A Highly Unlikely Scenario, or a Neetsa Pizza Employee's Guide to Saving the World (12 page)

I'm serious! Leonard said, emboldened by the presence of Sally.

Stan, you are looking at the Brazen Head!

Your inquiries got flagged, Sally said. You can understand why.

No, I can't, actually. Look, can Felix get something to eat? Felix? Where's Felix?

Felix wasn't in the dining room, or the stoveroom, or the living room.

Don't worry, Sally said. He can't get out. He's here somewhere.

What do you mean he can't get out?

It's a safehouse, remember?

We're locked inside?

You worry too much, Sally said.

As Leonard took the steps upstairs two by two, he realized he wasn't sure whether he still loved Sally. There was too much he didn't understand, like who the Baconians were, and why they hated the Cathars, and why they needed a safehouse, and why they'd monitored his Brazen Head communications, and why Isaac thought this had anything whatsoever to do with him.

This floor has the Brazen Head, see? Sally opened a door to an enormous screen room. Leonard had never seen so many screens, one on top of the other. Incoming were hundreds of faces, all unaware they were being cammed. On the floor and on folding tables were plastic toys, as if the room were a children's playzone. And in fact, two young men sat on swirly chairs facing the screens. One played with a finger puppet, another with a handheld screen game. They looked up briefly, waved at Sally, and said no, there hadn't been any small boys in there, not for years. Unless you counted Gideon here—at which point Gideon upended the puppeteer.

Down a long hallway were several doors, each leading to a dorm-style bedroom. Some looked more permanent, with messy bunk beds and three-layer dressers, while others appeared more recently inhabited, with collapsible cots and cardboard boxes for storage. Felix was in none of these rooms.

The library's down there. If he's not in there, we'll check Alchemy and Optics.

But Felix was there, in the library, stretched out and snoring on a settee, Bacon's
Opus Majus
on his belly, a small cat lying plumply on the book.

That's Eggs, Sally said. As in—

Bacon and?

See, we do have a sense of humor, she said, though she wasn't smiling. Let me get you something to eat.

They brought their dinner to the library so they could keep an eye on Felix. It might not have been revolutionary stew, but it looked and tasted just like it, which made Leonard sad. Where was Carol? If the policemen caught her, would she be branded and forced to live outside the city walls? Would Felix be sent to the workhouse? What was that thing Felix had done today??

If the boys are hostile, Sally said, it's because of the Schism—the wounds are fresh. They're not ready to trust outsiders.

The Schism?

The Great Split. You know. No, you don't. The Church of Bacon Scientist split from us some months ago—I'm surprised you didn't hear about it. They're in the process of opening a chain called Eggsperiment. It's mortifying. They're only interested in Bacon's empirical work, his study of astronomy and his inventions. They call our work mystification.

Sounds like my sister, Carol. She used to say that about Pythagoreanism. So you're interested in what, exactly?

Bacon's work in astrology, alchemy, and new ways of seeing. Dwane's in charge of re-creating the Brazen Head; Dravidian, whom you haven't met, is our astrologer; we've got a team of alchemists and optic researchers. We've also got the Good Friars in the abbey out back. We're struggling to keep them with
us—they're only interested in Bacon's more orthodox theology; they think we're heretics. But if we can crack the Voynich, we'll unite all the Latter-Day Baconians. That's my job. The Voynich will make clear the essential unity of the Great Man's many interests.

I see, Leonard said, though he didn't.

I knew you would, Sally said.

Leonard stared at his sailing shoes.

I'm really glad we met, he said, unable to look at her.

Me too, Sally said. I feel it was destined.

Me too, Leonard said, and might have said more except Felix stirred, the cat jumped, and the book Felix was holding fell to the ground.

I had the most amazing dream, Felix said.

A dream? Sally said, scrambling to her feet. Really? Wait, let me get the others!

What do you mean, the others? Leonard said.

Your nephew's a Baconian prophet—everyone needs to hear, and off she ran.

Felix got off the couch, somewhat groggily, and got onto Leonard's lap.

