Hi, snot-nosed kids.
I've been busy. Went to an anime convention, started my garden, died several times because of working full time at a dorky place….NO TIME TO DO ANYTHING ELSE.
But here is the next chapter. First, I threw in a mini summary, just to sum a few things up and get back on track. This is a long story. Don't get lost!
So now go read. We'll get serious in the next chapter.
Byebye,
Kelsey
Let's take a look at what we know, and summarize our findings.
Brief Summary
In August, Professor Hershel Layton, teacher and researcher of archaeology at Gressenheller University, received a strange, self-delivered envelope. Inside was a single piece of paper—blank and stark white—with attached instructions directing him to write his name. Hesitant at first, he eventually gave in to curiosity, did as the paper suggested, and was shook up as decade-old events and encounters with former student Laura Haris were magically listed on the page without any explanation. In addition to the eerie paper, he found himself met once more with Laura, who unwillingly broke their ten year hiatus in order to ask the Professor for much-needed help.
It is an awkward reunion, as the Professor and Laura share a rocky and emotional past, one that began with the Professor holding an assistant position at Grissom College when Laura was a first year college student. Although considered a prodigy in the fields of mathematics and engineering, Laura found herself failing archaeology, and spending more and more time with her archaeology professor due to necessary tutoring sessions. This led to unforeseen friendship and unexpected feelings, ending ultimately with a painful separation. For 10 years, neither of them knew of the others' whereabouts, and each existed without any contact. At least, that's what the Professor thought, and that's what Laura maintains.
It is learned that Laura is the lead engineer and mechanical architect for Petrolite, Inc., a petroleum company that had gained notoriety for controversially monopolizing oil in Britain and much of Europe. Layton was first torn, for how could Laura—his once bright and promising student—be involved with such business practices? Laura questions the integrity of her employer—Leopold Chancey—but from what evidence? Very little is known, yet it is here that the questions, investigating, and sifting through complicated feelings all begin.
Mysteries and Facts
Leopold Chancey, who initially hired Laura to build mammoth drills for archaeological excavation, suddenly shifts his focus to oil. As his megalomania increases, Laura begins to wonder if he has a secret agenda. Why would someone interested in building complex excavation machines change their focus to oil rigs?
Laura asks Professor Layton for help. After sending a page from the Book of Memory (and a puzzle) to the Professor, they meet at Laura's ice cream establishment, Dilliam's. She asks the Professor to help her with her personal investigation.
Rumors about the leadership behind Petrolite. Although rumors say that Leopold works alongside his uncle, Edward Chancey II, no one (including Laura) has ever seen Edward senior's involvement in the company. This is all that Laura knows and reveals, for little is known about Leopold's past.
The Book of Memory. In addition to strange behavior, Leopold Chancey possesses the Book of Memory, an ancient artifact that has mostly unknown capabilities. What is known is that the Book has the power to connect the memories of two people (who need to have their names written on a page), and list them in chronological order (as the Professor saw first hand). It is believed that a member of the justice system during the medieval ages turned to the dark arts to create a tool that would connect suspects to victims in order to discern whereabouts and events that would tell of a person's innocence. The Book has been shuffled from constables to judges, peasants to generals, kings to the mafia. How the Book works and how it decides what memories/events between two people to list is unknown. Where Leopold obtained the Book is also unknown.
Leopold's past is in shadow. While in Italy, Layton, Luke, and Flora meet an old maid and her fellow workers who used to work for the Chanceys. They state that Leopold Chancey died years ago in a boating accident. Shortly after his son's death, Leopold's father sold the family oil business to his brother, Edward Chancey II, just before committing suicide. Layton looks into this further, but finds no death certificate or any records indicating that Leopold would be dead.
Parrot aviary. The crew investigates the offices of Petrolite, finding nothing of importance inside. However, the grounds reveal a menagerie of exotic parrots, supposedly bought and owned by Leopold. They are emaciated and poorly tended to, as Laura tells that she recently had to begin caring for them after witnessing Leopold's neglect. As Layton approaches the creatures, all of the birds cry and squawk Not dad!. This strikes the Professor as strange, since it would seem appropriate that there would be a figure that the birds would associate with as 'Dad', in order to compare to a 'Not Dad'. He recalls that Edward Chancey II was an aviculturalist, but has no other facts to go on.
Edward Chancey II's old ties. Laura and Layton leave Luke and Flora at the Professor's flat when they go to a dodgy 'gentlemen's club' to pay a visit to a former friend of Edward Chancey II. In hopes to find out the whereabouts of Edward Senior, they question Arthur G. Thackman, who used to work in the archeology field. Their conversation isn't as helpful as they thought, but they learn that Arthur was originally approached by Edward to co-own Petrolite. After turning down the offer, Mr. Thackman hadn't heard from Edward, even after many attempts to contact his old friend.
