“Where are you going? You know we'll have company soon. You won't leave me alone, will you?”
The girl packed a couple of books—old things, but she was fond of them—a hard drive, and carelessly stuffed a bunch of photographs into her worn but trusty black briefcase; she slung it over her shoulder and headed for the door.
“I won't be long, I just have to return this. I've been planning this since this morning, Ma. These are the photos Anne asked me for, remember?”
Jeez. People making plans without considering other people's obligations. And it wasn't that she minded her father's guests, she enjoyed chatting with most of them, but she had a life, and college kept her busy all the time. Not that she complained about it, no.
“All right, but don't be late!”
“Yeah, ma. That's what I just said.”
She unlocked the door and trotted out. Her partner had lent her this disk with a bunch of books and photos on it in the morning, and she had to bring it, and her own contributions that afternoon. Why? Because their archeology teacher was crazy and gave them ridiculous time limits. No one paid much attention to them, so they had to get things done quickly.
She crossed the street and walked on in a hurry. Her partner had a part-time job at a nearby coffee shop, so she knew she could get there and back before the guests arrived. She slowed down as she approached the door of the small coffee shop. A large shadow loomed over her, and she looked up: one of the grayish public transport blimps was crossing the suburbs towards the city downtown. She hadn't been there much lately: she was at the college all day, or at home, or working at the History Museum.
She entered the small coffee shop and asked the cashier for her friend. She sat down to wait for her in the first chair she could see and stared at the outside: small, bulging cars driving back and forth between two rows of modest but cheerful little houses that stood in ridiculous contrast to the skyscrapers in the background that marked the beginning of the “modern” part of the city. She remembered that she had recently been to a famous coffee shop there: they had only one employee at the door and another one supervising the automatic machines that prepared the drinks. Not that they were bad, in fact they were better than those prepared by many humans, but, well, she was one of those “methodists” who believed that using technology for everything made people lazy and stupid. Actually, it wasn't that bad: it had been a few decades since automated activity had been regulated, and in general, the trending culture dictated that one should use one's hands—and one's head—for something useful. Sometimes ridiculous extremisms appeared: people urging to “go back to nature” and destroy electronic technology. Ha! Fools! When will people understand that such extremes do more harm than good? Come on, just like the first industrial revolution: ridiculous… Mmmh, what was the cause of this fuss? Ah, of course, the city downtown. She preferred to be here, away from the chaos. The small businesses in the area were more than enough for her, or so she told herself.
Anne finally emerged from the dark, mysterious, smelly hole these people called a kitchen, and Lucille was finally able to complete her mission. She said goodbye and began her walk home more calmly: she still had some time to spare.
As she walked, she thought of an old text she had read in those days, one of those forgotten documents in the family library at home. Not that she believed in what it said, but she liked to imagine the scenarios, like in any story. Besides, the fact that her father disliked them so much made her want to study them even more, secretly of course. It belonged to a small but very strange collection of documents, abandoned at the bottom of a closet, in a chest with a golden shield with the initials S.R. painted on it. Years ago, when she decided to snoop around in that chest, he had no idea what those initials meant, and that bothered her a lot. Of course, she knew now, and finding out only made her dig deeper into these texts. She could see why her father didn't like to brag about them like he did the rest of the Robson's academic papers. They were… imaginative, yes. It seemed that those who worked on them weren't really scientists, that is, they seemed more like science fiction novels. But from the way most of them were written: detailed, serious, objective, and even mathematical, it was clear that those who wrote them were serious. Wow! How she wished she knew what it was all about…
A huge military truck almost flew by on the other side of the highway, snapping Lucille out of her reverie. She shook her head and looked at the time on her phone: she had lost time. She decided to jog the rest of the way home. She crossed the street, put her left thumb on the lock and quickly punched in the password. She walked in quietly.
As soon as she looked up, she knew her mother would scold her later: the guests, two clearly foreign men, were sitting in the living room having tea and cookies. Oops.
