Ch 35 - Towards the Yukon

— Was that what it was for, then? — I repeated

in frustration. — Is that why he destroyed the lab — the

only home I have ever known and the safe haven of Dr

Lane's memory?

Lucy was silent, merely putting an arm around

my shoulders. Of course, she wouldn't say anything;

what else was there to be said? She had already done

more than enough by exposing this scoundrel, as well.

Unfortunately, I couldn't put him in jail, because the

rascal had learned the hard way not to disrespect nature.

At that moment, Lucy's statement came back to my

mind.

— How are you so sure that it was Allard's body

that was dragged over those stems and not any other

carcass?

Moving her eyes from me to the bookcase a

few feet ahead, Lucy explained:

— The first clue is that he went to the Everglades

without ever meeting Frost. He was his subordinate, his

agent; surely he would have contacted him when visiting

the place.

— And the second?

— This one still needs to be tested, not here, but

in situ.

— And what is it?

— Do you remember the cryptid that Bergeron

described?

475

— Not in precise detail, but yes.

— It is our clue.

Lucy must have noticed my apparent confusion

because the edges of her lips curved up in satisfaction.

— Tell me, would you like to undertake this

expedition too?

— Well, it has already become my life, really;

there is literally nothing I can lose. But how are we

going to talk to the Canadian fellow now? Frost doesn't

seem to have liked what you said earlier.

— And that's why we have to resort to the enemy

side.

— Philosophy?

— Biomedicine.

The mention of such a specific area of medical

knowledge could mean only one thing — we were going

to get enemies in Athlios.

— You really want to start a war, don't you?

⬫⬫⬫

— So, it was that rascal who was responsible for

the destruction of the lab, huh? I always suspected that

the crook had some resentment towards Anthony's

research, never greeting us when he saw us in the

corridors, always thinking he was too important, you

know? — The voice sounded shocked and the expression

was as usual, but less bright than the last time we had

been there. This was due to the very environment in

which we now found ourselves, as it was darker,

although it retained the same class we had seen in other

parts of the mansion. A few months earlier, we had been

476

led from the portico directly into a room with huge glass

windows that, separated by narrow steel frames, formed

true transparent walls, allowing us to enjoy the view of

nature without having to actually interact with it. Now,

we had been given the chance to pass through other

wings of the estate, passing primarily through a

ballroom, never used for the use for which it was named,

a long corridor that served as a gallery, with all kinds of

Victorian paintings, from Ophelia to The Roses of

Heliogabalus, then the house cellars, a passage not

necessary to reach our destination, but one that our guide

insisted we visit, and finally, the mansion's library.

Glancing over the titles, I noticed passages such as

"microbiology", "cytopathology" and "drug toxicity". I

realized that there was, in fact, a kind of book that I had

never touched. We sat down on chairs arranged in a

triangular shape, were served a steaming cup of black

tea, and were able to talk properly, after all. It was then

that he asked the question, surprised by what Lucy had

told him at the door. Now she nodded, expanding her

answer immediately afterwards.

— I'm afraid so, Dr. Keene. That's what our

investigation concluded.

— How unfortunate, indeed. Well, but how was

the conversation with Frost? I don't think he would

appreciate hearing such an accusation against his pupil.

— And he really didn't, — I replied. — In fact,

he didn't even believe us.

— Now, that's an injustice, young man. You must

demand to be respected! After all, that's the ideal that

formed this nation, isn't it?

Ironically, he was right this time.

477

— It's not necessary for him to believe it now, —

Lucy replied. — Only that we leave together with

Bergeron on the flight to the Yukon.

— You are including me in your expedition plan?

I am honored. Or should I be outraged that you only

want me to accompany you to cover the costs? — he

hissed.

— Look at it this way — you want to come with

us, and your help will be cordially accepted. — With a

slight snort and then an unnatural laugh, Jacob Keene

spoke up:

— You still have a way with words, little girl.

Well then, how do we convince the Canadian gentleman

to go with us and not with that dimwitted pudding?

— Simple, — Lucy said, lowering the pitch of

her voice, — We'll use your weapons.

