Rachel Cantor - A Highly Unlikely Scenario, or a Neetsa Pizza Employee's Guide to Saving the World

Leonard wished he could get in touch with Milione. Mill was a man of the world: he would know how to woo Sally, or whatever her name was; he could explain what Leonard had done wrong.

But Isaac didn’t call, and neither did Mill. There would be no Plan B, no romantic assistance.

Realizing that Carol might be gone awhile, Leonard decided he needed to conserve cash, so the next morning, he packed a portable lunch consisting of jujuberries, some bridies, and cold revolutionary stew. He didn’t have any lucre himself, having given half his salary to Carol, always, for his board, and half to the pizza-greeter ministry. Now he wished he’d kept some: he wanted to buy a fancy sash or a swatch-cut for his afro.

We need to bring Sally a present, Felix said. So she’ll like us again.

Her name isn’t Sally, Leonard said.

Yes it is, Felix said.

He seemed very certain about this.

I’m not sure she ever did like us, Leonard said. She was just doing her job.

I’m sure she liked you, Felix said. Before she pushed you. What can we give her?

I’ve never given a girl a present, Leonard said. What do you think?

She likes books so probably she likes drawings. That book of hers had drawings. I could give her a drawing. What about a drawing of the demon world from Grandfather’s story?

Whatever, Leonard said. Sally probably wouldn’t even be at the library, and if she was, she’d refuse to be their Book Guide. He’d had one chance to find a wife and he’d bungled it! Still, Isaac had said the library, so after Leonard had supervised exactly five minutes of awesome karate kicks, they again went to the caravan. When the Service Desk assigned them to Dora, Leonard gathered his courage and said, We really enjoyed our conversation yesterday with Sally. In fact, we weren’t quite done when our time was up.

This isn’t our policy, the Service Desk said, so Leonard said, The young chap has a gift for Miss Sally, and Felix obligingly waved the demon picture. His sweetest little-boy smile did not soften the heart of the Service Desk, so Leonard said, Dora will be fine, but first the young ’un has to go to the restroom.

I don’t, though, Felix said.

Yes you do, Leonard said, and they slipped off, first toward the restroom, then following the path from the day before, through the talking-books room, past the scriptorium, down the aqua hallway, past the scholar tables, till they reached the locked bubbleglass partition.

Criminy, Felix said. What now?

I guess we have some jujuberries and wait, Leonard said, but they didn’t have to wait because along came a brisk someone wearing a senior librarian skirt who said, Chief Librarian Isaac said you were to pass?

That’s right, Leonard said. Both of us.

Right, the senior librarian said, looking puzzled. I don’t know any Chief Librarian Isaac, but he had access to my headset, and into the breathreader she blew.

Wow! Felix whispered as they continued along without her.

Between the two of them, they remembered every dark hallway and stairwell till they reached the staircase that played marches.

Peter! Felix whispered.

Do you think she’ll be happy to see us? Leonard asked.

Certainly, Felix said, but when they arrived, Library Security was there with their noise absorbers and library sticks to escort them out of the building. As Sally watched and bit her nails, Leonard’s and Felix’s hands were tied behind their backs and they were led exactly down the route whence they’d come, but not before Felix managed to drop his drawing of the demon world before Peter’s desk.

A non-bleating, non-sirening call

That night as Leonard again waited on his grandfather’s settee for word of Plan B, he got a call. He very nearly answered with his Neetsa Pizza script: those had been the only calls he’d ever received on a non-bleating, non-sirening phone.

It was Sally, or whatever her name was.

What do you want from me? she asked.

How did you know where to call? Leonard asked back.

The boy, he put your number on the drawing. Where did he get it?

The drawing? He made it. For you. To say he was sorry for whatever we did.

Yes, but where did he get it?

Too late, Leonard realized that he shouldn’t have allowed Felix to give her part of his opus: it referred to demon stories he wasn’t supposed to share.

I can’t tell you, Leonard said simply, deciding that if Sally was to be his wife, he must be honest with her.

You’re Baconians, aren’t you? she whispered. I was wrong about you.

We’re nothing, Leonard said. We don’t know what Baconians are. We’re not Cathars, either. I’m Pythagorean, and the boy is half Jacobin, sort of. You know, it wasn’t necessary to tie his hands. You frightened him. We had to spend twenty minutes in the University Eating Establishment waiting for his health meter to normalize.

I think you’d better come down here.

Where? The library? Felix is sleeping. It’s three in the morning.

Tomorrow, then. Come to the side entrance, the one with the sun on it. Be there at noon.

Will you tell me your real name?

But she was gone.

Baconians

Leonard asked his screen Brazen Head what a Baconian was. He was too tired to choose an information-gathering method, so he got the stock figure of a woman checking her watch and tapping her foot in irritated boredom, then the Head appeared and said, “You’re joking, right? Sounds like bacon and onion, maybe a made-up word for an unappetizing omelet? Another time, key lime.”

Maybe the girl really was crazy.

We have a second chance, Leonard advised Felix the next morning. A third chance. We’d better look trim and act sharp.

He straightened Felix’s peaked cap, wiped cinnamon bun off his cheek.

Have you been brushing your teeth since your mom left? he asked.

More or less, Felix said.

What about baths? Have you taken a bath?

I don’t get dirty, Felix said. I don’t like dirt, remember?

Sounds good, Leonard said. Five minutes of karate kicks, okay?

Then Leonard fossicked for lucre and packed a lunch — what was left of the skirlies, and some jujuberries. He had no primary-colored stockings to wear, and no sashes, thick or thin, but he did find a nonpatterned tunic in a robust lavender. It would have to do.

The caravan was delayed. The Brazen Head on Leonard’s navigator watch explained that this was because of explosions the night before in three Business District eateries — a Neetsa Pizza, a Heraclitan Grill, and a Whiggery Piggery. Some of the roads had become impassable. The culprits had cleverly disassembled all the neighborhood webcams, so their identity was not known. Heraclitans (naturally) blamed the Pythagoreans, who blamed the monarchists, who blamed the Whigs. No one blamed the Luddites, whose machine-breaking bakers were presumed not to know about webcams. The caravan had to detour around the Business District — already Leonard and Felix were late.

They hurried through the University Walking Grounds, Leonard holding Felix’s hand because he could see fights breaking out between pizza greeters and flamethrowers, royal pages and neo-Maoists. It was well after 12:30 by the time they arrived at the Library and found, in the back, an entrance on which someone had painted a crude yellow sun with spiky orange rays.

Sally wasn’t there, she wasn’t anywhere. Leonard wanted to cry.

We’ll wait, he said.

She’ll come, Felix said, and they leaned against the door, chewing on jujuberries.

Suddenly the door opened behind them and they tumbled into a dark hallway.

Shh! It was Peter. Quickly, he said.

Now that Peter was out from behind his desk, Leonard could see that he was terribly short, no taller than Felix, which is to say, about half Leonard’s height. He wore layers of checked suede — shirt, waistcoat, jacket — and walked, quickly, with a gnarly cane.