When Miss Eells and Anthony told Emerson about their decision, he nearly had a fit.
"Nonsense!" he exclaimed, folding his arms indignantly. "It's far too dangerous! I won't hear of it!"
"I thought you told us that anyone wearing one of your amulets would be safe," said Miss Eells with a malicious gleam in her eye.
Emerson got flustered. His face turned red and he began to splutter. "Well, I... that is, I... oh, blast it all, I'll tell you the truth! I said that to keep you from worrying. The place is as dangerous as a quicksand bog. But someone has to go to find the clue that may lead to the Logos Cube. When I let Anthony go with me last time, it was because I felt lonely and afraid. But since then I've regretted that decision, and now I say to you both:
Stay home!"
Miss Eells glared at her brother. "Em, dear," she said, "if you want the two of us to stay here you'd better be good at knots and tying people up with clothesline. And remember, while you're working on one of us, the other one will be beating you over the head with a breadboard or a frying pan."
Emerson was feeling desperate. "I... I won't let you use my amulets," he said with a pouty frown. "And may I remind you that I have the only key to the storage case?"
Miss Eells grinned. "You think you have the only key. Years ago you gave me a duplicate, because you felt I was levelheaded and wouldn't do anything rash." She reached in under the collar of her blouse and pulled out a small silver key on a beaded chain.
Emerson looked at his two friends. Then he heaved a deep weary sigh and shook his head. "Oh, all
right!"
he said staunchily. "But if one of you gets turned to stone, don't come whining to me about it!"
That evening the three adventurers got ready to go. They put on warm sweaters, because the air of the otherworld was always clammy and cold. Anthony brought a flashlight, and Emerson carried a crowbar, in case there was a door that had to be forced. Once again Emerson wore the tube of Gobi desert sand, and Anthony used the tiny Russian icon. Miss Eells picked a Joachimsthaler, a huge German coin from the sixteenth century. It hung from a handsome braided gold chain and had been blessed by the Bishop of Cologne. Stepping out onto the porch of the cottage, Emerson saw that the sky was clear and clustered thick with stars. Arcturus burned clearly in the south.
"Here goes nothing," whispered Emerson to himself, and he stepped back inside the house. The other two were waiting at the foot of the stairs, and up they went, single file. When they reached the room at the back there was the chest waiting for them. Emerson walked bravely forward and lifted the heavy lid.
"One at a time," he said in a voice that trembled slightly. "I'll go first, and if I'm not back in five minutes, I'll send the empty chest for you, and that will mean that it's nighttime in Ghastlyland and that you can follow me. Okay?"
Miss Eells and Anthony nodded. They both swallowed hard and watched anxiously as Emerson stepped into the chest, squatted down, and pulled the lid shut. His muttered words could hardly be heard, but after a short pause the chest shimmered and vanished. Miss Eells turned to Anthony. A thought had just occurred to her.
"Anthony?" she asked. "How do you get the chest to come back here empty?"
Anthony grinned. "Mr. Eells figured that out the night the two of us went together. You stand in the chest and say the words, and then you get out real quick and shut the lid. It's kind of tricky, but it works."
Miss Eells gave Anthony a sidelong glance. "I must be nuts to be doing this," she said to herself. "But then, I've known for years that I was off my rocker. Oh, well. At my age, I haven't long to live anyway."
After this cheerful remark, Miss Eells fell silent. The two of them waited in the empty room for what seemed like ages. Then, with a slight whispering sound, the chest reappeared. Anthony and Miss Eells looked at each other. Neither of them wanted to go, but they knew they had to. Finally Anthony took a deep breath and stepped forward. He opened the lid and climbed in.
"I'll... I'll send it back for you, Miss Eells," he said in a high-pitched nervous voice. "It... it won't take long." And with that Anthony squatted down, closed the lid, and muttered the magic formula. Again a pause, then a shimmer in the air, and the chest vanished once
more. Miss Eells chewed her lip and paced up and down. In a few minutes the chest came back for her.
"I feel like a paratrooper getting ready for his first jump," she said to herself as she climbed into the chest. It took a while before she got up the courage to kneel down and pull the heavy lid back into place.