⬫⬫⬫

Andri Bergeron left his room still tired — Frost

had kept him playing until dawn, exhausting what energy

he had left. The chamber the dean had reserved for him

was a room adjoining the one that served as a room for

himself. The man, by the way, had been extremely kind

for giving him the room. How could a man be so naive,

though? The question kept returning to his mind, each

time a new treat was sent to his room. Mugs of cocoa

and macaroni — the stereotype sounded offensive, but

there was nothing to complain about. Now, though, he

felt necessary to fill another need. Rising from the huge

bed that he could not imagine how anyone had brought

in there, Bergeron disentangled himself from the quilts

478

and blankets that had been provided for him and went

out to his kind benefactor's room. Lying on his bed, the

rector lay sprawled on the mattress, stretching his limbs,

snoring with his mouth open. A ghastly sight indeed.

Silently, he opened and closed the huge door that led to

the corridor a few meters from the bed, which was

hidden from view by a thin plaster wall.

In the hallway, he controlled his steps so that the

echo would not wake Frost, until he reached the spiral

staircase and could walk more freely. There, on the first

floor, none of the wards interested him much. In the

laboratories, the only interaction with animals was cruel

and inhumane, nothing that pleased him. The art rooms

taught that anything could be beautiful and that beauty is

in the eye of the beholder — obviously a lie. No, the

only place that could contain something interesting was

also always the most deserted. As he walked down the

immense downstairs corridor, he came upon another

mahogany door, a perfect replica of the one he had

closed a few minutes before. Pushing it open, he could

smell the pleasant odor that recurs in all rooms of that

type — coffee and mothballs. The first one came from

the desk to his right, where a little man wearing a red

and black plaid let himself be absorbed by an immense

book of short stories. The little librarian's eyes widened,

drawing even more attention to his baldness.

Approaching the piece of furniture, Bergeron waited

until he noticed him, but the wait seemed to take forever.

It would be easy to cough or otherwise attract his

attention, but politeness would not permit such ease.

Standing erect in front of the counter, he waited.

479

Finally, the librarian sighed in relief, got his

hands on a marker, and closed the work.

— Why, hello, I didn't see you there, — he lied.

— I almost had a nervous breakdown, you know? Isn't it

terrible when your favorite character is in danger?

— Painful, really, — the Canadian agreed. —

You see... I am spending a few days with Mr. Frederick

Frost and... I heard about your beautiful library.

— And you came here because you heard about

it? But this is great! I should have thought of that before;

word of mouth is the most effective technique ever

invented, really. Well, how can I help you?

— I am looking for some books about sciences...

— Human, exact, biological, theological or

common sense? If you want an overview, there are 5834

works categorized in this area.

— Exact sciences.

— Then the number drops dramatically. Only

876 in that specific area, I am afraid. Right there, third

aisle, fifth column.

— Right next to that gentleman sitting at the

table, then?

— Precisely.

— Thank you.

Stepping away from the desk, Andri Bergeron

walked slowly to the huge bookcase, trying to recognize

the figure sitting at the reading table. The whole place

was reasonably well lit, except for a few spots where the

bookshelves prevented the light from touching it. In one

of these spots, the mythical figure was hidden, although

there was light all around the table, which would make

reading much easier. The silhouette was of an individual

480

with hair that grew down to the nape of his neck, but

which did not fit him well. The posture, bent over the

book, further concealed the individual's face. Avoiding

looking him in the eye, Bergeron turned to the row of

books and picked up the first one with "quantum theory"

in the title, sitting down on the opposite side of the table

where the fluorescent lights illuminated his

surroundings. It was hard to concentrate, though.

Although he couldn't see the man's eyes, he could feel

them staring at his face, watching every detail, like a

lynx about to leap on its prey.

— You... have a remarkable taste, — the figure

told him in a husky voice.

— Excuse me? — Bergeron asked, surprised.

— Quantum physics is one of the most complex

subjects to study. — If the comment had been made with

the intention of sounding friendly, the sinister tone of his

voice nullified any positive intention.

Andri Bergeron could not think of a satisfactory

answer to the strange remark, but only smiled shyly.

