The Dead Gentleman (13 page)

“Hmm,” said the Captain. He held up the book and cleared his throat.

I groaned. “What? You going to read to me now?”

“This is a key-book. Just watch. But don’t be frightened by what happens next.”

Scott opened the book, and out of the pages sprung a long metal coil, like some kind of jack-in-the-box. At the end was a shiny golden key.

“That it?”

“Quiet, you. Now watch.” Scott gave me a warning look and continued. “Captain Jonathan Scott, Explorer First Rank, requesting that the door to the Academy be unlocked and passage be granted to two persons of import.”

The key snaked along the floor until it found a small hole hidden in the dark wood. The key slipped inside with a quiet click. For a moment nothing more happened, but then I felt, rather than heard, a vibrating hum beneath my feet.

Then a deep voice boomed out. It was coming from the bearskin rug. “Permission granted,” it said.

The bear’s head began to shift as its mouth opened wide, like an overextended yawn. It kept growing, larger and larger, until the bear’s head was soon the size of a man, its toothy maw reaching, opening for me. Coming for me.

With the fire at my back, I had nowhere to run. I scrambled for the Tesla Stick at my belt.

“Wait, wait!” said Scott. “It’s all right. Look.”

The bear’s mouth had opened to reveal a long brick tunnel. Flickering gaslight torches illuminated the way.

“What is that?”

“That, my boy, is the portal to the Enlightened Hidden City, wherein you will find the Academy of Explorers. Come on, it’s entirely safe.”

The Captain led the way, carefully picking his way past the bear’s teeth. I’d never imagined that I’d be entering this Academy by way of a creature’s gullet, but I was learning to be ready for anything. We’d gone perhaps fifteen feet when the mouth began to close behind us. There was a flash of light all around as my stomach turned queasy.

“The flash of light signified that we’ve stepped through a portal. That ordinary bear rug back there is actually what we call a Stitch-Golem,” said Scott. “It’s a construct, a kind of machine that we use to guard portals to the Academy. Clever, don’t you think?”

I pictured the huge mouth opening before me. “And if permission to enter is denied? What happens then?”

“Best not to think of that,” the Captain said, shaking his head. “Come on.”

The tunnel seemed to go on forever, and as we walked Scott began to explain the true nature of the Academy of Explorers. The very first Explorer was a young scholar’s apprentice named
Theophilus of Crete. Theophilus lived in the tenth century, and the story goes that one morning he was out exploring, instead of paying attention to his studies, when he chanced upon an old well. As he peered into the well he saw not a dank, dark shaft but a glorious, shining city. He’d, in fact, discovered a portal to the Enlightened Hidden City, a city on another world.

“In the Hidden City lived a race of wise monks,” the Captain explained. “Physically, not so different from you or I, except for the longish earlobes and cow’s tails.”

“Cow’s tails?” I asked.

“It’s a mark of wisdom.”

“They chew cud, too? Maybe while they’re thinking all these wise thoughts?”

The Captain cleared his throat—a subtle warning. I shrugged and let him continue.

“As I was saying, the leader of these monks, the High Father, was immediately charmed by Theophilus, by the young man’s adventurous spirit. You see, the monks of the Hidden City used a mystical tool called the Cycloidotrope to study the past, present and even the future of a thousand different planets, without ever leaving their city. With the High Father’s guidance, Theophilus learned about the different worlds, about the portals that connected them and about the Veil that hid it all.

“But unlike the monks, he wasn’t content to simply study; he wanted to explore. He began seeking out the portals and using them for travel. He discovered many wonderful things—exotic places, wondrous races. He recorded everything he saw in a book, which would eventually become the
Encyclopedia Imagika
. Out of that book was born the Explorers’ Society and, in time, the Academy. The High Father graciously allowed the Society to build our
Academy within the heart of the Hidden City so that we could share our knowledge with the monks there.”

