Empedoclean Wonders!
Will stared in disbelief at the tumble-down jail cell. Nestled within the cramped and dimly lit police station, the interior of the cell was hidden in semi-darkness. Reconciled to his fate, he shuffled inside.
"The sign did say 'No Trespassing.'" Laura scooted in behind him. "I guess now we know to take such warnings seriously."
As the cell door swung shut, Laura and Will turned to face their jailer.
"I demand to know when we will be released!," Will barked shrilly. "I hope you know we are traveling here under the auspices of Waterbury Publishing . . . under the express protection of Simon Waterbury. Anyone who disturbs us will . . . well, it won't be good, I can promise you!!," he ended, his noble show of bravado dwindling to a feeble yelp.
The jailer only chuckled softly in reply, shaking his head in amusement. "We don't give a tinker's damn about your Simon Waterbury in Centralia. I suggest you pay the fine, and we'll let you on your way."
"Sir, we'd be happy to pay your fine," Laura ventured, "But to be perfectly honest, we simply don't have that kind of money on us. There has to be a way we can work this out civilly."
"If you want out, you gotta pay the fine. That's our policy."
"This can't just be your final answer!" Will interrupted. "Isn't there someone else we can speak to?"
"Sir, I AM the someone else," he retorted, savoring his taste of power. "I'd say you two should just settle in. It's way past business hours now; we'll sort this all out in the morning."
"In the morning!!," Will wailed. "You can't expect us to sleep in here! It's filthy! I don't have my toothbrush!"
"Will, shush!" Laura cut him off. "I know it's a big imposition, but could I at least ask you to make a phone call for me? Just to leave a message? The sooner I can get this message through, the sooner we can resolve this whole unfortunate mess."
The jailer eyed her suspiciously, and then relented. "Well, alright. But I'm not paying for the call!"
"Certainly not!" Laura interjected, as she dug through her purse for her address book. "I need you to call this number and leave a message for Ms. Vesper Shillington. Just explain this whole mess to her; I'm sure she can help."
The jailer took the scrap of paper with Vesper's private phone number from Laura and peered at it, then at her. She mustered her best corn-fed, pleasant country-girl look. "Alright then," he growled. "But I'm only doing this because you've been so polite. Others could learn from you." He shot a surly glance at Will.
"Thank you. Believe me, we are obliged," she sputtered after him as he shut the door behind him. She turned to Will and smacked him on the head. "Nice work, kiddo. Don't you know when to sweet talk? We are not in a position of power here."
"Oh, feh," Will tossed off. "This is ridiculous. They can't really hold us here. I bet they're just using this as an excuse to skim some cash off all the off-road lookey-loos. And I'll wager business has picked up since all the Sooner Than Never treasure hunters have been coming through."
"It's enterprising . . . you've got to give them that," Laura sighed.
"Oh, my," Will drawled, "The drama of it all! We're just like the Brady Bunch, when that dastardly old prospector so cruelly trapped them in the ghost town jailhouse, and then stole their station wagon!"
"Relax, Will. As the gentleman said, we should settle in for the evening." She slumped down onto a cot that lined the wall. "At least there's some light on this side of the cell. And I brought Sooner Than Never, so we can get some work done on deciphering those clues.
"What's the use? We didn't even get a chance to copy down either the plaque or the inscription." He plopped down next to her, reclined, and laid his arm over his eyes. "We're doomed, doomed to rot in this festering hell-hole!"
"Drama queen." Laura nudged him and giggled. "Well, it's not hopeless. We did get to read inscription, after all. We probably won't be able to get back there--and I'd rather NOT risk being sent back here. Maybe we can piece it together from memory." She furrowed her brow. "Something about a forge."
"And there was that strange word," Will added, straightening up. "What was it? Impetigo?"
"No, that's a skin condition. The word was --"
"Empedoclean," came from the depths of the cell.
*********
Reclining in the tub, Vesper took a mental tally of her assets and liabilities. She simply had to stop investing faith in her underlings. Nimoy had proven to be a grave disappointment. Her second-stringer, Chad Bismarck, was not much more promising. He had been a useful ally so far, but he lacked imagination. And more importantly, he lacked control. That she knew all too well.
