at it, forgetting all about the air, the sunshine, or Diane. Two thousand dollars? That was nearly the whole balance! “I don’t know.”
“It’s signed Holland Doyle. Who is Holland Doyle?”
“My nephew, sir.” Keith swallowed miserably. “He must have bought something with the company money … a machine, or a car, or something.…” He took the check. There were two signatures on the back, and he could read neither of them.
“How old is your nephew?”
“Um … twelve. Almost thirteen.”
Durrow’s thin eyebrow rose, wrinkling the hairless forehead in precisely two places. “Why do you allow him to sign on your checkbook?”
“In case of emergency,” Keith said. “He’s got more common sense than I have.”
“I see.” Durrow was amused. A tiny crease appeared at the corner of his mouth. That meant he was smiling. “I strongly suggest that you find out what it was he spent your funds on, so you can submit quarterly taxes. If it is not an appropriate expense, you must pay tax on it as income. That is all for now. You may go. We will be in touch with you.”
“Yes, sir.” Keith gathered up his papers and fled.
O O O
“They must have paid out Diane’s scholarship already!” Keith exclaimed out loud, going over the papers again and again on the way back to campus. “Well, I can’t ask her about it.” The fact which worried him most was the huge discrepancy between the tax which was about to fall due, and the size of the remaining balance in the checking account. They weren’t even close. The elves certainly wouldn’t have any reserves, and his own checking account balance contained only the remains of the commission check he had received before vacation. He thought of calling his father and asking for a loan, but put that aside, recalling a discussion about money his family had had while he was home on break. Any savings in expenditure would be appreciated, Mr. Doyle had said, since Keith’s sister Karen would begin college that fall.
“I don’t have any choice,” he said, resolutely turning the car away from campus. “I’ve got to save my own skin. The Little Folk are counting on me.” It sounded very heroic in his own ears, but he was aware how much of a long shot it would take for him to raise that much money in so little time.
O O O
The signs leading up to Matt’s Cheese Chalet and Snack Bar mentioned that it sold gifts, so Keith followed an impulse and stopped in. The place, an obvious tourist trap, was made up to look like a Swiss gingerbread building, and screamed “tacky” at the top of its lungs, but it did indeed sell knickknacks of every description. Keith began to admire the taste and forbearance of shop owners like Ms. Voordman, who showed restraint in her choice of merchandise, if garbage like this was available wholesale. Idiotic little cedar boxes held together by tin hinges and varnish, and stamped with “Matt’s, Illinois,” lay between iron trivets shaped like Pennsylvania Dutch hex symbols and porcelain spoon holders with calico geese painted on the bowls. He sighed, but Matt’s was the only new prospect he had been able to turn up all afternoon, and it was already getting close to evening. He had some new ideas, but nothing would bring in cash right now but orders.
“Think of how items like this would jazz up a display,” he told Matt, who looked like an ex-truck driver now gone more to fat than muscle, and who liked cheap cigars. Keith smelled the stale smoke in the air when he came in. There was no way he would ever eat a meal in a place like this. He had already lost his enthusiasm for the sale, and was wishing that he hadn’t come in. But since he had begun, he might as well finish. “It’s for a good cause.”
“Nah,” Matt said, rubbing his cigar out on the snack counter, narrowly missing one of Maura’s precious cookie cutters. Keith cringed and moved everything subtly away from the restaurateur. “This kind a stuff doesn’t sell, ya know what I mean? I got troubles with the merchandise I’ve got, and it’s all good stuff. Didja take a look around?”
“Yeah, I did. I don’t see how I could compete with what you’ve got out already.” Matt’s line featured the very ugliest in junky little gifts. Keith figured he was about a hundred classes above it.
Matt rolled his belly to one side, scratched at his ribs with satisfaction. “Right. So, what’s the good cause you were talking about?”
“Oh, nothing,” Keith said, preoccupied, starting to put his samples away. There was no hope of a sale here. He had wasted time here, and the IRS was getting impatient. He could feel the hot breath of the auditing computer on his back at this moment. “Junior Achievement.”
“Oh, yeah?” Matt stopped scratching. “Where from?”
“Local,” Keith said, preparing to trot out his now well-rehearsed tale. “I’m at Midwestern.”
Matt’s face lost all semblance of joviality. “Really? I think that’s interesting. It so happens I have been the local president of the Junior Achievement chapter for the last twelve years, and I know everyone, every single senior advisor, every single kid in the whole organization, and I have never seen you before in my life.” He plunged a forefinger against Keith’s chest, punctuating every syllable with a stab. “They call that fraud, when some guy tries to make money off the kids. How would you like it if I called the cops, huh?”
“Uh, please don’t do that,” Keith said frantically, picturing the officer who had accompanied the union thugs. “Uh, really … my group picked up the skills in a Junior Achievement group in the Chicago area. I buy things from them on consignment. Here,” he thrust one of the charmed cookie cutters into the man’s hands. “Nice workmanship, isn’t it? And if it wasn’t for good old J.A., we’d never have gotten anywhere.”
