Enigmatic Pilot_ A Tall Tale Too True Part 7

"What sort of things did he know?" Lloyd inquired.

"The intimate dependencies of energy and matter-hidden correspondences. The lights you witnessed? They are his conception. A form of electrical power harnessed two thousand years before Benjamin Franklin experimented with his kite and key."

"Two thousand years ago!" Lloyd coughed.

"The world is not always what you think it is, and history is most certainly not what you have been told," Mother Tongue replied.

"What else did he do?" Lloyd asked, thinking back to St. Ives's story of Junius Rutherford.

"He grasped the most complex relationships between numbers, music, and the stars. He looked deep into the idiosyncrasies of other creatures, the chemistry of healing, and the nature of disease. Most important, his thought embraced the relationship of language to life and the shape of the mind. He was a geometer, dreamer, and diviner-a maker of medicines and occult machines. One legend says he could even raise and animate the dead."

"That sounds like an awful lot for one man to know," Lloyd said, whistling.

"Yes!" agreed Mother Tongue. "That was his most insightful idea of all. The necessity of camouflage to survive. The need to appear to be many men instead of one, and the need to become become many men-and women, too-in order to make his ideas live." many men-and women, too-in order to make his ideas live."

"How do you know that he was just one man?"

Mother Tongue stroked the cat. The c.o.o.n dog never moved.

"The same has been asked of many," she answered. "There is a view that all the great figures of inspiration-Socrates, Moses, Jesus, Muhammad, Buddha, Zoroaster-do not represent individual historical figures but, rather, are code names for composite characters uniting the thoughts and visions of many people. There is no way to prove or disprove the actual life of Spiro now, for he chose always to hide in the shadows, and so his reputation and his achievements have been relegated to the shadows of history. But upon this skeleton of shadows most of what we know of as the modern world has developed.

"He traveled widely-to Rome and the deserts of Arabia. Jerusalem, Baghdad, Alexandria, and deep into Europe-India and China, too. His knowledge he pa.s.sed on to carefully chosen pupils who were sworn to secrecy. Magicians, physicians, alchemists, philosophers, architects, engineers, and artists. To each of them he gave a piece of the master puzzle, one fragment of what he called the Great Enigma."

"Why?"

"So no one individual or even generation ended up knowing the master goal-they only knew the pieces they had been entrusted with and the implications that flowed from them. This protected the Great Enigma, for if one person or school failed, for whatever reason, to pa.s.s on or build on their knowledge, there was always the hope that others would survive and continue the work."

"What happened to him?" Lloyd asked, leaning forward. "When did he die?"

"In one sense, he never did," Mother Tongue replied. "Because we are talking about him now and still coming to terms with his thought and deeds. But in the sense you mean, what happened to the one man is lost in the puzzle that he created. What happened to the many men and women that he became-that is much better known. Because, you see, it was inevitable that the pieces of the puzzle would seek each other out and try to form the Whole."

"How do you mean?" Lloyd asked, and was surprised when the ancient woman gestured toward the wall of the cabin behind her. He could have sworn that the wall was bare before, but now it showed a map of the world that seemed to glow and swirl like the marvelous lights that had illuminated the crusted boat upon his arrival.

Mother Tongue cleared her throat, as if savoring the taste of her phlegm.

"From the sands of Egypt to what is now Italy and France, Holland, Germany, and the forests of Northern Europe, England and Ireland, all the way to the Orient, the lineage of the students of Spiro's teachings coalesced to form a confederacy with the grand design of unifying magic, religion, and science to lead mankind to the fulfillment of the destiny he foresaw. Many of the greatest minds and prime movers of Western culture were later Spiro's followers, bound to secrecy by the oath of the Order. Paracelsus, Nicholas of Cusa, Raleigh, Bacon, Van Leeuwenhoek, Pascal, Lavoisier-and countless others who remain unknown. The names and contributions are so entangled in history that it is impossible to separate the individuals and the strands. Cosmographers and mapmakers joined the Order. n.o.blemen and divines. Caliphs and rajas. The Spirosians infiltrated the Catholic Church, the Jewish merchant-finance networks, and the cabalistic enclaves-even the dynasties of distant China. They directed emperors and later formed the major craft guilds. They sponsored secret expeditions of discovery.