“Sorry I'm late,” she apologized out of politeness as she put down her briefcase. “You must be my father's guests. I'm Lucille, welcome.”
“Nice to meet you, Miss Wine. I'm Gerard Wilker, and this is my friend and assistant, Buck Burton.”
“Hello, how are you?” greeted Burton cheerfully.
“Ah… Yes,” she replied with some suspicion. He was being too familiar, as if there were no manners where he came from. “I'm doing fine: studying, reading, walking around.”
“Glad to hear it,” Gerard caught her eye again. “You must really like history.”
“Well, yes, it's fascinating to learn about people and their cultures and the things they do and have done over time. But you know what? I like learning more about what's going on in the present because we get to see history being written before our eyes and changing society for better or worse.”
“I See. And what interests you most about the events of this time? What do you think about our time?”
A spark lit up in her eyes: finally someone interested in her opinion and her field of study, not just his father's old books.
“I think we are in a key period of human history, a period of ‘adjustment,’ if you will, when all intelligent and conscientious people realize that current technology has outgrown its true purpose and usefulness.” She was getting excited now. “Despite of conflicts and wars, or rather thanks to wars and the poverty they have created, the search of these generations for a social-technological balance has been able to consolidate itself in popular culture. These latter generations have become accustomed to living without relying too much on industrial technology, but largely appreciating it as a valuable and irreplaceable resource.”
Gerard and Burton were pleasantly surprised.
Lucille cleared her throat.
“Well! Back to the reason you came. Should I take you to the library?”
“Oh. Please,” Gerard thanked her.
“This way,” she invited them to follow her. “My father mentioned that you were interested in Roger Robson's Compendium, right? I'll look it up for you.”
“Could you tell us about the Robsons while you're at it? I don't know, I'm sure they've done a lot more than is known or published. I don't think they get the credit they deserve.”
“Oh, of course there's more than people know, but all the important texts have been published and are easy to find. The rest are drafts, loose notes, stories, and other tidbits not worth bringing to light. You're not missing much, gentlemen.”
“You seem to know your family's works well,” Burton remarked warmly and lightly.
“Yes, I've read them all, though I haven't finished some for lack of time and, I must admit, interest. Like those books on medicine: not my thing,” she smiled.
The library was in the far corner of the ground floor, and since the hallway wall was covered with wood paneling, the door was barely visible. Lucille used a key and password to open it.
Gerard and Burton beheld the Wine family library: it was a spacious room, about nine meters long and six meters wide, with warm lighting that complemented the sand-colored walls. Bookcases lined three of the four walls, and on the free wall, the one with the door, were two huge chocolate-colored closets, side by side. In the middle, a long table and three metal and plastic chairs, all the same chocolate color; to one side, a glass display case with a few books inside, wide open; and next to the door, an old television on the wall, just above a low table.
“Well, what do you think? You can sit here and examine some of these books if you like, but before you touch them, you must wash your hands. Come on, the bathroom is next door,” she pointed to the exit.
“Of course,” Gerard motioned for Burton to come with him. A minute later they were back. Mrs. Wine was also there.
“Gentlemen, a thousand apologies for being gone so long! When I returned, you were gone. I am relieved to see that Lucille arrived to take you to the library.”
“Oh, that's all right,” said Burton, somewhat overwhelmed by the lady's devotion to her guests.
“Will you join us, Mrs. Wine?” asked Gerard.
“It is my daughter who can help you, not me. But I'll stay here at the entrance in case you need anything.”
Lucille, behind them, narrowed her eyes and let out a barely audible sigh. Her mother's extremely helpful attitude didn't sit well with her either, and it seemed to her that she was overreacting. But that was the way she was, she supposed. What was she going to do?
The two of them walked around for a while without saying a word, reading the titles of the books as they went. Gerard recognized many of the titles he had researched online. However, he wasn't surprised to see anything at all about the events on Caliginous Mountain or the Robson Society.
