“Well,” she said, “I guess you’ve come to the right place.” She looked around. People were watching from their porches. “Do you mind if I record the conversation?”
“No, that’s okay.”
“Thank you. Can I assume you’re trying to find out what happened to the material that disappeared back in the Dark Age? Is that correct?”
“I’m surprised you know we’re here at all, Madeleine. May I ask how that happened?”
“Oh, Mr. Benedict, I doubt you can travel anywhere without the media becoming aware of your presence.”
“Actually, the media isn’t usually all that interested in antiques. But you’re right, we’d like to find out what happened to the artifacts, sure. But I’m surprised you’d know about that.”
She smiled again. “Why else would a celebrity of your stature be down here?”
“Well,” Alex said, trying to look modest, “we could be here for any number of reasons.”
“Sure you could. Your Aunt Susan lives down the block, for one.” Another quick smile. “So, do you have any idea what might have happened to them? To the artifacts?”
“Not at the moment, no.”
“But you do hope to solve an eight-thousand-year-old mystery?”
Alex laughed. “Madeleine, I’d love to.”
“Do you have a lead?”
“Not really, no.”
“Mr. Benedict, where will you go from here? What can you hope to find that everyone else has missed?”
“Probably nothing. But there’s never any harm in looking.”
“But you must have something to work on?”
“Madeleine, if we find anything, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
The conversation continued like that for another few minutes. Alex avoided mentioning Baylee. I suspected she knew about him, but if she did, she didn’t bring up his name, either. Finally, she thanked him and left.
We walked out of the church grounds and returned to the car. “You okay?” I asked him.
“I’m fine.” He took a deep breath.
“She’s quite a package, isn’t she?” I said.
“Oh.” He smiled. “She’s okay. Not in your league, though.”
Nineteen
We do not always behave in a reasonable manner. Sometimes we are acting out a role we wish to play but know we cannot. Sometimes we are simply responding to a distant echo.
We spent the night in Union City and, in the morning, started for Bantwell University. It was located in Winnipeg, the world capital, which was located about 170 kilometers north. Alex called them shortly after we got started. He identified himself and asked to speak with the head of the archeology department.
“That would be Professor Hobart, Dr. Benedict. Hold one, please.” People frequently granted Alex degrees he didn’t have.
Then a new voice: “Dr. Benedict, this is Jason Summerhill. Professor Hobart isn’t available at the moment. May I help you?”
“Yes,” he said. “Professor Summerhill, the doctorate is a mistake. Call me Alex. I’m working on a research project regarding Garnett Baylee. He used to be a professor at Bantwell.”
Laughter at the other end. “Alex, I know who Baylee is. Everyone in the department does. But he never worked here. Not as far as I know.”
“Really? I was informed last evening that he did. It would have been quite a few years ago.”
“Can you hold a moment, Alex? Let me check.”
A woman took over: “This is Shirley Lehman, Alex. Baylee never worked for us.”
“Okay. Misunderstanding somewhere, I guess. Did you by any chance know him, Shirley?”
“I met him. He spent some time here, but that was years ago. But he wasn’t in the classroom. As best I can recall, he was doing research.”
“Do you have any idea what he was looking for? I’m doing some research on him. Trying to fill in some blank spaces.”
“No, Alex. I wish I could help. You might check with the library. That was where he spent most of his time.”
Winnipeg was all green landscapes, broad parks, beautiful homes. Thick forest on the north and west shielded the city from the cold winds of long winters. The Miranda Cone, named for the woman who had brought the North American Federation back during the Time of Troubles, rose 187 meters over Grantland Park on the southern side. Monuments, some dating back thousands of years, dominated fountains, parks, and government buildings across the city. The university sprawled over a wide area on the west side. Its architecture had been created in the mode of the last century, using cylinders, cubes, triangular pyramids, and polygons.
The campus was crowded with students when we arrived. Two mag streetcars were disgorging passengers as we pulled into the parking lot at Union Hall, which housed the library. Something, presumably a subway, rumbled past underfoot. We got out of the car, went inside, and made for the central desk. A librarian, studying a display, looked up as we approached. “Can I help you?”
“Hello,” Alex said. “My name’s Benedict. We’re working on a book about Garnett Baylee. Do you know who he is?”
She was middle-aged, thin, and well pressed. Her hair, tied in a knot, was beginning to gray. “Yes, I’ve heard his name,” she said. “What precisely do you need?”
“He came here regularly at one time. About eighteen or nineteen years ago. Do you by any chance remember his being here?”
She smiled. “Not really. That’s a long time ago.”
“Of course,” said Alex. “Is there a way to find out what he was working on here?”
“Wait a minute.” She seemed to be having a conversation with herself. “Sure. I’m not sure I can tell you anything, but I can show you the library record. It would have what he was looking at.”
“Beautiful,” Alex said. “Would we be able to get access to the same material?”
“Just a moment.” She got up and disappeared through a doorway.
The record consisted of a list of titles of histories, essays, and papers, authors’ names, and dates. The dates would have been those on which Baylee examined the document. There were also two collections of poetry. Alex looked pleased as we walked away from the desk. “Marco Collins,” he said. “No surprise there, I guess. Shawn Silvana. Frederick Quintavic.” There were maybe fifty more authors.
“You know all these people?” I asked.
“I know their reputations. Some of them. I’d guess they’re all historians or archeologists. Some of them have been dead for centuries. Let’s get started and see if any lights go on. This shouldn’t take long.”
I laughed. “Alex, you may not have noticed, but that’s a lot of material.”
“With luck, we’ll be finished in time for lunch. We’ll start at the end of the list. If he found anything here, that’s most likely where it’ll be, just before he cleared out.”
“You’re making an assumption.”
“Well, it’s hard to imagine it happened any other way.”
“Okay,” I said. “I hate to be the dummy, but what precisely are we looking for?”
“Anything that touches on moving the artifacts, either from the Huntsville Space Museum, or from Centralia. Preferably the latter.”