The Peaceful Affair: Chapter 26
Back in the present, the cocktail lounge of Club 22 was bearing witness to a fraternal meeting.
“ — but to no avail.” Noro Myx’s words focused into intelligibility as the auto-focus finally did its job.
“Don’t feel too bad,” said his brother consolingly. “You really cannot expect to decipher that medallion in such a short time.”
“I suppose,” sighed Myx. “And then, I was quite exhausted yesterday, what with the goose chase and the tramping.”
“May I see the article in question, again?” asked Jabberwock, at which his brother entered forthwith into lengthy negotiations with one of his trouser pockets, known by all for its pertinacity. After much bickering, an agreement was struck, whereby the pocket reluctantly released the item at hand in exchange for a pocketful of small change, grumbling about “always being shortchanged”. Noro handed the hard-won gold-and-silver medallion to his brother.
The elder Myx examined the object carefully for several minutes, turning it over and over and over, all the while humming softly,
Twinkle, twinkle, little pendant,
Sitting in my palm resplendent,
May thy secret wax ascendant,
Let it be well independent,
Let it be well independent.
Both Myxs joined in the chorus, singing harmoniously,
Let it be,
Let it be,
Let it be,
Let it be …
Finally, Jabberwock pronounced his sentence. “It’s no use, I cannot make heads or tails of this object.”
Myx’s pesky trouser pocket snickered schadenfreudefully, clanging the small change he’d gained, and remarked, “I’ve got lots of heads and tails.”
Ignoring the smarty-pants in toto, Jabberwock brushed aside the bulb that had lit up above his head, and said, “I have an idea. Let’s try the brainstorming room.” He then led his brother through the door, at the exit of which lay a corridor, at the end of which rested a flight of stairs, which they ascended to the top, to the right of which reposed a blue door, to the left of which hung a red plaque, engraved upon which was the following quote: God Created The World By Storming Herself Brainless. Cereb Ral Tempest, 1927.
By the time they had entered the brainstorming room Noro’s head was spinning. “Jabberwock, perhaps next time you would be so kind as to use means of travel other than whichcraft?” he asked.
“Sorry,” apologized Jabberwock, “I forgot you get farsick.” He walked over to an ancient-looking console, and thoughtfully engaged in setting several levers, handles, switches, knobs, keys, bars, pedals, and toggles.
Noro was quite impressed. “I’m quite impressed,” he said. “You handle this contraption like an expert.”
“What, the brainstorming machine?” laughed Jabberwock. “Quite a cinch, really. Here,” he handed his brother a thick, leather-bound tome, “take a look at the operation manual.”
Noro took hold of the thick volume, opened it, and leafed through its sheets to find them all blank. He turned the pages back to the first one, and then noticed it held a single phrase: Set all levers, handles, switches, knobs, keys, bars, pedals, and toggles to on position.
“That’s it?” protested Myx. “Then what need for such a complicated console?”
“Now, now, Noro,” smiled Jabberwock, “where would the fun lie otherwise?”
In the meantime, a soft wind was slowly insinuating itself into the confines of the room. “Brace yourself,” urged Jabberwock. “This tempest is going to be a brainer.”
The wind picked up the pace, gathered speed, and began to howl; rain came, turning quickly into hail; sleet and snow dropped in to offer their greetings. In the eye of the storm two shouts erupted: “Eureka!”, “Topeka!”. The two brothers left the eye, exiting the room through the left nostril.
Exhausted and drenched, looking like something the cat had let out of the bag, each Myx was in possession of a broad smile, nonetheless.
“Have you deciphered the medallion?” asked Jabberwock.
“No,” replied Noro exultantly, “but I’ve recollected where I left the car keys!”
“Lucky you!” rejoiced his brother.
“What about you,” inquired Noro, “any luck?”
“No and yes,” answered Jabberwock twofold. “I was unable to make any sense of the item under consideration, but I was able to come up with the name of someone who might help.”