— Well, — continued the mysterious voice, —

As you heard the day we met, Lucy Lane has been

commissioned to organize an expedition to your

beautiful country to investigate the creature you have

reported the existence of.

Still somewhat suspicious, Bergeron frowned at

the face still shrouded in shadows.

— And you are...

A smile opened in the darkness, before he

stepped out into the light, revealing a cold face, with

inert eyes and an unshaven beard.

— Jacob Keene, — replied the sinister figure.

481

— Mr. Keene... if this expedition is being

organized without my assistance, why do you inform me

of this now?

— Because, my good friend, we would like to

have a more accurate account, details that you would not

dare to tell even your mother, in short, anything that will

help us in our endeavor, particularly minute details —

the fascination that drove me to pursue a doctorate.

With a sigh, the Canadian concluded that there

was not much to be done, since the expedition would

take place even if he did not cooperate.

— A few years ago, — he began to describe, —

my family's herds began to decline; three, four animals

went missing every month. It may not seem like much

for a rich farmer, but for us...it was a considerable loss.

On the other side of the stream we use, there is a friendly

Indian reservation, whose bravest men had old stories

about the creature. It is said to be reptilian in appearance,

albeit bipedal, bearing an obtuse horn over its snout. I

was contacted by someone who went to the nearby

village looking for a phone, and, well, there's not much

else I know.

— That's more than enough, — Keene said with

a forcibly pleasant tone, refuting what he had said a few

minutes earlier. — Tell me, Mr. Bergeron, — he

introduced with renewed interest. — When you find

such a creature, what do you intend to do to it?

— Are you afraid I'll kill it, Doctor? — Despite

disguising his eagerness to know the answer, Jacob could

not contain himself.

— Let's just say that I am a great defender of

nature...my friend.

482

— I understand…my friend, but you must agree

with me that human life is worth more than animal life,

right? — Faced with silence, Andri repeated. — Right?

Keene just smiled again, refusing to answer. —

You'll be in good hands, — he said, getting up. Walking

past Mendel's desk, he headed for the door, without

saying goodbye to the librarian, and left the room shortly

afterwards. Following the strange figure with his eyes,

Bergeron tried to understand what had just happened

there. The feeling was that the lynx had thought it over

and decided to strike at a more propitious moment.

⬫⬫⬫

On Lucy's orders, I had prepared the supplies for

the upcoming expedition and then taken them to my new

home, which was now serving as an operational base.

With arms burning, I dropped on the doorstep the huge

backpacks that would house our clothes and utensils for

the journey through blizzards and freezing winds. There

were three of them, with more pockets than could be

counted; one of them specially designed for the bottle of

black tea. There was not much else I needed to do after

that. All that remained was to wait until the night had

passed and morning had come. At 9 a.m., our plane

would leave for the frozen lands.

⬫⬫⬫

Night came and morning followed, as they have

for billions of years. When the sun's rays were just

beginning to touch his face, the alarm clock rang, in an

483

inelegant morning scandal. Before the ringing could

actually occur, Bergeron struck the device, silencing it

and throwing it against the nearest wall. Realizing what

he had done, he thought about the implications,

immediately getting up to explain it to Frost. As he

passed the next room, he found the same scene as the

day before. The dean was sleeping heavily, making more

noise than the alarm that sat at his bedside, silently

watching his sleep. So as not to have to wake him

personally, Andri took the device and set it to ring in a

few minutes. Leaving the room, he made his way down

the hallway, then towards the bathrooms, where he

would prepare for the flight. When he reached the

second door, he heard the muffled sound of the alarm

clock going off in the room, followed by the noise of a

body rolling and slumping to the floor. Bergeron feared

that the man would take his time getting ready, but there

wasn't much he could do, other than head for the airport.

The arrangement was that they would arrive at the

airport at least half an hour early, which meant leaving in

a few minutes.

Finishing his shower, he put on the heaviest items

that could fit in his luggage and returned to the hall —

no sign of the dean yet. He was never late for an

appointment, and the man was beginning to irritate him

slightly.

— Mr. Bergeron! — exclaimed a voice from the

left corridor. Turning to identify who was coming, he

spotted the familiar figure of Albert Mendel in his purple

and orange plaid. — Are you expecting anyone? — he

asked.

