 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. You are listening to a section of the LibriVox Nano Remote Project, in which a number of LibriVox volunteers write and record a whole novel together in a serial form during November 2006. The project is based on the idea started by the National Novel Writing Month. Chapter 1 Written by Joav Red Recorded by Joav Red It rained. It always seems to rain at funerals, as if nature feared that people might not feel sad enough without it. The rattle of raindrops against my umbrella felt almost soothing, as I watched the coffin disappear into the grave. I knew most of the people gathered around the grave, but some were unfamiliar. Very distant relatives, probably. The ceremony was quickly over, and so my uncle was late to rest under six feet of dirt. I guess I should have been sad, but it was hard to feel sorry for a man that I never much knew. Sure, I'd seen him in family reunions and such, but other than that, he was a total stranger. The only memory of him that I had was from childhood. I was playing hide and seek with my sister, when suddenly his car pulled up to our house. We watched in awe as this long-coated gentleman emerged from his black BMW and made his way towards us. For a moment, he just stood there, watching us. Then he knelt down before me and asked, And who might you be, my young lad? Trevor, I answered, proud of the fact that I was able to answer this obviously exciting man. Ah, a fine name you got there, he spoke in a warm tone. I was named after my grandfather. I continued, still very proud and excited. Indeed you were, and I bet you will be just like him when you grow up, traveling around the world, visiting all the exciting places this glow path to offer. He then gave me a last pat on the shoulder and continued his way inside our house. His vision of me had sounded very exciting at the time, but as I grew older, I realized that I would never become like that. I would never see all those exciting places because of one simple reason. I hated traveling. I was always the one asking, Are we there yet on family trips and first to run back to the safety and comfort of our house upon returning from one of these trips? I was awakened from my thoughts by a man approaching me with swift, firm steps. The man wore a black business suit, polished leather shoes and a kind of hat that you would have expected from a 1940s detective. His face didn't ring any bells, but I figured he was just another friend of a relative wanting to express his condolences. As he reached me, I put out my hand and he shook it firmly. My two pitch-ever aims, he inquired in a very business-like manner. That is my name, yes, I answered likewise serious, and was of it. I am the executive manager at Worldcon Airlines and I, if this is a sales pitch, you have selected the most inappropriate place for it. I quickly cut in. No, no, no, no, nothing like that, Mr. Ames, he said hastily. I was asked by Mr. Jeffrey Ames, your uncle, I believe, to relate you the following message. He then reached into his pocket and drew out an envelope. He opened the envelope briskly, took out the leather that was inside and started to read it in a dry voice. Dear Trevor, as you might already know, I am dead. It is customary for the person that has died to make certain arrangements prior to death concerning his wealth and property. As I am a slave to custom, I have made these arrangements. I once recall saying to you that you would become like your grandfather and that you would travel to many exciting places. To my great disappointment, no such thing has happened. Therefore, I have to take certain steps to make that happen. The person standing before you is Gerhard Greysen, with whom I have made the following agreement. In return for all my years as a customer of their airline and my generous donation to their company, he has agreed to grant you a lifetime of free flights with their airline. I sincerely hope that you will take full advantage of this arrangement and become the man that I once expected you to become. Best record, your uncle Jeffrey Ains. He then folded the paper, placed it back into the envelope and handed it to me. For a moment, I just stood there, staring at the man until I realized that he probably expected an answer of some kind. Uh, thanks. I finally was able to utter. You are welcome, Mr. Ains. We look forward to your first flight. You're gonna have to wait for a long time. I uttered it under my breath. What was that, Mr. Ains? He asked coolly. Nothing, nothing at all. Very well, Mr. Ains. I must be off. Goodbye, Mr. Ains. He turned around and walked away as swiftly as he had approached me, got into his car and drove away. As I stood there, alone in the rain, all I could think of was, why? Why had he given me this inheritance? Sure, he had said that he wished me to become a traveler like my grandfather, but he must have known I hated traveling, especially flying. Well, it was a bit too late you argued now, him being dead and all. So all I could do was to forget about it and go home. I turned to face the still open grave one last time, tipped my hat and walked away. I drove through my quiet neighborhood, at the rain patting the roof of my car. By the time I had pulled into my driveway, I had all but forgotten about Reinhardt and his free flights. I had better things to occupy my thoughts. Once inside, I carelessly threw my jacket on the sofa, kicked my shoes from my feet and rushed to the computer. I had left it on so it didn't take me long to find my way to the wonderful world of LibriWax. I quickly logged in and was once again ready to give my contribution to public domain audiobooks. I worked my way through the forums, checking every new post to see what interesting things had happened while I was away. New projects had emerged, both solos and collaborations. The heartwarming discussions were still going strong and I even managed to find new tips on recording. After replying to the most interesting discussions, I proceeded to check the new projects. Most of them were works unknown to me, but one of them really got my attention. I didn't know that one either, but something in the title tickled my imagination. It read The Mystery. The title itself wasn't very informative, but that was just the thing that got me interested. I loved mystery stories and this title left me wondering what the mystery was about. You would have expected it to be the mystery of the lake or the mystery of the vicarage, but no, this was just THE mystery. A project didn't seem to have any recordings as of yet, only the introduction and a link to a Gutenberg text. I decided not to read the Gutenberg text yet, since it would be much more fun to listen to it being read by the soloist. I made a mental note to check back on this project later on and after replying to the project thread about my great anticipation, I proceeded to check the status of the project I was involved in. As I did this, I completely lost track of time. The hours just seemed to fly away and before I even knew it, it was dark outside. I probably would have just sat there till morning if my stomach hadn't made its presence known by loud rumbling. As I stood up, I noticed that my cell phone was flashing. I had turned it silent during my LibriVoxing so it wouldn't make unnecessary background noise to my recordings. I picked it up and answered, Oh, hi Trevor! came the sound of my sister from the speaker. I've been trying to call you all night. How was the funeral? Hi, sis. Well, the funeral was what you would expect from a funeral. Grim, dull and of course it was raining. The one strange thing happened. Ooh, tell me more! she said in exaggerated excitement. Well, I was approached by this earline executive who informed me that Jeffrey's last wish had been that I could fly with them for free, I explained. She was silent for a moment and then she burst out laughing. What's so funny? I asked, almost annoyed. Well, don't you appreciate the irony, since you aren't exactly the traveling man, are you? Well, I most certainly am not, you got that right, but I still can't see the funny side of this. Don't be so serious, Trevor. At least he left you something. I didn't get as much as a postcard. I would have been happy with just that, a postcard. By the way, how are the kids? My subject changing plan worked perfectly as she started to fill me in on all the things kids at that age normally do. I listened and answered with the required mm-hmm when appropriate and finally as we hung up, I had again forgotten about my encounter with the airline executive. The rumbling of my stomach had reached such proportions that it might cause miniature earthquakes soon. I walked to the kitchen and made some bread, my mind back at LibriVox again. Somehow I just couldn't get the mystery out of my mind. I kept thinking what it would be about and then it hit me that I hadn't checked the name of the reader for the project. If it were someone I knew, I could maybe ask for a hint about the nature of this mystery. I decided to check it first thing in the morning. Now however, I would go to bed. Some other night I might have even checked it right away, but the funeral had left me tired. I made my way to my bedroom, turned off the lights and fell into the warmth of my bed. End of chapter one, recorded on 2nd of November 2006. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. You are listening to a section of the LibriVox Nano-Rymo project in which a number of LibriVox volunteers write and record a whole novel together in a memorial form during November 2006. The project is based on the idea started by the National Novel Writing Month. Chapter two, written and read by Anita Roy Dobbs. Boston, November 3, 2006. It poured. Rivulets tugged at funeral ribbons until the bows were undone. I remember wondering whether the grave would overflow when the casket was lowered. Surely it was too heavy to float. I might suggest reeds at the corners to channel the water out. It fit, didn't it? Hadn't Uncle Jeffrey written an academic paper on papyrus? I mean, about papyrus? Papyrus isn't hollow, is it? But papyrus grows in water and reeds grow in water. The rivulets ran to ponds. Reeds sprouted up among the mourners. Those would do. I looked into the faces. The dearly beloved—no, no. What do they say at funerals? Suddenly my wedding veil slipped, streaming into my eyes. I couldn't see through the black lace, but the bouquet—the wreath— was so heavy with water that if I let go with one hand to push the veil back, I shifted it to my left hip, freeing my right hand almost in time to lift the veil before Natalie pulled the whole thing off, releasing every pin in my hair. The waterlogged bouquet wreath was now Natalie's sopping wet diaper. Stephen saw her slipping and reached for her. I glimpsed him, tucking her into the new crib we were going to order. Bedtime. I turned back, just as Trevor handed me his umbrella so that he could take the suitcase someone was holding out to him. The pilot who asked, Where is your up? Was he asking me or Trevor? The umbrella closed as I took it, and the rain stopped. A shaft of sunlight fell on the pilot's hat, spotlighting an emblem, Thunderbird wings on a mint-green globe, and I filled with envy. Do you have another pair of wings? I tried to ask him, but my voice was too faint, he didn't hear. I reached for the wings, but the umbrella hooked my wrist and I couldn't lift my hand to the Thunderbird. Thunder rolled, and a voice rumbled. As you might. Turning from Trevor and the pilot, I saw a final wreath tossed onto the fresh mound. The wreaths were swaying, and the ponds were rippling and sinking into the earth. Already no. Heaped flowers trembled and slid as the dearly gathered turned for home, leaving me alone at the booming graveside. I am dead. Uncle Jeffrey clutched my shoulders, pressing me into the giving earth. I am dead. I could feel his words vibrating the earth, choking in my throat. No, I thought, shutting my eyes to banish the shadow. Wait at least until... Tracy. I struggled to open my eyes to the new voice. Natalie grows up. Tracy. Steven's voice pulled me from the earth. Steven. His eyes alarmed me. What is it? I managed to whisper. What about Natalie? Until she grows up. Oh, Steven. I reached for him, but my shoulders were pinned. My uncle held me still. Terror stricken, I twisted to see how deep I would go, and to see the hands that pulled me under. Mounds of... I was confused by the bedclothes, but I recognized Steven's hands, clear though dim in the gray of morning that slipped past our heavy curtains. He pulled me up and let me cling for a minute and loosened my grip. What were you dreaming? You just pulled me out of an early... The expression on his face made the words stick in my throat. Grave. A what? You look so grave. You pulled me out of an early morning nightmare. Did I wake you up? I'm sorry. A low whistle from the tea kettle sent Steven leaping from the bed and out the door. In a minute he returned with two cups. Better? Sorry about that. I had to stop that whistle before the kids. You're a wizard of speed and time. I crooned, gratefully. He smiled, but only a little. I was going to make our tea, and I came in for your cup. Yeah, I know, draining board. Anyway, I tried not to wake you, but your eyes were open when I came in. Maybe the light disturbed you. I asked you where your cup was, and you said something about wings and looked away. I said that you might be dreaming, but I was only joking until I heard what you were saying or trying to say. It didn't sound like a good dream, so I kind of shook you to wake you up, but it only made you close your eyes. It was so strange. I could still picture all of it vividly. The junk of my mind had the dream rolling on replay. You said you were dead, and then you said Natalie has to grow up. No, that was Uncle Jeffrey. He said, I am dead. I dreamt I was at the funeral. I told you that you should go. I glared at him. I don't mean should go, I mean could go. But my glare shut that off. Dazed as I was, no, I told you so, was going to slip past my sentinels. Stephen had managed to stay this side of meddling about my decision to miss the funeral. The perspective is my mantra. We have an infant and a four-year-old. We have a finite travel budget. And for all my dutiful esteem of my distant Uncle Jeffrey, that's just what he was to me. Distant, far off. We were not close. I could live with myself if I missed the funeral, and Stephen's concern for my, what, moral fiber, spiritual well-being, his concern was misplaced. We sipped our tea in silence for a few minutes, and then put down our cups to take advantage of the fact that, astonishingly, both of the children were still asleep. Lord, I love these lullaby reigns. Images from the dream haunted me through the morning. My first realization was that the dream hadn't been scary until Stephen had started shaking me. Up to that point, it had been just bizarre, and even fun. It put the fun in funeral. I needed to get out more. Once it was clear to me that the terror was not some supernatural warning about imminent danger to me or my family, just a simple, reasonable response to being shaken in my sleep, I was over that bit. I was pretty sure I was over that bit. But other bits, buzzed like fat flies, begging me to swat them. Where did that idea come from about an academic paper on, I mean, about Papyrus? Okay, stupid question. I mean, if I let the bouquet that became Natalie pass without a blink, why get stuck on Papyrus? The whole morning long, whenever my mind could wander, about one or another of the dream elements, puzzling with the eagerness of an underfed mystery fan, through the feedings and the readings and the errands and the caring, little revelation followed after little revelation. And then I was left with a handful that refused resolution, but persisted in whining for attention. Tough. If the pests couldn't make do with my spare moments, they'd have to wait till the children napped. Finally, my four-year-old gave the signal. Teen time, Mama. His intonation is just like Steven's. Tea time, honey. Michael has an uncanny sense for when Natalie needs her rest. So I fetched Natalie's bottled water. Michael's joke, not mine. And Michael's tippy-cup juice. And I switched on the story sayer. Again, Michael's term. Michael and I have always enjoyed stories together from our earliest pantomimes to our latest impromptu musicals. He's a great stand-up lyricist, and I'm improving. Give me time. In addition to our own masterpieces, we're voracious fans of free resources from the library to the Internet. We're fondest of audiobooks, which eventually meant that I discovered the expanding LibriVox catalog of absolutely free audio files. Michael's favorite for the past month, the Velveteen Rabbit. And now it was teen time. Which reading today, children? We had downloaded the solo and the duet versions from LibriVox. Michael called for the duet, the usual choice. We all adored the young girl's voice for the rabbit. Whenever Michael called for the solo, that reader has a particularly soothing voice. It was often my first cue that Natalie's high energy was about to turn fussy, and that I should check her temperature. Or Michael's. For nap time, they always wanted the story-sayer reading. And in the second week, Michael held the book himself and pointed the pictures out to Natalie. After he'd heard the story dozens of times, he and Natalie initiated their own story tradition. Every few days or so, at a non-nap time, Michael would pull the book from its shelf and Natalie would curl up beside him on the couch or on the nap mattress and suck her thumb, and he would turn the pages to her favorite illustrations and quote snippets of narration that went with them. From memory. Michael speaks Natalie's, by the way. If she lifts her hand towards him, he repeats the passage. Six times appears to be his limit, not hers. If she turns away for an instant, he moves to the next favorite illustration. The first time I saw this happen, I sat as still as I possibly could, not even moving to wipe my tears until Michael sprang up, refreshed and wandered to new play. Stephen understood. He's so beautiful. But try explaining such a treasured moment to your single brother. Mr. T. for teasers was merciless, just because I cried a little over the phone when I was telling him about it. I am not an over-sentimental cry-baby, I was just exhausted from Natalie's ear infection the night before. Finally, in self-defense, I changed the subject, asking the brat why he hadn't posted a new chapter of Adam Bede for the past six weeks. I'm sure of, apparently, because he finished the last 200 pages by the end of that month. T. for time on his hands can do that, wish I could. Michael and I had recorded one Aesop's fable together. He was the voice of the baby elephant. And we had great, grandiose plans for more projects. But one day chased the next away before we could catch our breath and the projects were still plans. That's all I ever have time for, finding great plans. Current favorite, Michael and I and Natalie soon make illustrations of his favorite Aesop's fables. Upload the pictures into the public domain so that folks just like Michael can share pictures with folks just like Natalie while listening to their favorite fables. They're doing it with those gorgeous CD covers. Why not these select-your-own storybooks for fables? They're inspired, and suddenly Michael can select from a hundred public domain illustrations. Soon, everyone in the world illustrates or reads or listens or looks. Peace prevails. Michael and I accept the Nobel on his 14th birthday. That's enough time, isn't it? I'd been drifting off. The children were in their angel repose. Though I've tried a hundred times, I've only succeeded twice at nearly capturing their sleeping beauty in sketches. The urge to pull out the sketch pads came over me, but I resisted it for the thousandth time. Something else was on my mind. A quiet puzzle spoke up for the first time. Sideswiped me as I was admiring Michael's profile. Why did Uncle Jeffrey want Trevor to be like our grandpa Trevor? I'd grown up knowing that he wanted it and I'd accepted it the way kids accept things. It's the way things are. But giving it one moment of adult scrutiny, I realized it was about as bizarre as a bouquet turning into Natalie. No. More bizarre. If the bouquet symbolized marrying Stephen, then Natalie came out of our marriage, so I was comfortable with the dream logic. It wouldn't puzzle me if he wanted Trevor to be like his own father, our dad's father, GT Ames, but Grandpa Trevor was my mom's father. Trevor misses. That was strange, right? I should get Stephen's opinion. I hadn't discussed any of the latest news with Stephen yet. None of the details from my conversation with Trevor last night, including the inheritance and Uncle Jeffrey's long fixation on Grandpa Trevor. I vowed to get Stephen's opinion on everything. Good. I could file this one away and tackle it later. I took inventory of the other nagging discoveries or puzzles stirred up in the dream. First, I realized that this Uncle whose thrall had evaporated for me and my adolescence was now, possibly even more enthralling and mysterious than when Trevor and I were kids, spinning tall tales about him. Who was he? Did I know a single practical thing about him? I knew a few useless things, his long coats, his black cars, his