Advanced Mythology

by Jody Lynn Nye

  “I’ll bring the boat back in about an hour,” Keith called as he steered the light motor launch away from the rental slip at Navy Pier out onto Lake Michigan.

  “No problem,” the owner called, waving a hand at him. “Enjoy!”

  Keith angled the boat south, aiming for the mouth of the Chicago River. The weather was mild for early spring, so he tossed his hat and scarf under the low seat. It’d be plenty warm soon.

  For the sake of his friends he was determined to take on Beach and his minions. He had always feared the day would come when somebody tried to invade the Little Folks’ space. Now the worst had happened: somebody had discovered where they were, somebody who knew what they were and what they could do. Keith had to draw them away from the farm. The scary lady could feel it when people were doing magic. That should have dawned on him when she found the “glamour” on him, several months back. She was attracted to the emanations from the farm. Well, in just a few minutes he was going to make the biggest dent in the mental airwaves since Merlin moved Stonehenge. That should bring the creeps running north again faster than you could say “Abracadabra.”

  His control had improved enormously after living for months in the shelter of the misdirection charm, but his natural strength wasn’t enough to do what he had in mind. He needed an external source of power. Thanks to Liri and Rily, he had found the biggest river of power in the state, and it happened to flow directly underneath the Chicago River itself. He couldn’t draw on it unless he was right on top of it, but that was easily remedied, with an outlay of cash and a little fast talking. It was possible he’d get in a lot of trouble for doing what he was about to do, but the date was on his side.

  The little green motor launch putt-putted into the canyon of buildings. Before Keith started looking for his power source, it found him. He knew what it felt like when Holl put out a thread of sense, like a tickle at the back of his mind. The well of magical energy underneath the river reached up to prod the tiny intruder coming into its midst. The sensation nearly knocked him out of the boat, like Moby-Dick capsizing Ahab’s ship. Hastily, he pulled back all his feelers, and waited while the giant presence sniffed him all over, then subsided, evidently deciding there was no harm in him. He hoped it would feel that way when he was through.

  “Hey,” he asked it, “would you like to come to a party?”

  Traffic on the river was light that day, for which he was grateful. He brought the launch to a halt well lakeward from the first bridge and shut off the engine. He didn’t have to worry about concealing his presence, since he knew Beach’s entire gang was at that moment besieging the farm.

  Focusing hard, he began building the mental structure that underlay his fire charm. When he and Enoch had discussions about doing magic, the black-haired elf always told him to create a stable base in his mind so that the evocation of the charm itself was like setting light to the tinder under a bonfire. How apt a metaphor that was. Over time he’d internalized the process until it was second nature, just like the way his friends did it. His usual trick was to hold his hand as though there was a lighter in it, and let the flame hover above the circle described by his thumb and forefinger. This time, the difference in scale would be massive.

  “Scary lady,” Keith said, moving to stand in the very center of the boat, “this is for you.”

  He threw his arms wide and his mental ring wider, creating the world’s largest thumb circle for a practical joke, and lit his imaginary fuse.

  Whoosh! A blazing column of flame shot up from the depths of the river. Keith hit the deck, huddled in fetal position to shelter his face, but even close up the blaze wasn’t that hot. The fire was well contained by all the preparation he’d done. Keith uncurled and sat enjoying his pillar of fire as it shot heavenward like a geyser, ten, twenty stories into the air. White-hot light lit up the river, reflecting off the water, the bridge, and windows of the hotels and office buildings to either side. He could almost see the gleam on the underside of the fluffy white cloud way overhead. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, a dozen Fourth of July fireworks displays all rolled up into one big Roman candle. That ought to do it.

  He heard a siren echoing down the river. A fancy speedboat with a revolving blue light on top arrowed toward him. Keith let the flames die down into the water, and sat waiting for the police boat. One of the two uniformed officers raised a loud-hailer.

  “Sir, drop any weapons and put your hands in the air!”

  Keith raised his arms up over his head. They pulled alongside.

  “All right, buddy,” said the first cop, a burly man in his fifties with graying black hair and a pockmarked complexion, “what’s the big idea?”

  “April Fool!” Keith called out.

  “What?”

  “It’s April Fool’s Day!”

  “What’s the joke?” the other policeman asked. He was a young African-American with a long jaw.

  “Oh, you know,” Keith said with an innocent grin, “making a bonfire on the river. Like the East River in New York, the one that actually caught fire? Well, the Chicago River’s not polluted like that one.” He smiled at them, trying to make it sound obvious. “That’s why it’s a joke.”

  “Oh, yeah,” the younger policeman nodded, looking as though he thought he understood. “It looked cool. I saw photographers running from the two newspaper buildings. You’ll probably make the papers.”

  “Hope so!” Keith said cheerfully.

  “It’s dangerous to play around with fire like that,” the senior officer said.

  “I was careful,” Keith assured them.

  “What kind of incendiary device did you use?”

  “Nothing but the power of positive thinking. No explosives, no chemicals. I didn’t even drop a gum wrapper. Look for yourself!”

  The policemen did, scanning the surface of the river. Except for a few fish that probably wished they could blink, Keith hadn’t left a permanent mark anywhere. He showed them his most harmless geek-face.

  “Are you going to arrest me?”

  “Well …” the older officer began, looking Keith over thoughtfully. “You can’t really call it criminal damage to property. I mean, setting fire to the river? It was weird, but it doesn’t seem to have endangered anyone else. I don’t see any debris or chemical residue. It’s not like you dumped dye in the fountain on St. Patrick’s Day. Okay. You can go.”

  “Great!” Keith looked at his watch. “Well, I’ve got to get back to work. My lunch hour’s almost over. And I’m expecting a very important phone call.”

  “Gedadda here,” the older officer said, with a half-amused, half-annoyed wave. He nodded to his partner, who clambered back behind the wheel.

  Keith didn’t have long to wait for his call. The kingfisher-blue cell phone erupted, sounding almost frantic. He took it out of his pocket with delicate thumb and forefinger, and touched the SEND button.

  “Hell-oooo-ooo?” he asked musically.

  “What did you do?”

  “Got your attention, didn’t it?” Keith asked pleased. Beach sounded mad enough to chew solid metal.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “In a motorboat. But that’s not important right now,” Keith said. “We need to meet.”

  “Where? Down here at your property?”

  Keith blanched, hearing the farm referred to as his, but knew it would be better if he played along. The guy didn’t deserve an explanation. “No. Somewhere neutral. Meet me … in front of Sue. The day after tomorrow. One o’clock.”

  “Sue? Sue who?”

  But Keith didn’t say anything else. Ignoring the shouting coming from the receiver, he just punched the END button and put the phone back in his pocket. Humming, he started up the motor and drove the boat back to Navy Pier.

  * * *

  “Sue?” Beach snapped, speeding back along the narrow rural road toward Chicago, heedless of the speed limit or the safety of the others in the car. “Who is Sue?”

  Stef
an, in the front passenger seat, cleared his throat sheepishly. “The tyrannosaur.”

  “The what?”

  “Big skeleton, in the museum.” He tilted his head toward Maria in the back, sandwiched between Vasques and Wyzsinski. “We went to see it our first day in Chicago. Is very impressive.”

  “Hurry, Beach,” Maria said agitatedly. “The spirits call me. He is stronger than ever we dreamed.”

  “Yes,” Beach said, leaning over the wheel. He ground his back teeth together, glaring at the lane ahead. “We underestimated him again. I’ve got to stop letting that silly face of his fool me.”

  * * *

  A few minutes later Keith’s phone rang again.

  “They are leaving,” Holl said. “The woman became very upset and made the men get into their cars.”

  “It worked like a charm, then. Sorry about the pun. On to phase two!”

  “Be careful, Keith Doyle.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Keith said blithely. “I’m on a roll. Stay battened down.”

  * * *

  Though the huge, classic hall was filled with people, Beach had no trouble spotting the bright hair of his adversary. The boy stood at his leisure, leaning against a rail just beneath the fearsome five-foot skull that Stefan whispered to him was Sue.

  Beach nodded to his associates, who spread out throughout the crowd surrounding the dinosaur skeleton display. He pushed through until he was standing before Keith. The boy looked up at him with lazy interest, not seeming at all afraid of him. When had the balance of power slipped his way? Beach cudgeled himself mentally. When he’d come running at the boy’s command, that was when. Well, it was going to change back, right quick.

  “Hi,” Keith said. “You’re exactly on time. Can you believe it? This is supposed to be the most complete skeleton of a T. Rex ever unearthed. Beautiful, isn’t she?”

  Beach almost spluttered with indignation as questions burst out of him. “What are you? Who are those people in your farmhouse? How are you doing what you’re doing? Did you inherit the ability? And why are you making knick-knacks when you could be making weapons?”

  “Weapons?” Keith said innocently, enjoying the beet-red color rising on the big man’s face. He glanced around. Stefan and the others had to be pretty close. He needed to keep his escape route open. “That’s for people with enemies, right? No one hates me. They think I’m a goof. You did for a long time, didn’t you? But you don’t now. Do you?”

  He was taking his text right out of the comic books he used to read as a kid. It was amazing how easily the Evil Overlord trope clicked into place. Keith only hoped he was channeling Professor Moriarty instead of turning into someone like him.

  “Yeah, I did,” Beach said, pulling himself together with a visible effort. “I won’t underestimate you anymore. We’ve got your number now.”

  “Fine. Then we understand one another,” Keith said, one eyebrow raised loftily. “I want you to leave … my property alone. And stop following me around. What’ll it take?”

  “I want your power,” Beach said, loudly enough for Keith to want to shush him, but the deafening roar in the high museum hall kept anyone not standing immediately beside the two men from hearing him. Still, Beach noticed the concerned look on his face. “You’re trying to keep your power a secret. Let me put it this way. If you choose not to cooperate, I will make my knowledge public. With one word,” he held up a cell phone not unlike Keith’s, “I will unleash an e-mail barrage which will make your cover company’s annual output look like a mimeograph machine. Everything about you and your mysterious cohorts down south will be known around the world in minutes, and you won’t be able to call it back.”

  Keith frowned dramatically. Pat had coached him all morning on how to look desperately reluctant. “How do I know you won’t do it anyhow?”

  “If you cooperate?” Beach shook his head. “There’s no honor among thieves, Mr. Doyle, but I’m not a thief. I am a businessman, and this is a transaction.”

  “I see,” Keith said, moving away from the rail. Two eight-year-olds had been digging into his sides trying to get behind him anyway. “What do you want?”

  “Now we’re getting to specifics,” Beach said. He looked to his right and left. The dark-eyebrowed man and another huge thug appeared out of the crowd and flanked Keith.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Keith said, with a glare at the two thugs which made them take a step backward.

  “You bet you’re not. I want to learn how to do what you do. You’ve managed to make yourself invisible for six months. Teach me that. You caused some kind of disturbance that Maria picked up on all the way downstate. Teach me that. You hold the secret to those little toys that can make fire or store images, all without technology. I want to be able to do those things. Once I can,” Beach said, sweeping a hand sideways, “no worries. You’ll never see me again.”

  “Or your minions?” Keith asked, raising an eyebrow. The huge thug on his right seemed to take offense at the word “minion.” He started to move toward Keith.

  Beach swept up a hand, stopping the man in his tracks. “None of us will ever cross paths with you. We’ll respect one another’s territories. Fellow wizards. What do you say?”

  Broodily, Keith put his chin on his knuckle and his elbow in his other palm. He took a dramatic moment to consider. “Very well,” he said mysteriously. “I have to prepare. You will hear from me. Now, leave me alone. I have work to do.”

  With that, he brought all his strength to bear, focusing the vision of three grown men on a nearly-invisible spot on the floor.

  By the time they freed their gaze, he was gone.

  * * *

  “What do you plan to do?” Holl asked.

  With the kingfisher phone held to his ear, Keith tripped lightly down the stairs of the Field Museum, knowing that he had at least a five-minute head start on his adversaries. “I’ll give them what they want, of course. It’ll be great.”

  Holl sounded skeptical. “Great? Beach wants you to grant him something that comes from natural talent, instruction, hard work, and years of practice.”

  “Right,” Keith said blithely. “So it must be easy to pass along, mustn’t it? See you in a couple of days. I’ve got to get back to work.”

  * * *

  “Hey, guys,” Jason Allen said. The agency president had been summoned hastily from his corner office to the front desk. He shook hands with Bill Mann, Jennifer Schick, and Theo Lehmann. “Nice to see you. We, er, weren’t expecting you. Were we?” He glanced at Dorothy, who was regarding the Gadfly team with a perplexed smile. Behind the corporate officers were a couple of young men in khakis pushing a stack of plain brown cartons on two-wheeled carts that they wouldn’t let anyone else handle.

  “Nope,” Mann said, smiling. “We’re not scheduled to be here for another three weeks, but we just had to come by because we wanted to celebrate. We just received the order for the one-millionth Origami unit!” He held up bottles of champagne in both hands.

  “Whee!” Dorothy cried. “That’s fantastic, folks. Congratulations!”

  “That is awesome,” Doug Constance said, shaking their hands. “Come down to the conference room. We’ll crack those bottles open there. Hey, Keith, run out and get us some munchies to go with the champagne, will you?”

  “You bet,” Keith said. “Fruit, cheese and crackers?”

  “That’s my boy.”

  Mann stopped him before he could run to the elevator.

  “Don’t go yet.” He addressed the agency staff. “Jason, Doug, Peggy, you’re all part of our success. We wanted to show our appreciation with a little gift for everyone on the team. Guys?”

  Grinning, the Gadflies pried open the big cartons, and began to hand around gift-wrapped boxes.

  Keith thought he recognized the size and shape as one was handed to him.

  “This isn’t…?” he said, unable to believe his eyes. “I mean, it’s not really…?”

  “Yes, it is,” Ma
nn said, pleased with the dumbfounded expressions of the agency personnel’s faces as they tore off the paper to reveal the very box they had helped to design less than a year before. “We want each of you to have an Origami on us. You’ve done us proud, folks, and we want to say thank you.”

  “This is one generous thank you,” Doug Constance said, turning the box over and over. “Say, I’d forgotten how good looking this package is. We did do a hell of a good job on it!”

  “Thank you all so much,” Dorothy said, touched, folding the package against her chest. “I am really going to enjoy this.”

  “My wife bought me one for Christmas,” Jason Allen said with a boyish grin. “Ever since she saw Keith’s last ad she’s been agitating for me to return the favor. Thanks, Bill.”

  “Look at Keith,” Rollin said, holding his gift in both hands. “He’s wanted that thing since you first handed him one. He’s finally speechless!” Janine laughed. Keith shook his head.

  “I can’t believe it. Thanks a million. A trillion!”

  “Our pleasure,” Mann said. “Now, come on! Let’s download some of this champagne!”

  “Yay!” Jen Schick cried, holding a bottle on high.

  Keith unwrapped his box and took the unit out of the protective polystyrene cradle. Even without batteries, even before it was programmed with his access numbers and MP3 files, it was already his Doris. He couldn’t wait to get her on line, to start doing all the things that he’d been writing ads about for months now. They were going to take some beautiful notes together. He couldn’t believe he had an Origami at last. Now he didn’t have to wait to buy one. A thought suddenly struck him—a happy thought.

  “Dorothy?” he asked. “Can I run out for a minute?”

  She looked at him strangely. “What about the champagne?”

  “I’ll be back in no time,” Keith promised. “Can I?”

  “Okay. Don’t forget about munchies.”

  “Sure thing!” Tucking Doris away in his pocket, he ducked into their office just long enough to grab his coat. Not bothering to wait for the elevator, he plunged down the fire-escape stairs to the ground level.

  * * *