After a few minutes’ trek underground the Captain came to the end of the tunnel and an archway that marked the entrance to a sunlit, open square. I stopped at the arch, suddenly nervous. What was on the other side? The Captain had said that we were leaving our world behind, that this Academy place was on a different planet somewhere out there. I’d already seen so much that was strange and fantastical that you’d think I’d be better prepared, but up until that point everything had sort of happened to me. I’d been thrust into this bizarre adventure without so much as a minute to breathe, and now that I’d had time for it to settle in, I was feeling … unsettled.

Now was the time for me to make up my mind. I could decide to take that step out into the sunlight of an alien world, if I wanted to. But
I
had to do it. No one would push me this time.

“It’s all right,” said the Captain. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Turned out that stepping out of that tunnel onto another world felt little different from stepping out of a dimly lighted shop onto Washington Square Park at noon. People bustled back and forth between a number of large, classical-looking buildings surrounding a public square. Green grass and stone benches lined the pathways that led to tall columns and steep-stepped buildings with high, ornate doorways. And looming over one end of the square was a single grand tower of rose marble. There were people here and there, but not nearly as many as I’d expected to see. And not a one of them under the age of forty, by my reckoning. A whole lot of gray beards and fat paunches.

“It’s a school,” I said, disappointed.

“It’s the Academy. You’re on another planet, you know.”

“What’s that I smell? It’s sweet.”

Scott smiled. “Ginger. Or at least it’s close to ginger. No one knows why, but the air smells of ginger here. Like I said, another planet.”

“And if this is a school, then where are all the students? And those monks you were talking about?” I asked, wrinkling my nose.
Ginger-scented air?
“All I see are old guys like you. No offense.”

“None taken. But unfortunately, new enrollment is
low
, you could say. The Society works on a strict apprentice system, and most Explorers just can’t be bothered. As for the monks, well, they’ve reached enlightenment.”

“They what?”

“Beyond the Academy walls is the Enlightened Hidden City, but it’s nearly empty now. You see, the monks were immortal, Tommy. They reincarnated themselves in a cycle of birth, death and rebirth until they felt they’d gained enough wisdom to pass on from this world. Which they did.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “They spent all that time … reincarnating, or whatever, just so they could die?”

The Captain shrugged. “I don’t pretend to understand it myself. There were still a handful of them around when I was a young Explorer, but over the years more and more achieved enlightenment. Today, the Academy stands in the middle of a deserted city. The High Father is all that’s left.”

“He’s not enlightened, then?”

Scott shook his head. “Oh, of course he is. He’s the wisest being in the known universe. It’s just that he has unfinished business. That’s what he claims, anyway.”

“Sounds about right to me,” I said. “He’s smart enough to
know that if you can live forever, you
do
. You don’t give up. I think he pulled one over on those other monks.”

Scott laughed. “Come on. I’ll show you around. This Academy was a place to train and learn, once. Now it’s more of a museum, I’m afraid. It’s the accumulation of centuries of exploring, just gathering dust. The knowledge of a hundred different civilizations rests within these marble and stone roofs. Cataloged and recataloged. Preserved for posterity.”

“Sounds like it could all get a bit dull.”

The Captain smiled at that. “You have no idea. Come on, then. Better get this over with.”

We headed for the rose tower, and I noticed more queer looks thrown our way as we passed. But again, if the Captain was aware of it, he didn’t let on. We crossed a great plaza and entered the tower through a set of metal doors. I was shocked to find that the inside was hollow all the way to the pinnacle. There were no floors, just a curving set of staircases that climbed up the rows and rows of books lining every square inch of wall space—all the way to the very top.

“The
Encyclopedia Imagika
is just the Explorers’ field manual, Tommy. It’s the abridged version of this,” the Captain said. “The Tower Library.”

And in the center of it all, suspended in air, was a device unlike anything I had seen, or even imagined, before. The
Nautilus
was a wonder, but one look and a fellow could at least figure the purpose of the thing. The
Nautilus
was a boat—a darn strange boat, though still a boat. But this particular machine was … weird. At its middle was a giant, shining metal globe. It rested at the center of a web of spokes and wheels, and each spoke led to another, smaller globe. There were hundreds, thousands of them,
all made of differently colored metal. And most amazing of all—they were all moving. Every part, every cog of the great machine was in motion. Some very slowly, circling the center globe in lazy orbits, while others flew haphazard patterns at incredible speeds. Everything was moving in synchronicity with everything else—complex, bizarre and perfect.