Tension eased out from between the man’s thick grey brows as the cookie cutter did its magic. Keith breathed again, pulling air into his constricted lungs. “Okay,” Matt growled. “But I don’t ever want to hear that you’re representing yourself as J.A. again, or I’ll wanna have a talk with you face to face, get it?” He brandished the cutter in Keith’s face.
“Got it,” Keith said. Matt slammed the wooden mold down on the counter, heaved himself off the pink plastic stool, and waddled away.
Keith snatched up the cutter and hurried out into the clean spring air. He was happy to have escaped, but he was still without money to pay the quarterly taxes.
***
Chapter 33
He let himself into the village by way of the classroom. The hallway seemed more remote than usual. It wore an air of forbidding, and Keith felt more than once a compulsion to turn around and leave.
“Security measures,” he decided, since there was actually nothing more threatening in the passage. It was protective magic; no, a charm, he corrected himself. He was glad they’d finally taken his advice.
“Hi, Enoch,” he said, seeing the black-haired elf reading at a tab
le in the dining hall. “I had a great idea I wanted to talk to everyone about. I figure we can increase our sales, without it costing a penny. All we need to do is get grass-root papers to do write-ups on the merchandise. They don’t have to focus on the ‘factory’ at all. They can wrap us by doing the story on the shops we sell to. Ms. Voordman would probably go for it like a shot. Can you tell me where …” His voice faded away as Enoch regarded him in open-mouthed shock.
“Your nerve, Keith Doyle!” Without another word, the elf rose and walked out without letting him finish his question.
“Enoch? Something wrong?”
There certainly must have been. He followed into the sloping passage which led to the clan enclosure. Faces turned toward the entrance when he emerged, to see who was coming down, and turned away again, as if they had all been on one control, as soon as they saw him. He was puzzled and hurt. “Dola? Hey, honey,” he began, approaching the child, whom he knew liked him. She was jumping rope and counting out loud near her mother’s hut. He bent down to her eye level, his hands on his knees to speak to her. “What’s going on down here?” Dola went wide-eyed at his question, pressed her lips together, and kicked him solidly in the shin. While he hopped up and down clutching his bruise, she fled inside, shutting the door on him.
Keith was beginning to get frightened. He hurried over to Curran’s clan, and tapped on Holl’s door. “Hello? Anyone home?”
“He’ll no’ be in. Ye may go away now.”
Whirling, Keith found himself face to face, or rather, shirt-button to face with Curran himself. The tiny clan chief had never quite gotten over his dislike of the Big Man, and he wore his jaw in a set that would put up with no argument.
“Will he be back soon?” Keith asked, backing away.
“No’ soon enow for ye to be waitin’ fer him. Go.” Keith started to speak, but the elf turned his white-maned head away, refusing to hear Keith’s questions.
Keith kept moving, hoping to find Holl or the Elf Master, to ask them what was going on. He needed to find out about the missing two thousand dollars, and fast, but it looked like he wasn’t even going to get the time of day. The usually effusive villagers were taciturn and quiet. Conversation stilled as soon as he got near. The only face he saw that didn’t blanch on sighting him was Marm’s. The bearded elf stood in front of his clan houses, sweeping the pounded walkway with a wisp of straw.
Keith went over to talk to him, willing him to stay where he was until he got to him. “Hi, there.”
“Greetings, Keith Doyle,” Marm replied, resting his broom on his bent arm. Keith almost fainted with relief to get a friendly response.
“Nice day, isn’t it?” he asked. Marm grunted, his usual reply to questions about the weather. Keith pressed on. “You know, I just came down to talk about income taxes, and a great idea I had for publicity, but everyone is acting like I have the plague!”
“What great idea is this one?” Marm asked, friendly as usual, but there was strain in his voice. Whatever was bothering Enoch and Curran seemed to have rubbed off on everyone. Keith swallowed his discomfort.
“Free publicity. What we need are write-ups in the local paper,” Keith began again with as much enthusiasm in his voice as he could muster, but as he continued, Marm’s face turned the color of a boiled beet.
“There you go, and aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” Marm demanded, and tossed the broom aside. It clattered on the packed earth floor.
“What?” Keith asked, agog. “Nobody is talking sense today.”
“You made the local press. I expect you’ll have a hundred copies of your own. Here!” Marm rummaged through one of the huts and emerged with a beechwood stick with a long slit in it, which he thrust into the human’s hands.
Keith recognized it as the kind of stick libraries thread through the daily papers, so that no one will steal them and save a quarter. In this case, it had never left the library, so it really hadn’t been stolen. “This page, here!” Marm pointed to an article entitled fantastically “Elves Discovered Living in Downstate Illinois!” Keith stared at it, astonishment growing. This one was just like the stories Holl had shown him, but it was in the city newspaper. Alarmed, he began to read.
