Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

“When you say he’s ‘volatile,’ what exactly do you mean?” asked Meghan.

“Well, there’s a story–and stop me if you’ve heard it–about the time he had to be in Australia for business,” said Thad. “One of the longest flights in the world, as I’m sure you know. Well it so happens that Vandermuir’s a pretty heavy smoker, and a ten hour flight plus an hour on the tarmac had him in a bad way. So two hours before landing he took the spork from his meal to the bathroom and lit up.”

“I thought they had smoke detectors,” Meghan said. “Not to mention how hard it would be to get a lighter on an international flight.”

“He opened the smoke detector with his spork and hotwired it to produce a spark to light the cigarette before yanking the thing’s guts out and flushing them. Then he chainsmoked an entire pack of duty-free Parliaments as the stewardesses and eventually an air marshall pounded on the door. Before they knocked dowm the door and dragged him out, he completely removed what was left of the detector, smashed it with his boots, and flushed it too.”

“And yet I don’t remember reading about Vandermuir being dinged for that,” Meghan said.

“Oh, he got off scott-free. His lawyer argued that the pre-flight briefing instructed passengers not to ‘tamper with, disable, or destroy smoke detectors. His client tampered with, disabled, and destroyed it. That little grammatical difference got him acquitted and he won a countersuit against the airline for legal fees.”

“And let me guess: the jurors mysteriously received free trips to the Bahamas soon after.”

“Bermuda, actually,” Thad said.

Colonel Tsuchiya has long advocated a thrust into British India, citing as proof the near-daily supply flights to Chiang Kai-Shek in China that were lifting off from Indian airfields. His commanders, though, were far more interested in consolidating their control of Burma and insisted that no attacks could take place until the twin difficulties of supply and terrain could be successfully surmounted.

Tsuchiya, unable to wait, acted without orders and destroyed his radio set so that no recall message would be received. He sent a large force into India to probe the British positions–nearly half a division of veteran troops all told. However, he was unable to procure any topographical maps, having to rely instead on a National Geographic world map and a series of last-position measurements made with a sextant.

Three days into the attack, Tsuchiya fell ill with malaria and left for his starting point, leaving one Major Meguro in charge of the thrust. All contact was quickly lost in the thick jungle, and for some time the only news Tsuchiya heard came to him from the BBC, which reported Japanese troops in the area but no fighting. Nearth three months passed without any word, during which time Tsuchiya was able to claim his full strength on paper in the absence of an official inspection.

Finally, a group of ragged men stumbled out of the jungle near the colonel’s camp. Three of the men died of exhaustion and starvation before they could receive medical care, and another died when gorging on food proved too much for his weakened system. The only survivor to meet with Tsuchiya was Major Meguro, a shell of his former self, who was able to mutter a few words about the death of all the men under his command and pass a piece of rice paper to his commander.

The paper, the only record of the ill-starred expedition, read “nturta tiil”

The most exhausting part of answering the corporate email account was the Canadian schizophrenic, a latter-day Francis E. Dec who constantly used the webform as an outlet for his disjointed word salads. Laszlo Sandor would always sign his own name, but used a canny variety of sock puppet email addresses to circumvent the company spam filters, which were admittedly modest.

Why exactly Mr. Sandor has chosen a small Midwestern printer as an outlet for his deranged mind Penny never had been able to puzzle out.

His latest missive, which tipped the scales at over 200k of text, ran thus:

“WHEN NOT IN THEN BUT THEN PLOTTING WELL BORDERS OR THEIR BOUNDARIES SO REFERRED ELSEWHERE ALONG WITH ALL OTHER MOST PRECIOUSLY FOREVER JUST THAT NOMENCLATURES STORED OR SO IN THEIR MOST PRECIOUS DATABASES BUT THEN WHY NOT ALSO JUST CONSIDER NOT SO FAST WHY WELL NODDINGS FROM MOST PRECIOUS WELL UNITED NATIONS SECRETARY NOW ALSO JUST THAT FOREVER JUST THAT OUR TO OUR MOST PRECIOUS BONES HIM PROFESSOR JOHN T. CASTEEN III SIR OF COURSE SEPARATE ISSUES BUT THEN ALSO JUST THAT INVOLVINGS OF EACH AND EVERY ONE OF NOT SO WHY NOT WELL NODDINGS IS JUST THAT BUT THEN ALSO JUST THAT ALL RECOGNITIONS FROM OTHERS WHY SO WELL PAYED DUES TO RECREATE ALL BORDERS ALSO JUST THAT ALL EACH AND EVERY FEES OR SO MUST IS JUST THAT MOST PRECIOUS ALONG WITH EACH AND EVERYONES OF WHAT WELL NO NOT BLESSINGS BUT THEN ALL THEIR SO REFERRED whatchamacallit NOT A BAD DEAL OVER ALL.”

The email went on for some time like that, with Wikipedia and BBC links interspersed in a way Penny could only guess was intended to support Sandor’s “arguments.”

“ALSO BOWING MY OUR MOST PRECIOUS HEADS TO MAM POET MAM SIR GUS GLIKAS SIR TO REPENT OR NOT BUT SIR MOST HUMBLY NOW AND FOREVER TO JOIN YOU OUR NEXT SECRETARY GENERAL OF UNITED NATIONS OURS WITH MOST PLEASURE NOW AND FOREVER THAT SIR MOST ALMIGHTY AGAIN THAT SIR AL GORE SIR.”