484

— Well, yes, Frost should come with me to catch

the next flight.

— What time should it leave?

— Nine o'clock.

— Nine? — The librarian looked shocked. —

No, sir, the Dean wakes up religiously at 10, not before,

not after, no exceptions.

— But how? He said...

— Listen to this. If I were you, I would leave

immediately, or you will miss your flight. He still has to

have his coffee before anything else.

Remembering what he had seen the previous

morning and how late he had slept, Bergeron put a hand

on the other's shoulder, thanking him for his advice, and

left immediately afterwards.

Seeing the Canadian hurry off, Mendel smiled

pleasantly.

⬫⬫⬫

When we arrived at the Tweed, we noticed a

friendly but concerned face that kept passing its eyes

over the crowd that was entering the airport. The man, in

his huge sweater against extreme cold, was leaning

against the railing on the second floor, looking for

someone specific. We hurried up the escalator to reach

the floor where he was standing. It was fascinating that

he did not notice us approaching, especially with the

gigantic backpacks that served as our shells. The volume

required us to effortfully cross that sea of people,

excusing us and apologizing every few seconds until we

finally reached the top of the stairs.

485

— Mr. Bergeron! — called Lucy.

As if waking up from a trance, Andri came back

to reality, answering without interest:

— Oh, well, hello. — Turning his eyes

immediately to the second floor, he returned to the

dismayed look on his face that we had seen him with

before.

— Are you looking for someone? — I ventured

to ask.

— Dean Frost; he said he would be here at 8:30,

but he hasn't shown up yet. That man in plaids, the

librarian, said he doesn't wake up before 10...I don't

know what to believe anymore.

Lucy and I looked at each other with surprised

but discreet glances.

— Well, — Keene concluded, — the plane leaves

in a few minutes. You certainly don't want to pay the fare

again, do you? Come with us to the boarding bridge. If

he arrives on time, he will come with us.

Bergeron thought for a few moments, considering

the options in a heated internal dialogue.

— Well, — he said at last, — let's get going,

then. I really hope he doesn't condemn me for this.

— Condemn you? — Keene exclaimed

dramatically. — No, no, if the dean says anything, we'll

take the blame, okay?

Feeling a sense of relief in his conscience,

Bergeron smiled faintly, following us to the gate of our

flight, whose bridge was accessed by an exit at the end

of the corridor we were now walking down. All around

us, cafés and bars tempted us to forget the purpose of the

mission, filling our senses with the aromas and colors of

486

the most diverse preparations, from Argentinian fogazzas

to Scottish haggis, all of which had been purposely put

there to take from travelers any money that the ticket had

not already taken. Lucy sighed, gloomily admiring the

delights she would not be able to experience this time.

At last, our ordeal came to an end, along with the

corridor. Now, a stairway to the right led outside the

airport and to the plane that was already waiting, ready

to board. When we were allowed to reach the bridge,

Bergeron looked once more, now among the elders, who

boarded first, and also among those who formed an

endless line behind us. Nothing. No sign of the dean's

shiny bald head. Somewhat defeated, the Canadian

boarded the plane, followed by the rest of our team,

whose human appearance had been restored, now that

the heavy backpacks had been stowed with the rest of the

luggage. Lucy took her place by the aisle, where she

could more easily ask for snacks, and Keene sat behind

me, where he could watch us like an owl. Bergeron sat in

front of us, accompanied only by the sad absence of a

fellow traveler; an image that would follow him all the

way to the Yukon. Such a distance would take about 35

hours, taking into account the long stops in Philadelphia

and Vancouver. It would be more than enough time to

drive a man into depression, certainly.

When we eventually took off, Lucy felt it was

already socially acceptable to order some snacks, but I

invited her to discuss our expedition first. Almost

whispering, we discussed it:

— When we get to Whitehorse, we still have 411

km to Partridge Creek, the sighting site. Do you think we

487

should give these numbers to Keene? He is basically

funding us now.

— And that is exactly why the answer is no,

Kevin. This is how the business world works — you

make the decision and only afterwards do you show the

bill to the investors.

