Act Three, Trial and Error
Pratt rode all the way to Bartok's Research Compound in contemplative silence, offering only succinct answers when his friend attempted to draw him into conversation. After a few miles Bartok stopped trying, merely steering the vehicle down the dusty road. Having been a victim himself of the ridicule of his peers, Janos knew intimately how Ernest felt. He knew also that his sympathy would not be welcome. The only cure was time, and the best treatment was diversion.
The rain tower was throwing long shafts of lightning into the air; Ramos was obviously maintaining Professor Bartok's experiments. As they drew close to the compound, both men could see the huge yellow globe of the hot air balloon moored on the far side of the laboratory. As they rolled to a stop, Bartok could not resist one last attempt to bring his friend out of his depression. "Ernest. In all the time that I have known you, I have never seen you like this. I thought you didn't care about what people thought of you. This Franklin is just a fool, Ernest, like the ones you so dislike who take you for Nicodemus Legend and ignore Ernest Pratt. And if Franklin Gutridge is a knighted soul, then I am the Czar of Tuscany."
Pratt's mustache twitched as he smiled. He let out a deep sigh and slapped his knees. "Janos, you are right. What do I care what he thinks? Am I not an author in my own right? Have I not made an impression on the mind of my readers? ... so what if some of them don't seem to have minds... Anyone can write history; it is merely the recording what has already happened. I create! I envision! I... make legends!" Pratt gestured dramatically.
Bartok smiled. "This is more like the Ernest I know!" He clapped Pratt on the shoulder. "Come... the next phase of our research on the descent parasol is almost ready to begin."
Pratt climbed out of the land rover, stretching, "The next phase? You mean you've tested it already?"
Bartok suddenly would not meet Pratt's eye. "Well... yes..."
Pratt pulled off his goggles and looked at Bartok, his eyebrow arched questioningly. Bartok looked supremely uncomfortable. "Janos?"
"I thought about our earlier conversation, and it made sense to at least test a prototype parasol using a... mass of proportionate size. The test was conclusive, if not... entirely... successful." Bartok changed the subject abruptly with, "Why don't we see if Ramos has got lunch ready?"
"Bartok! Don't tell me... you tested the parasol with a pig, didn't you?"
"You said not to tell you."
Pratt sighed. Sometimes his Hungarian friend could be very stubbornly evasive. "Okay. So what are we having for lunch?"
"Pork chops."
"Ack! And just what is Ramos going to prepare for supper tonight if all does not go well... Pratt pot-roast?"
"Don't be silly, Ernest. I was joking. You'll be perfectly safe." Bartok held the door open for his friend, waiting until he had passed within before adding, "The pig suffered only minimal injuries and will be up and around again in no time."
"Janos!"
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Mary Jane Plain closed the paper book and held it to her heart. She knew she was being foolish, but knowledge did not keep her heart from beating rapidly, nor did it slow the trembling in her body as she remembered the touch of his lips on her hand. She re-read the inscription on the book, telling herself that he probably always signed his female fans' books with the same words, while another part of her wanted to believe it was only for her: "To the one who brought sunlight to my darkest hour, Mary Jane, the girl with prairie-green eyes. From your biggest fan, Ernest Pratt." She vowed to keep this book hidden from Gutridge. He would destroy it if he knew she had it.
Franklin Gutridge destroyed anything that he thought would interfere with his plans or distract her from completing the books he paid her to research and write. At least during this trip she wasn't expected to be writing, but he still made her miserable with his ruthless control. She wanted to walk down the street of this little town, past the boardwalks and the storefronts, out into the prairies and toward the mountains. They might never find her, might never know she was gone. She longed for that escape.
Mary Jane opened the French doors that led to the balcony and stepped outside. The streets were moderately busy, folks walking about, some riding horses, some driving carriages. They talked, laughed, swore, and went about their lives, oblivious of the fact that they were being observed.
On the horizon lightning flashed suddenly, though the sky was clear and the sun was still high. Mary Jane remembered Farber telling her and Gutridge about the scientist who worked with Ernest Pratt, and how he dabbled about with electricity. Perhaps that was the source of this lightning?