rumbling voice and unexplained fixation on travel. Wouldn't it be wild if he had written about Papyrus? Or hey, on Papyrus. Why not? Okay. Overnight fascination with mysterious Uncle. The fascination. Check. Puzzle or discovery? Number two. Something felt wrong. Something in my dream-prodded mind was stuck on my Uncle's letter, specifically stuck on that phrase, I am dead. I'd laughed when T. read it. Had I misunderstood him? I must have. No one writes a letter. Dear Trevor, I am dead, right? Unless they're hiding some meaning in it. You might write I'm as good as dead if you know someone's going to kill you. If you know you're dying, you say I am dying or or. They could be hiding some meaning by it, like a magic trick. Watch this hand, watch this hand. Don't watch that hand. I am dead. Oh, why would you think I'm alive? Nope, nope, I am dead. Okay, enough. I was beginning to tire of my spin-out speculation on a phrase that my reasonable streak said was simply my own misunderstanding. I would ask Trevor to read it again. And third, fourth and fifth, if not more, I was royally ticked off that there hadn't been two sets of wings in the inheritance. It surprised me how ticked off I was. It wasn't mean-spirited ticked off. I was cosmically ticked off. Whale pointlessly to the universe ticked off. If there had to be only one set of wings, how fiercely unfair was it that Mr. Trevor home body aims would get wings instead of me? My wanderlust had been legendary, hadn't it? Till motherhood anchored me. And lately that wanderlust had been less and less mollified by the virtual travel of my internet activities. Great. Thanks for all the revelations, Dream. Been nice chatting with you. In a mild funk I flipped open the laptop and slipped into the forums. I was impatient for the reluctant dragon. Whoa! I was surprised to discover it had been completed two weeks earlier. My elation at being able to download it was nearly offset by my dismay over the speed of time racing through my fingers. Elation began to win as I anticipated Michael's enjoyment. When he woke from his nap in about 40 minutes maybe we'd play with blocks and listen to it while Natalie finished her nap. Blocks or maybe it was time to start a series of dragon drawings. 56 minutes long. I was so curious to see what he'd think. He wouldn't understand everything, but he'd love it I was sure. Natalie would never settle for the books little line drawings. We'd have to illustrate it for her. But wait. For dragons? For an infant? I should go post again in the chorus of folks chanting for more recordings of public domain picture books. After 20 short minutes of reading and posting on the forum and especially after listening to the homie hilarious community podcast my funk was forgotten. Typically I would now bustle about quietly in the last half of Michael's nap, but today I was uncharacteristically sedentary aftermath of the lullaby reigns anyway I continued wandering through the forums till I laughed at one of Trevor's posts and decided to check out the Trevor trail what had the boy been up to recently at Liebervox I clicked his profile button and then the view all posts by T. Link Good heavens his first post after the funeral had been at 4.30pm his time and his last that night was 11.20 29 posts 7 hours online the longest interval between posts was 40 minutes ah that's when we'd been talking didn't he even eat dinner and he was back in the forums at 7 the next morning despite my grandiose ideas my time on the forums was finite Trevor's was infinite T. had joined the forums 2 months after I told him about Liebervox and when he'd been there 2 months to my 6 months he'd written nearly 1000 posts to my 300 he wrote 10 posts to my 1 and that was after a slow start it had taken at least 2 weeks for addiction to set in my twin audiobook addict no not audiobooks exactly they were at the heart of everything there but it was the assortment of people drawn to those books that had addicted him if it were audiobook addiction he'd spend those 7 hours stints making his recordings instead of upping his post count or he'd record an hour or 2 a night and lead a normal life or he'd travel the world with his blessed free airfare when he hit 1500 posts the next month they rushed to make him a moderator they asked us both on the same day but I'm sure that asking me was some kind of you know protocol of politeness special consideration for T's twin it was sweet of course I said no of course he said yes we made the right choices if he would stop taunting me with talk about the bat cave or the mcs the medical ordinators oversea and overhaul it all I could live with my right decision what was up with me I wondered where's my up I said aloud and Michael stirred I love Steven and Michael and Natalie more than I know how and I would never trade places with Trevor god no I guess I just wish I could have both lives okay what has the T for twin been up to yes I would definitely call him that evening when the children were asleep I had questions for the boy I looked at the list of his morning posts a new title caught my eye the mystery I'll have to investigate that end of chapter 2 recorded on November 3rd 2006 this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org you're listening to a section of the LibriVox nano-riMo project in which a number of LibriVox volunteers write and record a whole novel together in serial form during November 2006 the project is based on the idea started by the national novel writing month chapter 3 written by David Barnes London November the 3rd 2006 Trevor settles in front of his computer a bowl of breakfast cereal in one hand and a cup of coffee on the desk in front of him hoping the latter will help open his eyes and brain the word world con is still rattling in his head from the day before unblunted by sleep signifying nothing insinuating much like a long forgotten name or the snippet of a song that refuses to be recognized it sits in front of him elbows on knees gently at him it waits for him to meet its gaze it knows he will he runs his hand across his face rubs his palm across his eyes in a circular motion animal-like shakes his head and peers at the screen he does worry sometimes about the hours he spends staring at the computer but over recent weeks this has become his usual way of starting the day a quick trawl through the LibriVox forums looking out for progress on any of the projects he's working on it can easily become a two-hour breakfast depending on what's happened in the time he's been asleep today though, he has a specific aim in mind he goes straight to the forum and to the project thread for The Mystery an audio file has been uploaded overnight just what he was hoping for he clicks the link to download the file and waits as he watches the progress bar in the download window his thoughts slow and inevitably descend it's a well-worn path but he stops short before reaching the bottom before reaching Rebecca Cambridge Rebecca and the flight that did not land something is scratching at the very edge of his brain and he can't grasp what it is there's a connection somewhere a cause a logical pattern just waiting to be noticed it's small enough to hide vague, fuzzy but undeniably there a small, furry animal a chinchilla the chinchilla of suspicion good word he thinks a scintilla of a chinchilla of suspicion or is it curiosity oh what the heck he's named it and that's what counts now it stops worrying him for the time being at least he can uncrease his forehead unslit his eyes and armed with his chinchilla can once again face the world download complete his music application opens and the mystery file begins to play it's not a reader he's heard before it's a male voice quite deep and rich heavily accented certainly not a native English speaker but he can't place it exactly possibly Middle Eastern or some native Mediterranean there are so many languages and accents he's never heard and he's far from being a linguist anyway that he knows it's hopeless to try and pinpoint it but he listens intently so as to fix it in his memory for future reference after the usual LibriVox disclaimer dedicating the recording to the public domain the reader gives the title of the piece the mystery inspired by the exploits of TM and that's it no author no date no reader name does Trevor notice the initials in the subtitle and that they match his grandfathers if so he makes no outward sign he is still his eyes closed his head tilted slightly forward the casual observer would think he was either completely absorbed in the recording or fast asleep the recording lasts 10 minutes as it ends Trevor raises his head opens his eyes takes off his earphones and wipes a tear from his cheek pulling the door closed behind him he turns up the street towards the park the railway station the main street he needs air he needs to feel the ground beneath his feet to steady his legs to know he is still whole and solid to see a live human face to crowd out the memories of the dead to calm his mind and still the cacophony of questions the hum of answers vying for his attention there's no better place than a busy city street at midday to clear the mind of elevated thoughts he'd seen the travel agents before but not paid it any attention little of the real world penetrated the thick carapace of his thoughts and that little was certainly not the local discount travel shop he couldn't imagine what sort of business a place like that could do a window full of posters for cheap weekend breaks in the Mediterranean or Eastern Europe but little sign of activity inside his hand was on the door even before he noticed and it gave little enough resistance to his unconscious push his palm felt the ridges on the aluminium push plate as they pressed lines into his flesh and his face the warm air that greeted him in his mind the two were conflated Trevor walked through the open door and a mini-Trevor squeezed through the metal itself to take refuge inside the handle unseen unchallenged unexpected the door closes and suddenly there is perfect quiet as if the street noise has been sucked out of the air itself in its place piped birdsong and the lapping of waves then hula music on a steel guitar you are joking he sighs inwardly and his shoulders slump another inch forwards good afternoon sir vapid chirpy the sort of voice that clicks the tip of its tongue against its teeth as if there isn't enough sibilance there already hmm? I didn't slow to act but never slow to judge he's already decided she lacks gravitas and authority her uniform hairstyle and makeup could have been supplied free with the desk so well do they match the office decor not a hint of personality is evident her smile is supported more by lip gloss than