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

You should have come on time, he muttered. Miss Sally will be displeased.

As they walked swiftly down yet more dark hallways and up and around various dark stairwells, Leonard, still holding Felix’s hand, took the opportunity to think about Sally. Now that he was to see her again, now that she had asked to see them, it seemed safe to contemplate her perfections. There was the matter of her waterfall curls and headbeads, her uniquely stylish garb, and the mystery of her name. Leonard hadn’t realized how much he liked mystery in a woman! Because he was still in essence if not in employment a Pythagorean, he took a moment also to consider her proportions — she wasn’t wanting there, either! Her legs were just the right length vis-à-vis her arms, and her torso, and her cute freckled nose. There was also the alien quality of her obsessions, and the way his arm tingled when she shook his hand. Yes, Leonard concluded as they approached the wooden revolving door, Sally, Baconian or no, Sally or no, was perfection.

Closed for renovations

To move through the wooden revolving door, Peter first had to shift a standing sign that read, Closed for Renovations . At which point Leonard realized that the Priceless Manuscripts sign had been replaced by a crooked, hand-printed banner that read Archive of Severely Damaged, Unreadable, Out-of-Date Caravan Directories .

There’s a new Chief Librarian, Peter mumbled. An Isaac Someone-or-other. No one’s seen him, but Miss Sally wishes to take precautions.

Felix tugged at Leonard’s outback jacket, but Leonard took his hand and squeezed it. Once inside the Precious Manuscripts parlor, he was surprised to see the room outfitted as if in preparation for a siege. Someone had brought in a small refrigerator and a hot plate and a tea service for eight, in addition to a crate of apples, a bag of dried grasshopper legs, and a large store of peanut-butter jam squares.

Someone has to be here at all times, Sally explained from behind the desk. Her hair was pulled back severely and contained in sparkling fishnet. She wasn’t wearing freckledot makeup; Leonard could see now that she didn’t need it.

Let’s go in, she said, accepting antiseptic gloves from Peter as they entered the small room to the side. Inside, there was a cot, on the ground next to which someone had placed a torchlight and some books. Sally, probably, since her clutchbag was also there.

What do you know about the Voynich? she asked.

Leonard and Felix shrugged.

Have a seat, she said. It’s time I explained. Don’t be uneasy: Peter is standing guard.

For some reason, this made Leonard uneasy.

Sit, Sally said. People always sit when I give my talks.

She opened the cabinet and pointed mechanically at the book.

This is the Voynich manuscript. The Voynich manuscript is the only unreadable book in the universe. It is written in a code that no one can understand. Emperor Rudolph II of Bohemia purchased this book in 1586, though the book is known to be older than that. The emperor was a strange man who amused himself with games and codes. He collected dwarves — Leonard and Felix knew better than to interrupt — and had a regiment consisting solely of giants. The manuscript was sold to him possibly by John Dee — an English navigator and spy who shared Rudolph’s interest in magic and the occult. The manuscript passed through many hands, eventually being found in 1912 by Wilfrid M. Voynich. Hence the Voynich manuscript.

The Voynich contains 246 quarto pages, of which 212 contain mysterious drawings. These drawings are of botanical, astrological-astronomical, biological, and pharmaceutical subjects, which is to say, they’re of plants, stars and planets, and so on.

Sally removed the dustproof cloth, which Leonard noted was not the one in which she’d blown her delicate nose. She placed it on the scholar table, then carefully opened the book so that Leonard and Felix could from that distance see drawings of plants — book-size versions of the drawings on the wall, which Felix was about to remark on out loud, when Leonard, sensing Felix’s impending irruption, pinched his side. She covered the book again with the cloth.

This is where my lecture usually ends, Sally said. Because this is where it gets interesting. The Cathars are convinced that the Voynich reveals the secret location of the Holy Grail, though they are utterly unable to prove it. They’d like very much for it to be so because they don’t have much left in the way of documentation. If they can crack the code and prove the book is theirs, they might attract new members. The Strawberry Parfait ice cream chain isn’t exactly bringing them in.

I didn’t know—

That Parfait is Cathar? Exactly! They’ve got no outreach, no philosophy they’re willing to share with their customers, and besides, once you’re fully initiated you have to starve yourself to death, and who wants that? But Parfait lucre helped establish this university. They’re strangling Voynich studies: they’ll only allow research that supports their point of view! We Latter-Day Baconians and some other inconsequential groups have been forced underground, practically.

Baconians? Leonard asked. He couldn’t help himself. He had to know everything there was to know about Sally: if she was a Baconian, he had to know what that meant.

You don’t know anything, do you? Sally said.

Leonard and Felix shook their heads.

I’ll have to digress, then, won’t I? Roger Bacon was an English scientist, scholar, occultist, and Franciscan friar who lived from 1214 to 1294, or thereabouts, or maybe from 1220, it’s hard to know. He was the most brilliant man of his age. He wrote the Voynich! Really, you haven’t heard of him?

Does he have a food chain? Leonard asked.

No! Sally said, disgusted in a way that pierced Leonard’s heart. He decided he’d ask no more questions.

He was a Master at Oxford, then he taught in Paris. We don’t know where he was between 1247 and 1256, though I have my ideas. He became a friar in 1256, expecting that this would lead to another teaching position, but instead, a few years later, the Franciscans prohibited him from publishing. He eventually got around this through Pope Clement, formerly known as Cardinal Guy le Gros de Foulques, who instructed him in 1266 to write about the place of philosophy in theology. Am I speaking too fast?

No, Leonard said.

You have a glazed look on your face.

I think you’re very pretty, Leonard said.

Sally stomped her foot. Her freckled cheeks became pink.

I need you to listen, she said. This is very important!

Leonard listens best when someone pretty is talking, Felix said. That’s what he meant.

Oh, Sally said. Sorry.

Please, continue, Leonard said.

Where was I?

Leonard had no idea.

The place of philosophy in theology, Felix said.

Right. It was at this point that Roger Bacon produced the works for which he is most famous — and she pointed to some tomes beside her cot: Opus Majus, Opus Minus, De multiplicatione specierum .

Latin, Felix said.

Of course, Sally said. For the remainder of his life, Bacon alternately taught and suffered under house arrest, but this doesn’t interest us.

It doesn’t? Leonard said.

No, Sally said. Anyone hungry?

Code yellow

We should eat before I tell you the best part, the part nobody knows.

Jujuberries? Leonard offered.

Yuck, Sally said. Really, the only thing I like, besides legs, is, don’t laugh …

Neetsa Pizza, Leonard said.

Sally looked at him with wonder and new respect.

How did you know?

Golden Mean pizza?

Yes! she cried. It’s like you know me!

It’s my favorite too! Leonard said.