Suddenly, Mary Jane knew what she had to do. She had to go to Pratt and ask him for help. She knew that the man who had brought Nicodemus Legend to life would not refuse the request of a woman in need, and she was most desperately in need. But how could she escape the hotel without Gutridge stopping her?
At that moment, a soft knock sounded upon her door. Mary Jane went inside and carefully hid the novel within the folds of her full skirt. She opened the door to find the young man with strange hair that worked as a clerk in the hotel.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. My name is Skeeter. Mr. Farber sent me to see if you needed anything."
Mary Jane looked Skeeter up and down. He was thin but his clothes were largish on him, and he was very close to Mary Jane's own height.
"Yes, Mr. Skeeter, as a matter of fact, there is something I need..."
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Much to Pratt's relief, he was not required to test the descent parasol himself. The afternoon was spent filling and hauling large sacks of grain, which Bartok had fashioned to be roughly man-shaped. Each had two floppy arms and legs. Pratt and Ramos stuffed them and wrestled them onto the balloon platform, then Bartok set down to teach his assistants how to fold the shrouds of fabric and coils of thin rope and position them inside a specially designed pack.
"You see, you set this... like so," Bartok said, buckling a harness across Pratt's shoulders, "and you have this cord here, which you pull when your descent reaches a critical stage..."
"Critical meaning just before I become a pancake on the landscape?" Pratt asked with heavy sarcasm, as he grasped the handled cord the Professor had pointed out and gave it an experimental tug.
The package exploded with a soft POP! then showered the men with cascades of silk string and fabric.
"Ah-ha! the release mechanism works perfectly! Thank you, Ernest... though I would have preferred that you hadn't done that inside the laboratory." Janos wrestled aside the mess and began folding the cloth again. "As I was saying, when you reach critical altitude, it will be necessary to deploy your parasol to prevent an impact event. Of course, you have to be careful not to deploy too soon.
"Why not?"
"Because if a wind with an extreme velocity should catch the parasol, it might break the cords or even rip the shroud to shreds."
"Wonderful," Pratt mumbled. "This was so much easier when I was writing it..."
They folded and refolded the shrouds until Pratt was sure that he could have done it in his sleep. Ramos came inside to announce that they had just enough daylight left to test Bartok's grain-man.
The Bartok compound was located within the wide spread of an ancient riverbed. About a mile distant, hills rose above the level ground, lifting sagebrush and yucca stalks toward the sky. Huddled on the top of one of these taller hills, crouching beneath the cover of the thick foliage, two men lay on the dusty ground. They wore dark clothes and held telescoping glasses to their eyes.
They had been watching the compound all day, moving only for the most necessary purposes. The heat of the sun overhead was very uncomfortable, but they did not relax their vigilance.
Finally, as the sun meandered toward the western quarter of the sky, movement occurred down below. A flame burned brightly beneath the vast yellow balloon and slowly it rose into the sky. One of the men fixed his glass on the basket.
"I see all three of them. That means that the building is unguarded. We should be able to get in and out again before they get back."
"Boss says that there might be some traps laid up around this place... he says that Bartok is skittish."
"Seems he has a right to be, since we're here to steal some of his secret work."
"Are you sure we can trust that fella that hired us? He looked kinda 'light in the boots' if'n you ask me."
"I trust the money he gave us up front. Those brainy scientists back East will pay more gold for whatever we can bring back."
"Sure beats robbing banks, eh, Wylie?"
"Yeah. It's nice not gettin' shot at for a change. Come on, Jenk!"
Together they left their hiding place, running down the hill out onto the flatland. Their clothes that had made them nearly invisible in the hills now stood out sharply against the tan and rust-coloured soil, but they didn't seem to care. They were sure that there was no one to see or stop them as they entered the cluster of buildings where Professor Bartok conducted his research. They headed toward the largest building, greed hastening their steps.
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Mary Jane sighed with relief as the buildings of the compound finally came into sight. She had walked for several miles along the road as Skeeter had directed her. She wished mightily that she had been able to find a ride, but the risk of being seen leaving town had been too great to wait long enough to borrow a horse or a wagon. So she went on foot, glad that she had managed to keep in good physical condition after all these years of working at a desk. Her feet hurt a little from the borrowed shoes, but she could never have come so far in her city-shoes.