humour she appears to have been in the process of filing her nails when he came in and brandishes the metal file in the air above the desk as if it were somehow still pertinent to the conversation I'm thinking of taking a holiday something cultural a bit of history perhaps somewhere with literary significance you know the sort of thing with a beach at all sir no no definitely no beach well there could be a beach but I don't internet connection would be useful though is it a family holiday at all sir no not a family holiday no on your own then sir well our Libritur's range is very popular with holiday makers of a certain age sir your what he's too taken aback by the word Libritur's to react to the slur on his age surely there can't be a connection to LibriFox that would be too bizarre for words and commercial to boot plus surely he'd have been offered an administrator's discount at least Libritur's sir, here's a brochure guided cultural tours all over the world let's see there's Paris Perambulations one of our best sellers where you can see the Ark of Triumph as featured in Joan of Arc the film there's the Eiffel Tower but I don't know what book that one's from unless they made a book out of towering inferno hmm the river Sen as featured in Sen's and Sensibility by Jane Austen Powers and that church from the Da Vinci Coase that's there too we combine Paris with London in our A Trail of Two Cities package but I think you need more than one day if you're thinking of that one at all sir right, I'll bear that in mind and let's see you can do The Great Walk of China that starts on page 8 and goes through to page 47 look but that's a bit more, you know for the dedicated traveller the nail file describes a circle in the air above the brochure possibly intending to indicate that you'd be walking round China rather than through it oh this is a new one the Marmalade March that's in darkest Peru apparently I wonder why Paddington maybe oh I don't know let's see no it says Heathrow Wednesday and Saturday departures how about the ancient Seats of Civilisation what do you have there a blank look is what do you have there hmm Greece, Rome Egypt Mesopotamia well there's Papyrus Peregrinations also called nearly Nile which I think might be in Egypt yes I think it probably is I'd be quite interested in that one I have my own plane ticket though so I could join the group in Cairo if that's all right oh and one other thing could I take my chinchilla the door closes behind Trevor leaving him alone on the pavement outside bewildered by the sudden noise of traffic on the high street inside in the relative silence of a Hawaiian beach the lip gloss is at last assisted by a smile but it's a smile of satisfaction rather than humour lacquered nails tap on the desktop then sweep the ridiculous brochure into the waste paper basket the nail file is again raised into the air above the desk but now turned and its plastic handle pulled apart to reveal a USB plug as that is inserted into the port of the desktop computer a message on the screen shows that an audio file is being transferred from the device Trevor's voice then issues from the computer's speaker could I take my chinchilla got him end of chapter 3 read by David Barnes and Laura Barnes on November the 4th 2006 thank you this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org you're listening to a section of the LibriVox Nano RIMO project in which a number of LibriVox volunteers write and record a whole novel together in serial form during November 2006 the project is based on the idea started by the National Novel Writing Month chapter 4 written by Heather Barnett recorded by Heather Barnett you're going where? Tracy shrieked into the phone Egypt says the dry tone of Trevor's voice came clearly through the phone connection Tracy dropped Natalie's nap time teddy bear onto the couch I know where Egypt is T she said sarcastically I'm just reeling at the idea of you're actually wanting to go there Egypt Papyrus the two connected thoughts flitted into her head and she almost dropped the phone Tracy? Tracy are you there? Tracy shook her head trying to clear the fog away I'm here Natalie honey I'll put you down in a minute the baby's chubby hands were grabbing for her teddy bear Trevor I'm sorry I'm unable to process this right now can I call you back? she didn't listen for her brother's reply she hung up the phone and put Natalie down for her nap slowly letting the idea of Trevor's trip settle onto her Trevor was going to Egypt the woman stepped up the shuttle bus and onto the busy streets of London it was good to be back she thought taking a moment to look around at the city panorama people were everywhere natives and tourists alike she loved living as one massive bustling cogwork to the woman the site was like a single taste of a favorite sweet it filled her with sensations of pleasure and left her wanting more not that living in the US was bad actually she loved everything about living there just as much as she loved her work London? London was home she found she was not back here for good she had a job something that needed to be done she pulled out a paper from her suit coat pocket and looked at it for a moment and slipped it back into her pocket she put up a hand to hail a taxi when the taxi arrived she gave the driver directions and sat back into her seat her posture was relaxed but her right hand twitched a little with nervous energy was she sure she could do this? I have to do this she commanded herself sternly she took in a few deep breaths and looked out the window this time seeing any of the crowds of people she pulled out a package of biscuits I'd given her on the plane and slowly chewed on one thinking about several of the women she knew in the US and their obsession with diets currently low carb, low protein and or low saturated fat well everything she muttered to herself she herself was currently on a low sugar regimen but that was due to her recently diagnosed diabetes do you have a family history of diabetes? her doctor had asked this type of diabetes often runs in families lots of things run in families she thought swallowing hard at the notion here you are then announced the taxi driver parking the vehicle on the left side of the street she paid her fare and then entered the building a high rise hotel unlike the one or two storey hotels and motels in the small US town where she'd been living for the last two years the interior of the hotel was run down red wallpaper was pilling on one of the walls revealing the white paint of previous years she walked across the threadbare carpet to the check-in desk the heavy set woman there was talking on the telephone and shot her new customer an annoyed look she lowered her voice and said something about seeing someone tonight in honeyed tones that could only mean she was talking to a significant other how can I help you? she asked, tone still annoyed as she sat down the telephone the woman gave her name and informed her that she was checking in the hotel clerk nodded currently and handed her a check-in sheet her room was small and smelled of cigarette smoke she found and settled her suitcase onto the rickety luggage rack she set her laptop onto the room's small desk turned the computer on and checked for email messages nothing she phoned and made a similar check still nothing her hands twitched nervously she flicked on the television then flicked it back off she considered reading a book or magazine no, she couldn't concentrate on reading anything along soak in the bath blissful thought not enough time she thought reluctantly with a sigh she decided on a shower forty minutes later she was clean and refreshed at least as refreshed as possible her hair had been calming though she had decided her hands were able to stay still now she turned her laptop back on and almost immediately an instant message popped up shanna 232 you're online, I've been looking for you frantically UC girl sorry, I had an emergency come up shanna 232 family emergency? UC girl, something like that shanna 232 is everything okay? did someone die? UC girl, no nothing like that I just had to come home for a few days to take care of something shanna 232 home? so you're in England? UC girl yes, England shanna 232 are you going to tell me what's happened? Dr. Grant told me that he had something come up and needed you to fill in for him he says he told you but you didn't show so I'd assume your emergency was pretty major no reply shanna 232 are you there? I'm sorry if I ask something you don't want to answer I just want you to know I'm here for you friends need to be there for each other UC girl it's okay shanna, I just can't talk about it at the moment did everything work out with Dr. Grant? shanna 232 yeah, Gary covered for you you owe him big time smiley face UC girl I'll have to send him a thank you card shanna 232 you should actually say yes to him next time he asks you out the guy worships you, you know? UC girl shanna 232 he's a great guy, I know you like him so why won't you date him? UC girl shanna 232 I know you're not ready to date anyone or even to get close to someone UC girl there are things I haven't told you I wouldn't want Gary to get hurt shanna 232 I'm here for you when you need to talk UC girl I know that shanna 232 good UC girl I need to go now shanna 232, stay in touch, okay? UC girl, I'll try UC girl has logged off she stared at the computer screen for a minute something felt lodged in her throat she stood up briskly she had to be doing something she closed her laptop after putting it into her briefcase she ensured that nothing of importance was left in her luggage and then left her room the dining room was characteristically small it was late afternoon so only one other diner was in the room though the windows were minuscule by afternoon sunlight filled the room she sat in a shadowed corner to late lunch it was hours since she'd eaten the airplane breakfast and her stomach was begging for food a turkey sandwich bowl of fruit and glass of tap water were served to her by a skinny Indian girl with crooked teeth who chattered nonstop the woman looked away wishing the girl would breathe she finally did her face showing disappointment evidently deciding that this unresponsive patron would not tip big she set up her laptop she'd been trying to think of something for her research for the last few days but she just couldn't put her finger on it what was it? a flash of memory hit her she was huddled in a closet and her mother was screaming at her father outside the child she had been covered her ears but she couldn't drown out the sound not that she shivered she didn't want to remember that she tried to steady her breathing letting the memory dissipate