Advanced Mythology

by Jody Lynn Nye

  Before the community, their friends and relatives the couple declared their love for one another. There was nothing childlike about Enoch as he stated his vows. The Elf Master, as the Headman of the village, and Mr. Collier, looking nervous, came forward to join their hands together. It was so nice, so natural, so about time that Keith was nodding at the rightness of the whole event.

  “Before our friends,” Enoch said, “I swear that I will be a good husband to you, support you, and provide for you. Not only a lover I’d be, but a friend and partner in all things. No other will ever supplant you in my heart. I promise to enjoy and suffer life alongside you all the days of our lives. I will protect you from your fears and nurture your dreams.”

  Marcy’s voice was almost inaudible as she replied. Her cheeks were scarlet. “I knew from the time I met you that I love you. I come to you with joy.”

  He kissed her gently. The Elf Master beamed at them.

  “As you haf claimed one another, none of us shall stand between you or compel you apart. I offer my congratulations and good wishes.” Marcy embraced him, then her father, as everyone broke into cheers and applause.

  “A toast to the couple!” Holl cried.

  “A toast!” Marm echoed, springing up to stand beside the punch bowl and a tun of his best wine. He put Keith’s mug in his hand.

  “To Enoch and Marcy!” Keith announced.

  “To Enoch and Marcy!” everyone echoed, and drained their glasses.

  “Another toast!” shouted Tay. “Long life and happiness!”

  “It is over so quickly,” said Ludmilla Hempert, seated in front of the wide fireplace among her beloved “little ones.” One toast had led to another and another. Drinking progressed naturally to eating. The guests sat wherever there was a flat place, partaking of the feast. The cooks and bakers brought out platters, baskets, and bowls of delicious food, offering refills to the diners who overflowed all the “public” areas of the big, old house.

  “They’re good cooks all the time,” Diane said, grabbing another biscuit from a passing basket, “but they’ve just excelled beyond anything I could have imagined. This is ambrosia!” She and Keith were perched on the windowsill. It was cold, but they had it to themselves. Nearby, Mr. and Mrs. Collier shared a bench with their son. Already the dutiful son-in-law, Enoch had brought them a small table for their plates and glasses. The Elf Master and his wife were next to them at another small table. The newlyweds had a place all their own in a nook next to the big fireplace, hung with garlands and glorious, out-of-season flowers that Keith was sure had been brought to bloom by one of the plantwise elves.

  “Keith,” Mrs. Collier said softly, leaning toward him and putting a hand on his, much as her daughter had done, “I heard what you said. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how deeply you felt for Marcy.”

  “I … don’t,” Keith said hastily. “It’s part of the ceremony, Mrs. C. Both of them have to meet the challenges. It’s traditional. She’s my friend, nothing more, I promise. Enoch roped me in as one of the ‘disappointed suitors’ because I used to have a crush on her. She ended up with the right man, I swear.”

  “Really?” she asked, her smooth forehead wrinkling.

  “Really,” Keith assured her. He took Diane’s hand. “I found the right woman for me a long time ago.”

  “How lovely!” Mrs. Collier beamed. “So, when are the two of you getting married?”

  Diane and Keith exchanged glances, hers expectant, his uncomfortable. “Well, you know,” Keith said at last. He didn’t want to give away details of his savings plan, and he knew the Folk were listening. “We want to be ready. Both of us are still in school.”

  “Of course,” Marcy’s mother said, nodding knowingly. “You’re right. It’s so expensive these days to set up a household.”

  “By the way, is this … wedding … legal?” Mr. Collier asked uncomfortably.

  “It can be legally registered,” the Master assured his new in-laws affably. “Though my son has no official birth records, the correct officials can be persuaded that they haf seen the right documentation. If this is important to you.”

  Mr. Collier seemed uncomfortable at the open manipulation of legal matters, but he tried to recover the mood. “Oh, well,” he said jovially. “How else do you explain leprechauns in the family?”