A source, who asked not to be identified, told the syndicated press that there is proof that a colony of heretofore-believed-mythical creatures is living somewhere in one of the buildings on the Midwestern University campus. And, more damning still was the description of their cottages. There was even an artist’s sketch with the article of a small wooden hut, which Keith had to admit did look like one of the clan homes. Marm pointed to a paragraph. “‘Witness the wonderful ‘nightlights’ being sold in the gift shops. No known science can duplicate such things. Surely they are evidence of magic?’ No other has seen our homes. You did it, did you not, you fool? Do you think if they know that they’ll be satisfied with toys? No, no, grant me a wish, it’ll be! Three wishes! Aren’t we under enough pressure already, having to leave our home?”
Keith was dumbfounded. “I didn’t do this,” he protested.
“Then who did? They are saying things here that only you would know. The other stories might have been guesswork, I grant, but you’re the one who began to call us elves!”
“I didn’t write that article. Look, it mentions the date it was submitted. That was over spring break. I was somewhere between Chicago and Michigan all vacation.”
“Ye could have mailed it,” Marm said darkly. He had never written a letter, and clearly hoped he never would. “I should have believed Carl Mueller the first time when he called you treacherous.”
“I swear this has nothing to do with me!”
“Can ye prove it?” the little man demanded.
“Well, no. Newspapers won’t tell who their sources are. You just have to take my word for it. I swear I’d never jeopardize you guys like that. You’re my friends.”
“So you can’t prove it?” Marm picked up his broom. “Well, no one else will talk to you, but I will tell you what they say. They think you are guilty. Until and unless you can prove you are innocent of this mischief, we will fulfill no more orders.”
“But wait! You promised,” Keith protested. “We have contracts to fulfill. Customers are waiting!” He had visions of Mr. Durrow cranking the wheel on the rack to which a screaming Keith Doyle was tied.
“It is no good,” Marm assured him. “You promised, too. You promised us security. Now we will take care of ourselves.” The elf went back to sweeping the walk and ignored Keith until he went away.
O O O
“Needs work, but it’s in pretty good shape,” Lee Eisley said, pounding on the walls of the farmhouse. “You’re going to have to do something pretty quick about the ceiling in the back, there. There was a lot of leaking.”
Holl walked around wonderingly around the place. “Hard to believe it is ours, eh?” he asked softly, more to himself than any of the others. His voice echoed in the empty rooms. Dust mice rolled away from his feet on the polished wood floors. “Ours. Our home.”
“How bad is it?” the Elf Master asked, looking over the blueprints.
“Well, if it’s drywall, no problem. That’s cheap. If it’s plaster, that’s cheaper, but it takes a lot of patience to get right.”
“Ve haf much patience,” the Elf Master assured him. “Vhat ve do not haf is much time.”
“I’ve got some tools outside in my station wagon.”
“No need,” said the Elf Master dryly. “I vill test it for you in a moment.”
“Has Ludmilla seen this place yet?” Lee asked. “She’ll love it.”
“No. No time haf ve had to inform her. You may, if you like.” The Elf Master put his nose back into the plans.
“Nine large rooms. One clan will have to share if we are to keep the biggest room as a meeting place,” Maura reported, showing them her notes. “The cellar will make a good workshop, since we have no need to place the garden there. Of course, the attic is habitable. The kitchen is of a
good size, with a flame stove, but everything is so high.”
“Our crafters will take care of that,” Holl assured her, taking her hand. “But will they give up each their own roofs after such a long time?”
“Before ve came here, it vas all one roof,” the Elf Master assured him. “And in time before that, many roofs. Ve vill adapt. As always ve haf.”
Holl peered out the window down the slope of the hill behind the house. Among the weeds were useful herbs and blooming tulips and hyacinths. “There’s no reason we can’t build if we need more room. I for one would like to see the workshop in the old barn. I don’t like sawdust in the bed, nor listening to power tools while I sleep.”
“You are correct,” the Elf Master nodded, his lips pursed. “It is time ve lived mit confidence, and less like refugees.”
“We ought to start moving some of the Folk here right away,” Holl suggested. “If we want our own vegetables, we need to plant immediately. And the leak in the roof and the weak flooring upstairs won’t wait long.”
“Very vell. I vill ask for volunteers to come out right away to begin vork and set up their homes. If you vill oblige us mit more taxi service, Mr. Eisley?”
“Sure. I’d be happy to. ‘Old Farmhouse Becomes Model Craft Community.’ It’d make a great magazine story,” Lee grinned, looking over the plans and calculating the amount of work the old place would need. “Too bad I can never write it.”
O O O
Keith slunk out of the library so engrossed in his depression that he walked past without seeing Diane. Clouds were gathering from all corners of the sky, and decided it was going to rain pretty soon. She ran up to kiss him, cheeks flushed red in the brisk spring air. “Hello there, stranger! How about helping me study for Biology? Would you like to have dinner with me tonight, and go on from there? With biology, I mean?” She gave him a slow wink. “Since it’s going to be rotten outside.”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Keith accepted with a grin. “I think I could eat a horse. At least I think that’s what they’re serving tonight.”
Mythology 101 Page 26