She limped up to the fence that surrounded the buildings, leaning against it to ease the stitch in her side. She didn't notice the wire that ran along the wooden rail. After she caught her breath, she climbed over the fence and walked toward the nearest building, a large barn. The door was open a little, and she could hear noises. Making as little noise as possible herself, she crept up to the door to looked inside.
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Ernest Pratt watched the Professor and Ramos lift off in the balloon, waving at them with a jaunty hand. He had become more receptive to the idea of participating in this experiment after Bartok had informed him that his job would be to remain on the ground. Janos and Ramos were going up in the balloon to send down one of the grain-dummies with one of the prototype parasols for a high-altitude test. Ernest would then take the land rover and track the dummy's fall, so that the Professor could collect data by examining the landing site.
He took his time putting on his leather cap and goggles, and then paused beside the table that was still loaded with packs of folded parasols. On a whim, he slipped on the harness again, careful not to pull the release lever. It whole package was light and fit perfectly across his broad shoulders. In his mind, he replayed the scene that he was writing when the idea of the descent parasol came to him. Then he recalled the circumstances that inspired that idea, and he smiled broadly. He must try to get back to town tonight, and see if Henrietta would be partial to a little more research...
He was fumbling with the buckles to remove the harness when a loud buzz sounded behind him. Bartok's parameter-defense monitor board was blinking lewdly, showing that the circuit that surrounded the compound had been disturbed. Pratt frowned at the board.
There was a moose that frequently blundered through the Professor's fences in order to graze on the fresh green grass beneath the Rain Tower. Pratt tapped on the monitor to see if it was broken, then he headed toward the door to see if the moose had indeed come back.
His way out of the lab was barred by the two men in dirty clothes who had just come inside. They stood and stared at each other, surprised, for a full minute before both of the strange men produced guns and pointed them at Pratt.
Pratt displayed his palms immediately. He had never seen either of these men before, but he could tell that they weren't selling bibles. "Can't we talk about this without the guns, fellas?"
The taller of the two men waved his pistol in Pratt's face. "Why ain't you up there in that flyin' thingum, too? We saw y'all take off just a while ago."
Pratt winced. He hated to hear the English language mutilated, but he doubted very much that grammatical correction would be of benefit to this man... or contribute to Pratt's own prolonged health. "I forgot something and had to come back," he offered, indicating the harness.
"Keep an eye on him, Jenk. He might have some of those fancy do-hickies like he writes about in them books of his."
Pratt's eyebrow rose. "You've read my books?"
"Naw... I don' read. I heard the stories, though. Seen your likeness on the covers. You're that Legend fellow, ain't ya?"
Pratt gazed down the gun barrel, trying to appear unconcerned. "When the need arises," he answered evasively.
"Wylie... if he came back, the others'll be back, too. We got to get out of here!"
"Grab something! I don't want to waste this chance! Come on, Legend! You're coming with us."
"I don't think that Edison will pay any gold for me... Wylie, was it?"
"You're coming with us so that your friends don't get any funny ideas about stopping us. That book looks like it has lots of important science stuff in it," Wylie grabbed a thick book off of the nearest shelf, which Pratt could clearly see was labeled 'Madam Dutch's Camp Cookbook', and shoved Pratt toward the door. His partner Jenk tried to pick up one of the Professor's machines, but it was so heavy he succeeded only in straining his back. He set off behind them with one hand holding his aching back.
And they all ran into a dusty boy in a floppy hat, who had been peeking through the half-open door.
The boy had frozen when they appeared. A single look of recognition passed between the lad's wide hazel eyes and Pratt, a mere second's worth of time. The boy turned around as if to run away. Jenk grabbed his arm and stopped him.
"Who's the kid, Legend?"
"He's just a boy that Bartok hired to help around the compound. Let him go... he's no threat to you."
"Well, now he's coming along with us. Give us any trouble, Legend, and the kid gets the first slug."
Pratt felt a flutter of panic in his heart. This was going very wrong. He stepped forward and took hold of the 'boy' so that Jenk would release him. They began walking out of the compound in the direction their new friends pushed them.
The balloon was so high up that Pratt was sure that Bartok couldn't have noticed them. His mind was racing, trying to figure a way out of this that would not put Miss Plain at risk... and what was she doing out here, dressed in Skeeter's clothes?