Jack McDevitt - Coming Home

“Most of it is filled in?” asked Alex.

“That’s correct. Nobody knows who did it, or when. It might even have caved in at some point. We don’t even know for certain that the basement was part of the original Prairie House. It was probably added later. But that doesn’t fit well with the official story, so I won’t push the point.”

He opened a door, and we looked down a stairway. He put one foot on the top stair and waited. “You want to go down?”

“Yes,” said Alex. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to look around a bit.”

We followed him down into what seemed nothing more than a very large cellar. Boxes and crates lined the walls and were stacked in piles across the area. “Can we look in one?” Alex asked.

“Sure.”

Alex pointed at a crate, and Edmunds lifted the lid. It seemed to be filled with moldering blankets. Another crate had more. And a third was filled with pipe and metal bars. A plastic box revealed two Bibles and several hymnbooks. “Has anyone ever gone through all this stuff?”

“I’m sure Rev. MacCauley had his staff look at everything before they left. In any case, Union City ordered a general inventory when they picked up the property back around oh nine. If they found anything, they kept it to themselves.”

We went back upstairs and talked about how some people had thought the artifacts had been distributed among a few private homes during the Dark Age. That they’d been hidden in attics and basements. “I’ll tell you,” he said, “the town commission would love to come across some of them. But that’s crazy.

“The entire area,” he continued, “gets scanned about every few years by somebody who wants to make sure they didn’t miss anything.”

“How much total space was there?” asked Alex.

“Who knows? The church never had that much.”

Alex used his link to produce an image of Baylee. “Mr. Edmunds, do you by any chance recognize this man?”

He looked and shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t think so. Who is he?”

“Garnett Baylee. He’d have been one of your—”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Yes, I did meet him once. Sorry, it’s been a long time, and I don’t remember faces real well. But I did meet him.”

“Do you remember any of the conversation?”

“I think it was pretty much like the one we just had. But it’s been a long time. Probably twenty years.”

“Did you know who he was when you met him?”

“Yes. That’s why I remember him. He was a professor up at Bantwell University. Wrote a couple of books. I heard him speak a few times.”

“Was that at the university?”

“No. The Historical Society gave him some kind of award. And he came down here to receive it. And he made a few other appearances. He was a funny guy. I do remember that about him.”

“Do you remember what he spoke about?”

“No, not really. The award was given at a dinner, and he only talked for a few minutes. Mostly, I guess, he just said thanks. The other occasions, as best I can remember, he talked about artifacts. But I don’t remember any details.”

We came out of the church and walked into the arms of a reporter. She had just come through the gate. “Mr. Benedict?” she said. “My name’s Madeleine O’Rourke. From The Plains Drifter .” She was tall, as tall as Alex, with amber hair swept back, and green eyes. “I wonder,” she said, “if I could ask a few questions?”

Alex was not a guy who normally fumbled his composure in front of beautiful women, but he was taken aback by this one. “Hi, Madeleine,” he said. “I, um, this is Chase Kolpath. And sure. About what?”

“You’re a famous guy. I was wondering what brings you to Union City?” She had a distinct accent. Tended to draw out words, sometimes adding an extra syllable.

“I assume you already know the answer to that, Madeleine.” That was a stall while he thought about how he wanted to reply. “We’re interested in the Prairie House. And the story about the Golden Age artifacts.”

“Well,” she said, “I guess you’ve come to the right place.” She looked around. People were watching from their porches. “Do you mind if I record the conversation?”

“No, that’s okay.”

“Thank you. Can I assume you’re trying to find out what happened to the material that disappeared back in the Dark Age? Is that correct?”

“I’m surprised you know we’re here at all, Madeleine. May I ask how that happened?”

“Oh, Mr. Benedict, I doubt you can travel anywhere without the media becoming aware of your presence.”

“Actually, the media isn’t usually all that interested in antiques. But you’re right, we’d like to find out what happened to the artifacts, sure. But I’m surprised you’d know about that.”

She smiled again. “Why else would a celebrity of your stature be down here?”

“Well,” Alex said, trying to look modest, “we could be here for any number of reasons.”

“Sure you could. Your Aunt Susan lives down the block, for one.” Another quick smile. “So, do you have any idea what might have happened to them? To the artifacts?”

“Not at the moment, no.”

“But you do hope to solve an eight-thousand-year-old mystery?”

Alex laughed. “Madeleine, I’d love to.”

“Do you have a lead?”

“Not really, no.”

“Mr. Benedict, where will you go from here? What can you hope to find that everyone else has missed?”

“Probably nothing. But there’s never any harm in looking.”

“But you must have something to work on?”

“Madeleine, if we find anything, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

The conversation continued like that for another few minutes. Alex avoided mentioning Baylee. I suspected she knew about him, but if she did, she didn’t bring up his name, either. Finally, she thanked him and left.

We walked out of the church grounds and returned to the car. “You okay?” I asked him.

“I’m fine.” He took a deep breath.

“She’s quite a package, isn’t she?” I said.

“Oh.” He smiled. “She’s okay. Not in your league, though.”

We spent the night in Union City and, in the morning, started for Bantwell University. It was located in Winnipeg, the world capital, which was located about 170 kilometers north. Alex called them shortly after we got started. He identified himself and asked to speak with the head of the archeology department.

“That would be Professor Hobart, Dr. Benedict. Hold one, please.” People frequently granted Alex degrees he didn’t have.

Then a new voice: “Dr. Benedict, this is Jason Summerhill. Professor Hobart isn’t available at the moment. May I help you?”

“Yes,” he said. “Professor Summerhill, the doctorate is a mistake. Call me Alex. I’m working on a research project regarding Garnett Baylee. He used to be a professor at Bantwell.”

Laughter at the other end. “Alex, I know who Baylee is. Everyone in the department does. But he never worked here. Not as far as I know.”

“Really? I was informed last evening that he did. It would have been quite a few years ago.”

“Can you hold a moment, Alex? Let me check.”

A woman took over: “This is Shirley Lehman, Alex. Baylee never worked for us.”