“This is a very impressive family library, Miss Lucille,” Burton observed with a smile.
“Yes? Personally, I think it's rather dull; it needs renovating,” she replied with a half-smile and crossed arms.
“Lucille!” her mother scolded her from the doorway. The girl ignored her completely.
“It's all right, lady,” Gerard reassured her. “Are there any more books here?” he asked, pointing to the closets.
“Some, but those are mostly loose documents from my husband's family.”
“May I?”
“Yes, but be careful…”
Lucille watched her mother and then her guests open the left closet.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Weren't you going to look at Roger's compendium?”
“Oh, of course. But I must admit I'm fascinated by all these tomes and papers: it's more amazing than I thought.”
She knew some poeple came to admire the books without really needing anything from them, so she left them alone.
Gerard read the labels on the sleek steel and glass drawers: birth and death certificates, diplomas and degrees, drafts of papers and essays, field journals and stacks of loose notes from various people, all neatly arranged and sorted.
He closed the doors and walked to the second closet. To the left there were more drawers, but on the floor to the right were a few old chests. The closest one had a piece of paper on the top that said “Photographs”, the other just a few letters engraved on the metal reinforcements.
He studied the chest discreetly, so that the owners wouldn't notice his special interest in it, but he was almost sure that this was what he was looking for. What now?
“This… You must know that these chests are not available to guests,” the lady muttered anxiously.
“No? Is it sensitive material?”
“Yes, it's very personal to my husband, that's why it's not available.”
Burton turned and approached Mrs. Wine.
“We'll leave it where it is, don't worry. While we're looking for the famous compendium, how about you bring us some more tea?”
Lucille crossed her arms and looked over her shoulder at the door.
“Yes, Mother, why don't you get some more refreshments? I can take care of them myself; I'll get the book for them.”
Mrs. Wine nodded with a smile, said a quick goodbye and headed for the kitchen.
“Well,” Lucille began. “You seemed interested in these old chests, didn't you?”
Gerard stepped away from the closet with his arms behind his back.
“I'm curious about them, especially the unlabeled ones. Can you blame me?”
“I guess not, but believe me, what's in those papers is no big deal; they're mostly fictional stories. Apparently, some of my ancestors were into fantasy.”
“Ah. And why doesn't your father want to share these stories with the others? They sound too harmless to be banished to a corner like this.”
Lucille looked behind her shoulder again to make sure her mother wasn't around.
“Don't tell anyone, but it's true: it's a bunch of harmless stories. The thing is, my ancestors took them very seriously, as if they were real events instead of fiction. And, of course, my grandfather taught my father to despise this particular facet of the Robsons. Robsons who are too preoccupied with this facet are, according to both, ‘an embarrassment to our scientific family’ she used air quotes.”
“Do you agree that they are an embarrassment?” asked Burton quietly.
She shrugged.
“Perhaps. But unlike my father and grandfather, I don't feel contempt for them.”
“We… We know a little about those stories,” Gerard dared to confess.
Lucille glared at him again with a raised eyebrow.
“Really? As far as I know, there are only two ways to find out about this, outside of the contents of this chest, and they are extremely difficult to find,” she smiled smugly. “Hmm?”
“We were in Norway,” Burton said, still in a low voice. “And we came across a very peculiar legend…”
“Don't even think about mentioning it to my parents,” the girl warned them, still smiling. “They hate to be asked about it, not that it happens often, but sometimes one or another person comes who has been in contact with that legend.”
“There's another thing…” Gerard stopped talking when Mrs. Wine appeared with three steaming cups on a small white tray.
She carefully placed the cups on the table.
“Here they are, for the three of you. Are you enjoying your visit?” she asked politely.
Burton approached the table and immediately sat down.
“Your daughter knows a great deal about what's in this library, and we enjoy listening to her explanations. And I'll enjoy another cup of your delicious lemon tea just as much!”