  Enoch glowered at the description, and a wave of muttering swept through the room. “Never mind,” Tay whispered to him as he refilled his glass at the long buffet table. “You won’t have to see the in-laws very often.” Marcy, close enough to hear, blushed.

  “How did your final exams go?” Holl asked Keith, a little louder than necessary.

  Keith answered at once. “The most you can say about them was that I survived. I think I did okay, but I’ll wait for my report card.”

  Mr. Collier looked embarrassed. He seemed to understand that he had committed a social gaffe. “Say, honey,” he called to Marcy at her little table in the inglenook, “you were going to give me the e-mail address down here.”

  Marcy looked thankful to change the subject. “Yes! Of course!”

  “Good. Give me a moment.” Mr. Collier reached into the inner pocket of his suit coat and came out with an Origami. He touched the ON button, and the little screen hummed to life.

  “Hey,” Dunn said, elbowing Keith. “Isn’t that one of your things?”

  “Why, so it is,” Catra said, from her perch on the arm of Ronard’s chair. “Keith Doyle has been telling us much about them for some time now.”

  “Yours?” Mr. Collier asked, interested. Keith explained that he was working for the advertising company hired by Gadfly to promote the Origami. “They’re pretty terrific. Do you have one, too?”

  “No, sir,” Keith said fervently. “I wish! I’m saving up for one. They’re pretty expensive.”

  “I’ll say! I bought this one bundled with business software. It set me back $2,500. It’s the greatest thing I ever had, though.” Mr. Collier started playing with the unit’s panels, flipping up the screen to show the telephone face below. The graphics on the screen reversed at once so the lettering would be the same side up as the numbers on the keys. “It’s a workable office machine, but it’s like a toy, too.”

  “I know,” Keith said, fixing fond eyes on the blue-green device. “I am just crazy about it. I can’t believe how good the graphics are. The buttons are just far enough for good game play. And you can have three or four applications running at the same time. If you’ve got Doris, you don’t need most of the stuff in your office!”

  “Doris?” Mr. Collier asked blankly.

  “He’s got a pet name for it,” Pat explained, his long face twisted in mournful amusement like a Lewisian marsh wiggle. “He’s in love with the darned thing. There’s a framed picture of it on his desk. Uh, right next to one of you,” he hurried to explain, as Diane tapped her toe meaningfully on the floor.

  “Bad timing, Shakespeare,” Dunn scolded him.

  “Oops, sorry,” Pat said, ducking his head.

  “Doris is my only rival,” Diane said plaintively to the room at large.

  “Not a serious one,” Keith said. He tried to recover the situation without explaining his secret plan. He realized the only way to save the situation was to jump in with both feet. He looked at Diane with sincere hazel eyes. “I mean, I would never think of asking her to look for engagement rings with me.” He took Diane’s hand with a meaningful expression. The Folk let out little exclamations of surprise and pleasure.

  Diane brightened right away. “Oh! When?” she asked. “I don’t have to work tomorrow.”

  “No, not tomorrow,” Keith said hastily. His heart sank when she looked hurt all over again.

  “So you’re not serious,” she said with a wry twist of her mouth. “It was just a ploy to get out of trouble over Doris.”

  “Yes. I mean, no! I am serious. About us, I mean. Maybe I’m being too cautious, because we haven’t graduated yet. Let’s go look at rings. Really.” />
  Diane’s eyebrows went up. “So why not tomorrow?”

  Keith spread out his hands. “Because I’ve looked at both jewelry stores in town. I want something nicer for you. There’s a lot more to choose from up in Chicago. You promised to go home for Christmas, and so have I. Why don’t you come up the week after New Year’s? We’re both still off classes then. We’ll make a special occasion of it. I might even spring for play tickets. What do you think?”

  “What do I think?” Diane asked, kissing Keith as the elves beamed their approval. “It’s a date!”

  ***

  Chapter 25

  “Still nothing on Doyle?” Beach demanded. VW shook their heads, looking ashamed of themselves, like a couple of schoolboys caught not having done their homework. “You’ve been trying to find him for almost two months! How the hell does he do it? He’s eating and sleeping, right?”