"Through oblique channels, it was Spiro's thought that lit the fire that fueled the Renaissance and allowed the birth of science, and later inspired the Spirosians to take key steps that led to both the French and American revolutions. From the Great Pyramids to Trafalgar Square, Mecca to Monticello, his influence has been felt. But secrecy and subterfuge was of necessity always the rule. From the first fog-enshrouded moment of inception, the leaders followed Spiro's practice of concealment and distraction, creating or sponsoring most of all the major secret societies that have ever been heard of, in order to cloak their own investigations and innovations. Many you might not have heard of yet. The a.s.sa.s.sins, Knights Templar, Freemasons, Rosicrucians, and the Illuminati-all these had members who believed in the reality of their confederacies without ever knowing the true nature of their origins."

"But why?" Lloyd queried, glancing again at the sleeping dog.

"To confuse enemies by creating figureheads and decoys," the ancient answered. "The attraction and fear of cabals is so ingrained in human society, the Spirosians always sought to use this stratagem as the primary defense and princ.i.p.al tool of direction-misdirection. Spiro taught that it is through the study and practice of illusion that we learn the art and science of the truth, and this philosophy has proved immensely effective. Yet it was always a point of vulnerability, and through this point a splinter was driven that changed the history of the movement and, indeed, the world."

"A splinter?" Lloyd asked. The curious map was now gone from the wall.

"A schism developed. Another sect or school of thought took shape and broke away. They called themselves the Vardogers, a Scandinavian term for a 'psychic double,' but their true name is the Order of the Claws & Candle, which comes from the practice of canny northern priests of old, who attached candles to the backs of crabs, releasing them in graveyards to simulate the spirits of the dead to impress the credulous.

"They believed that mastering the Great Enigma was a task they alone could be trusted with. They retreated so far into their own secrecy that their ingenuity began to fester. They grew to love the interplay of hidden forces and came to believe that the ma.s.ses must be manipulated like the figures in a vast marionette opera. They turned their composite mind to engines and methods of war and domination, strange new vessels of transport and division-and ever more ingenious techniques for influencing the will. Those of us alive today are just beginning to see how far back in time this labyrinthine campaign began to be waged."

"Wait a minute," Lloyd grunted, leaning back in the rocker. "From what you say-if you are to be believed-the Spirosians have been busybodying themselves all over for a very long time. What makes your view right?"

Mother Tongue's green eyes gleamed.

"It is true that the movement has always sought to steer the secret course of world events-the dissemination of ideas and the prosperity that ensues. But the difference between the progress of humanity at large and the enrichment of a clandestine elite at the expense of whole peoples is as profound as they come."

"But hasn't the movement always been clandestine-and elite?"

"Yes!" snapped the old woman, and heaved the cat to the floor. "The means have been similar in some respects, but the end is entirely different! The candle of the Vardogers' knowledge is very bright, but the crab of their might has very long claws. They are not averse to intimidation, betrayal, and murder. And now the key battlefield is here!"

"In St. Louis?" Lloyd squawked.

"In America-which has long been the jewel of contention in the holy war of dreams and ideas, yes! This nation was founded on just such conflict. But this area in particular has now become a cauldron. It is a focal point for the ravenous plans for expansion and development-the struggle over land and railroads, the erosion of the Indian's ways-and for the spread of the hideous practice of slavery. You are well aware of the slave pens scattered throughout the city that are operated by the auctioneering companies. There is one on Olive Street, and another on Fifth Street that specializes in the sale of children. Children, Lloyd. Younger than you! Your own family walks a razor's edge."

The hairless cat leaped back into Mother Tongue's lap. The c.o.o.n dog never flinched. Lloyd set the pine ladder-back rocking like a clock pendulum.

"If this time and place is so important, then why is a woman in charge?"

Mother Tongue's eyes flamed and then she smiled again, wrinkling every cleft and furrow in the pudding of her face.

"Spoken like a true little boy. The simple answer is that we are losing the war, Lloyd. I hold the position of authority that I do now out of desperation. We have recently lost a valuable colleague in the South, who was supposedly teaching slaves how to read the Bible. For that, he was ostracized. When it was discovered that he was really teaching them mathematics, he was hanged. Our leadership is embattled, our fund of knowledge is in tatters. The lights you saw-we know how to turn them on and off, but the man who was beginning to understand their secrets is dead. Others throughout the world who might understand them we dare not approach, because they are under close enemy surveillance or we are in doubt about their affiliation."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Lloyd said, yawning. "But my family sleeps in a smelly stable. And I still don't understand what this all has to do with me."

"My boy"-Mother Tongue smiled, her bright green eyes flaring-"the great mission of the Spirosians has been subverted. Our work has been sabotaged and our membership has been preyed upon. Operatives in Europe and abroad have been deposed. Others have defected-won over by greed or fear. Or delusion. We know that deadly new weapons are being made in Germany-and right here in America, in Connecticut and Rhode Island, Mobile and Charleston. Meanwhile, marauders,slave speculators, and any number of professional rascals and rabble-rousers are pouring into Missouri daily. There is trouble brewing in Kansas and Texas. Impending war with Mexico. And still the monster of slavery grows. Our abolitionist agents are all under threat-those that have avoided outright a.s.sa.s.sination. One day soon, I will be gone. Wolfgang, too. The rest, scattered through the nation and overseas, will go the same way. We need new blood, Lloyd. We want you to join us-to become ordained. We want you to leave your family and the path you are pursuing to be given tuition in ways of thought worthy of your emerging genius. Your friend the showman talks of 'marvels.' I am offering you the chance to change America and the world!"

For an instant there was a mad glitter in the old woman's green eyes that did scare Lloyd, but the words blurted out of his mouth anyway.

"You want me to...leave...my family?" As much as he had sometimes dreamed of this, it was something he could never do.

The cat uncoiled in the old woman's lap and began to bathe itself with its tongue. The dog dozed on indifferently on the sofa.

"I know that in your heart you are still very young, Lloyd, even though you take much responsibility for earning the family money." The old woman sighed, regaining her composure and evenness of tone. "Your loyalty is admirable. It takes desperate times and dark challenges to make the dissolution of yet another family acceptable. Believe me, I do not make the proposition lightly. But there are such things as casualties of war."

"I'm not at war with anyone," Lloyd responded, and then paused. "Unless, of course, you won't let me go."

"You will go back to your family tonight with my blessing, child-and under the best protection that I can provide. Wolfgang tells me you have plans to go to Texas, to meet your uncle. A very risky undertaking. Well, we can provide that money now,for your parents to depart-in as much style and safety as can be arranged. Or if they wish, but I do not advise this, they can remain here in St. Louis under guard. This, I believe, is much less safe. But we need your help, Lloyd."

"My help?" he yelped. "I thought you were going to help me me!"

"And so we will! We will help each other. For years we have been awaiting someone of true vision-a mind as bright as that of the first Enigmatist. We believe you are that person, Lloyd. Wolfgang has recounted to me your feats and abilities. With the education that we can provide you, who knows what you can achieve?"

"You would give me books...and instruments? Tools?" He thought back to the drafty barn in Zanesville-his yearning for resources worthy of his ambitions.

"And time, Lloyd. Everything you need. A personal key to a library the superior of any you will find in America. You will be given access to the notes and private papers of those of genius from the past. Letters of introduction, and arranged meetings with those living luminaries whom we can trust. You will be tutored in physics, mechanics, optics, acoustics, ballistics, magnetism, electricity, mathematics, chemistry, medicine-whatever you chose."

The boy's eyes brightened at this prospect, and then his face sagged.

"But my family needs me."

"A bigger family needs you," Mother Tongue retorted. "And you know in your heart you need the opportunities we can offer. I can see that you are starving, Lloyd. Not just for beefsteak and fresh vegetables, but for knowledge. For power."

"But I can't leave my parents. Not now!" he moaned. "If we can get to Texas, everything will be all right. I know it. We almost have enough money. Just a little more work. Just-"

"A few more days or weeks working as a talking monkey on a medicine-show wagon?"

"I do a lot more than that!"

"Indeed you do. As the showman knows too well. Are you remunerated in proportion?"

"He's my friend!" Lloyd wailed, turning to see if he had woken the dog.

"I say again, your loyalty is admirable," the elegant crone rejoined. "It gives us all confidence in our belief in you. But what of the other matter-your experience with women? Tell me, have you met any suitable females since arriving in St. Louis?"

"N-no," Lloyd stammered.

"Would you like to?" Mother Tongue wheedled. "s.e.x and the cravings of the body are nothing to be ashamed of-even in one so very young."

Lloyd squirmed in the rocker. He could not hide the fact that he liked what Mother Tongue was saying, but he did not like the way she spoke. There was something in her voice that made him think of a trapdoor.

"What you can learn of books and science you can also learn of love." The old woman smiled. "Wouldn't you like that? To one day become not only a master of ideas and technology but an adept in the erotic arts?"

Lloyd was aroused by this prospect but repulsed by the wrinkled old woman's offer. It was not something anyone else would say to a boy his age, he knew. And the thought of leaving his parents to themselves at such a tense juncture filled him with guilt and despair. They had already lost his sister, their home, perhaps their happiness together-how could he leave them, too? He stared at the c.o.o.n dog, which still had not stirred.

"It's late," Mother Tongue acknowledged. "And you must be getting back to your mother and father-at least for now. I did not intend for you to decide on such a weighty matter tonight. But I want you to consider one other reason that you would be well advised to accept our invitation."

At this she lowered her voice and raised her withered hands.

"The Vardogers are able to project and cultivate fear. They are equally skilled at orchestrating a mob brawl, mining a bridge, or breaking a mind. They have many much more subtle arts, I am afraid. Investigations into forbidden realms. We know they have taken notice of you, Lloyd. One of their agents has been seen observing your performances with the showman. Do you not think that very soon they will seek you out with an offer of their own? But will it be an offer? Or will it be an edict? What if instead of asking you to leave your parents they take your parents from you? What will you do then? No one goes far who travels alone."

The old woman's voice had taken on such a dramatic tone that Lloyd instinctively slipped from the rocker onto the sofa. But when he went to pat the hound he found that it was as stiff as a statue, sculpted into a position of peaceful repose. He could have sworn he had heard it snoring, like his father.

"He...he's dead!" Lloyd recoiled. "You've-"

"Old Lazarus is sleeping very soundly, but he keeps me company," the old lady answered, and blew out the lamp. "Now reach out your hands to me. I have something to give you. A token of my faith in you. And a sign of our trust in your judgment and discretion."

Lloyd clambered to his feet in the dark, unnerved by the stuffed dog.

"Take my hands, child," Mother Tongue whispered.

He heard a sound that he guessed was the cat lighting on the floor as the old woman rose. Bracing himself for the feel of her soft white talons, he thrust his own hands forward. Into his moist palms plopped two warm spheres as his fists tightened. Polished jewels, he imagined-fabulous treasures from some far corner of the world.

"Good night, Lloyd," Mother Tongue said. "For now."

Lloyd stuffed the jewels into his pocket and stumbled toward the door. Blazon was waiting outside with a flickering lamp. Without comment or question, he led the boy back the way they had come, where Sch.e.l.ling greeted him with a brusque presentation of his calcium-stained tooth. The grotto and the pa.s.sageways seemed to be much darker now. Why not turn on the marvelous lights? The humpback refused to be engaged on this or any point, and so the boy had to mind every step as they climbed back up to the cemetery. Once they were free of the tomb, the blindfold was reinstated and Lloyd was encouraged back into the dogcart. Their voyage was repeated in reverse without any words being exchanged, Lloyd's head swirling with questions and worries-and hopes-until, lulled by the legato rhythm of the boat, he slipped into a hypnagogic drowse. When he came to himself again, the boat was docking back at the ferry landing and the air smelled very late-or very early. One of the powerful black men set him down on the pier, and Wolfgang Sch.e.l.ling removed the blindfold.

"All right, Lloyd," he said. "Hurry home. I will see you in the afternoon. But be careful. Not everyone means you as well as we do."

These words echoed in the boy's mind as he raced back toward the stable, wondering if his parents would be awake and waiting for him-and what he was going to say if they were. The streets were dark but for the lights of a shuttered tavern. No one else appeared to be around. Still, there was a sinister sense of watchfulness about the lanes and it wasn't until he was all the way back to the familiar smell of the glue renderer's and the stable door that he felt calm again. Gratefully, his parents were both sound asleep-Hephaestus hog-breathing with drink, Rapture sighing low, sometimes saying something the boy could not understand (which was not that unusual at any time).

At the rear of the stable, Lloyd sneaked off with one of his father's h.o.a.rded matches and sc.r.a.ped it hard to make enough light to examine the prize that Mother Tongue had entrusted him with. He expected gemstones plucked from some harvested diadem, but he gasped and almost dropped the match and set the rank-smelling barn on fire when he saw that what she had given him was two brilliant green gla.s.s eyes.

What did it mean?

Was the ancient woman really blind, or was this just some trick? After he recovered from his shock, Lloyd extinguished the match, but the two orbs seemed to continue glowing, as if his recognition had triggered some covert luminosity within them. Or is it in my mind? he wondered.

In either case, as he fondled them-and peered into them in the pale light of morning-they seemed to take on a deeper presence. One globe he imagined gazed back at the moments that had brought him and his family to this crossroads, each of the scenes and encounters since leaving their home suspended like prehistoric insects in amber. The other sphere was a lens that he fancied looked into the future, a lightning-lit horizon of messenger possibility and foreshadowings...frozen pictures melting alive...unknown faces beginning to form.

Cupping them in his palms, Lloyd sensed an occult quality of heat and energy about them. What if these really were Mother Tongue's eyes? he pondered. Maybe she is is blind-and yet through some arcane mechanism the spheres allowed her to see. A kind of sight, anyway, delivered by a spectral science he didn't comprehend...but might...in time. blind-and yet through some arcane mechanism the spheres allowed her to see. A kind of sight, anyway, delivered by a spectral science he didn't comprehend...but might...in time.

Something deep within him felt a magnetic summons toward these enigmas-via Mother Tongue and her minions or not. "The door of my destiny is opening," he whispered to the slowly graying dawn.

CHAPTER 1.

Rara Avis AFTER HIS PERPLEXING MEETING WITH M MOTHER T TONGUE, LLOYD found it hard to rouse himself in the morning. Through a haze of threats and twisted images, his consciousness was brought back to St. Louis and the stable by the piggish noises of conjugal struggle. While the manufacture of the flying toys had brought his parents together in the matter of practical survival, their intimate life had not recovered since the Chicken Germain-root salve treatment, and Hephaestus's libido had been bottled to bursting. Up to this point both parents had been discreet regarding Lloyd's awareness of their lovemaking, but the urgency of the need and the systemic erosion of his dignity provoked Hephaestus to risk skin discomfort and to break with all decorum in a loud, and to Lloyd's ears, exceedingly boorish way. Lloyd could not tell how much his mother resisted at first, but in the end she succ.u.mbed and seemed almost to enjoy it. Perhaps her need was too great to ignore as well. found it hard to rouse himself in the morning. Through a haze of threats and twisted images, his consciousness was brought back to St. Louis and the stable by the piggish noises of conjugal struggle. While the manufacture of the flying toys had brought his parents together in the matter of practical survival, their intimate life had not recovered since the Chicken Germain-root salve treatment, and Hephaestus's libido had been bottled to bursting. Up to this point both parents had been discreet regarding Lloyd's awareness of their lovemaking, but the urgency of the need and the systemic erosion of his dignity provoked Hephaestus to risk skin discomfort and to break with all decorum in a loud, and to Lloyd's ears, exceedingly boorish way. Lloyd could not tell how much his mother resisted at first, but in the end she succ.u.mbed and seemed almost to enjoy it. Perhaps her need was too great to ignore as well.