“That is the Orrery,” said the Captain. “At its center you see the Earth. A bit oversized and not quite to scale, I grant you, but it’s our favorite, so there you are. And all around it are the numerous planets connected to us—via the portals. Whole other worlds, like this one. It’s surely a poor representation, reflecting only a tiny, half percent or so of all there is
to
know, but it’s the best we’ve come up with.”

“Unbelievable,” I said, not caring that my mouth was hanging open. “It’s what, sort of a model?”

“A bit of a model, a bit of a map. But mostly it’s the Orrery. No other word for it, really.”

I stepped back, craning my neck to take it all in. “Now I’m impressed,” I said. And I meant it.

Captain Scott put his hand on my shoulder and pointed out the nearby statue of a man in a scholar’s robe. His middle was almost perfectly round and his jowly, smiling face beamed up at the spiraling spheres overhead. “That is Brother Theophilus. But we affectionately call him Fat Theo around here.”

As I got closer to the statue I noticed that Fat Theo had a bird on his shoulder, a small, clockwork canary.

“Is that … Merlin?”

Scott nodded. “Fat Theo discovered Merlin near the end of his travels, though he obviously wasn’t called Merlin at the time. That bird’s as old as the Society itself. Probably older. Theo had
two passions in life—eating and exploring. As he got older he told people that he didn’t fear death, but he regretted that there were still so many worlds out there to see. He left us Merlin as a reminder to never stop exploring. There is always a new frontier.”

“So Merlin’s sort of the Explorers’ mascot?”

Scott laughed. “I guess he is at that—but don’t let him hear you say that! Now, wait here. I need to announce your visit before taking you any farther, so stay put and, whatever you do, don’t wander off. It’s easy to get lost.”

Scott walked out onto the marble rotunda and disappeared under the shadow of the Orrery, tipping his cap to Fat Theo as he passed. I stood there in my still-damp clothes, trying to ignore the various stares and turned-up noses of the passersby. After some minutes I finally spied another boy. He was plump, perhaps a few years younger than I was. I was relieved to see him, but at the same time I was also keenly aware of how large this great hall was and how alien everything seemed. I was a master of the streets, the dark alleyways and rooftops. But here, without Captain Scott by my side, I was out of my element. Feeling the desperate need to be doing something, I focused my attention on the ground—the entire floor of this place was covered in words. Though back then I still couldn’t read much more than my own name, I knew well enough to recognize letters. But these symbols looked like chicken scratch.

“Don’t kill yourself trying to make that out,” the boy said. “The floor of the Great Hall is inscribed with one motto, but it’s repeated in hundreds and hundreds of languages. That dialect you’re looking at there is Atlantean, I think.”

I looked up to see that the boy was smiling at me as he wiped his thick spectacles on the lapel of his coat. He seemed amiable enough, but I wasn’t in the habit of making friends easily.

I squinted back at the words on the floor. “Oh yeah, Atlantean. Yeah. Yeah, I thought it looked familiar.”

The boy arched one eyebrow as he threaded his glasses around his overly large ears. “You read Atlantean? I didn’t think anyone studied it these days, considering that the Atlanteans died out over a thousand years ago.”

“Well, I didn’t say I
read
it,” I said, stretching myself up a bit on my feet. It needled me that this boy was obviously younger, and yet he still had several inches on me. “I said that I thought I recognized it. I’ve just seen it around, that’s all.”

“Oh,” he answered. “Sorry. My mistake.”

“And what about you?” I asked. “I suppose you know what it says?”

“Sure. I don’t read Atlantean, either, but I know what it says. It says the same thing that all the other words say.”

“Oh? What’s it say, then?”

The boy cleared his throat and began, “It’s the Explorer’s Creed. It says: