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

What is this devilry ye have sold me? he gasped. Ye said it were motioned by angels.

So it is! Leonard said.

A devil resides within!

Leonard stooped to take the watch from Bobolo’s hand.

The innkeeper had somehow managed to summon the Brazen Head. It was sitting atop a golden throne, wearing a tinfoil crown and eating jujuberries. It was excessively fat today, and shirtless. Every few moments it spat a jujuberry, which bounced off the bald head of a dejected jester. The Head was smirking, no doubt about it.

Without thinking, Leonard pressed the Speak to Me button on the watch’s underside.

We don’t need you, he said to the Head. Go away.

Which meant the Brazen Head was free to speak. His voice was high-pitched and louder than you might think:

Where are you, Leonard! We’re going to find you! It doesn’t matter where you are, we’ll find you!

Leonard pressed the Go to Sleep button, but not before Bobolo fell to the floor in a faint.

Damned pilgrims, the woman muttered, and set about reviving Bobolo with vigorous slaps. It took their combined strength to get him back onto the couch. The young servant, shaking, was sent to fetch brandy — for the wife, not the husband, whose soul eventually rejoined them with groans, sighs, and a series of voiceless bilabial plosives: Pah … pah … pah!

What is it, husband? the wife asked, kneeling by his side. Do ye wish an audience with yer father confessor? Do ye wish to apologize to yer wife for dying a poor man, and a puttock besides?

Weakly, the man pushed his wife’s face away.

Leave me, wagtail! Return to yer coven. I’ll not be needing anything from ye.

The wife squinted at Leonard and Sally, then left the room, her skirt swishing against the floor. Bobolo reached for Leonard’s hand. From the strength of the man’s grip, Leonard judged he would make it.

I do not wish devils in my home, he whispered.

No, no, Leonard said, kneeling down. This is no devil. I swear it.

The innkeeper raised himself weakly onto an elbow.

Is it perchance a soul awaiting judgment? he whispered. Does this reliquary offer a portal to Purgatory?

There is wisdom within, Leonard said, reckoning that this was true enough.

It mentioned yer name, the man whispered, collapsing back onto the divan. It seemed angry.

It wasn’t happy that I’d gifted it to you. I had to explain that I was no longer its master.

Master? Do I hold power over that small anguished soul?

Leonard looked to Sally for assistance.

We can put it in its place, she said. But first you must tell us: What day is it?

Jew magic

Bobolo, empowered by curiosity, uprighted himself.

What day is it? Is she mad? he whispered to Leonard.

Very much not so, Leonard assured him, though he had no idea what Sally was thinking.

The date, please.

The hosteller gave her a date in late August, year of our Lord 1280.

And when is the birthday of the world?

Bobolo looked crestfallen.

Is this a riddle? Because I am not so clever with riddles, Froga can tell ye.

Where is Pope Nicholas? How does one go about consulting him?

Ye wish to consult the pope?

No, Sally said. We want to consult a Jewish sage — and finally Leonard understood: Sally wanted them to get on with their business. Where would they find Abulafia, and how much time did they have before he had to visit the pope?

Is there Jew magic in this here reliquary? the innkeeper asked. I thought mebbe so.

Not at all, Leonard assured him.

Well, yer Jewish sage should be knocking any minute, Bobolo said, or I don’t know my Froga.

Bobolo did know his wife, Froga, for in with Froga walked a black-hatted, gray-bearded gentleman, who demanded that Bobolo lie down for pity’s sake. A circular yellow badge was sewn to his tunic.

Zedekiah Anaw, Bobolo said by way of introduction. Jew physician. I have very nearly died, he explained, on account of this little devil person here, which may or may not be the result of Jew magic. Can ye tell? In this reliquary here. He’s meant to be strapped to my wrist, but truly I am afeard.

The man applied his palm to the innkeeper’s forehead.

Thou ravest yet thou art not feverish! the man marveled.

Again with Isaac’s translation!

I assure ye, my mind is as clear as the Tiber! Bobolo protested.

Then ’tis none too clear! Zedekiah replied.

These here’re Manicheans from Cathay, Bobolo said. They sold me the demon for some pilgrims’ fare.

A quick look at Leonard and Sally confirmed Zedekiah’s diagnosis.

I would wish thou didst not excite thyself. Prithee, withhold thy speech until the morrow.

Perhaps he wants fleeming? Froga asked hopefully.

I do not put stock in bleeding, Mistress Froga, as well thou knowest.

He put his hand to Bobolo’s wrist, then to his chest.

Thy heart doth gallop. Mistress Froga, he said, standing now, I shall send to thee a boy with herbs. Thou shalt make of them a hearty infusion, according to instructions I shall give thee. If the raving increaseth, or if thou noticest a burning or ague, thou shouldst sendeth for me without delay.

I’m not raving, damn ye! Bobolo said.

Shh! Froga replied. Of course ye are.

When is the birthday of the world? Sally asked the healer.

Zedekiah considered Sally for a moment and half smiled.

What dost a Manichean from Cathay care for the birthday of the world?

We are looking for Abraham Abulafia. Do you know him?

Zedekiah Anaw was no longer amused.

This man of whom thou speakest doth not exist. His name and mystic activity are but a rumor intended to bring disrepute to our small community. Thou wouldst do well to return to Cathay, if this is thy suit. Good day, he said, and made to leave.

Isaac the Blind sent us, Leonard said before the man could reach the door.

Zedekiah stopped short and looked back.

What sayest thou?

My nephew is missing. His name is Felix. Isaac sent us to find him.

Zedekiah looked at the pair another long moment.

The birthday of the world is in six days’ time, he said, and again he smiled that half smile. If the boy thou seekest is Asher, thou shalt find him by answering this: What is purple, hangs on the wall, and whistles?

Whistles? Leonard said, his face ashen. Hangs on the wall?

Thy good friend Isaac canst perhaps aid thee with the deciphering. Though he be dead some forty years, I am sure he shall oblige thee. Good day.

Felix is not in the river!

Leonard watched, unmoving, as Zedekiah “bade them adieu.” Sally had to grab his arm and pull him to the dining hall. The pilgrims were gone and all that remained of the victuals was some crusted pottage and a few slimy fish things.

I know the answer, Leonard said.

You do not, Sally said.

It’s herring, Leonard replied. It is.

It can’t be, Sally said. Herring isn’t purple.

It is if you paint it purple.

But it doesn’t hang on the wall!

It does if you hang it on the wall.

This is a dumb riddle. It doesn’t make sense.

It isn’t a riddle, it’s a joke pretending to be a riddle.

Herrings don’t whistle!

Okay, so it doesn’t whistle — that’s the punch line. It’s a herring joke, an old Jewish joke that makes no sense. My grandfather used to tell it. But I don’t know what it means. How can herring help us find Felix?

We’ll find Felix where there are fish!

Leonard looked at his beloved with all possible admiration.

You think so? he asked.

Definitely! We look for Felix where they catch fish, where they sell fish, where they eat fish.

Sally smiled, content with herself.

He doesn’t mean in the river?

Sally and Leonard looked at each other, stricken.