Lloyd was smart enough to know that, in the matter of s.e.x at least, there was much that he yet had to learn. Still, it sickened him to hear them, for in one guttural exclamation from the other side of a pile of mice-warm hay he realized that this was how he he had come to be. At least in part. Maybe the circ.u.mstances had been different-the place, the mood, the smells and tastes-but at the heart it was this same b.e.s.t.i.a.l dance-brawl. "There should be a better way to be born," Lloyd said to himself, even as his own desire was shamefully aroused at the sounds of his parents. Then he clutched himself to fulfillment. had come to be. At least in part. Maybe the circ.u.mstances had been different-the place, the mood, the smells and tastes-but at the heart it was this same b.e.s.t.i.a.l dance-brawl. "There should be a better way to be born," Lloyd said to himself, even as his own desire was shamefully aroused at the sounds of his parents. Then he clutched himself to fulfillment.

He pulled up his pants and dragged from his pocket the two gla.s.s eyes. The more he examined them, the more they seemed to examine him. Disconcerted and afraid, he thrust them back into the depths of the bag, far down into the wads of soiled clothes where he had hidden the box adorned by the Amba.s.sadors from Mars and his uncle's letter. Then he stowed the bag well under the hay.

None of the Sitt.u.r.ds had anything to say while they breakfasted on stale rolls and can-brewed coffee. Chastened by postcoital remorse, Hephaestus and Rapture did not press Lloyd for any information on how he had slept and gave no indication they knew that he had disappeared in the night.

Meanwhile Lloyd's brain, once free of his own s.e.xual obsession, began whirring with worries and considerations about the Spirosians and the Vardogers. Could the things that Mother Tongue had told him be true? A war in time between two great secret societies-the real powers behind all other secret societies-the hidden orchestrators of history now brought into lethal conflict over the issues of slavery and expansion, the destiny of America?

He had seen the lights; he could not get around that. Some unthinkable harnessing of electrical energy. And the library beneath the burial ground, the riverboat festooned with moss-he had seen these things with his own eyes. Still, he could not believe that he had been told the truth. Something in a secret place inside him rebelled at the choice he had been given, and the feel of the stuffed dog on the couch returned to make his skin crawl. He was certain that he had heard it breathe.

He bolted from the stable still swallowing a lump of bread, wondering if once he had gone his parents might continue their pa.s.sionate battle, or if his mother would go off to her laundry and nursing duties while his father returned to his aimless disintegration. It appeared to him that as his capabilities increased theirs diminished, so that even his mother had become his child now. His work was how the family fed itself. And if the family was somehow feeding upon itself, he felt that it was not his fault. St. Louis was the poison. The dance-hall lights. The necessity of money. All the hopeless and hope-mad people wandering through. The one solution he could see lay in getting back on the road to Texas, back to their dream. Then his father might wake and his mother would remember her old, quick joy. He ran to meet Mulrooney, who was camped on a dry-gra.s.s common to the west.

The Amba.s.sadors and the Ladies Mulrooney were all sick from rancid milk. The tent stank of their sufferings and hummed with flies. Regrettably, a compet.i.tion between the two largest of the flying clubs that had formed was scheduled for noon along the riverbank. Given the gastrointestinal crisis that had seized Mulrooney, the showman did not feel fit or able to attend, so Lloyd was left to gather all the soaring toys he could carry on the back of one of the wagon's horses and make his way there all by himself. The obligation of rewarding the faithful and the opportunity to make some much needed sales was too important. But it did nothing to allay his fears. He had never faced the wall of faces on his own before. Never all alone. He realized that Mother Tongue had been right in a way: he was Mulrooney's monkey. He had always had the showman to lean on, to back him up. Now it would just be him, a little boy from a small town-a boy with a big brain and bigger dreams, from a small-minded town, now confronted by what seemed a huge city and the inherent hostility of strangers.