— And when did you learn finance?

— When you learned psychology.

This last argument was rational enough to make

me shut up, allowing Lucy to continue her ritual, calling

out to each flight attendant who passed by her field of

vision. In the back row, Jacob Keene rolled his eyes,

scornful of the gal's lack of discretion.

⬫⬫⬫

Frederick Frost opened his eyes slowly, feeling

the strong fatigue still overpowering his body. The

clock's face said 6 o'clock, but the sunlight was already

hitting his face. How was it possible for the light to be

so bright at that hour? It didn't matter. The physical

phenomena could be explored later, now there was still

plenty of time for him to rest properly. A few more hours

of rest...

Opening his eyes again, he realized the cause of

the phenomenon. It was indeed 6 o'clock…pm! Standing

up, he put on his suit jacket and hurried to the stairway

leading to the first floor. How had he been so late? And

why hadn't Bergeron woken him up? That's what you get

for being hospitable! First Lucy and now the Canadian.

Ungrateful humanity...

488

With his suit misbuttoned and his shoes each on

the wrong foot, Frost arrived at the Athlios hall looking

more like a monochromatic clown than an honorable

dean. The reception desk was deserted, as expected,

which meant that there was not a single human being

who could tell him what had happened.

— Mr. Frost! — greeted a voice from behind

him. Turning around, Frost saw the tiny figure of a

plaid-clad man.

— Sorry, young man, our registration starts in

February. — he told Mendel.

— Mr. Frost, it's me, Albert Mendel, your

librarian, — he explained with a laugh, hoping that the

dean was joking and that the man who hired him had at

least paid attention to his features for once.

— Oh, really? Good, you will be useful to me.

Did you see a gentleman pass by here earlier?

— A guy dressed in coats that doubled his body

width, I believe? Of course, I had the pleasure to meet

Mr. Bergeron. He was hurrying to the airport; that's all

he said.

— He didn't mention me?

— No, sir.

— Odd...Well, thank you anyway, Melvin.

— Mendel, sir.

— By the way, Merlin...did Mr. Andri Bergeron

come to the library this morning?

— No, Mr. Frost.

— Then you found him here?

— Y-yes.

— And what were you doing here?

489

— I came to get some more coffee powder, Mr.

Frost.

— I see.

With a light pat on Mendel's shoulder, he took to

the streets with his eccentric look, doing his best to get to

the airport and perhaps reschedule his flight.

⬫⬫⬫

The land was already filling with snow below us,

showing a giant white blanket in front of the plane. We

had arrived in Canada.

After more than a day of travel, Lucy was already

sleeping in her recliner, taking advantage of the fact that

Keene sat alone. Not having the same luxury, I spent my

hours admiring the blanket of snow that covered the

region, eventually writing a poem about it and chanting

it to myself, just to see how it sounded. At the end of it

all, my lap was littered with little balls of crumpled

paper — ideas born and killed during that tedious flight.

In front of Lucy, Bergeron was reading a heavy copy that

had amused him the entire trip. From the few words I

could read when I got up to peep, it was a huge

compendium on quantum physics, which I was honestly

pleased to see in the hands of someone other than

myself. The man may have been raised around reindeer

and caribou, but he had as much intellect as I did, that

much was seen. Rethinking my prejudice, I felt regret

that I had not shown my respect for the man earlier. Soon

there would be an occasion to discuss the matter,

however, because a few miles to the north, the Brone

airport control tower rose on the horizon.

490

With relatively clear skies and high ceilings, we

flew over the town of Whitehorse before making a turn

and approaching the runway. A final warning to buckle

our seat belts, one last bout of turbulence, and the metal

bird gradually slowed to a complete stop. In the most

ordinary way, we waited for all the other passengers to

leave the plane before we woke Lucy. When the plane

was almost empty and Keene was already impatient, I

lightly touched her shoulder, not returning the way she

had woken me up the previous time. Together we lifted

the seat so that Jacob could accompany us and headed

for the door. On the stairs, we looked off into the

distance once more, now to see Bergeron on the phone;

his expression as dismayed as the one he had when we

met him at the airport.