Mrs. Wine was delighted with Burton and his liveliness. Gerard nodded reassuringly and sat down beside him to drink his cup.
“Do you need anything else?”
They were both grateful for the gesture. The little diversion had paid off. It seemed to Gerard that the lady was already very used to receiving guests and enjoyed sharing her recipes with them.
He sipped elegantly from his cup and smiled reassuringly.
“The tea is delicious. Your husband mentioned that you know how to cook and are a pastry chef, but he didn't make it clear how much of an expert you are,” he complimented her. “The cookies you gave us when we arrived were also very good.”
“Thank you so much! My desserts are always a success here. My husband won't admit it, but people like to come here more for my refreshments than for the library.”
Burton laughed softly, very much in agreement with her.
“And what is your latest culinary feat, Mrs. Wine?” Gerard continued.
She thought for a moment before nodding.
“I've been practicing some apple-filled cinnamon buns these days. If I had some made now, I'd bring them right over!”
“Ah, that sounds wonderful. If you'd like to make us some, we'd certainly wait in this library, it'd be worth it.”
“You want me to make buns now? It could take up to two hours! I mean, I'd be happy to make them if you'd like to wait, but aren't you busy right now, mister?”
“I'd wait all night!” Burton declared in a somewhat theatrical tone.
“No other engagements, madam. We can talk to Miss Lucille about the compendium and other books and then try your buns. I can't think of anything we have to do these days that would be so pleasant and worthwhile,” he lied.
Mrs. Wine agreed to prepare the buns for them if they promised to wait for her, and of course they nodded cheerfully. Lucille, on the other hand, didn't like the idea of having to entertain them for another two hours, she had things to do. At least there would be apple buns…
When her mother was out of sight, she remembered they were talking about Sami legends and society.
“Mmmh.”
“What is it?” Gerard asked, somewhat alarmed by the way the girl was watching them.
“You did it on purpose, Mr. Wilker.”
He turned his eyes away from her without thinking, embarrassed at seeing himself discovered.
Stolen novel; please report.
“I couldn't talk to you about the Robson Society with her here, I'm sorry.”
“Ah…” Burton wanted to intervene to calm her down.
“And you are the accomplice,” she accused him.
“Yeah, true,” he confessed sheepishly.
She leaned back in her chair and looked at them both as reproachfully as she could.
“Why so much interest in the Society and its legend? Huh? You're not here to check out Roger's compendium, you're here specifically to look into this, am I wrong?”
Gerard turned his head towards the door, making sure Mrs. Wine was still out.
“Yes, exactly. That's what we're here to do, dig into the Robson Society's records.”
“Why?” the girl asked, confused.
His nerves began to get the better of him: his fingers trembled almost unnoticed. It was time to show it, so he reached into his jacket.
“Listen, Lucille, we need to know what happens after the events described in this book.” He placed it carefully in front of her. “We can't say what for yet, but it's… It's crucial to us.”
She took the book and looked through it carefully. She opened it and read the cover and the title page; she looked at the paper against a light and observed the letters under a magnifying glass, all with a serious and dispassionate gesture that neither of them had expected from her, given how upset she had been a few moments before.
“It's a fake,” she declared emotionlessly.
“What?”
“This book is an unauthorized reproduction of my ancestor Donella Robson's Robsonian Chronicles. Someone must have scanned the original, reprinted the entire book, and bound it. The original printed edition, which is the only one that exists, dates from 1997 and had only twenty copies, one for each member of the Society at that time. Wood pulp paper was used in those days.” She rubbed a sheet between her fingers. “This is synthetic. This kind of synthetic paper didn't become standard in the publishing industry until the late thirties.”
Gerard felt a chill.
“Are you saying the text has been altered?”
She thought for a moment. Was she really going to play along with these two after they'd tricked her parents so they could sneak in the library? Not that they seemed evil, but she didn't like lies. And they wouldn't even tell her why they wanted to know all that.