The dream was about someone named Isaac, he murmured. Is that the guy you said you'd tell me about? He had a message for you.

Leonard heard voices, then some shouting downstairs, and the sound of running.

I'll explain later, I promise, but in the meantime, don't tell anyone what Isaac said, okay? Not till we know what's going on.

Gotcha, Stan, he said.

I'd prefer it if you didn't call me that, Leonard said, and mussed Felix's hair.

I'm worried about Mom.

What you need is some exercise! Come on! Time for some awesome karate kicks!

Felix nodded enthusiastically. The voices had stopped shouting and Leonard could hear the heavy sounds of young men treading upstairs.

Don't mind them, he said. Five minutes. I'll keep time, and Felix began to kick.

One by one, as Felix practiced his kicking, two dozen Baconians crowded into the library. There were the half dozen they'd met at the dinner table, plus Sue & Susheela, plus more in lab coats, even a monk in a brown wool frock.

We're just waiting for Dravidian, Sally said. He's on the roof.

Shh, Leonard said, and pointed at Felix.

Several of the lab-coated gentlemen took notes.

Five minutes! Leonard shouted, and Felix stopped, his face pink and triumphant.

That was great! Felix said, and plopped back onto Leonard's lap.

Best ever, Leonard concurred.

Was that a prophetic ritual? one of the lab men asked another.

A breathless, wizardy guy with a starry cap and gown finally arrived—Dravidian, presumably.

We're ready, Sally said, looking at Felix with an awe that Leonard couldn't help wishing he'd inspired.

You guys really want to hear my dream? Felix asked. It seemed better at the time.

The lab guys all had their pens poised over mini notebooks.

Well, he said, and looked up at Leonard, who squeezed his hand. It was sort of like what happened today. All the Pythagoreans and Maoists and other Stans were on the Walking Grounds fighting each other, but slowly. I thought it was funny.

The Baconians looked at each other.

Is that it? one of them asked.

It was funny because none of the Stans got hurt, he said, looking at Leonard.

Sounds very funny, Leonard said, mussing Felix's afro. What a great dream!

He looked at the others as if challenging them to disagree. They nodded sagely, checked their notebooks, and filed out of the room, murmuring to each other.

Sally gave Leonard and Felix a cold look.

Let me show you to your room, she said.

So what was your dream? Leonard whispered as he tucked Felix into bed.

It was this guy named Isaac, Felix whispered back. He's blind, you know.

Leonard nodded.

He said we have to talk through the Brazen Head.

Through?

Yup, Felix said.

To who?

That's the weird part, Felix said.

Yes?

He said we have to talk to Roger Bacon!

The dead guy?

The dead guy!

What are we supposed to say?

He just said stop him! He said you'd know what that meant.

Wow, Leonard said. You did great, you know.

I did?

Sure! You're great at this dreaming stuff, and at freezing people. Do you know how you did that?

It's hard to explain, Felix said.

Can you try? Leonard whispered. And keep it a secret from the others for the time being.

I sort of lied before, didn't I? When I told my dream.

Yep, but that's okay. You did good. So, about what you did this afternoon …

Remember when I told you about the dream where four men walk into an orchard?

Suddenly Leonard heard a noise, the sound of tiptoes stopping outside the door. Under the door, interrupting the light, he could see a slight shadow—someone's lab slipper? He put a hand over Felix's mouth.

Later, he whispered. Everything's good, but it's time for you to sleep.

Felix nodded.

You need a story?

Felix nodded again.

I can't tell you any of Grandpa's stories here. So you'll have to help me out, okay?

Again Felix nodded, this time sleepily.

Once upon a time there was … Who should the story be about? Leonard said out loud.

Celestina, Felix murmured.

Outside the door, Leonard could hear the sound of scratching pens.

Leonard awoke to the sound of someone shouting, Five minutes! He looked outside and saw most of the Baconians in a walled courtyard, doubled over and breathing hard in their gray exercise suits. Sally was facing them, holding a stopwatch. Again she was wearing a waterfall of curls and headbeads, though no freckledot makeup.