Deaths and missing persons. The Professor learns of a few strange deaths in the archaeological community, as well as Arthur Thackman's. In international news, a few missing maids from affluent families have come up missing.
Stabilnon. Layton and Laura go to the States to a southern city called Stabilnon so that Laura can oversee the installation of an oil drill. The town has charm beyond compare, but much more in the way of mystery. A few of the oddities that the town possesses include townspeople mentioning a "sleeping spell" that happens daily, the two travelers easily becoming fatigued, all buildings having heavily fortified foundations, and snow being unable to stay settled on rooftops, trees, awnings, or anything with a slope (immediately sliding off of any inclined surface).
Don Paulo and the rogue Ferris wheel. During Layton and Laura's side trip to Chicago over the New Year, they come in contact with Don Paulo while riding a Ferris wheel. It is not the Professor's first run-in with a "rogue" Ferris wheel, nor with Don Paulo, but Laura should not be familiar with such events, as she wasn't associated with the Professor at the time. However, she alludes to knowledge of Layton's prior Ferris wheel "experience", and he finds this troubling, especially since Laura maintains she has had no willingness to connect with him or his whereabouts for the past 10 years.
The solution. Professor Layton, before heading to Chicago, realizes he has had a method right under his nose to apparently solve all their problems with the investigation. While he doesn't immediately share his solution with Laura, we find that he stays up late in their Chicago hotel, using the page from the Book of Memory…and this is where we are at in our story. What he has found—the connections between untold people—only time will tell.
CHAPTER 35: ROCK AND RULE
Around 20 years ago
The Holmes and Chesset Private Academy for Young Minds sat framed by a darkening horizon, a blustery September day threatening rain with every smoke gray cloud that loomed overhead. The air was warm and humid, and very much welcome, as the approaching fall season wasn't yet desired. At least, not by the young students that attended the private school.
A small band of young men, around college age, walked up quickly to the ominous brick building, covered in patches of ivy and surrounded by a thick, green hedge. A few of the boys stopped at about halfway up the walk and examined the building intently, admiring the architecture, while the others continued up to the front entrance.
"Come along now, you prats! We're here for a job, not to admire the get-up of this bloody building, for God's sake," the one furthest up the walk yelled behind him. He sported an evergreen flat cap, contrasting terribly with his flaming red mop of curly hair. The mess looked like hundreds of squirming caterpillars under a giant leaf. "I'm not hanging out at a primary school all day!"
The others hurried up the lane, holding onto their own caps as they ascended the short set of front steps.
"Settle down a bit, Louis," one of the boys said quietly as they entered the wide, wooden doors. "I thought you'd like it here, after all. A bit more of your pace, isn't it?" The boy named Louis took a half-hearted swing at his offender, giving him a toothy grin.
"A bit cheeky, aren't you, Hershel? Well, see how you like working with little 8 and 9 year olds for hours. It gets old. This is your first time, so you're a bit smug to start. Wait 'til a couple of months of this. It drags."
"It's just a bit of simple mentoring and tutoring, Louis," another boy muttered, a portly fellow with round, red cheeks. His actual name was Tom, but had to take on his nickname—Porkus—as it was the only thing that boys at the University would call him; he accepted the name, with hidden reluctance. "Hardly anything to fuss over, really."
"Just you wait. You'll all want to run back to the lecture halls… The rest of them know how this is," he said, jabbing a thumb at the rest of the group.
They continued inside the school, walking into a rather opulent lobby, stretching to the sky with cathedral ceilings and thick pillars. They walked down a long hallway lined with staff and faculty office doors until coming to the very end, which was occupied by a large, dark wooden desk. A frail, yet sharp looking middle-aged woman sat behind it, scribbling information unknown onto a thick pad of paper. She looked up briefly when she noticed someone standing in front of her.
"Oh, you boys must be the volunteers from the University. Lovely!" She sat her utensil down and walked around the desk, ushering them to follow her. She led them briskly down a side hall way, the tile floor squeaking under their shoes. "Floors were just cleaned, so be careful. The kids are so excited, they love it when you guys come by." The men all nodded their approval, even if they didn't really mean it. "It really brightens up their day."
The woman opened a door and poked her head in. "Mrs. Purcell? Our visitors have arrived!"
A few gasps and soft cheers from inside told the college students that they were a greatly anticipated item. Hershel smiled, staring absentmindedly at the wall as the secretary removed herself from the doorway and invited them all inside.