She reached for a loofah, took a sip of chardonnay, and scrubbed her shoulders meditatively. She always did her best thinking in the tub.
Simon Waterbury's orders were clear. Keep tabs on Will and Laura. But do not let them win. Simple, clear orders. And now, because of that blundering Nimoy, she didn't even know where the two were.
Ah, well, Vesper thought, I can always get back on Waterbury's good side. She brushed a platinum strand back into her turban. He'd always been easy to control. A candle-lit dinner. Indulge him with one of his favorite 'games.' Vesper knew she could weather any storm as long as she kept her head.
But there was 'keeping one's head,' and then there was 'keeping one's head' beautifully. Vesper understood the distinction. That was why she had gotten where she was when so many other young starlets and groupies had fallen by the wayside.
She would not win this one on charm alone.
A gentle tap on the door interrupted Vesper's reverie. Shilah, her maid, poked her sleek, bonneted head through the door.
"I'm sorry to disturb you miss, especially seeing as it's so late. But you said you wanted to hear any messages and, well, your beeper's been beeping. Would you like to check it?"
Vesper smiled slowly. "Yes, my dear. As usual, your instincts are impeccable."
Shilah scurried in and set the phone and beeper on a low inlaid wood table that buttressed the free-standing tub. Vesper stretched her long pale arms over to the beeper, scattering bits of bubble. She peered quizzically at the number displayed on the beeper.
"Hmm, out of state. Could this be my prodigal children?" she asked the air about her.
She picked up the phone and dialed.
*********
Laura and Will spun around in the direction of the voice. Out of the dark corner stepped the owner of the voice. He squinted as he came into the light.
"I'm sorry if I scared you. I was asleep before. I figured I'd let you cool your heels a bit before I interrupted."
As he stepped forward, Laura assessed him. Medium height, a solid build. Not athletic, but more likely a rugby player than a basketball player. Tousled dark hair, a basic boy's hair cut, and glasses. An odd mix of science nerd and outdoors type. His plaid flannel shirt was tucked into baggy jeans, both rumpled. Sleeves turned up, his hands were strong and his fingernails dirty. She liked that.
"I'm Mike."
"I'm Laura. This is Will." She glanced over to her companion, who had a wry half-smile on his face. What did he mean by that?, she wondered.
"So, you're looking for the big treasure?" he asked, hands crammed in pockets.
"Yeah. You too, I guess?"
"No, actually, I just heard about all this from the folks who were in here before."
Will suddenly registered interest. "You mean there were other treasure hunters who got caught?"
"Oh, yeah, they were real jerks. With their gold cards and their cell phones. You know, a lot of suits. They were talking about how working together was a 'value added proposition' and how they had to 'synergize.' You know, all that business crap. I think they were from some big consulting firm. They kept referring to The Company."
"When were they here?" Will was becoming agitated.
"Oooh, let me think." He squinted as he concentrated. "Day before yesterday, I guess."
"The day before yesterday?" Laura gaped. "You've been here that long?"
"Yeah, well, I don't have the fine money either. I called my company--like you did, I'm guessing--but they weren't too responsive. I hope you have better luck. You wouldn't believe the bureaucracy where I work."
"Who do you work for?"
"The United States government. I'm part of a surveying team. We were here to assess the damage to Centralia for an updated report. I went back after our team left to retrieve some of our instruments, and the good folks of Centralia decided to haul me in as a trespasser."
"But they must know you have a right to be there. I mean, you're a Fed!"
"Oh, they know," Mike chuckled, "But they're pretty angry about the state of affairs around here, so they're getting some of their own back. I guess I don't blame them. Tempers can run pretty high around here."
By this time, Will had had enough of low-level flirtation and decided to cut to the chase. Subtly insinuating himself between Laura and Mike, he started in.
"Say, I was just thinking, Mike. It's Mike, right? Maybe you could help us. You seem to remember something about this clue we're trying to decipher. Since you're not in on the hunt, why don't you give a hand?"
As Mike assented, Will grabbed Laura's purse and fished out a piece of scratch paper and a pen.
"What do you remember of the plaque inscription?"