— Any problem, Mr. Bergeron? — Keene

stepped forward to ask as we descended the stairs.

Blocking the cell phone's microphone with his left hand,

he replied:

— Just that...Frost called me now. He said

something strange happened with him in the meantime.

He even woke up, had his coffee and read the newspaper,

but soon fell asleep again and doesn't remember any

more details. Doesn't this seem suspicious to you?

— Suspicious? — Keene repeated with

contempt. — Is it suspicious that an old man weighing

over 150 kilos fell asleep without noticing? The scene

seems appropriate, my dear.

Uncapping the microphone input again, Bergeron

returned to the call, soon discovering that his tactic had

not blocked all the sound. We could hear Frost's voice,

sounding angry yet muffled, but kept a steady

491

expression. Finally hanging up and returning the device

to the depths of his bottomless pockets, Andri focused

his suspicious eyes on Jacob.

— He will be here in a week, — the Canadian

reported to us. — There won't be another flight before

then. As for us, we should leave immediately, while

there is still a boat to take us to the region of the stream.

— Ah, excellent plan, sir! — exclaimed Keene,

forcing a smile and following our guide.

Bergeron's words brought to mind the planning

we had done on the way, with his guidance of course. As

we drove away from the airstrip, already getting a taste

of what we were in for, with small snowflakes falling

gently on us, I remembered the pattern on the map of the

Yukon. The region as a whole was a patchwork quilt,

connected by rivers and lakes fed by glaciers further

north. As in other regions, here, too, boats would be the

most efficient means of transportation for our team.

Entering the Brone airport, we were relieved to

feel the temperature rise dramatically, to the point where

we could at least take off a layer. Here we would also be

welcomed by the local culture, leaving in the morning

after a night in the local hotel. The airport, by the way,

was a tempting hostel, but Bergeron demanded that we

stay at the hotel, fearing that we would miss the boat,

just as the rector had missed the plane. Although I

usually bow to orders and requests, there was something

strange to see Jacob Keene doing the same so readily,

especially when faced with orders as banal as Andri's.

We finally gave in to the Canadian's pressure and

accompanied him to the Lavouie inn where we would

spend the night.

492

The place, which was close to the airport, was

shaped like a huge obtusangle of rough wood. By this

point the snow was already falling hard, covering the

ground quickly and battering our faces with its strong

storm winds.

Showing that he already knew the place,

Bergeron headed straight for the reception desk,

knowing where the hall counter was, even with the

darkness that filled the interior of the Lavouie inn.

Sitting at the counter that served as the front desk, a girl

who must have been about Lucy's age kept her eyes

fixed on a long list of names grouped together in a single

notebook. By candlelight, she strained her eyes to

discern the curves in her guests' horrid handwriting,

often using her cell phone flashlight to assist her.

— How are you, Neleh? — greeted Bergeron.

Without lifting her eyes from the paper, the girl

answered him:

— Andri? I never thought you would return to

this place after finally escaping.

— Sennet came to town and asked me to come.

An emergency, apparently.

Without letting herself be interested, she just

mumbled, still running her eyes from one name to the

next, moistening her fingertips on her lips to move from

one page to the next.

— I need you to get us three rooms for the night;

we're leaving early in the morning, — the Canadian

explained. With another grumble, she flipped through the

pages of her notebook, until she found an empty section,

where she laid down her quill, waiting for the names to

be listed for her.

493

— Excuse me, miss, — Keene said reproachfully,

— shouldn't you at least take the trouble to raise your

eyes to us? — Just tilting her head to one side, she said:

— We're used to being in the dark around here,

you know. It's not just anything that arouses our desire to

see, and I don't think you would be any different, sir.

In the dim light reflected back at Keene, you

could see his expression twitch with anger, but that was

as far as it went.

— This is Lucy and Kevin Lane, — Bergeron

listed, unmoved by the little quarrel Jacob had gotten.

— And you've already met Dr Jacob Keene, I'm afraid.

— Doctor, eh? Well, well...Keene. Sign right

below your names.

