Midnight Liberty League - Part I

by Brock Law

looked out to see Franklin inspecting an iron key. The immortal seemed pleased at the discovery, as he twisted it between both fingers.

  Will asked, “What does it open?”

  Franklin spoke through the glasses that had slid to the end of his nose. “It used to open the home of a friend of mine, but it got a little roughed up in a storm. Fortunately, he had a spare.”

  Franklin tossed the key to Will, who dropped his mop to catch the artifact.

  As he admired the simple device, Will inquired, “This key?”

  “That key.”

  “Amazing,” Will exclaimed.

  Just as he was about to throw it back, Franklin stopped him, “Why don’t you hang on to that, Will. It’s probably safer with you anyway.”

  With boyish pleasure, Will clasped it firmly and responded, “Absolutely, thanks.”

  The two men shared a moment of reciprocal gratitude, after which Will pocketed the key. He returned to sloshing the pine-scented water around. Franklin plopped down on the sofa, passing his emotional fatigue off as the physical wear, from which it appeared his body had already mended.

  “I appreciate you giving up a Saturday to come help me with the house,” Franklin thanked. “I knew it would be too much for one person to handle before we’re off again. With Vivienne indisposed and my own condition, I had no one else to impress.”

  “You know, some people might rebel against that kind of thing,” Will defied, “but under the circumstances I don’t mind.”

  “I know, I know, glad you caught on. It’s just terrible timing to have to be rushing off to Europe,” Franklin grumbled, “just when there’s the most work to be done. Not to mention the most police presence.”

  “Did you tell them about the break in here?”

  “Of course not, but they were very curious when I was reluctant to give them my home address. Let’s hope they don’t send any detectives here.”

  “They’d have a constant detail on you if they found out. You’d never make it to Switzerland,” Will suggested.

  “Exactly my concern, but I’m sure the state of the tavern and the other places will have them plenty occupied.”

  Will inquired hesitantly, “Is there a lot of damage?”

  “The restaurant is destroyed, no thanks to you,” Franklin joked.

  “Yeah, sorry about that.”

  “No, no, you did the right thing,” Franklin complimented. “You saved us all, and at least you spared my silverware.”

  “Any time,” said Will.

  “Well, let’s not make a habit of it,” Franklin mused.

  “Fine with me,” Will said with relief.

  “Perhaps it is a good thing,” said Franklin. “I can close up shop for a while, let the manager handle the maintenance, and the police can keep an eye on it for me. It may be the perfect opportunity to get away for a bit, because we have a lot of preparations to make in the next couple days.”

  “Well…”

  Franklin carried on, “I didn’t expect the impetus of my annual foreign excursion to be so dire, but traveling is one way of lengthening life, I always say. We should pack heavy, lest we are still in Zurich when it begins to chill.”

  “Maybe, but…”

  “Have you started getting your things together? As soon as everyone can put their business on hold we should be off,” said Franklin.

  “Actually…”

  “I’m sure it doesn’t take you long to pack up though,” said Franklin. “A young man should always be ready at a moment’s notice when there’s trouble.”

  “Well, I’ll be back in class soon,” Will stuttered. “I can’t really be chasing Nazis around the world.”

  Franklin looked up from his cleaning. He glared at Will, who remained preoccupied with his work on the tiles. Franklin waited for acknowledgement, but when none came his resentment appeared in the hostile way he dragged his towel across the glass.

  “I didn’t realize,” Franklin remarked. “I guess I assumed you’d be joining us.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, it’d be incredible,” Will fantasized.

  “It certainly is,” Franklin agreed with a sardonic puncture.

  “I’ve just got too much going on here.”

  “I’m sure you do. Quests are treacherous. I suppose it’s not for everyone,” Franklin accepted with a hint of annoyance. “The eternal glory, everlasting life, fame and fortune.”

  “Yup,” Will returned sarcastically.

  “Then there’s the movie deal, red carpets, scholarly accolades, millions of adoring fans screaming your name,” Franklin jabbed. “It’s really nothing to fuss about.”

  “I hear you Ben,” Will rolled his eyes. “It just wouldn’t make much sense for me to suddenly fly to Europe with a bunch of colonial look-a-likes.”