She pulled back the chair and went to the drawers of the right closet. she plunged her hand all the way to the back of a drawer full of crammed video disks, blindly searching for something. When she pulled her arm back, Gerard and Burton noticed that she had a key—ancient, large, coppery, and dusty. She took it to the Society chest, opened it, pushed back the lid and, without searching, took a book and carried it to the table.
“This is an authentic copy of the Chronicles.” She sat down and placed both books in front of her. “Now wait…”
For a while she opened both books to the same pages, reading and rereading the paragraphs with an astonishing speed, accustomed by now to the investigative work of a historian. She jumped from one part to the other and back again, seemingly at random, searching for the slightest difference. Finally, she left both books open in front of her and leaned back in her chair.
“I don't have time to go through them thoroughly, but the text I've reviewed seems intact. The key moments of the narrative and the explanations I checked are the same. I can't say for sure now, but I suspect they didn't copy it to fool anyone, just to have more copies of the text on hand.” She lifted her head and looked at them suspiciously. “You didn't know it was a fake, so where did you get it?”
Gerard and Burton exchanged a brief look of concern.
“My family and I have a right to know what happens to the copies that are not in our possession,” she argued. “Not to decide what happens to them, but to know.”
“We found it in a rebel military base in Kennéh. Do you know where it is?”
Lucille's expression changed from reproach to confusion.
“Yes, I know where it is. But why… How come a cheap copy of the Chronicles was found in a rebel base on the other side of the world? What does a bunch of renegades have to do with the Robsons?”
Gerard knew now that she had read all those texts; she knew their contents. If she helped them, they would no longer have to waste time studying them themselves. But how to convince her? It was good that she sat down.
“Well, it's just that the people of this rebel faction use certain elements of the book as symbols, I mean, most of them see this Dragon character as a symbol of their ideals. And even though most of them don't really know anything, a few of them know this text very well and are inspired by it. This copy was owned by one of them, maybe the leader.”
“What do you mean?” Her confused look deepened, “They are inspired by it? Are you sure this is true?”
“Yes, it sounds strange, but it's true,” Gerard struggled to find the right words. “And I know it's true because we were there, and we knew the situation and those people up close.”
“And what exactly was a researcher and his assistant doing on a battlefield? My father mentioned that you were working for, I don't know, a magazine, did they send you?”
“No… not exactly. Look, this situation is complicated, and I'm afraid that if I explain it all to you now, you'll reject us. But I'll be honest with you: we don't work for any magazine. We were sent to look for something related to the Chronicles, but we don't know how to do that. We thought we could look for the answer in the Society's documents, so here we are.”
Lucille became increasingly annoyed and alarmed. She pushed her chair aside and took a few steps back.
“How far do your lies go?” she muttered grimly. “Who's in charge? These Kennéhsian rebels?”
“No,” he whispered, showing his palms to reassure her, “we are part of the Special Operations Division of the Cinian Army. We don't mean any harm to your family or anyone else, we just want to complete our mission and save our capital.”
But she did not soften her gesture.
“Cinian soldiers, really? You don't look like one; you smile too much, and you have very long hair… And what is this about saving the capital? If there were such problems in that nation, we would all know about it: there would be news everywhere. Why don't you just tell the truth?”
Gerard reached into his pockets for his ID and asked Burton for his. The latter was the one who went ahead and handed them to her.
“These are our temporary IDs; they're proof that we're telling the truth. And… maybe the reason there are no reports about the situation there is because the Dragon Society has sabotaged the national means of communication and transportation. It is not certain, but it is the most likely explanation for the lack of information.”
She returned to her chair and sat across from them, glancing at the IDs; at least they hadn't lied about their names. She looked again at the battered copy of the Chronicles the strangers had brought with them. "Dragon Society," she repeated to herself a few times. "Dragon."
“Let's see: you're soldiers on a mission related to this text, which in turn has a whole fan club in your country, a club called Dragon Society because that's their favorite character.”
“Maybe the word agent is more appropriate, but yeah, that's right.”
“But for some reason your army can't defend your capital without that something.”
“Well, it would be a great advantage if we could have it on our side.”
Lucille picked up the fake copy and started flipping through it. They could tell she was still angry, but she seemed willing to continue the conversation.
“Well,” she sighed, “are you going to tell me what the hell you're looking for?”
How? How to tell her the truth without offending her further? If they couldn't convince her, maybe the Robsons could.
“All right, I'll tell you,” Gerard began cautiously. “But I think you'll understand better from your own relatives.”
Lucille tilted her head.
“What do you mean?”
“Despite what your father or grandfather may say, you know that the Robson Society was made up of very intelligent people who took their duties seriously, don't you? You must know that if you've read all their papers.”
“It's… Ambiguous. Yes, most of those papers are written with the utmost care and clarity, like the studies and notes of a good scientist. In fact, that icy seriousness is the reason my father and grandfather hate the Society, because they don't think they were fiction writers, but because everything they wrote was supposed to have been written with complete and unequivocal natural reality.” She smiled. “I am fascinated by these documents because they are mysterious as well as frank and objective. But I just can't believe that any of it was actually real. Okay?”
“I understand your need for proof, but haven't you ever felt inclined to believe all this information? You must have started reading it for some reason, didn't you?”
“Yes, my grandmother believed all that stuff to the letter. And she was a very admirable and intelligent person. I didn't know her personally, but I have a lot of her personal papers and diaries, and she loved to write about the Society. So, my curiosity got the better of me.”
Lucille felt calmer after remembering the reason she had started reading these texts. Even the copy of the key she had hidden to open the chest had belonged to her grandmother. Her parents had thought they had kept the only copy, but they hadn't.
“Ah, I see,” Gerard nodded with a subtle smile. “Now, with all the information in this book and other documents in mind, do you know the significance of a Norwegian mountain called Oelfjellet?”
“It is the mountain where the three electrical beings once lived, but when Phoenix and Dragon were overthrown, only Chimera was left,” she replied, barely thinking. “Is what you're looking for there or what?”
“Exactly. And it was your ancestors who defeated Dragon with the help of Chimera, who then disappeared into the mountain.”
“It says so in the book.”
“I think you know what we're looking for now, Lucille,” he said slowly, almost whispering.
She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself. Instead, she looked away from them and stared at the floor. The weight of the mental operations she was performing at that moment was almost palpable.
“Are you looking for… Chimera?” she asked with insecurity, as if she were talking nonsense.
“Yes, Lucille,” he continued in a low, calm voice. “She's real and we need her help, but we have to find her first. My captain and my friend are on the mountain searching the caves. But we feel there is something we don't know, that we are wasting precious time. And we don't have that luxury.”
“Okay. And why do you need Chimera's help in your war against this fan club of…?”
She suddenly fell silent as she realized what the man was really trying to tell her.
“Are you saying,” she hesitated, “that the Dragon Society is literally of Dragon, the monster of our history?” her tone raised. “Is that what you say, that you must defeat one monster and his little soldiers with the help of the other monster who knows how to do it?”
When she finished, Lucille was practically shouting, incredulous, annoyed, twistedly amused.
Gerard and Burton were frozen. They pricked up their ears, waiting for Mrs. Wine to come out all freaked out. But after a few moments it was obvious that no one had heard her.
Burton approached her cautiously.
“It’s crazy, I-I know. And you're right i-if you don't believe anything at all, because if we didn't know what we know, we wouldn't believe a thing either. In fact, our friends don't believe anything either… S-so, if you don't want to believe us, that's fine, but could you please help us to know what we are here to find out?”
Gerard nodded.