Auro est locus in quo conflatur,
she said quietly, and then she closed her eyes tight. In a few seconds the terrifying drop began. Then her fall slowed and she landed with a soft bump. Emerson jerked the lid open and peered in.
"Did you have a nice ride, Myra?" he asked wryly.
Miss Eells gave her brother a dirty look and clambered out of the chest. With an awestruck look on her face, she peered around at the strange, misty moonlit world. She was frightened, but she fought down her fear and grinned weakly. "So where do we go from here, brother?" she asked. "You don't have a map, so it'll have to be done by guesswork. Right?"
Emerson nodded glumly. "Right. Off to the left there is a forest, and I think I see a path. Paths usually lead somewhere, so we'll take it." Emerson glanced quickly over his shoulder. "The windows in the mansion are dark, so let us hope that the Autarchs are in bed. Even sorcerers need their sleep, after all."
In single file, with Emerson in the lead, they entered the dark, shadowy forest. As they trudged along the sandy path, alarming things began to happen. Branches
groped at them, and the trees made odd groaning sounds. At one point a vine on the ground reached out and tried to grab Anthony's ankle. But it pulled back suddenly and lay flat.
"I have to hand it to you, Em," whispered Miss Eells. "Those amulets work."
"Of course they work," snapped Emerson. "You don't think I'd lead you into danger without some sort of protection, do you? And now I think we're deep enough into the forest for me to turn on the flashlight. Besides, it's pitch-black in here, and sooner or later one of us is going to slam into a tree trunk."
Emerson clicked on the flashlight, and it burned with a foggy, wavering glow. They tried to ignore the thick-clustered dark trees that seemed to be watching them. Very soon they came out into the open—apparently the trees were just a grove and not a large forest at all. The three adventurers found that they were at the edge of a small lake covered with lily pads and a gray scum. On the other side of the lake stood a small eight-sided building with a columned porch and a copper dome. In the distance was the gleaming wall of mist that hung beyond the garden and the mansion.
"Charming scene, eh?" said Emerson sourly. "If you were a real estate agent you'd go out of your mind trying to sell this place."
Miss Eells looked thoughtful. "Em," she said slowly, "why did the Autarchs make this place such an awful
one? I mean, if they can work magic, why didn't they create a pleasant estate with sunshine and normal moonlight and starlight?"
"I suspect that this estate
had
to turn out the way it did," Emerson answered, with a sad shake of his head. "Either the magic went haywire, or... well, who knows? You should also remember that the Autarchs were once ordinary people living in our ordinary everyday world. Creating this estate deformed their bodies and their minds. They've probably been here so long now that they don't realize what a monstrous place this is. Love of power has replaced ordinary human feelings in their minds. Of course, from what Anthony heard, there was one rebel who refused to accept the values of the Autarchs, and he's the one who hid the Logos Cube. Anyway, let's stop jawing and follow this path around the edge of the lake. I'll bet any money that little domed building is the Temple of the Winds."
Once more Emerson began to walk along the edge of the small lake, playing the beam of the flashlight before him. A heavy stillness hung over the lake—no crickets, no frogs, no sign of anything living. Soon the three of them were standing before the columned porch of the little building. Sure enough, on the marble cornice above the pillars these words were carved: TEMPLE OF THE WINDS.
A short flight of broad, cracked stone steps led to the porch, and beyond was a bronze door that stood half ajar. Emerson's light continued to burn foggily, because
this was an evil and cursed place. But he plunged ahead and shoved at the door, and with a loud groan it scraped inward. Emerson stepped inside and played his light around. And then he almost laughed. The temple was full of gardening equipment! On a warped table stood stacks of clay flowerpots, and a trowel lay nearby. Rakes and hoes leaned against the wall, and there was even an old-fashioned mechanical lawn mower. Hedge clippers and sickles hung from brackets, and overhead was a dark oil lamp on a chain.
"Humph! If this doesn't beat everything!" muttered Emerson. "You know, I'll bet all this stuff belonged to the rebel, the one who split away from the Autarchs. He was probably trying to make this miserable dump a bit more human. But the sixty-four dollar question still is:
Where
is this so-called great clue?"
For a long time Emerson and his friends poked around. They looked under flowerpots and on the sills of the narrow windows. They peered into the blades of the lawn mower and moved rakes and scraped around on their hands and knees in dusty, dirty corners. But they came up empty.