  “Yeah,” Vasques said surlily. “We’ve been in his apartment a dozen times. His bed’s slept in. His clothes are in the laundry basket. There’s stuff with his name on it, but we have never found him there, no matter what time of day we go in.”

  “Has he changed to the night shift? Is he sleeping days?”

  “We thought of that,” Wyzinski said. “I got a jumpsuit and a toolbox, went in as an electrician sent by the building management to look at the wiring. The black kid was there, but no Doyle. We keep going back to PDQ, using every excuse in the book. Everybody’s just seen him a minute ago, but no one ever knows where he is. He’s ducking us like a pro.”

  Beach stroked his chin. “I didn’t believe he could be a government agent, but I’m changing my mind. This could be bigger than we thought. Keep your eyes open. I must talk to him. I can’t wait forever.”

  * * *

  Leaning into the wind blowing bitterly off the lakefront, Keith trudged beside Pat across the street and onto the edge of the Navy Pier complex. January was making its presence felt with near-record snow. For the first time in weeks the temperature had risen above freezing, but that meant only there were puddles of slush under curbs, waiting to shoot up the pants legs of the unwary. Pat’s jeans were tucked into theatrical-looking boots that went along with his mood and his current job. Both of them had woolly hats pulled down over their ears.

  “I’m going to have ‘hat hair,’ and the makeup crew is going to make fun of me all through rehearsal again,” Pat complained.

  “I thought Uriah Heep was supposed to have hair that stood up,” Keith shouted over the wind.

  “He is, but mine won’t stay that way without a ton of hairspray!” Pat called back. “They’ll have to blow dry it, and I’ll look like a lacquered hedgehog.”

  “The show must go on,” Keith said encouragingly. “It’s a great role. You’re the villain.”

  “Please! We villains prefer the term ‘antagonist.’”

  “You mean you don’t believe in a specific God?”

  “Thanks,” Pat said crisply, yanking open the door of the Children’s Museum. The two men scooted inside out of the cold. “That’s so old it went out with vaudeville. Say, speaking of doubles acts, how’s the old married couple getting along?”

  “They’re still in their own little world,” Keith said with an avuncular smile. “Neither one seems to hear anything anyone says. It’s getting really old as far as Holl’s concerned. He ought to know better, but he doesn’t remember what it was like when he was walking into walls whenever Maura said his name.”

  Pat made a face. “Yeah, you’re a fine one to talk. How many people here think Keith is going to walk into walls for six months when he and Diane finally get hitched?” Pat hoisted a long arm into the air. “Brr. That gust just went right up my armpit. How come it’s this cold inside?”

  “That’s Mother Nature getting even with you for being unsympathetic. Enoch and Marcy had to hang on longer than Holl did before they got married. They’re so happy. The others ought to give them a break.”

  Pat took off his hat and ruffled his hair. The lank, black strands tumbled like a limp haystack. “I am sure they are, my dear boy. But when you’re not in love everyone who is just seems so sappy. How many people don’t think they’re going to wait a whole year before trying to hatch a baby?” Both he and Keith raised their hands. “Unanimous. Nice to see you there, by the way. I appreciate you keeping that spell off, or whatever it is. Not that I object strenuously. If I have to have one thing blocked from my sight, it would be your silly mug.”

  “Thanks heaps,” Keith said sourly.

  Ever since the snowy night he’d nearly been run off the road, Keith had been using the anti-attention charm Holl and Enoch had taught him almost all the time. Pat and Dunn hated it because they found it uncomfortable to carry on a conversation with someone whom they couldn’t look at directly. Moreover, the parameters of the spell meant that they ended up staring at whatever Keith had made the focus of the spell at the moment, such as the television or a wall fixture. Dunn finally started asking him to lay the glamour specifically on what he wanted to look at at that moment, such as his dinner plate or manuals he was reading.