Each in turn, we signed as we had been ordered

to do by the receptionist, despite her clear antipathy. As I

approached to sign my name, her cell phone lit up and I

could see the background of her screen for an instant —

a photograph of Neleh herself, not much younger, but

certainly more youthful, dressed in a graduating gown; a

huge smile of accomplishment lighting up her face. As

soon as the picture lit up, she grabbed the device and

locked its screen.

⬫⬫⬫

The staircases of the Lavouie Inn made a

constant creaking sound, even more so now that we were

treading heavily on its foundations.

— It will be a rainy night, — Bergeron said.

— Not according to the forecast, — replied

Keene.

494

Andri was in the lead, climbing the flight of steps

he had climbed so many times before, closely followed

by me, Lucy just behind, and Jacob last. There was no

handrail to break a fall, which made the undertaking

even more dangerous.

— Learn to read the signs of nature, Doctor, —

the Canadian insisted.

— Nature... has to be studied, catalogued and

understood, my dear. I'm not really interested in its signs.

— Oh, really? Why do you think the wooden

steps are creaking, then? Well, I'll tell you — the

moisture in the air seeps in and is absorbed by the wood

fibers, which swell, forcing them together. If you want to

bet, this suit of yours would interest me quite much.

— Or I could knock you down the stairs.

In the dark, I heard Bergeron's footsteps halt on

the step in front of me, and I did the same. In the

dimness, he turned his face to see the abysmal vastness

that was the staircase and, a few steps down, the man

who threatened him. A few seconds passed before any

voice was heard. Laughing pleasantly, Keene teased:

— I see you appreciate a good dose of humor, Mr

Bergeron. But anyway, where are our accommodations?

In silence, our guide walked the last few steps

before reaching the platform on the upper floor, where he

used the weak moonlight reaching us through the

window to find a candelabrum and light its candles. With

this additional lighting, we could see in yellowish tones

the four beds arranged around the room. Two single beds

were close together, and on the opposite side of the

room, two larger beds were a few feet apart.

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As if we naturally understood who should have

which bed, we each went to our own, leaving Lucy and

me on one side and the older ones against the other wall.

Already preparing to lie down, I set about orderly piling

up the heavy checkered bedspreads we had been

provided with.

— What kind of scenery do you think this is? —

I asked Lucy.

— What do you mean?

— Two separate full-size beds; two smaller ones

right across from each other.

— Oh, that? You expected something different?

— I expected there to be only one double bed,

not two.

— Your perspective doesn't change that reality,

Kevin, — she said with a sigh. — Those beds over there

are for a couple. A divorced couple, who travel with

their children just to pretend that they are still a family.

The glimpse that yellowish image produced was

ghostly before, but now, faced with this information, it

seemed despicable. Changing the subject slightly, I

lowered my tone to ask:

— Don't you find it strange that Mr Frost had

symptoms of forgetfulness?

— Actually, no; it was to be expected.

— But...these symptoms are unrelated.

— Kevin, didn't you hear what the man said?

Learn from nature. Not everything is written in books.

She was right, unfortunately. Knowledge was still

a growing field. More than that, it would be so forever.

This was to be expected since our universe is always in a

constant state of change. Such future, however, did not

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displease me in the least. After all, it is not possible to be

bored in a universe where there is always more to do.

The problem in question, though, was included in what

we already knew and did not fit into the effects

commonly related to the cause. It was a pity we could

not discuss the matter extensively now, but there would

be another opportunity. There is always at least one

more.

As soon as we lay down, we heard the stairs still

creaking, creating the only noise in the atmosphere. Soon

the creaking became more intense, as if someone was

climbing them, coming towards us in the dark night. The

four of us kept our eyes turned to the top of the stairs. I

know this because the light from the flames reflected on

each other's retinas, shining on the opaque scene that was

the room. The sound was getting louder now. Someone

was approaching and we could not even identify this

person in the deep darkness that surrounded us. Finally,

the footsteps were reaching the second floor and the

figure stood at the top of the stairs with something in

their hands.

— I hope you like seafood stew, — said a voice

in a monotonous tone. Walking into the light range,

Neleh was now visible, her pale skin almost translucent

in the dim light and her unlit lips curving in displeasure.