'I almost forgot what it was like, to anticipate so innocently, so longingly…' he thought to himself as he followed his friends into the classroom. He quickly broke from his reverie as he and the others found themselves staring at a large group of young boys and girls that were just as apprehensive as they were.
"Class!" shouted the teacher, Mrs. Purcell, a middle-aged woman of athletic build. "Surely you will give these lovely students from the University a warm welcome, and will continue to give them your undivided attention for the remainder of their time here with us this afternoon. If you recall, they are volunteering so that we can learn more efficiently. Don't waste their and your time with mindless chit chat!"
It was terribly obvious that the children didn't care about a word that their teacher spoke, as they smiled and bobbed up and down, waiting to be called upon to join the tutors.
"Now then," Mrs. Purcell continued, "I'll be calling each of you in intervals to work with our tutors, but until then, please take out your journals and write about what you hope to see during our field trip this Friday."
Several moans from the group, as well as a ruffle of pages and click-clacks of pencils against the desks. The college boys chuckled as they took up their seats at a large oval table along the side of the room. Louis tapped his fingers against the table surface unenthusiastically.
"This is the part where you just get to wait and hope you get a smart kid. That way, you won't have to teach as much…"
"Don't you want to teach someone something new, Louis?" Hershel asked genuinely, crossing his legs underneath the table. "I like seeing how people light up when their brains take on new information."
"Children do it so well too," said Tom, staring off into space dreamily. "To be a kid again…"
"Goody-two-shoes, the both of you," Louis said, ending in a yawn. "Can't take you anywhere. You'll make me look bad!"
"Not too difficult to do that…" Hershel whispered, slapping Tom playfully on the arm to join in on the jib.
Louis swallowed his anger as the teacher called out a few of the children's names. Ten students grabbed a pencil and a workbook and raced from their chairs to the larger table to sit alongside one of the tutors. Hershel glanced around him at the other college students, getting an idea of how the boys taught. His own young student sat on his left, beaming up at him with a crooked smile and a few missing teeth.
"And what might your name be?" Hershel asked with a warm smile.
"Charlie Q! But my friends just call me 'Q'!" the boy spoke with a loud voice, startling his tutor. Hershel gave a weak chuckle. The boy's exuberance made him a bit hesitant to ask what the 'Q' stood for, and he decided to let his curiosity fizzle.
"I see… And what do you need help with today, Q?"
"Just maths!" The young boy slammed a giant, hardback mathematics textbook onto the table, making the entire thing shudder. Hershel jumped in his seat and gasped as everyone around glanced down the table at the source of the noise, then returned their attention back to their own work. The little boy smiled mischievously, apparently proud that he'd caused a slight commotion.
"Q, let's try to be a bit quieter… Mathematics, huh? Let's have a look…" He opened the book and groaned. "I…never was quite good at this stuff…"
"Me neither," Q muttered sadly, pushing his fingers against each other and making a triangle shape with his hands. "Guess that makes two of us! Now I won't feel so bad about it. Laura makes everyone look bad at maths." He glared minor daggers towards the children's desks.
"Laura?" Hershel asked absentmindedly, trying to quickly comprehend how the book explained fractions to young children. "Well, we'll figure this out, so you'll soon be on your way to being the best in the class! Ha ha."
The boy snorted, then laughed a series of short, sharp giggles. "No, no, sir, you don't understand. But that's okay, you're new. What's your name anyway?"
"I'm hardly worth calling 'Sir'!" Hershel said with some disappointment ('Am I really that old looking?!'). "My name's Hershel Layton. And what do you mean that I 'don't understand'?"
"Aw, nothin'. You'll just 'ave to learn it all as you go. Say, let's just do reading instead, since you don't understand those fractions and stuff…'ow old are you anyway?"
"Hey, I understand it!" the college student said astonished, a bit flustered. He was quickly finding that this boy was even quicker with his language.
"Hmm, well, doesn't look like college education is everything!" the boy muttered, smiling triumphantly as his classmates around him giggled. They had looked up from their own work and were watching their class clown run circles around one of the poor tutors, and it made for good sport.
At that moment, the door to the class opened and a tall, lanky man with skinny rectangle glasses entered. He had a tired yet confident smile on his face. Hershel looked up as the treelike man picked out a small girl from the students still at their desks and called her over to him. They left the room momentarily, then returned within minutes. The man gave a short wave at the teacher before leaving.
"That was strange," Hershel said quietly while staring at the classroom door, half to himself, half to whoever wanted to listen to him.
"Oh, that 'appens every day," Q said matter of factly, quickly changing to a mocking tone. "She's gotta go learn accelerated mathematics and all that. She probably just got an assignment or something…"
"Oh really now? Doesn't anyone else do that as well?"
With a small sigh, Louis smirked down the table. "Hershel, don't you know we're here for the kids' education, not to just talk it up with them?"
"Just a bit of innocent conversation, really…"
"If you gotta know, that little clever-clogs is like one of those whack-job kid geniuses. Already into beginning high school mathematics." He laughed as Hershel's eyes widened. "Yeah, unbelievable, right? I didn't believe it either…kinda…found out the hard way…."
"If what you say is true…"
"Would I lie to you?"
"He's right," Tom said across the table after sending his student back to his seat, having finished instruction. "She's absolutely insane with numbers. 'Course, they really crank them out of this school, pushing for higher levels of understanding. The school's like the military, but for the brain. Makes Louis there look like a dunce. He hates it when she asks him about mathematical concepts that he's currently reviewing for his own classes. That's why he hates her so much…"
"Shut up!" the red head hissed. "Heard about enough out of you blokes for a lifetime's worth! So what if she could rewrite my mathematics textbooks. The kid's still believing in the tooth fairy. I have nothing to worry about."
Louis almost fell out of his seat when a tiny hand prodded him gently on the shoulder. He inhaled sharply and spun around in his seat, the other guys trying to suppress their laughter at his startled expression.
"Good Lord, you about gave me a heart attack…"
The little girl known as Laura stood quietly holding onto a thick textbook. She knit her eyebrows together. "Mr. O'Leary, if you're not busy, do you know anything about radians? I was wondering if you could help me, please."
Louis grunted. "Well, you're going to have to wait a bit until I finish up with Harold here." He looked down at his current charge, then back up at Laura. "Could take a while. Might wanna ask one of the others."
"If you'd like, I could attempt to help you," the young Layton said with a smile. "I can't make any guarantees though."
The small girl looked at him square in the face, her own expression unmoving, as if saying, "Yeah right". She proceeded to do a check of the other college students around the table, summing them up in one quick sweep of her dark eyes.
"Not to be rude, but only Mr. O'Leary can help. He's going to be an engineer. He understands," she whispered.
"Well, I'd be glad to try and work it out. Mathematics is a bit like a puzzle after all, and I like to solve puzzles." Hershel attempted to reach out for the girl's math book, but she pulled away, out of his range.
"If you're so good at puzzles, you can solve this one, right? Mrs. Purcell makes us solve a puzzle every morning, so I try to find some at home to practice with. My mother's no good at them; she gave up already, listening to mine. But I read this one just this morning in the newspaper."
"And she reads the newspaper…" Tom grumbled to himself. "Not even most university students do that…"
"Papa forces me." Laura cleared her throat, closing her eyes briefly, as if trying to recall the riddle's words.
"The puzzle is this:
I mimic you when you talk to me,
I echo what you speak.
Everyone can hear me,
even if your voice is weak.
Not a parrot, nor a monkey,
not even a woman or man.
Without a voice, I can not talk,
but with your help, I can.
What am I?"
Layton stared at her dumbfounded. He'd been around some of the smartest people he'd ever met during his first year at the University, and he'd paid a great sum to have the privilege of sharing a campus with them. And now, here was a little girl who surely didn't intend to be, but was indeed in the ranking for a real intellectual challenge. Half of him wanted to smugly try to put her to shame, but the other half not only knew better morally, but knew better than to set himself up for shame should she best him.
And she just might best him.
He shook his head quickly, returning to reality as the girl cleared her throat.
"Want a hint?"
"Um, no, I'm….I'm fine…." Hershel's classmates laughed, and he was sure they were laughing at him rather than with.
"Told you, Mr. Academia," Louis chided mockingly. "Heh heh, little Miss Teacher's Pet here will most likely be teaching you."
Layton could tell the girl wasn't quite picking up on his comrades' poking fun and subtle animosity towards her, so he directed the conversation elsewhere. "Well, I guess I'll have to think this one over, and as for now…just…get help from Louis when he's ready…"
The girl frowned a bit and blinked. "Oh, okay…"
Laura walked away with a twinge of sadness pulling at her stomach. She had told herself earlier in the morning to keep the riddle to herself but…thought maybe the classroom mentors would enjoy it as much as she had. The one with the small eyes seemed kinder and more patient than the others, and didn't talk down to her like the others had been doing, but…
'Looks aren't everything. I guess even I'm fooled every once in a while…'
She sat down, disappointed that older people didn't always act older after all, and stared at her homework bitterly.
About an hour later, the classroom wished their tutors a good day, and lined up quietly for their lunch hour. They smiled and waved as the college students left.
Louis sighed, then gave a small whoop when they were out of earshot of the students. "Finally! No better feeling than leaving this place! Reminds me that there is a God."
They walked past the front desk and bid farewell to the receptionist, who was in the middle of talking to one of the students who was just back in the classroom.
"Laura, are you not feeling well?" Tom called after the girl. "You're all packed to go home!"
She smiled meekly, desperately wanting to stare at her shoes, but noticeably forcing herself to make eye contact. She shifted her focus around the group of boys, doing her best to make them all feel invited into the conversation, the sign of a (forced) gracious host.
"I have to go see the doctor for a check-up. Just a check-up."
Louis smirked and gave her a playful salute. "I'm sure you'll ace it fine, like everything else. See you soon!"
The girl waved shyly, turning back to the receptionist. She was startled, turning quickly, when someone spoke at her side. She looked up at one of the new college tutors, a curious expression on her face.
"By the way, the answer is 'microphone'," Hershel whispered with a boyish grin. "To your puzzle? It's a microphone that fits the riddle's description, correct?"
Flushed with a child's happiness, subconscious approval splaying a wide smile across her face, Laura nodded. "Yep, it's a microphone. Wow, you're really smart after all!"
"My sentiments exactly, but not about myself," he said, tipping his hat slightly. "Thank you for the puzzle. Have a good day!"
"You too, mister…mister…" He had already walked a good distance, attempting to catch up with his friends at the front door of the school, when Laura realized she never got his name. She felt a bit of guilt, forgetting her manners and not introducing herself and finding out the tutors' names. But her guilt was quickly usurped as she shrugged, internally feeling something delightful that she'd never experienced before, and wouldn't experience again for almost an entire decade.
'It's nice to be noticed, even just a little bit…'
The knick-knacks—both chintzy and valuable—sat sullen in their static worlds upon the bookshelves and glass cabinets. A few of them were more adept than others at catching the dust specks that visibly floated in the sun's rays. It was terribly obvious that their owner had abandoned dusting duties for quite some time, but what wasn't obvious was the fact that their owner was compulsively thinking about the dusting constantly. And she rued the fact her lack of time prevented a good, solid cleaning.
Professor Layton sat in an office chair that wasn't his, but this didn't bother the chair's actual owner. At least, not at the moment.
Laura scanned the room, itching to clean something, to reorganize or arrange something to perfection. She hadn't spoken to the Professor since she entered her office mere minutes ago. In fact, she hadn't spoken to him much for weeks. With such a quiet length of time, there hadn't been any talk regarding the investigation, nor about the awkward situation back on that cold night in New York that had put an equally chilling stop to any congeniality between the two of them.
Needless to say, conversation was short, patience shorter.
Numb, and with eyes still heavy from restless sleep, she had risen on that first day of the new year to find the Professor wrapped in a robe, sitting at the small desk of their hotel, slouched over the top. His back was to her. Her eyes still stung from her silent, salty tears, dried up and clinging to her lashes, and she blinked.
Quietly, she slipped out of the bed and padded across the floor, carpet squishing underfoot. He was still asleep and laying on a pencil and a blank paper. Ideas ran through her mind. Perhaps he was going to write an apology? She wouldn't accept it, she thought. Maybe he was going to write a bitter complaint? She'd give him what-for, she thought again.
Her potential conclusions died when he stirred, and that was the signal to begin packing.
They'd left Chicago, returned to Stabilnon, and Laura continued her work without so much as a word. The Professor returned to London, earlier than anticipated. He had nothing else left in the small southern town. All the information he needed was tucked safely in the grooves of his brain. It only made sense he would go back…
…if only for the sole reason of feeling responsible for creating a divide between them again.
They hadn't spoken to each other: no phone contact, no indirect news, even through Luke or Flora. Laura was alone in the United States, and Professor Layton came back to happy smiles and open arms of the children. They questioned Laura's whereabouts, but the Professor maintained his position that Laura wished to be left alone until her return. He held to it, but often wondered if he should try to contact her, although he'd be met with defeat.
He was used to that.
Now, her office seemed stuffy and foreign, the girl herself seemed faraway and out of reach. He'd made her build a barrier once more. Mines lay hidden, and he tried to stealthily talk his way around them.
She now stood in front of her own desk, feet stockily spread apart, arms folded across her chest. Her face was permanently set into a scowl, yet it looked more tired and saddened than angry.
"So. What have you come to my office for? To sit in my chair? Not that I use it…" she sighed, as if the words were the hardest thing she'd ever have to suffer. "I'm back at square one. In more ways than one, if you must know."
"Well, I'll get to that in a moment. I noticed something interesting, walking around the room." He stood, pushing the chair far behind him before making his way to a large glass case. The shelves' many mirrored surfaces reflected his curious expression, topped by his hat, as his gaze wandered around the many trinkets and plaques. It wasn't long before his eyes navigated to one knick-knack he'd looked at earlier. "This plaque."
"What of it?"
"I didn't realize you had attended Holmes and Chesset Academy. This is an award you received from the school, praising your prowess in mathematics. Seems that's where you received it. It says the name, after all."
She strode up to the case, glowing with pride. "Ah, yes. That was my proudest achievement. Still is one of my fondest memories, getting that recognition…" She drifted to the past momentarily, but was quickly jolted back to the present. "Again, what of it?"
"Well, I used to tutor there, actually."
Laura knit her brows and nursed a terribly confused expression; she might have even let her jaw drop, had she failed to remember couth. "Tutor? Like, recently? As a professor? Why would you ever do that?"
"No, no. When I was a student at university. It was a part of a program initiated by the college to establish a social connection between the students of both institutions. A group of college students would visit the Academy and tutor students in whatever subjects they needed. They were very bright children, so working with students from the university wasn't overkill. And I'm thinking, given our age gap, we would have crossed paths. I'm certain I would have seen you, noticed you or something…"
"You did," she blurted out suddenly.
"I'm…I'm sorry?"
"You were the only one who did. Who noticed. Who gave me the time of day. You solved my riddle." She turned from the glass, from the plaque that had fancy gold script scrawled across it, gloating over her success. None of it mattered to her now. Her eyes were as someone blind, her mouth as someone mute. She stared at the carpet, but wasn't seeing it, and her mouth moved without words. "You were that nice boy on that day. No one else cared. But you listened to me." Her hands darted and pointed, then fell as her voice trailed off, leaving her whisper to hang in the air.
It seemed to come to him more slowly. Realization swept over the Professor with a peaceful calm, an 'Ah, yes' sort of moment. "So I had met you after all."
"Yes! This is…this is strange…it was only that day because I moved up a year after that. We didn't use tutors anymore."
"Hmm, the whole thing; I do recall it vaguely."
Although frustrated at the word 'vaguely, the girl merely walked circles in front of her monolith desk. How could his mind be so fuzzy? Then again, her memory was beyond compare, and he was an old man (eternally, in her eyes). But the moment two and two were put together in her mind, it hit her like a freight train: they'd somehow met, all those years ago, and were by chance given the opportunity to meet again. It was unbelievable. It was unheard of. It was…
"Fate is a funny thing," was how he broke the silence. "And yet, it wasn't captured."
"Captured?" she asked, turning towards him now.
"Yes, by the Book of Memory. When you sent me the page in the post, the first entry was not our meeting back at Holmes and Chesset: it was during our time at Grissom's. Why was that?"
Laura stood quietly, looking a bit stupid, before her eyes blinked a few times. Then, the brainflow. "Well…from what I have deduced from that annoying book, perhaps both people need to realize the event is actually occurring?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, neither of us really committed the detail of our first meeting to memory, did we? After all, how could we? I talked to you as if in passing, and no more. I mean, if all chance meetings and events between people were cataloged in the Book, there would be too many entries to make sense of. It would defeat the book's purpose after a while. Reading through hundreds of mundane entries would be ridiculous. Don't you think?"
As she said it, it seemed to make sense to him, but when she finished…Professor Layton still wasn't so sure. "That could be it. It's a reasonable theory. However, I'm not concluding anything. I'm not convinced one way or the other."
"Well, that's one way…so what's the other?"
"I…don't have an other…"
Laura shrugged. "Well, that's all I've got. Why else would that event not show?"
Again: "I…don't know…"
He felt rather thick for having no idea of his own, but he had a lot on his mind, and this was yet another thing to add to it. He'd learned a lot from his page of the Book, but never had this situation occurred to him. By chance did he see her award plaque. By chance was this connection even brought up. It was another thing he'd have to test…
He went home that afternoon alone, but Laura found her way back to the flat later. Shortly after dinner, the Professor made it known that he had a headache, one bad enough to put him down, and he made his journey to wash up for the night. Laura suggested they switch sleeping quarters temporarily so no late-nighters would disturb him, and for this Layton was delighted. Smiling inwardly, he hastily went to his actual bedroom, grateful to leave the couch, and closed the door. Laura raised her eyebrows, but never thought another thing about it. Was there ever a time she didn't consider him odd?
The world was apathetic. Was there any other way? Had it ever been any other way? It preferred to remain out of "the know"—knowledge of the virtues, the evils, the daily business of man—and went on spinning, turning as it had for millions of years. And its inhabitants busied themselves as they had been doing since the beginning. Living. Thriving. Working, eating, sleeping and waking. Repeat.
White, sterile, interior walls of the large corporate building competed for excellence with the brilliance of colors just on the other side of the lobby windows. Londoners ambled down the sidewalk, admiring the landscaping, taking mental notes of the foliage, only to wave down a cab, race down the road, each citizen on a path to somewhere…
Where were they going?