"Phooey on this miserable place anyway!" growled Emerson, as he dragged himself to his feet. "The Autarchs must have searched here, and if they didn't find anything, I don't see how we can expect to." He wiped sweat off his forehead with his sleeve and gazed blearily around. He had been working so hard that he was panting, and he felt thoroughly dejected. Anthony looked
gloomy too—he hung his head and felt tears trickling down his cheeks. Only Miss Eells seemed optimistic. She darted her head around and smiled weirdly.
"Oh, I don't know, Em," she said, as she began shifting the objects on the dusty table. "We haven't
completely
ransacked this place. I see that these inner walls are made of brick. Maybe one of them is loose. In the meantime I suggest that we take out our anger on these flowerpots here. I can damage things without trying to, but sometimes it's fun to..." Instead of finishing her sentence, Miss Eells picked up a flowerpot and pitched it against a wall. Pieces of red clay flew everywhere. Grinning wickedly, Miss Eells threw another pot and another, while Emerson and Anthony gaped in amazement. But when she heaved the next pot, something unexpected happened: A small shiny object went spinning out of the clay fragments and landed in the middle of the room. With a loud exclamation, Emerson swooped down and picked it up. He played his flashlight's beam over it.
"Heavens!" he breathed. "Do you know what this is? It's a Brasher doubloon!"
Miss Eells and Anthony stared in bewilderment. Emerson might as well have told them that he had found a packet of Stardust or the Wizard of Oz's hat. When he saw that the other two were thoroughly befuddled, Emerson sighed and began to explain. Ephraim Brasher was a rich planter in Virginia before the Revolutionary War. A neighbor of George Washington's, in fact. Well,
back in those days private citizens could make gold and silver coins. All they needed was the metal and a coin press. Mr. Brasher struck some gold coins called doubloons, and only three are known to exist today. Needless to say, they are priceless and are all in museums or private collections.
"And here is a fourth one," said Emerson, holding the coin up. "But whoever owned it has lowered its value a great deal by scratching a word on one side with a knife." Emerson handed the coin to Anthony, and he peered at it as the pale beam of the flashlight played over it. Sure enough, on one side of the coin the word WABE had been scratched in large capital letters.
Anthony looked bewildered and gave the coin to Miss Eells so she could examine it. After squinting at the carved word, she looked up. "And who or what is a
wabe?"
she asked. "Sounds like baby talk for
wave,
doesn't it?"
Emerson shrugged. "Could be someone's name, or just a piece of incredible folderol. Or a practical joke. But if this is the so-called great clue, I'll take vanilla, thank you." He banged his flashlight on the table and stood staring angrily at the blank wall.
Miss Eells gently patted her brother on the arm. "Look, Em," she said quietly, "the meaning of clues isn't always clear. Maybe if we take the coin back with us and think a while in the peace and quiet of the cottage, we will decipher the meaning of the word. So come on. Let's get out of this awful, cursed place."
Emerson didn't need to be persuaded. With a little shrug he stuck the coin in his pocket and led the way out of the door, down the steps, and along the sandy patch to the grove of trees. None of them liked the idea of entering that gloomy sinister clump of trees again, but they had to. Again the trees groaned and creaked, and vines groped feebly at them. But they were not stopped, and soon they stood by the chest again. One at a time, as before, they went back: Emerson first, then Anthony, and finally Miss Eells. Just before she climbed into the chest, Miss Eells took a quick look around. The mansion was still dark, and the plants and vines in the garden rustled uneasily because an intruder was near. Miss Eells did not notice a dark figure standing in the shadow of the grove of trees.
When the three adventurers got back to the cottage, only an hour and a half had passed, according to their clocks. They all felt incredibly weary and threw themselves into bed without even changing into their pajamas. The next morning, as they sat around the kitchen table eating ham and eggs and drinking coffee and milk, Anthony and his friends felt a bit woozy, and the trip they had taken seemed like an unpleasant dream. But there was the Brasher doubloon shining on the table in front of them. It was real; their otherworldly adventure had been real. When he finished eating, Emerson lit his meerschaum pipe and leaned back in his chair. "Wabe," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe it's initials for
something like Will All Babies Expectorate."