  “Yes, you’re quite right,” Franklin strained with perturbation. “It’s not like I ever ran away from home…at the age of seventeen…to a new city…and started my own publishing company from nothing. Different circumstances entirely.”

  Compelled to refute Franklin’s insistence, Will thought for a moment and then just hung his head with an obnoxious huff instead. Franklin glanced over. His face looked partly pleased, and partly worried.

  “Okay I get it,” Will submitted. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Do, and quickly,” Franklin replied. “I have no doubt that the journey will be perilous, but some day you will see its benefits. Knowledge comes from that to which we are exposed, but wisdom comes from that to which we allow ourselves to be exposed. That is how you turn practicality into philosophy.”

  Will nodded respectfully at the phrasing.

  “Time is inconsequential if you do nothing with it. Life should be measured in miles, not years.”

  Franklin’s serious countenance lingered, and then he went back to wiping the table. Will felt the sting of the statesman’s disappointment, but the chains of his reality remained tethered to the twenty-first century.

  The two men labored quietly, wanting to avoid a further rift by provoking the defense of the other. Franklin’s rag repetitively squeaked on the glass tabletop, and Will’s mop splashed and flopped. They sounded like an out of sync improvised percussion band. Eventually satisfied and reaffirmed by a sparkle under the lights of the ceiling fan, Will rang out the mop into the bucket and hurled the water out the back door.

  Upon entering the living room Will asked, “What’s next. Need help over there?”

  “Do I need help?” Franklin pondered aloud. “As a matter of fact, there is something else you can do. Vivie is in need of some of her things while she recuperates with the Washingtons. I promised I would pack a bag and bring it to her, but with everything else going on I really don’t have the time. Since you’re not making any preparations for Switzerland, perhaps you wouldn’t mind delivering some fresh clothes to her.”

  Will rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, I can do that.”

  “Second floor, first door on the right is her room,” Franklin instructed. “You’re not likely to find many articles of practical attire, so just grab anything that looks leisurely.”

  “That’s okay?”

  “Yes, yes, it’s fine. I’m sure she won’t mind,” Franklin assured.

  Before Franklin could add another quip, Will turned and headed for the stairs. He hiked up the steps to the second floor. Just as Franklin said, he entered the first room.

  As he pushed open the door and peered inside, he was disheartened to see that Vivienne’s private belongings didn’t fare any better than the rest of the house. A tall bookshelf had been knocked over, and everything it held scattered across the floor. The drawers were pulled out of the bureau and the desk. Again everything had been dumped out to be inspected and subsequently trampled. Dresses and sweaters were ripped out of the closet, torn at the shoulders where the hangers still clung. An unholy amount of shoes, some of which were more than a century out of date, were strewn from wall to wall. Even the lamp bulbs hadn’t been spared. Will went to t
he window and drew back the curtains.

  He scanned the room, not sure where to begin. Will squatted at the head of the bookshelf, crammed his fingers underneath the solid mass of wood, dug in and lifted it up. Once upright, he carefully slid it back against the wall. He then counted the shelves, measured the spacing and turned to examine the books on the floor. As he bent down to scoop some up, he noticed something curious about them. Not a single one had a title or publisher’s markings. They were all bound in black or blue leather, some with dingier pages than others. Reaching for one, he spun it around in his hands and peeled up the cover.

  Will gazed at the first page, astonished. It was handwritten in a highly stylized French script. The letters were soft and curled. After a few words, the ink became lighter as if the pen were drying up, but would suddenly get darker again. Like a quill, he realized. The next page was the same, with perfect spacing and identical attention to the flow of each word.

  He closed the manuscript and cradled it as he looked at the rest. There were perhaps two hundred, all the same. Will grabbed another and opened to the middle. The ink was more consistent, but it was doubtless the same romantic hand that poured out the enduring thoughts. Unfortunately, it was still foreign to him. There wasn’t a single familiar phrase. Though he strained his eyes to pick out something he could understand, the effort was fruitless. A third book quickly found its way into his hands. He diligently flipped through, absorbing the content on every page, hoping some secret might reveal itself. The cryptic passages gave nothing away. Vivienne’s whole life was here, sprawled