"A mundane, bleak, schedule…for a mundane, bleak creature."
Leopold Chancey stood in a sunlight hallway, glassy window reflections stretching across the tiled expanse. His eyes poured over a chart on a clipboard, his tall, thin frame casting a long shadow. He closed his eyes, and smiled greedily, as if he wanted the schedule to be his despite his insult. "Wouldn't you agree, Laura?"
The girl said nothing, but raised her eyebrows in response, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. She followed him down the hall. His gait was proud, confident, and she had to stretch her calves to their limits to keep up with his pace. He was on a path, and he made sure it was no mundane path.
"My dearest Laura. I do apologize, but I have yet another task for you." He stopped and turned to face her, trademark crafty smile still tugging at his lips. "I'll need you present for a big announcement on the 22nd."
"The 22nd? Of this month?"
"Indeed, this month."
"That's Earth Day."
Leopold's features changed for the moment, a genuine smile trying hard to hold back a booming laugh. "How astute of you! Indeed, Earth Day. It's very much important that my announcement is made on such a day. And…you need to be there. Yes, you do."
So much for the smile. His gravelly tone sent shivers down Laura's spine. It sounded urgent, yet threatening at the same time, his voice. She knew she'd have no other choice but to be present, rather than use the opportunity to investigate his private office space in his absence. It was becoming harder and harder, as he spent more and more time alone, cloistered in his office.
'…he's still on to me…'
"Of course, sir," she complied, giving a small bow of her head in his direction. "Where else would I be?"
Leopold snorted, smile unwavering. He put his hands on his hips, gold rings glinting against his ivory suit pants. "Your big brain gets you in between rocks and hard places. Let's just keep you occupied at my grand occasion. Only the best of the best will be in attendance, the biggest brains, as well as the biggest pocket books. It's only fitting you should be one of the privileged, no? As far as the brains go, not the pocket books. Correct me if I'm mistaken! Please!"
They continued on their hasty jaunt, finally stopping in front of a secretary's desk. It was empty. Laura watched as Leopold tossed his clipboard on the desk and gave a stifled giggle.
"Well, I suppose I have much to prepare for. You can have the rest of the day off if you want. I'm sure you'll do well to take a short holiday, yes? After your work over in the States, after all, I'm sure you would like a holiday." He watched Laura carefully, this time the corners of his mouth playing tug of war with a leer. It made her uncomfortable but she bored him with unwavering eyes.
"I'm too busy for holidays," she droned mindlessly.
He flinched theatrically. "Oh really now?! …but of course. I should expect no less from you, should I? You've been such an asset, really, you have. All for the love of the company. All my grand plans coming together. So beautiful. I do love cohesion."
After a length of time, he decided to be on his way, walked down the hall, and turned the corner. His whistling followed him.
And she was alone. He barely spoke to her, yet when he finally chose to give specific information, they were exceedingly cryptic. Her mind swam as she gawked at the shadow of a cobweb.
'What in the world could this be about? Earth Day? There's nothing he would have to announce on Earth Day, especially nothing that's earth-saving. He already destroys it by drilling drilling drilling. If there were any advances in acquiring his precious petrol, I would be the first to know about it…he wouldn't announce it to everyone…
'…unless it's nothing good he's announcing…'
It was too much to handle at the moment, and Laura started wondering if he really was just an eccentric after all. She returned to her office to pack her things, heeding Leopold's 'charitable' gift of having the rest of the day off.
Meanwhile, the Professor was wasting no time with his investigation. He didn't care what Dean Delmona thought. A personal day here and there was nothing compared to his discoveries. He only had one more place to secure information.
"Professor, do we really have to go here…? I can't put my finger on it, but this place gives me the shakes and shivers," Luke whined, trailing behind Layton and Flora. It didn't matter; the sidewalk was empty, except for the three of them, so he wouldn't get sucked into a crowd. He kicked a stone hard into the brush.
The girl had no qualms with it. She liked to explore, and she really had never been in a police station. But the boy didn't find mustering around archived files and chatting with uptight bobbies to be the most exciting part of the investigative process. Plus, the basement of the station was a tad bit creepy…
Professor Layton chuckled cheerfully. "Seems you'd be more suited to waiting in the lobby? I'm sure one of the detectives will be polite enough to entertain you with some exciting stories about all of the—"
"NO NO, I'M JUST FINE WITHOUT STORIES ABOUT CRIME SCENES," Luke spluttered and stammered, attempting to catch up without losing his lunch. "I'll be just fine…"
"So you did watch that late night program about crime investigations and forensics. Hmm. Interesting." Layton eyed him chidingly, the young boy trying not to giggle nervously through a weak smile. Flora's glare was no better; she'd told him not to watch. But Laura wasn't paying attention that night, the TV was ever-so-conveniently on, so…who would know he snuck a peek?