With a heavy silver tray in her hands, she passed by each

bed, leaving in the hands of each of us a huge porcelain

bowl accompanied by a spoon. Without expecting thanks

or tips, Neleh heard Lucy and I thank her before

disappearing again into the darkness of the staircase. The

stew she had left us was a dense broth of bacon and

potatoes, with the addition of huge chunks of salmon and

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crayfish, complementing the aromatic dish. On that cold

and harrowing night, I felt my hands warming around the

bowl and could feel a little love that had been added to

the preparation, despite the sadness that was eating away

at Neleh Lenoir. With my spirit revitalized and my fears

reduced, I fell asleep peacefully that night.

⬫⬫⬫

I awoke the next morning to the crash of a

thunderclap that shook the foundations of the Lavouie

inn, sending light vibrations to the bed frames. The light

entering the room was still opaque, but much stronger

than the one that had illuminated us the night before. To

my right, Lucy seemed to be sound asleep, oblivious to

the huge roar of the storm. In front of me, Bergeron's bed

was empty, with the quilts neatly folded and laid out on

the mattress. To its right, in the other bed, Jacob Keene

sat with his arms crossed and his eyes fixed on the glass

window, through which he could see black clouds and

lightning bolts slicing through the air. Like a dissatisfied

child, he remained static, staring steadfastly at what he

disliked.

— Something wrong, Doctor? — I asked Keene.

With a grunt, he answered:

— That wretch was right. How is it possible that

folk wisdom can be superior to modern science? That is

inadmissible!

— Maybe...and just maybe...it's because

scientists don't have direct contact with their object of

study, not often anyway. These people may not have all

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the academic knowledge that we have, but they have

more opportunities to learn.

— Which leads to erroneous conclusions, Kevin.

What is the point of having direct contact with the object

of study and not having enough knowledge to understand

it? It is at this point that myths, legends and

misunderstandings arise. Some believe that the praying

mantis is a venomous insect, others that a tourniquet is

the best option in case of a snake bite, and others believe

that the hummingbird's heart is an aphrodisiac. Well,

guess what, all this was devised by people who lived in

close contact with nature, who passed on such concepts

and thus a huge lie became widespread. This bastard is

just another one of those who should bow down before

our class, not the other way around. — Hearing the

creaking of the wooden steps, I became alarmed.

— Dr. Keene, are you sure that Mr. Bergeron is

not nearby?

— Unless he is squatting on the steps of the

staircase, I don't see how. Besides, I wouldn't refuse to

say everything I said right to his face.

— And why don't you? — We turned in sync

toward the bed beside me, where the voice came from.

— That would be an interesting scene, — Lucy teased.

— Now, don't be childish, — Jacob retorted. —

A gentleman never fights without first being challenged,

and he should never be the provocateur himself, either.

There's enough of a chance that he'll start a duel when he

hears what we've done.

— Couldn't you be more discreet?

— Come on, little girl, the man is far away, he

said he was going to find a public phone and tell his

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family that we were on our way. That sound on the stairs

is due to atmospheric humidity, as that jerk explained.

— Anyway, don't you find it strange that Frost

had symptoms of forgetfulness? — I cut in.

— It's really curious, — Keene admitted.

— Did you put the sleeping pill in Mr. Frost's

coffee? — asked Lucy.

— Just as you ordered. A sleeping pill and

nothing else. I don't understand why the old man had this

temporary lapse, but the human body is admittedly the

greatest mystery in the universe. I believe that an elderly

body is an even greater mystery. — In the stairwell, a

creaking sound echoed again.

— Dr. Keene, are you sure that...

— Yes, Kevin, for God's sake, I'm sure that

Bergeron is not listening to us on the staircase steps! But

if you are so sure... — lifting the triple layer of quilts

that covered him, Jacob stood up and walked with steady

steps to the top of the staircase, where he looked down

the sequence of steps.

— Well, no sign of the jock. Satisfied now?

No, I was not satisfied, but as he himself had

said, it is not for a gentleman to start a duel. A strong

wind blew at this point, bringing our attention back to

the window pane, through which we could see the

weather getting even worse. The humidity increased —

and so did the creaking.