“Damn,” she cursed. “I bet my grandmother would love to talk to you. She'd sing like a canary and tell you everything.”
“And you? Will you tell us?” Gerard asked.
“Cinian soldiers… What if I refuse? Will you shoot me?”
She seemed amused as she struggled to control herself.
“No,” he hastened to answer. “But we need to know, so if you refuse to help us, we will steal the documents.”
“So those are the options,” she looked at him blankly. “What exactly do you want to know?”
“We want to know how to find Chimera. We don't think just searching the caves is going to work. There has to be something more specific, right? The answer is not in the book, but it is almost certainly in one of these documents. Lucille, you've read everything. Help us.”
“Whatever," she agreed reluctantly. “The last of Donella Robson's journals talks about Chimera's decision to hide under the mountain.”
Lucille went back to the chest and pulled out a small notebook with yellow pages and a black leather lining; it was worn, but not from time, but because it had been a field journal, and its owner had carried it everywhere; this little notebook had seen it all.
“This is it,” she pointed to the paragraph with her index finger, “ ’After refusing our invitation, Chimera decided to return to Caliginous Mountain, grieved by recent events and the loss of her two companions. She has gone beneath the mountain, away from the wind of the summit and the creatures of the forest. Thanks to our bonds of friendship, I was able to convince her to reveal the location of her new lair to me, though she was very clear that she did not want to be disturbed, and I must respect that. Near the lake is a wide valley covered with rocks and grassland. There is a crevice there, deceptively small and ordinary, but behind its dense rock walls is a space that runs under the earth and into the mountain below. I have acquired the geographic location of the entrance at the coordinates 66.75804 latitude and 15.396025 longitude.’ Well! There you have it: coordinates. What more could you ask for?”
Gerard came up behind Lucille to look at the journal.
“What does it say under the coordinates?”
“Just notes about what Chimera said… What? You want to know that too?”
“If you don't want to read it, can I?”
She handed him the journal without saying a word. She knew what was in it and didn't feel like reading it again.
“ ‘Chimera has told me that it is full of “flowing stones” and that these stones are comfortable and substantial, that as long as it remains dormant, it won't need to come out for decades or even centuries. But she didn't say what she would do when she stopped sleeping. Will she go far away or return to the way she was before?’ ” Gerard stopped reading. “Miss Lucille, do you know what these ‘flowing rocks’ are?”
“Metallic minerals with good electrical conductivity; that's what Donella says. Copper, silver, iron: elements that an electrical creature could use at its convenience, I suppose.”
“Okay. There's nothing else we need to know? Like how to get past the cave's rock wall, or how to wake Chimera, or what to do when it happens.”
“If what you're suggesting is that there might be a password or super-hidden mechanism to get in, then I think you've been watching too many fiction shows.” Burton shrugged subtly. “No one's ever tried to get in there, so I guess you'll have to blow up the entrance or something, things you military types know how to do. I have no information on how to wake Chimera or what to do next. Chimera didn't leave any instructions, and Donella didn't seem to be bothered to guess.”
“Would you mind leaving us the journal? We'll return it to you later.”
Lucille sighed in resignation.
“I still don't understand why you people think this is real, but I don't care. What I do care about is the family legacy, and if I give you this, I can't trust you to return it. Not that it matters much: my parents don't know what's in the box, and no one uses these documents for anything, but…”
“Do you want to come with us?” Burton blurted out suddenly.
Both Gerard and Lucille stared at him in surprise.
“Go to Norway… with you?” She shook her head. “I don't even know you!”
“Well,” he continued. “It would just be great to have some expert help.”
Lucille covered her mouth with her hand, overwhelmed by the sudden proposition. If they were acquaintances of her family, she would say yes; Caliginous Mountain had always been a source of fascination, but these two were not only strangers, they were liars. How could they ask for her trust after deceiving her like that?
“Go ahead, take the journal with you,” she snorted. “But I'm not going anywhere with you!”
