by R.A. Graves
** * **
The boarding time on the tickets said four in the morning. This assured that they would reach the Great City with enough time to grab a room and a bite to eat before settling in for a real night’s sleep. It didn’t leave much time to prepare. Michael called Debora and asked her to meet him at the library for some extra research. She did not protest or inquire to the nature of the work.
She found Michael hunched over a thick oak table, a scattering of opened books spread out around him. She was dressed for work, the same Debora on the weekend as she was at the office. She walked the dimly lit floor, her shoes clacking unabashedly.
Michael heard her approach and pushed some of his books across the table to an open chair.
“We are researching this watch,” he said, showing the paper Stanley had given him.
“The complicator?”
Michael looked up. “You know about it?”
“Sure, only as much as anyone might.” She took her seat, setting a small handbag on the floor at the foot of her chair.
“Well?” Michael pressed.
“Well, it’s a myth.” Michael’s mouth dropped open and a breath of disappointment pushed out. “Well,” she corrected, “its mythical - not to mean that it doesn’t exist.”
“But it might not?”
“It might, but it might not,” Debora said, pulling the books toward herself. “But I’m interested in a treasure hunt,” she said, with her face turned down at a thick book.
Michael thought he saw a hint of excitement in the top of her brow. He shrugged it off. “Alright, we are being paid regardless. We might as well go through the motions.”
“You said the strange man from the cab asked you to hunt down the complicator?”
“Yeah, and you should meet this guy,” Michael said. “He is a wreck.”
“Do you know why he wants it?”
“He has probably a thousand clocks and watches. His house is full of them. I assume he wants it as part of his collection.”
Debora bit at her lip. “I would think it is for more than that. They say it is a powerful device. The person who possesses it gains the ability to control the entire earth.”
“Michael raised his eyebrows and flipped a page. “That is, if it’s real.”
“If it is real,” she echoed back. “So how much is this guy paying you, anyway?”
“A gentleman doesn’t discuss figures. But here’s the interesting thing: Mayor Drasscol thinks that Mr. Post is paying me to track down the mayor’s watch, not this complicator.”
“Interesting,” Debora said. “So which one are you looking for, then?”
“The one that comes with a paycheck.”
“Maybe they are somehow related. Most myths have an aspect of reality to them.”
Michael reached across the table and tapped at the book in front of her. “Look for anything relevant, mythical or not.”
The day passed as they sat hunched over the books. The patches of light from the windows moved methodically across the library in their predetermined paths until finally they were all swept to one side. Michael sat up rigidly and stretched his back. He craned his neck side to side and groaned with relief when it popped and cracked. Debora remained bent over the tabletop, her face down, shoulders rounded. The bun on the back of her head hung loose, almost to her ear. One side of her face was a charcoal gray, hidden from the lamplight at the end of their table. Her back raised and lowered so steadily that Michael thought she might be asleep.
Her face turned up toward him. “You look burned out,” she said.
“You look...” He paused to look her over again: her eyes turned up the way they were, her hair hanging sloppily. “...weird,” he said, then removed himself from the table and crossed through what remained of the sun patches.
Four