her crooked teeth waitress came over to her table she seemed reluctant to talk now but finally she said there's a gentleman that wants to know if he can join you she straightened in her seat looking at the entryway to the dining-room a tall man was there, his back facing her he was dressed in a gray suit his brown hair cut short she nodded tell him to come right over, she said the waitress picked up her empty fruit bowl then walked over to the man he looked for a moment and then the man turned and came toward her he was clean-shaven, perhaps in his late thirties he looked average in every way except that as he approached she saw that his dark brown eyes were sharp and that they were gauging her Miss Brown, he queried his accent was slight but she thought it was either American or Canadian yes she answered quietly, not wanting her voice to carry I'm Mr. Gray I believe we have friends in common she hesitated, then nodded you have something for me? he sat down, in a minute he said, waving a hand dismissively her jaw clenched I'm here to get the packet she reminded him tersely nothing more, nothing less a dark eyebrow lifted Marx didn't say you were so feisty her eyebrows narrowed I don't work for you or Mr. Marx she pronounced crisply and I'd ask you to kindly remember that ah, but you do work for us he said, his eyes darkening need I remind you of the agreement you came to with Mr. Marx eleven months ago her breath caught and she stared at his impassive face the corners of his mouth lifted in a mocking smile her heart was racing, finally she managed to say fine then how can I help you he pushed a full manila envelope toward her therein how was it so hard to ask nicely she gave him a dirty look and then opened the envelope with shaking hands inside were the papers she expected pages and pages of typewritten information she breathed hard this was what she wanted this was what she had come for is it all there, she asked I'll accept one little page Mr. Gray answered lightly what? her head snapped up you'll get the page, I promise he said the little smile was back all you have to do is one painless job for us what job? he pulled out a small envelope from his inside jacket pocket and handed the envelope to her her hands touched and she recoiled a hint of a smile was on his face she ignored that and opened the envelope several items fell out she picked up one of them and stared it was a first class ticket to Egypt end of chapter 4 November 5th, 2006 chapter 5 written by Michael Sirwa Michael.Sirwa S-I-R-O-I-S .com recorded by Michael Sirwa Gerhard Grayson watched the stunningly attractive woman as she walked away from the table back to her room to pack for the trip to Cairo interesting he said to the microphone hidden in his lapel pin Miss Brown is a blonde her first name is Hazel she has blue eyes I have brown hair but she knows me as Mr. Gray if someone were to put that in a book it would be completely unbelievable he straightened suddenly listening to the voice in his ear then added yes sir I'll make sure she does the skinny waitress returned and flashed him a smile that made him wonder if she knew just how wretched her teeth really were well you can't have everything he thought he smiled back in order to drink he needed to be here so he could tail Miss Brown when she left for the airport in an hour his goose would be cooked if she didn't arrive in Cairo before Trevor Ames Hazel Brown returned to her room and set her already packed suitcase by the door she sat on the bed and waited knowing she had to make it appear as if she packed hurriedly in order to make the deadline she said to herself Soto Voce this is going so much better than I thought it would she hoped she hadn't put Gary in too much of a bind by leaving so suddenly he was such a sweet man she didn't want to hurt him but in her line of work appropriate cover was the most important element for success she pondered the items that Mr. Gray had given her her ticket to Cairo the photograph of Trevor Ames and the sealed envelope Trevor was a handsome man dark curly hair, tall curly athletic when he was younger of course unbeknownst to Mr. Gray and Mr. Marks she had seen her first photograph of Trevor months ago this was long before Mr. Marks or Grouchy Marks as he was known in the agency thought he had blackmailed her into working for him the envelope her task was to deliver it to Trevor as if it had arrived for him in care of the liberator's group and then keep him occupied until she could convince him to visit the Egyptian Museum Trevor's name was on the envelope printed on a standard mailing label it had a slightly smeared but official looking postmark on it where was it from? did that say Paddington? hard to tell something long beginning with PA the flap was glued down and a large piece of tape was sealing the edge of the flap shouldn't be too difficult to get it open and reseal it but there's not enough time now she thought Trevor stepped off the Worldcon plane into surprisingly mild afternoon temperatures at the Cairo International Airport he removed his tweed sports coat and draped it over his arm as he walked toward Terminal 2's baggage claim area the four and a half hour flight from London was not as terrible as he had expected the Worldcon airplanes were spacious and the seats were comfortable not at all like the short flights he sometimes had to take back and forth between England and Ireland or the continent he could get used to this travelling thing he hoped he had prepared for everything but ran through a mental list just to be sure mumbling aloud as he walked Worldwide foreign travel converter kit check laptop, of course Bluetooth enabled mobile phone yes enough clothes for a week or so right toiletries, extra underwear extra socks a baseball cap yes, yes, yes and yes sunglasses yes the list went on and on the final item was the chinchilla which he had brought with him even if he wasn't sure what it was yet he thought back to the moment in the travel agency when he had asked that insipid woman cute though she may have been if he could bring his chinchilla with him she actually took him seriously and began to list all sorts of rules for travelling with pets he tried to explain to her that the chinchilla was just a mental exercise a thought process that he would have to endure until the truth that had been niggling at him had surfaced completely at some point in his reverie he realized he had arrived at baggage claim and was staring at a suitcase passing by on the belt he grabbed for it too late hurrying ahead he caught up to it and retrieved it moments later his suit bag arrived and recovered it as well looking around he saw a sign pointing to the ground transportation he could catch a shuttle bus to the Cairo Marriott Palace Hotel where the other tour members were staying he was supposed to contact someone named Hazel Brown there and join the tour the next day Hazel spotted Trevor as soon as he arrived at the baggage claim but kept her sign down until passenger started leaving the area ah, he's coming towards me now she thought, look up, look up see the sign he walked right past her she skirted around some of the crowd and rushed forward planting herself directly in his path when he was ten feet away she held up the sign that read Liberator's Mr. Ames and spoke in a loud voice looking left and right as if she didn't know what he looked like Trevor Ames Trevor Ames Trevor found himself face to face with a beautiful blonde woman and was speechless for a second lost in the deep blue of her eyes finally he found his voice um... I'm Trevor Ames dropping her sign from view Hazel reached forward to shake his hand and felt a slight tingle at the touch recovering she said oh, hello Mr. Ames I'm so pleased to see you I'm Hazel Brown welcome to Cairo oh, he said aren't you supposed to be with the tour? you're the only one on the tour she replied batting her eyelashes unconsciously I am how can you afford that? well, we're a young company and we aim to please can I give you a lift to the hotel? please thank you Hazel led Trevor to a black SUV waiting outside the windows were tinted so darkly that it was impossible to see inside and the name Libra Tours was stenciled on the side in a bold red white and blue logo resembling the Union Jack a driver clad in a crisp dark blue uniform replete with visored cap emerged from inside the automobile and helped Trevor stow his bags before letting the two of them climb into the rear passenger compartment the Cairo Marriott Palace, please Hazel told the driver once they were under way Hazel told Trevor that the actual tour would begin in the morning but she would very much appreciate it if he would join her for dinner that evening he readily agreed and they discussed a few of the places they would see over the next few days she knowing full well that he would probably be gone long before the tour was over she almost regretted that she had to play the role assigned to her by Mr. Marks but her superiors said it was necessary in order for her to maintain her cover partway through the drive Trevor asked her about the liberator's name does it have anything to do with LibriVox by any chance no what's LibriVox she replied lying LibriVox is a group of volunteers who create audiobooks out of works of literature works which are in the public domain that is oh I listen to audiobooks quite a lot when I have long distances to travel she said not lying this time where do you get them on the internet he answered gladly adding the shameless plug available for free at LibriVox.org hmm she said stretching the sound lazily I'll have to try them some time speaking of the internet will the hotel be able to provide me with a wireless connection I need to check my email and some other things of course they can no problem oh that reminds me I have a letter for you it arrived care of the tour company and she handed the freshly resealed envelope to him thank you hmm there's no return address I wonder who could be writing me here he looked at the postmark it is British PA Paisley no that's Scotland oh well and he slipped it into his jacket pocket Paisley needed to get him to look at the contents of the envelope but what could she say oh please kind sir you would look so manly opening that envelope please just for me she would just have to hope he opened it soon although she really wanted to be there when he did at the hotel the check-in having been arranged through the tour company went quite smoothly and Trevor soon found himself in a very nice large room tastefully appointed in a modern design with traditional Egyptian accents from his window he could see a large grassy area surrounded by shrubbery and palm trees after the left was a gigantic swimming