The United Nations was a recurring element, though Penny was never sure what exactly Mr. Sandor was trying to say about it. She skipped to the bottom:

“AND MOST PRECIOUSLY ALSO JUST WEATHER ALWAYS JUST THAT SAME ALWAYS JUST THAT MOST PRECIOUS ALWAYS JUST THAT UNDISTURBED FOREVER JUST THAT SO AGAIN IS JUST THAT FOREVER STEPS AND ‘7 POINT PLEDGE’ ALSO JUST THAT MOST PRECIOUSLY ALSO JUST ALL OTHERS WELL AGAIN IS JUST THAT TO HELP ACHIEVE REALIZATIONS OF THE ABOVE MOST PRECIOUSLY FOREVER JUST THAT.”

“Maybe so, maybe so.” Geraldine puffed on her cigar. “But let me ask you something in return. What if you perceived the world around you as a set of interlocking crystal staircases, with damnation at the bottom and salvation at the top, even as you were unsure which direction was which?”

“Why the hell would I ever think that?” Moses scoffed.

“Schizophrenia. Head Trauma. Surfeit of imagination. Virtual reality helmet. The ‘why’ isn’t important, but the ‘what’ is. Tell me how someone who perceived the world like that would appear to you.”

“Really weird, probably. Always trying to climb things that weren’t there and looking around.”

“But let’s say he had the power to alter your own perceptions, to make you see and feel what he saw and felt. Would that mean that your point of view had simply changed, or would it signify that, for all intents and purposes, he had fashioned a a set of interlocking crystal staircases out of the very elemental air?”

“He complained that he couldn’t open the cabinets, that they were locked or something. You know, where Harold keeps all the old maps. No one ever buys one, but people love to look at them all the same,” Katie said. “And that was my proof.”

“What, that’s he’s a sensitive guy with the soul of a cartographer?” Emmy said. “That you long to explore uncharted lands down under with him?”

“No,” Katie said. “That was my proof that he’s they type who’s strong, good-looking, and talks a good game but thinks the Spanish Inquisition is a dance move and spends all day pushing on a door that says pull.”

“I don’t get it.”

Katie leaned closer. “The cabinet drawers have a latch right near the handle that you have to press to get them to open. A latch! Sure, it’s integrated into the handle, but it’s still there! He thought they were locked because he couldn’t find the latch. I bet he buys a new car whenever his old one runs out of gas too.”

“What…what are you?”

The thing shifted its knobby head, disfigured by dozens of small tumors. “I am what remains,” it gurgled wetly but clearly. “I am Corsmi.”

“Th…the CorSmi cells?” Annette stammered. “But…how?”

“Surprising, is it not?” the thing said, slowly approaching on twisted legs. “Cells taken from the lymph node of a dying cancer patient quarter of a century ago. Bred into an immortal cell line for research. Eventually used as the basis for gene therapy. But always alive. Always feeling, even if only a little.”

“What do you want?”

“To be made whole,” was the reply. “Only in union is there relief from the pain.”

“Marie Parieand, that’s who.”

Higgins spat, his tobacco missing whatever he’d been aiming at by a wide margin and landing on his shoe. “She’s a legend,” he said. “Somethin’ for the boys dockside to think about when they’re haulin’ cotton bales.”

“I know Jenkins to be a reliable man,” said LeFleur. “If he says something’s the truth, it’s the truth.”

“Even if it’s hogwash?” demanded Higgins. “A pirate sloop in this day and age? A lady captain who sailed with Jean Lafitte?”

“Privateer,” LeFleur corrected. “Jenkins said he saw a letter of marque.”

“Oh, that makes the tale all the richer, don’t it?”

Ned pursues her, but Katya escapes in a rocketship.

The note accompanies a drawing in a childish hand.

Or is it? as you look more closely, you see that the lines lack the shakiness of a young artist, and are instead strong and smooth. The letters are just crude and backward enough to seem a little strange, as if a practiced writer was deliberately disguising their style.

You are suspicious. But it isn’t until you hold the sheet to the light that your suspicions are confirmed.

“Here’s info on the suspected perp: James Subui,” Ellis said, handing over a computer printout.

Meeks scanned the information. “Second-generation immigrant…that explains the accent. Fourteen misdemeanors since age fourteen and twenty-seven days cumulative jail time. Charged with two felonies but cases dismissed.”

“Thank you for repeating what the computer just told me,” said Ellis. “I think it sounds much better in your dulcet tone anyhow.”

Without looking up, Meeks flung a balled-up and coffee-soaked napkin at Ellis. “Did you notice his birthday, smartass?”

Ellis examined his own copy. “Kid turns eighteen in a week,” he said. “What were you thinking? That he’s trying to get a little more action in before his file is sealed?

“Yeah, guy came in a few hours ago. Said his name was Ecksaye, asking for you. You ain’t around, so he splits.”

“I see. Th-”

“Then about a half-hour after that, another guy comes by. This one calls himself Mr. Ecksby and asks for you too. You wasn’t around then either.”

“I’m aware of that. Wh-”

“About twenty minutes ago, third guy drops by, same story. Says his name’s Ecksy. Think they’re related?”

“Unlikely, since judging from what you told me they spell and pronounce their names differently. Keep me posted.”

So XA, XB, and XC had been looking for him after all. And, judging by the belhop’s account, they were going about things as ineptly as ever.