“Who?” prodded Noro impatiently.
“Theotokopoulos Domenikos,” replied Jabberwock. “He’s a Chess Warlord over at The Cold, and an all-around bright chap who happens to be very good at deciphering medallions. Remember mother’s locket?”
“The one with the small portrait of an unidentified man inside?” asked Noro.
“Now identified,” smiled Jabberwock. “I’d finally sought Theo’s advice about a month ago.”
Noro was flabbergasted. “He was able to uncover the man’s identity?”
“Indeed he was,” declared Jabberwock.
“Who is it? Who?” double-questioned Noro.
“The man in the portrait is Father,” answered Jabberwock in a low solemn voice. A pregnant silence ensued, followed nine months later by an overly chatty racket.
“I must seek out this wonderful man at once!” cried Noro proactively.
“Not man — elephant,” corrected Jabberwock.
Noro stood corrected. “I must seek out this wonderful elephant at once!” he exclaimed positively. “How do I gain an audience with him?”
“I believe my friend Private may prove helpful in the matter,” replied Jabberwock. “Seems to me I caught a glimpse of the dear general playing chess tennis on our way to the brainstorming room. Let’s go find him.”
The two brethren descended two stories, and bumped into General just as he was exiting the court. “Jabberwock,” he called cheerfully, “you must grant me a rematch soon!”
“And so I shall, dear Private,” smiled Jabberwock. “Are you acquainted with my brother, Noro?”
“We’ve crossed paths,” replied General noncommittally.
“Good, good,” said Jabberwock in a goodly tone. “Private, I’d like to ask a favor of you: Noro here would like to meet with Theo at The Cold.”
The conversation took place beside a row of large frames, each housing a portrait of a club champion, with a smiling Jabberwock hanging smack in front of General’s nose. Not necessarily quick-witted by nature, though at times stunningly witted by nurture, the general saw the big picture at once.
“Jabberwock, Noro,” he stated authoritatively, “hark and hear today’s password to The Cold.”
Having finished his meal at the small hamlet’s only three-star French restaurant, Myx walked the short distance to The Cold, and halted before the entrance. He was just about to utter the password when the guard cried, “Shake!”
“Pardon?” replied Myx confusedly.
The guard pointed to the ornamental spear Myx had just bought at the small hamlet’s sole spear shop and elaborated, “Shake spear!”
Shaking the object in hand, Myx recited the password: “For this relief much thanks; ’tis bitter cold, And I am sick at heart.”
The guard smiled, shook his own spear, and made the sign of The Tempest. Grandly, he then narrated: “Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands.”
The two took hands and shook spears.
“Come in, come in,” the white elephant invited merrily. “Any brother of Jabberwock is a brother of mine.” Myx thought this slightly unlikely, given his parents’ tendency to engender boys, though he decided to make no mention of it.
“How is Jabberwock doing?” asked Theo.
“Very well, thank you,” answered Myx. “Your help with the photo has been greatly appreciated. Jabberwock sends his highest regards.”
“Think nothing of it,” commented Theo, blushing all over. Myx took a few steps backward, well aware of the dangers associated with being in the company of a red elephant. Before long, though, the elephant had blenched, and Myx put the steps he’d taken back in their rightful place.
“May I show you something?” asked Theo eagerly.
“Sure,” assured Myx.
“It’s a ballet sequence I’ve been polishing of late,” began Theo. “You see, I’ve started thinking about a comeback to ballet. Childhood dream and all. Now, please Noro, I want your honest opinion.” Without further ado, Theo signaled the orchestra, which immediately began playing the score of Swan Lake, specifically the part known as Pas de deux. As soon as the music had filled the room, Theo executed a rapid succession of glissades, performed two pas de chat, tiptoed on the tip of his toes in an expert display of pointe, pirouetted swirlingly, adding a handsomely executed fouetté — a quick whipping movement of the raised left hind leg — and culminated in a beautiful arabesque, his body bent forward from the hip on his right hind leg with the left foreleg extended forward and the other foreleg and hind leg backward. The music stopped dramatically.
Myx was on his feet, applauding and shouting with the rest of the auditorium, “Bravo! Bravo!”
Meekly, Theo asked, “It was okay?”
“Okay? Okay? It was magnificent!” cried the detective and became prophetic. “I prophesy your warlording days will soon be over.”
The elephant was clearly touched. “Thank you Noro. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
“Well deserved, my boy, well deserved,” affirmed Myx squarely.
Theo was about to blush again, but all of a sudden he shifted gears, stood bolt upright and exclaimed, “But where are my manners? Tea, Noro?”
“Indeed. How delightful.”
“Sugar?”
“One lump, please.”
“Milk?”
“Yes, please.”
“Cow or goat?”
“Moo.”
Once the two were comfortably entrenched in plush sofas, each holding a hot cup of warm tea, Theo asked, “So, Noro, I assume you’re here on some urgent business or other. How may I help you?”
“You assume correctly, Theo,” confirmed Myx, and hoodwinked the pesky poky pocket with a hood and a wink, whereupon the latter handed over the medallion without so much as a cheap peep. “I would indeed like your help in the matter of deciphering the inscription on this object.”
Theo took hold of the medallion with his proboscis, and brought it near his right ear to listen to the sound of the ocean. Finding the reception to be very poor, he then trunked the article over and over, while hemming, hawing, and singing:
He thought he saw a Vicar’s Tail
That wagged a holy dog.
He looked again, and found it was
A Sentimental Fog.
“On second thought, garcon,” he said,
“I think I’ll have the frog!”
After a quarter of an hour, which to Myx seemed like a half-dollar, Theo raised his head and began voicing eruditely. “Well, you’ve got your basic weather-trodden medallion made of gold and silver, bearing an inscription on one side consisting of twelve Latin characters arranged rectangularly into four groups of three:
MWM
MWW
WWD
DWM
I estimate it had been fabricated sometime in the 1920s. Very probably somewhere in the Middle East, perhaps in Egypt.”
“Egypt? How interesting,” commented Myx, his curiosity clearly piqued.
“Egypt,” confirmed the learned elephant.
“Can you make any sense of it?” asked Myx anxiously.
“Maybe, maybe,” mumbled Theo pensively. “If I use my ninth sense.”
“Ninth sense?” echoed Myx uncomprehendingly.
“I have the usual eight elephantine senses,” explained Theo, “as well as a ninth sense I’d bought from an old Greek monk back in Crete, for the price of a Greek translation of the Kama Sutra.”
“What kind of sense is it?” asked Myx.
“A horse sense,” answered Theo. “An uncanny ability to talk sense until knocked senseless.”
“So?” Myx pointed to the medallion.
“Pay close attention,” invited the elephant. “Do you have a pen?” Myx wrenched the requested article from his unruly pocket and handed it to Theo. Delicately trunking the medallion, the elephant pressed the non-inscribed side with the tip of the pen four times. Four letters — two Ms and two Ws — lifted upon cylindrical metal rods, the slender lengths of which bore finely engraved characters.
“I am now in a position to convey three facts about this medallion,” said Theo quietly. “One: the top-left and bottom-right Ms stand for Man; two: the outer Ws in the second and third rows stand for War; and, three: two such objects are in existence.”
“ ‘Man’ and ‘War’ are engraved along the lengths of the rods,” said Myx, “but how have you deduced the third fact?”
“My seventh sense,” explained Theo fully. “The second medallion bears the exact same inscription, but the letters that rise are complementary to this one. The two dovetail like lock and key.”
Myx thanked the elephant warmly and surprised the audience by exiting through the door. As he left, he could be heard mumbling to himself, “A second medallion… A second medallion …”