pool filled with crystal blue water it was so inviting he regretted not bringing a bathing suit but he had several things to do before dinner getting out his laptop he had the appropriate power plugs attached and logged on to the hotel's wireless network he opened a VPN connection and quickly checked his email there were quite a few from LibriVox and several from his sister Tracy but first things first he opened his browser and clicked on the bookmark for LibriVox entering the forum he saw the mystery was still listed among the new projects opening the forum thread he noticed that several people were asking what this was all about and also saw that a new sound file had been posted he started it downloading and noticed the file was arriving quite rapidly he checked his connection 54 megabits per second signal strength excellent not bad at all, better than I have at home soon he was listening to the file the LibriVox disclaimer titled the piece as before the mystery inspired by the exploits of TM but this time added part two peregrinations the same accent at male voice continued with the story which had so moved Trevor the day before yesterday day before yesterday surely it was longer than that nearly eight minutes into the reading the speaker came to the point of the piece and it reminded him of the name of the tour he was on the papyrus peregrinations tour the lost papyrus of the nights of Malta the reader said in conclusion is probably a misnomer since it was almost certainly written on paper instead the document has, however, undoubtedly been lost to the sands of time only one quote passed down from generation to generation through the network of the Maltese knights has survived only with a free voice were the injustices of the Treaty of Paris be remedied Trevor's head was spinning free voice LibriVox there's that connection again the chinchillas back on the job I can't stay here I have to follow this up Treaty of Paris do I need to go to Paris? he opened Google and did a few quick searches finding out that the 1814 Treaty of Paris seated Malta to the British Empire apparently somebody resented that at supper Hazel in a lovely blue dress that set off her eyes to devastating effect began by telling Trevor how supper isn't the biggest meal of the day in Egypt that lunch is and that many businesses close around 2 p.m. so when people go home to eat lunch they're going home for the day Trevor interrupted her to tell her that though he hated to cancel the tour he needed to leave in the morning where are you going? she asked almost mournfully to Malta I think no yes yes I'm sure to Malta Hazel thought about it she could try to keep him here or she could follow the envelope if he had opened it and read it he wouldn't be leaving so soon if anyone else she had to make this decision on her own looking Trevor straight in the eyes she reached across the table and placed her hand on his take me with you she urged Trevor's face became a kaleidoscope of emotions happy then puzzled followed by 18 others finally he said um okay why because you know that this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are on the public domain for more information on the volunteer please visit LibriVox.org you're listening to a section of the LibriVox Nano Rimo project in which a number of LibriVox volunteers write and record a whole novel together in serial form during November 2006 The project is based on the idea started by the National Novel Writing Month. CHAPTER 6 Ritten and recorded by Gesine She stood at a table in the café at MIA, Malta International Airport, from which both the escalators transporting travellers to baggage-claim and the doors which spewed them out into the arrivals-hall could be seen. She was sipping a double espresso and trying to alleviate the boredom with staring down the undesirables among the men who were looking at her couldn't help but look at her, and flirting with the ones that were passable. This was standard fare for her. It took less than two minutes to diminish the undesirables to furtive looks, and another two to establish contact with the ones she'd string along for a bit. She wondered idly how such things still tended to work along cultural, even national, divides. Maltese men, far from used to assertive women, and feeling guilty on account of their religion for looking at all, were the first to be subdued. British men were next, too hesitant, too reserved, too much in need of encouragement. So there was one executive type, obviously British, who was the most active proponent of the passable group. A sprinkling of Italians one was seriously cute. One American grossly overweight but squeezed into a khaki kind of camel-adventure tour outfit, all technical fibres, millions of pockets, on the very bottom end of her undesirables, but obviously not getting it. It was his fault that the first two minutes were needed. She'd finished her espresso. The cute Italian had half turned back to his female companion, girlfriend perhaps. Obviously some action was needed. She took her empty cup and walked towards the counter, and around her conversations stopped. She was very attractive, tall, slim but curvy, very curvy, even features. But like the Sundance kid, she needed to move to be truly good, really to hit target. When she moved she was magnetic, and she knew it, and knowing it made her even more so. Her cell phone rang, and she picked it up and tapped it with a perfectly manicured finger. Yes? Are you in place, M-21? Of course. They've landed. They should be out soon. What about L-344? Standing by. I don't have to emphasise how important this is to us. Top itself has taken notice. She felt a surge, a surge of power running through her, causing her briefly to tingle all over, hardening her nipples, and bringing a flush to her cheeks. She loved this sensation. Power. Sex was but a poor substitute for the purity of this experience. Sex, for her at least, had more animalistic qualities. She enjoyed it, of course, co-delated by it, but it was on a different level. Power. Power was at once more instinctive and more intellectual, feeding the human animal. Top, the head of global, was unknown to any but the eight uppers. Since it could be a man or a woman, unlike other organisations, she sniffed mentally hers was not sexist. Top was always referred to by it. Just then passengers were coming down the escalators. You three? She said. They are here. She flipped her phone shut. She was ready, and she would not fail. Trevor hauled his suitcase onto the trolley. Hazel's cell phone rang. She smiled apologetically, checked the number displayed. The agency. Why would they call her now? Something must have gone wrong. Hello, she said, tersely. Listened for a while. But yes, I see. OK, then, bye. She turned back to Trevor, who had just retrieved his suit bag. I'm sorry, Trevor. The call I just got, I need to go to a meeting. I hope it won't take long. Do you think you could find your way to the hotel, and I'll join you there when I'm done? Oh, I'm sure I, but are you all right? She looked so vulnerable. Yes, it's... She laughed, a quick, embarrassed laugh. Well, it would seem that I've overstepped my mark. You know, by coming here. I told you I was doing this on my own initiative. I thought if I could do a successful tour with you here and present them with a satisfied customer, they'd be impressed. But, well, they want to have a word. I'm sorry. Anything I can do? I'll call and tell them it was my idea. No, no, that's all right. Thank you, but I need to do this myself. I'm sure it'll be fine, but I need to talk to them. She smiled bravely, and his heart went out to her. OK, shall I take your suitcase to the hotel? Thanks, but someone's going to meet me with a car. I'll just have to nip into the bathroom there. Please go ahead. There's no point for you to wait. I'll see you later. I have your cell phone number. I'll call you as soon as I know more. Trevor nodded. Good luck. He walked out into the arrivals hall, stepping into the usual discomfort, faced by all the people waiting behind the barrier, all looking. He was searching for the exit sign when his eye was caught on her. Just a glimpse, she had half turned away and was stepping back from the barrier. There was something about her, though, and he let his gaze follow her. Not hard, as she was walking almost parallel to him. He lost sight of her behind a large family, and then she was there at the end of the barrier. Their eyes met, and she smiled. E.U. must be Trevor. Before he could reply, she had stepped forward and kissed his cheeks. It's so nice to meet you. I knew it wouldn't be hard to find you. I—oh, I am sorry. My name is Fulvia Rossi. I'm a friend of Tracy's. She told me you were coming, and I offered to pick you up. She smiled at him. A wide mouth, sensuous lips. That's very nice of you, he said, lamely. Shall we? My car is just outside. She led the way, and he had more opportunity to observe her. Southern type, long dark straight hair, Italian by the sound of her name, but fair skinned. She was elegant, elegant and slinky, the way she walked, the silk dress. The car was one of the small open European sports cars. In understated dark green and yet brimming with vivacity, it matched her perfectly. He stowed his luggage with difficulty, then sank into the soft leather seat next to her. She slipped on a pair of sunglasses, and they moved off. Her skirt had hitched up and sitting down, showing long, tanned legs. When he looked up, he found her watching him with an amused expression. I don't see how you can drive with your heels, he said, shaking his head, relieved his explanation had come to him. She laughed. It's a skill one develops. I don't want to fuss with two pairs of shoes all the time. So how do you know Tracy? We met a couple of years ago when I was a guest lecturer at Cornell. I was only there for a semester, but Tracy and I became good friends, even though we're from different fields. I'm a historian. This explained why Tracy hadn't mentioned her. He was notoriously bored by all the stories of campus politics and staff manoeuvring for better positions. What flavor of historian are you? She flashed him a smile. This spicy type. European ruling houses, palace intrigues, love affairs, religious fervour, battles valiantly fought, that sort of thing. I teach at the University of Malta at the moment. That sounds interesting. It is, and I should be able to help you. Sorry. Tracy mentioned you were interested in the Knights of Saint John, the Knights of Malta. They raced through an ancient-looking stone gate that spanned the four lanes of traffic. Almost there. You're staying at the Castile. It's not as nice as the Phoenicia Hotel over there, but it has more character