"I think I've got the whole thing," Mike answered. "Trust me, the suits went over and over it." He threw back his head, closed his eyes and began to recite:
"Well, it's in ballad meter," he said soberly. "You don't forget a thing like that."
Laura's eyes widened just a smidge.
********
Waiting for the connection, Vesper tapped the receiver with one perfect red nail. This should get things on track, she thought. All her ducks in a row. Just the way she liked it.
Caressing the pale, smooth skin of her upper arm, Vesper's face shifted to relaxed contentment as she identified herself. "Hello, this is Vesper Shillington. I believe you paged me."
Suddenly, her eyes snapped open. She sat bolt upright, leaned forward, and focused all her keen attention on the voice on the other end.
"I see," her voice sliced the air. A pause. A long pause. "No," she muttered breathlessly. "That won't be possible. You'll have to make some other arrangement."
Mindlessly, she set the phone back in its cradle and leaned back into the steamy water. The bubbles were fading now, withered mounds collapsing in on themselves. The water looked greasy and flat.
"What are they doing in Centralia?" Her voice resounded throughout the marble room, far louder than she had intended. She clamped her jaw shut.
No! No! No!, she screamed inwardly. No good could come of this. But then the more pressing question forced itself in upon her. Why Centralia? Was it an accident, a coincidence? Or had Simon Waterbury, and his damnable book, sent them there? This was not the itinerary of the treasure hunt as she understood it. Why this digression? And what did Simon know?
The water, now tepid, began to chill her, but she huddled down further into it. The bubbles would not cover her.
********
"You study poetry?" Laura asked.
"Oh, no. I'm no good at that stuff." Mike shuffled his feet. "But I have a kind of trash heap memory. Everything that goes in stays in. I took an 'Intro to Poetry' class in college. It all stuck."
"Well, what do you think of the rest of this puzzle?" Will asked, leaning forward. "What other bits of trash have you got in there that could help us?"
"We could start with 'Empedocles.' Though I'm guessing your friend here," he gestured to Laura, "already has a handle on that."
She nodded. "Greek philosopher. 5th century B.C. Theorized a lot about the nature of physical being, cosmic evolution. He's most known for his elaboration of the theory of . . ."
". . . the four elements," Laura and Mike said together.
"Earth, water, air and fire," Mike added.
Will's face brightened. "Oh, you mean like in astrology.
"Yes, Will. Like astrology," Laura nodded. "Astrology was considered a REAL science around the time Empedocles was doing his thing, so the two are connected. Where does that put us, though?"
"I think we need to focus our brains on what the poem is telling us," Will offered. "It's explication time!" He laid the piece of scratch paper on his lap and ticked off the points one by one.
"Out of the fiery forge comes Earth . . . that seems pretty obvious."
"Right. Centralia, the burning mine," Laura assented. "'Empedoclean wonder points us toward the notion of Centralia as a combination of two elements, fire and earth."
Mike then jumped in. "Which makes 'Two elements remain to choose' also pretty obvious. You have to select from the other two elements, air and water. In one of those you'll find the next clue."
Will beamed and stabbed at the paper. "And, of course, the last line--'In which the dead do slumber'--I'm guessing that gives us a hint to narrow down our options. It's a place, in either air or water, where a lot of people died."
"Well, considering the plaque was on an anchor, I think we can rule out air. It's definitely in the water. The question is," Laura added, "Where??"
"I think we already know that answer," Will leaned back, hands behind his head. "Chicago. That was the point of Chapter 1. Remember Lady Shy Violet, and all her shy ways, living on a banks of a Great Lake?"
"And then there's the inscription," Mike added quietly. Will's head snapped toward him questioningly. "You know, under the plaque. It said 'Cheyenne.'"
"And some numbers . . ." Laura trailed off. "It looked like a date, but I can't remember it."
"8/14/28," Mike offered.
"My stars, you are a trash-heap. But a useful trash-heap." Will made a note of the numbers, and then tapped the notation with his pen absent-mindedly.
"Well, I say we stick with our best lead. We've already established that we're going to Chicago. If the date, or whatever those numbers are, give us a better lead, we'll figure it out when we get there. I feel better following a path when I know the end."
"That is always your way." Will patted her head.
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