  It was worse at PDQ. Having the spell going all day meant that people were always looking for him and never finding him. The only places he felt safe leaving it off were in the security of Dorothy’s small office or the men’s room. He had to go without it during sessions in the boardroom, but the rest of the time he was basically invisible. It meant limiting his involvement in the filming of the new commercial. The script had been changed by Rollin when Keith couldn’t be found. Keith still had been able to offer a change that he thought was pretty effective: adding images of Origami’s features to the adventure the child had on the little screen. But Keith could tell his invisibility was wearing on the tempers of even his champions like Dorothy and Paul. He couldn’t help it. Staying out of sight was not for his sake, but for the sake of more than eighty others.

  Since he had the opportunity, Pat studied him.

  “You look tired. Are you that worried about these people?”

  “They’re a real threat to the elves,” Keith said seriously. “I’ve got to keep out of sight until they get bored and go away. The trouble is, I’m just running out of gas. It’s nice to have a few weeks off from school. I thought I could handle it all, but between the commute, my classwork, my job, and … you know …”

  “The bibbity-bobbity-boo,” Pat interjected lightly.

  “… I barely have time to breathe.” Keith frowned as they trudged up the concrete stairs that led to the theater. He pulled open the glass door without seeing it. “I keep wondering if I shouldn’t have postponed business school when PDQ hired me. I thought I could do it all with no problem, but my class assignments are getting more complicated, taking up hours I don’t have because I’m working full time. It’s blowing up the rest of my life.”

  “Nearly threw the whole Diane thing in the dumpster last week,” Pat said with sage sympathy.

  “Yeah,” Keith said. “I’ll make it up to her. I was going to wait until I could just buy the ring and give it to her right there. I mean, I’ve studied the literature. I do not have anywhere near the two months’ salary saved up yet.”

  “Two months’ worth?” Pat exclaimed in horror.

  “That’s what they say, but I haven’t been working a whole year yet, and who knows if I can stay on this gravy train? I hope she doesn’t mind picking one out and waiting for me to make time payments.”

  “Don’t worry. She’ll forget all about the disappointment of not being engaged to you when she sees me utter the famous phrases of the odious Uriah Heep. ‘Too ’umble,’” Pat said, his lanky body collapsing into a comma over his clasped hands washing themselves.

  “It’s type-casting,” Keith said, grinning. “It’s you to the letter.”

  Pat gave him a superior smile. “Thank you. I thought it was a brilliant portrayal, some of the elements of which I drew from my very rich life. I’d be living in very much more ’umble surroundings, if it
wasn’t for you and Dunn taking me off the streets. You guys keep a much better grade of food in the fridge than my other acquaintances of the theat-ah.”

  Keith tugged at his carroty forelock, peeking out from under the edge of his gray wool cap. “Our pleasure. We’ve got to support the arts, you know.”

  “You’re getting your money’s worth. This is a very true-to-life David Copperfield. I think the CSR is pretty brave for trying to make money off Dickens.”

  “Brr. This is a Dickensian season, for sure. Whenever I had to read Oliver Twist in school I always pictured England being cold and bleak.”

  “He ought to have lived in Chicago,” Pat said. “That’d teach him what winter is really about. But it’s worse out here on the pier. Well, here’s where I get off. You mere mortals will have to wait until the opening to see our brilliant performance.”

  “Oh, yeah!” Keith said, remembering. He reached into his pocket. “I got paid today. Here’s the money for the tickets.”

  “Thank you,” Pat said, plucking the white envelope out of his fingers. “I’ll make sure you get good seats.”

  “Thanks,” Keith said. “That’ll help.”

  “Hold still!” a woman’s voice pleaded over the sound of wailing that echoed off the walls. Pat’s dark eyebrow arched.

  “Somebody needs to go home for a nap.”

  “No,” Keith said, spotting the source of the sound. “She’s hurt.”

  A little girl no more than four years old with black pigtails sat on the hard tile floor, sobbing, as a room mother tried to spread a bandage over a scrape on the child’s shin. The girl wasn’t cooperating, kicking her leg out of the harried woman’s reach. Keith dropped to his knees beside them.

  “Hey, don’t cry,” he told the girl. “It’s not so bad. Hey, look! See the clown?”