and is inside Valetta. Wheels screeched as they left a roundabout and rushed past some high bastions. Then they were out in the open, a sudden glimpse of the sea on the right, far below them. Another small roundabout, a palatial building with cannons in front, and a moment later, they were parked. She was already out of the car and opening the boot when he joined her, slightly dazed. He took his bags and looked around. This is Castile Square. The hotel is just there. She nodded to an old, elegant corner building. The Baroque one opposite is the Auberg de Castile, one of the headquarters of the Knights, so to speak. It's now a government ministry, like all remaining Auberges. She started walking off. Fulvia, I don't think you can park here. She waved her hand. Oh, nobody worries about that sort of thing here. Besides, I know someone on the traffic commission. She waited for him to catch up. Malta is tiny and quite incestuous. You can't get anywhere here without knowing people. Everything works through connections. It's not always pleasant or terribly just, but it is surprisingly efficient in its own way. They stepped into a small reception area under high stone arches. Fulvia gave the receptionist a dazzling smile, and they started speaking rapidly in Italian. Francesco, she gestured, is giving you the best room in the hotel, fourth floor, corner, dual aspect. Trevor exchanged registration card and passport for key. Thank you very much for bringing me here, he said warmly. It was a pleasure. Listen, I've taken the afternoon off. Do you fancy getting a coffee? I can show you the city, and later we can go for a sale, and I can reveal the mystery of the Knights. The word jerked him back to his mission, the mystery. His chinchilla was brushing its soft tail across his arm. No, it was Fulvia, her slim hand resting lightly on his arm, her expression smiling, but it seemed to be a knowing smile. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He was on the trail again. That would be nice. Leave your things here, they will take care of them. She smiled at Francesco. They had walked for five minutes when the sight of some blonde girls suddenly reminded him of Hazel. He stopped guiltily. He'd completely forgotten about her and their arrangement. Oh, I'm sorry, I left my cell phone. Do you mind if I rush back? It won't take long. A couple of minutes later, he stepped out of the small hotel lift into the corridor and unlocked his door. You're an idiot, Fulvia hissed. I told you to keep your phone on. Did you at least search the bags thoroughly? You're sure the manuscript is not there? All right, he must have it on him then. Go back to the house and wait there. I don't want you showing your face outside in case he did see you. I don't care, do it now. She hung up, sipped her espresso, quickly dialed another number. How's Nivia girl? She asked. Nivia girl? She repeated impatiently, Hazel Brown. She looks like the girls in the Nivia ads, the innocent blue-eyed blonde. Nevermind, what is she doing? She listened, chuckled. Excellent work, L344. I'll need another couple of hours until we're on the water. Keep Barbie occupied until I call. She smiled when she saw Trevor coming towards her. Then her smile turned to worry, and she jumped up and rushed to him. Trevor, are you all right? What happened? She reached up and touched the huge white plaster that covered half his forehead and temple. She pulled the chair out and assisted him in sitting down. I'm fine, I'm fine, thank you. A little shaken, that's all. When I got back to the hotel, someone was in my room. I couldn't get a clear look, I was too surprised. Some guy. When he heard me, he pushed me and ran out. I fell and hid my head on the edge of the bed. No, no, I'm all right, really. It's just a scratch, and Francesco bandaged it up very professionally. But why, was anything stolen? Did you check? Yes, nothing. The bags seem untouched. They're locked, and the locks are still on the numbers that I put there. I probably disturbed him before he could do anything. Anyway, Francesco will inform the police. I might have to go and give a statement later. But let's not talk about this anymore now. The sun is shining, I'm in Valetta, and you were going to tell me all about the nights. She smiled. Yes. But I'm glad to see you've changed, because I'd like to take you out soon. A nice breeze has just come up, it's perfect sailing weather. And in order to understand Malta and the nights, you'll have to see it from the water. She walked down the pontoon. Almost there, she said over her shoulder, ponytail bobbing. He still hadn't gotten over her transformation. Within five minutes, she had emerged from the Marina shower rooms, wearing an old pair of denim shorts, a long-sleeved microfiber t-shirt, and battered boat shoes. There she is. She seemed to be looking at a large motor yacht, but stepped past it to the last berth. It's a trimaran, she explained. Do you know anything about multi-hulls? They're for racing, aren't they? They have these giant ones, PNQ, was it? Ellen MacArthur's boat? Fastest solo sailor around the world? That's it. They're fast, faster than monohulls. That's the traditional shape with one hull. But they're also much more stable. They don't heel over like a monohull. Makes it much more pleasant for cruising, too, although I do enjoy the speed. She grinned. He laughed. You could have fooled me. The boat looks just as sleek as your car. I'm sorry, but are you sure we can manage by ourselves? It all looks very complicated. Don't worry, she's set up for single-handing. I go out on my own all the time. 10 minutes later, they were motoring out of the harbor, framed on one side by Manuel Island with its fortifications and on the other by Valetta, rising majestically above its massive bastions. She left him to steer for a moment whilst she went on the foredeck to check something. We're leaving. She whispered into her cell phone. She busied herself with a rope and went back to the cockpit. Thank you. Would you like to take the fenders in? Well done. We can raise the sails now. She steered into the wind and within a couple of minutes had the tall sails up. She turned the engine off. Wow, we're sailing! Traveller said. The only sound was the swishing of the water as the slim hulls cut through it. You make it look very easy. She laughed. Good. Well, I didn't know about you, but I'm famished. Let me put her on autopilot. I brought some lunch and we can talk. They munched happily for a while. You've read up on the history of the knights, I assume? Then you know that they virtually disbanded after they lost mortar to Napoleon in 1798. They survived, though, and are still a thriving order today, with about 12,000 members, headquarters in Rome. They have gone back to their charity roots. Remember they were a hospital order first. The official name is Sovereign Military Hospital Order of Saint John. Why Sovereign? Ah, now we come to the interesting part. The order has never given up its claim to sovereignty, although several experts in international law dispute it. The order has its own currency, stamps, passports, even a seat in the UN. The only thing it lacks is its own territory. And part of the 1814 Paris Treaty seeded mortar to Britain, rather than back to the order. That's right. What I'm telling you now is unofficial. I wouldn't normally talk about it, but Tracey is a good friend and—well, I like you. She smiled. You've guessed by now that the knights weren't too happy about the treaty, which they considered a great injustice. There are rumours that there is a secret member of the council. The top government of the order, if you like. The council is up for reelection every five years, but it is said that, due to the secretive nature of the position, the eleventh officer is elected for life, like the grandmaster himself. And uniquely that the position is hereditary. Trevor whistled softly, completely caught up in the story. He took another sandwich and looked back at Valetta, tiny by now, golden in the sun between the blues of the sea and the sky. And the eleventh's member's job is to secure the territory, to regain mortar. I showed you St John's Cathedral earlier. They built all this, and they wanted back. What else do you know? Not much. The initials of the extra council member, T.M., he's very old, but apparently of French descent. She looked at him intently. Trevor slumped back in his seat. The chinchilla was making such a noise, it was hard to get a clear thought. Old, T.M., of French descent. Trevor misou. Of course the pronunciation of the name had been anglicised, but surely it had been French originally. His grandfather. What does this council member do? He heard himself ask. She shrugged. He travelled a lot, trying to influence the right people. That and other things. Travelled a lot, T.M. His grandfather had disappeared during his last journey, decades ago. Yes, she opened the cockpit locker. The order has its own airline, didn't you know? No, I— No, you really knew nothing, did you? We really got to Joffrey before he could tell you anything. He looked up. Her voice had changed. It was harsher, mocking. She closed the locker, and suddenly she was holding a gun. Just then the sail shifted, and her face caught the sun, highlighting her flushed cheeks. It doesn't really matter if you knew or not, Trevor. I know she's given you the manuscript. She cocked the gun. God, but she was beautiful. And now you're going to give it to me. End of chapter six. Recorded on 7th November 2006. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. You're listening to a section of the LibriVox Nano-Rymo project in which a number of LibriVox volunteers write and record a whole novel together in serial form during November 2006. The project is based on the idea started by the National Novel Writing Month. Chapter seven, written by Hugh McGuire. The gun was silver, and it looked heavy in Fulvia's hand. Or rather, it looked massive in her slim hand, and she held it with a careless ease that indicated Trevor wasn't the first person she'd ever threatened with a gun. But there was something Fulvia didn't know. This wasn't the first time Trevor had been threatened with a gun, either. Though he did his best to hide that fact. In fact, as he smiled inwardly to himself while doing his best to effect the look of terror and confusion, Fulvia had just revealed several bits of crucial information to him. Trevor wasn't sure how valuable these bits of information would be, but then in his business, the information you have is only slightly more important than the information you know your enemies don't have. But the best kind of information is false information you know your enemies do have. First, Fulvia didn't know who Trevor really was. Otherwise, she would have known he wasn't stupid enough to carry the manuscript around with him. She thought he was caught in something he didn't understand, was a mere messenger, a carrier of important documents beyond his comprehension. And true, he didn't understand yet what he was caught up in exactly. But he was certain he knew more than Fulvia. Probably more than anyone in the world except TM, and maybe U3 at Global. In his experience, people like Fulvia got their orders from someone higher up and they executed. But it was in no one's interest for them to know the bigger picture. Whereas Trevor didn't work for anyone except himself. And his business was figuring things out. Information processing, contexts, nodes on the net. It was all about context. Finding needles in haystacks is easier when you know where to look and he was among the best lookers. If he played this right, this would be the sort of information he could retire on. Which is why he was in Malta. Why he was on this boat. Fulvia wanted something from him, but he wanted something from her too. Once he figured out where to look, he would have everything he needed. He'd just have to make sure he could get there first before Global got there. Or the agency for that matter. Or the order even. Timing was everything. Fulvia wanted the manuscript to decode the message TM and his agents from the order had hidden in LibriVox audio files. Somewhere in those thousands of audio files, audio versions of public domain text there were errors. And as with animals, some errors were more equal than others. Some of those errors were there for a purpose. Planted by the agents of the order. Others were legitimate. Still others were noise as it were false errors planted by Global and others. LibriVox, like Wikipedia, was seething with intelligence agents of all stripes. The Cold War had never disappeared. The players had changed their uniforms. Some had changed sides. And the chess port was a little different now. It all happened online. And corporations were as important as nation states. Independent agencies and ragtag groups could compete with national intelligence services if they had the right information. What it was didn't matter as long as it was valuable. And the information Trevor was trying to get at was, if his chinchilla sense was right, about as valuable as information got. And Trevor was in the middle of it. If he could find the right errors and put them together in the right order he would have what he was looking for. He had most of it figured out already. Using the audio files from the mystery read by Grayson, he had his first start. And he had seen the manuscript. But he needed a little more. Why don't you sit down while you think about where that manuscript is? Folia said. She motioned him into the cabin and he sat on the little bench with a working table between them. She sat across the table from him. Have you ever been shot? She asked. She smiled at him. Caressed her gun. No, he said. It was true. He'd never been shot and he didn't intend to change that today. I have, she said. She inserted a finger under her collar, stretched her neck. It was a long, beautiful neck adorned by a particularly charming ear. She pulled gently at the collar of her shirt to reveal her clavicle. An ugly-looking scar, the shape of a scythe, sat at the halfway mark. Give me your hand, she said. He did as he was told and she took his fingers and pressed them into her collar bone by her neck and then pulled the fingers along the bone, halfway to her shoulder joint. At that scar, the bone stopped, stepped down and then continued along. It was just a neck, she said, but it broke the bone in two. The nearest surgeon was in Ulaanbaatar, 600 kilometers away. They probably would have just let it heal like that anyway. They only bother operating when the bone is totally shattered. I was lucky. But it works now, even if it looks ugly. She made a big circle with her arm to show how well her clavicle worked, staring at him as she did so. Her green eyes displaying a look of great amusement. I can tell you though, she said, if someone had got to me then, which they didn't, but if they had and they threatened to just touch that broken bone, I would have told them anything. When you break a bone like that, you realize pretty quickly why torture is so popular. All your dreams of honorable stoicism dry up pretty quickly when you start whimpering. Trevor was watching her eyes, so he was a little surprised when the barrel of the gun touched his cheek and then made its way slowly down his neck. The metal was cold, he shivered. Her other hand cupped him behind the neck and he felt her strong fingers massaging the muscles at the top of his spine. He closed his eyes. She was good, he thought to himself, better than he'd given her credit for. He winced as she pressed the tip of the barrel into his collarbone and twisted. Right there, for instance, she said. The pain in his collarbone made a curious contrast with the soothing feel of her strong fingers massaging his neck. Right there is where the bullet caught me. She pushed harder, digging the barrel in, breaking the skin. Trevor pulled back and was annoyed by the alpha pain that escaped his lips. Oh, she said, oh, I'm sorry. I get carried away sometimes. She let go of Trevor's neck and settled into her chair and then did something unexpected. She placed the gun on the table between them, flat, with the barrel pointing not at Trevor, but at the open door. She tapped the gun twice and then leaned back. The gun sat there, between them. Safety latch, he noted, removed. Maybe you'd like to reach for the gun, she asked, mirroring his thoughts. She smiled at him as if to say, try it. Very smooth, he thought. Perhaps he had underestimated this one. He did a quick calculation and decided not to reach for the gun. Gunplay and torture techniques were not among Trevor's greater skills, but information was. She was a global agent. That was all the information he needed to know. And Trevor knew, he knew that Ms. Rossi had gotten him wrong. As assured as this performance was, she would have gone about it differently if she knew that Trevor was more than just a carrier of the manuscript, more than just a computer programmer, more than just a Liberbox volunteer, more than a dupe. So he thought anyway. And that meant that Global and U3 had gotten him wrong, which gave him great margin to maneuver. It gave him time. It gave him the advantage. Still, Fulvia Rossi had done a nice job of asserting herself here. He realized he was sweating profusely, and that wasn't pretend sweat. That was real fear under his sternum. She smiled, gently licked her lips. So she said, where is the manuscript? I don't have it here, he said. He realized with some shock that Fulvia Rossi's nipples were erect and pointing right at him. Her cheeks were flushed. She liked this. Interesting. More information. The gun sat there between them, menacing. As absurd as it was, as incredible, he realized that this throbbing heart and that twisted feeling in his stomach was more than just fear. He liked this too. Sort of. Fulvia reached a hand forward and inched the gun towards him. Come on, she said, it's right there. Wouldn't you like to be in charge, change the course of this conversation? Hmm? No? She stood up and turned her back to him, to the gun. He stared incredulously at her back, her long hair. Where is the manuscript? Without really thinking about it, he reached forward slowly, his eyes in the back of her head. What was she playing at here? It is loaded, she said. His hands stopped in midair as he realized what he was doing. Don't worry about that. I wouldn't dangle an unloaded gun at you. That would be dishonest, unfair, no fun. Where is the manuscript? Aware of what he was doing now, but sure, he was making a fatal mistake. He gently touched the tips of his fingers to the handle of the gun. He was trembling. He grasped it in his hand, but before he could lift it, he felt a stunning shock in his hand. The gun clattered on the ground, and he wasn't quite sure why. One beat, a second, and then the pain hit, and he wrenched his wounded hand into his chest, bit straight through his lip. She had turned around, and she faced him now, smiling. She held a long metal bar, like an old radio antenna, but heavy, with a brass ball at the end of it. She had struck him right in the hand, where she had produced that bar from, he couldn't imagine. I didn't break anything, she said, yet. That was just a little tap. But there are many nerves in the hand. Very sensitive. Indeed, the hand throbbed, searing. Trevor had tears coming down his face, and he disbessed not to whimper, clenched his jaw. Idiot, he thought, you deserve that. I don't have the manuscript, he said. The rod came sailing down and hit him on the collarbone. He screamed. I sent it away, he said, panting. He thought he might faint. Stupid idiot, this was unnecessary. It's gone. A few pages here, a few pages there, all over the place. Male. It was true. After he had read the manuscript, he realized what he had in his hands. He separated it into ten sections and sent it to ten friends around the world. God damn it! Sylvia said, pages ten to thirty-three, she said, don't waste my time, where are they? I'm not—she tapped the rod on the crown of his head, not very hard, but enough that it hurt. He rubbed his head and she hit him in the ear, again, not hard, but hard enough that it hurt. Do you love your sister Tracy, she asked? He looked up and processed what she had said. She and your niece, Natalie, are staying with some friends of mine. Where are pages ten to thirty-three? He stared at her, nodded, understanding. Pages ten to thirty-three are in Prague, he answered. Fulvia smiled, a beaming, excited smile. Her cheeks flushed, Trevor did his best to look defeated, terrified, and with the news that Tracy and Natalie had been dragged into this, some of it was genuine. But there was something else in his mind that he did his best to hide. Victory. Fulvia had just done what he was hoping she would do, revealed the last bit of information that would help him to decode the message. She had told him where the key portion of the manuscript was. The papers really were in Prague, but in his pocket, in his MP3 player, buried in with a number of other LibriVox files, was the audio version of the manuscript. Before he'd sent it away, he'd scanned the pages, used a text to speech conversion, stuck them in his eye river, and ditched the scanned files. He had pages ten to thirty-three, in audio, in his pocket. Well, Fulvia Rossi said, letting the words roll off her red lips. I guess we're going to Prague. End of chapter.