The sky was achingly clear, and a gathering had already formed by the time he reached the bank where the compet.i.tion was to be held. At his arrival, a cheer went up and people rushed toward him. They all wanted to greet the "little genius"-the boy who made the paper birds and gliding gadgets,a hundred or so of which now lay on the gra.s.s in the summer sun.

The onslaught of adulation puffed up Lloyd's spirits (and ego). Maybe St. Louis wasn't such an evil place after all. Perhaps fame and fortune could yet be his. That would save his family. Surely. Yes, there were cruelties and injustices. Vigilance committees, bushwhackings, and intimidation. Freed blacks could be falsely arrested and sold back into slavery, and some of the antislave voices were nonetheless anti-Negro, advocating the establishment of a whites-only territory. But right in front of him were people lined up to see him and shake his hand-many, if not most of them, good people (a few of them the same good people who had looked on as Francis McIntosh fried).

With newfound confidence Lloyd scanned the throng, trying to pinpoint some presence that was hostile-one of the Claws & Candle spies that Mother Tongue had warned him about. Was it the man with thinning hair who was still wearing his leather blacksmith's ap.r.o.n, the same kind his father used to wear back in Ohio when he was working-when he did work? What about the striped-vest barber or any of a number of mulatto traders, Spanish boatmen, or French fortune hunters? Perhaps one of the high-toned ladies hiding behind their fans. He tore the crowd apart face by face. But they were all watching him, and none of them appeared hostile. Yet they all could become so, he knew. He had already learned how fast the tastes of the horde could change-how insatiable they were for novelty, for innovation, and for failure. Whether or not the Spirosians and the Vardogers were real, he understood that the cries of ovation he received were but catcalls in reverse. The words of Mother Tongue came back to him: "No one goes far who travels alone."

Alone now with his cargo of toys for sale, he felt the painful wisdom of her words. Then he glanced back up at the soothing blue emptiness overhead. That was something important that she had overlooked. There were places one could only only go alone. That was the difference between the a.s.sembled ma.s.s on the riverbank and himself, Lloyd realized. The same problem as in Zanesville. What no one else could grasp, or what they could but dream about, he could go alone. That was the difference between the a.s.sembled ma.s.s on the riverbank and himself, Lloyd realized. The same problem as in Zanesville. What no one else could grasp, or what they could but dream about, he could do do. It put his relationship with his family at risk. It put his life at risk, yet what would he be if he did not reach out? How could he lift them up-how could he save his father from himself-if he did not reach further, higher? Fear of the crowd? Yes, but what of the fear of the future?

In that fleeting instant before he was forced, all by himself, to welcome the ma.s.ses and to officiate at the start of the compet.i.tion-to hawk his wares like a common street vendor, to represent the interests of not one but two misfit families-he saw the sky opening before him like a welcome beyond anything that Mother Tongue and Sch.e.l.ling could offer. It was his destiny to ascend still higher. He would rise up into the sun above the river and all that it represented. Above the flatboats and the barge lines. Above the steeples and the columns, the plush townhouses and the claptrap cottages. He would soar above every dock walloper and carriage hack-so high that every merchant and magnate would see him, not just these few folk scattered here. There might yet come a time to travel in time, as his broken father had dreamed of. But for now, what people would pay to see was a kind of travel they could understand. Memories of Zanesville and the beaver came back to him. The trick-and perhaps it was a trick that the Vardogers, if they were real, had mastered-was how to scare people in the right way. Bewonderment. For what is fear but the other side of the nickel of surprise?

The compet.i.tion was a tremendous success. The club that called itself Wings Over Walnut Street managed a narrow (but very popular) victory over The St. Louis Dispatch The St. Louis Dispatchsponsored Harriers. Young Lloyd was interviewed for the first time. The questions came fast and furious about where he got his ideas and where he lived and went to school-answers that he fudged as best he could. He was able to sell almost all the soarers he had brought, and he was repeatedly asked what new treats of whimsy he had in store. When the crowd broke up and people resumed their humdrum lives again, he was riding on air. From the tawdry trickery of a medicine show he had created a genuine phenomenon. Then and there, he made a decision about the patronage of Mother Tongue.