Gerard nodded sympathetically. He opened his jacket to put the journal away, but Lucille stopped him.
“No, not that one! You don't need the journal, you need what's in it.”
“I thought you gave us permission…”
She took the journal and put it back in the chest, locked it and put the key away. Then, without so much as a glance, she approached them and told them to wait for her.
They heard her going up the stairs, fast and energetic.
“It's a pity she won't come with us, it would be great,” Burton lamented.
“I wouldn't expect anything less, Buck: we tricked her, so we could come here.”
“Should we steal the journal while she's gone?” he whispered.
“Maybe. Still, I want to see what she brings.”
“A copy of the journal,” Lucille replied, rushing into the library. “I scanned some family papers a while ago and I have some from the Society, of course my parents don't know about it.”
She sat down and placed a small laptop on the table. She began to look through some folders.
"Of course I'm not going to let you take the physical journal, but I guess it doesn't matter if I give you a digital copy. You can do whatever you want with it and I don't mind, just don't tell anyone.”
“Oh… Of course, a digital copy is excellent.”
“Do you have somewhere to store the file?”
Gerard showed her his communicator and Lucille connected it wirelessly to the computer; she transferred the file in one breath.
“There you go, I included my email address just in case, but only if it is very urgent and important.”
Gerard checked the document on the small screen.
“Thank you, Miss Lucille. You have no idea how much help you have been. Now, perhaps we should…”
“You can't leave, Mr. Wilker,” she smiled mischievously. “You promised to stay for the cinnamon buns, remember?”
Burton got excited again and moved to his side.
“That's right, the buns! We can't go back on our word, especially after all the patience and help and hospitality and… Well, you get the picture.”
“Of course, the buns,” Gerard sighed. “I think we should go to the living room.”
She nodded.
“Over there.”
As soon as they left the library, Lucille closed and locked it with a password, just as it had been before they arrived.
She went to her mother, who was quietly waiting for the stove to do its thing, and went to the living room with her “guests.”
“TV,” she said as she entered the room.
A white panel came down from the gray ceiling to cover a shallow niche in the wall. Then a translucent sheet, flexible but flat, slowly descended and was positioned just over the panel. On both sides and below the sheet, small bars began to light up and change it.
She went to sit on a different couch than the one Gerard and Burton were using.
“Channel fifty-six.”
The screen and two small speakers hanging in the corners of the room came on.
Gerard and Burton watched the evening news with Lucille. This television was a rarity that few people could afford; in Cinia they were practically nonexistent. People there usually made do with an ordinary flat-screen TV or even a projector. They had to admit that this device, though an unnecessary whim, was simply amazing.
Lucille stayed with them until her mother arrived with the famous buns. While they tried them, she asked them all sorts of questions, about their work, their research, and their experiences at home and in the library; and when she stopped asking, it was because Burton kept talking about cooking and made her forget the academic subject. They talked a little about the news and the weather, about the city and the local culture, nothing Lucille didn't already know enough about, so she preferred to stay out of the conversation, because of that, and because she was too busy thinking heavily about the Society. Deep down, she was a little, somewhat sorry that she had refused to accompany these military strangers whose grip on reality she questioned.
Eventually the little meeting came to an end and the two visitors took their leave very politely, very gratefully, perhaps too gratefully. Their mother, as was to be expected, bade them a happy, if tired, farewell. She approached them as well, and when they finally left, she had a feeling that this would not be the last she would hear from them. She didn't know if she was excited or scared, but she knew that the stomach cramps she felt were very real.
She made her way to her room slowly and closed the door behind her. She went to her desk and used her fingerprint to open the bottom drawer. There were the journals her grandmother had left behind, the ones that had made her read the Society texts for the first time.
Lucille lay back on her bed and looked up at the ceiling, a serene pastel blue. She opened one of the journals and began to read it again. How many times had she done this? She could not remember, but she wanted to do it again.