Anybody get anything? she shouted.

Everyone looked around, then shook their heads no.

Not bad for a first try, she said. Shall we go again?

A few nodded halfheartedly.

Remember, she said, we're thinking of demons, okay? Go!

Everyone started kicking the air, in poor imitation of Felix's karate kicks.

At the far end of the courtyard, behind the kicking Baconians, was a stone archway that Leonard supposed fronted the abbey. On either side of the abbey were turrets—why hadn't he
noticed them before?—and in each turret he could just make out a man, in armor? And there, in front of the archway, a small group of monks—they seemed to be talking to a flock of pigeons!

Felix had arrived by his side.

They're all crazy, Leonard said.

They found a bathroom, where Leonard made Felix temporarily borrow someone's toothbrush. Then he watched as Felix washed his face and pits, then took the scrubcloth and washed behind Felix's ears. They went downstairs and found Sue & Susheela in the stoveroom, the only Baconians, it seemed, exempt from that morning's calisthenics. Leonard realized they were wearing the same skirts and aprons they'd worn the day before; the same smiles too.

Good morning, Stan and little boy, they said in unison. Would you like flapjacks?

Felix nodded with all possible enthusiasm.

Would you like jujuberry syrup with those or tree sap? they asked pleasantly.

You're not like any girls I know, Leonard said, looking at them carefully as they mixed flapjack ingredients in a bowl.

That's because we're not real, Sue said.

I'm surprised you didn't know, said Susheela.

What are you, then?

Failed models of the Brazen Head. Reworked by Dwane to be stoveroom drones and screen beauties. We're very pretty, don't you think?

Leonard nodded, then realized they weren't altogether there. They were stirring batter, and the batter was real, and they were pouring batter onto real flamecatchers, but tiny spaces were visible between their molecules, or whatever they were made of. It
was disconcerting, in part because he'd once wanted to marry one or both. What had he been thinking?—but he didn't have time to ponder that now.

Does the new Brazen Head work better? he asked.

It is in good working order, Sue said.

The screen version?

Of course, said Susheela, smiling. You're not very bright, are you?

What's this? Dwane said from the door. His face spots were inflamed and sweat had left splotches all over his exercise suit.

Flapjacks! Sue said.

We're very interested in your Brazen Head, Leonard explained when they were seated at the table. Or rather, the little chappie is.

Felix nodded, his mouth full of flapjacks.

Uh-huh, Dwane said. What about it?

Did you ever use it to talk to Roger Bacon himself?

You're loony tunes, you know that? Dwane said. I knew it was a mistake to bring you Stans here. They're now saying the police broke up that riot with slow gas, so I don't think young Stan's a prophet at all, he said, pointing at Felix, who, it had to be admitted, didn't look like anything so much as a small, sloppy boy with crumbs on his face and jujuberry syrup staining his shirt. I think you're both neo-Maoist spies, Dwane said.

You didn't answer my question, Leonard said.

Do we use our Brazen Head to talk with someone who's been dead seven hundred years? Uh, the answer to that would
be no. Anything else you neo-Maoist traitor spies need to know?

Why do you have guards in your turrets? What are they guarding and who wants it?

You're not very bright, are you? Dwane said.

I could have told you that, said Sue.

They're guarding the manuscript, Sally said. Leonard hadn't realized she'd entered the room. When you're done with breakfast, we'll meet in the library and have a chat, okay?

See, I have this condition. You have it too, Sally said, looking at Felix. It's called Abulafianism. Ever heard of it?

Leonard and Felix shook their heads.

Sally had changed out of her gray exercise suit into a very becoming orange-skin gown.

I didn't think so. It only affects one in six-point-five million people, and most people who have it don't even know it. You know how people with perfect pitch are able to identify the pitch of any musical note?

Leonard and Felix must have looked rather blankly at Sally.

Give any musician a C note and they can produce an A. Their ability to identify and produce pitches is relative; they just need an anchor, a point of reference. But someone with perfect pitch carries every note inside them, for them every note retains its absolute, unique identity. They don't need a C, in other words, to produce an A.