That was his thought, until he hadn't slept in a week, and it showed with blood shot eyes struggling under the weight of dark bags.
"Well, now that the cat is out of the bag, you'd do best to listen to me from here on out," Layton stated bluntly. "I have some questions to ask of Inspector Chelmey. I'm assuming it will be quick, and I don't expect to find anything, but…
'…it's worth a try.'
They walked through creaky wooden doors and approached the front desk. Not a soul was behind the counter, or anywhere for that matter, which Layton found odd.
"That's strange. I wonder where the secretary is?"
"Oh, no," Luke groaned, his face in his hands. "Not you!"
A girl, about a head taller than Luke, strode down the hall and turned towards them, her thick dark curls bouncing with the same energy as her stride. She first gasped, stared in shock, and then grinned as if she had been expecting them all along.
"Professor! And assistant number two!"
Emmy Altava was quicker than the boy, who felt himself crushed under the weight of the young woman's hug before he could dodge it. Flora was quite taken aback and stepped closer to the Professor, who only laughed. He was surprised.
"Who would have thought? It's good to see you again, Emmy. It feels like eons."
Almost instantly, Emmy let Luke go. She started, as if to do the same bone-breaking to Layton, but she stopped herself short. Her words came out punctuated, the staccato rhythm making her sound like an apprehensive robot.
"It…it certainly does," she managed. "Likewise. It's been a while."
"Why are you here?" Luke asked grumpily. "It's not like we need your help or anything…"
"Oh, who asked you, Luke? Looks like you'll need it soon. Since I am the front desk lady after all!"
"Is this your new job, Emmy?" the Professor said with a chuckle. "Paying dues?"
Beet-red, Emmy's cheeks puffed out indignantly. "If you're insinuating I'm paying for trouble I've caused the police force in the past…then no! That's not the case! But I'll take your joking with a grain of salt, regardless…" She stepped through a side door in the hallway and appeared again, this time behind the desk. "Now then, what was it you needed, Professor? A cage cell for your little mutt there?"
"How dare you call Flora a mutt, Emmy!" Luke screeched. "You were bad before, but now you're just—"
"I meant you, No. 2…"
"—the worst! Now you're just the worst!"
If the counter wasn't there, Luke Triton might have made himself the first boy-turned-rocket, completely prepared to launch himself at a sniggering Emmy. Professor Layton lightly tapped the boy on the hat.
"I might remind you of our purpose?" Steam released, the boy stuffed his hands in his pockets and glared at the woman behind the desk. "Anyway, I think it would be best if you and Luke, and Flora as well, became better friends. I, on the other hand, would like to speak with Inspector Chelmey. Is he available?"
The young woman checked a chart on the wall, then a calendar. She nodded. "Yes, he's free for the afternoon. Let's go to his office. I—"
"I'm well aware of his office location. I've been here many a time." He tipped his hat in proper fashion, and smiled warmly. "Now, if you wouldn't mind making polite conversation with the children, I'd be most appreciative."
"But I thought we were going to go with you!" Luke blurted out.
"And I thought you were afraid of dusty, spidery files, Luke," Flora said, speaking for the first time. Emmy chuckled.
"No surprise there…"
Shaking his head, Layton left the two in Emmy's care, and made his way down the hallway.
After a few short raps on the door, he heard the gruff voice of Inspector Chelmey welcome him inside.
"Whoever you are, come in."
"Sorry to intrude, Inspector…"
The Inspector remained seated, but a squat bobbie stood up quickly at the sight of the top hat. "Professor Layton! What a surprise!"
"Surprises a' for children at parties, Barton," Chelmey growled. "This is merely a random circumstance. Professor Layton, please come in. Tea's on the table, couch is next to the table, and Barton is cleaning the table… Wipe that mess up, Barton, you blithering little…."
Sputtering an apology, the short man grabbed a rag and began grinding it into the table surface.
"That's quite alright, Barton," the Professor assured him. He stepped towards the Inspector's desk. "I intend for my visit to be brief. I merely need clearance to enter the archives."
He didn't think it would be easy. Who could simply walk in and demand to be allowed into the depths of the police's storage of exclusive information on all things suspicious? But the look on Chelmey's face made him wonder if it would be more difficult than he thought…
The Inspector's eyes were angled underneath knit brows, and not a hair on his mustache quivered. His fingers interlaced, he sat his elbows heavily against the top of his desk.
"And what do you 'ope to find down there, Layton?" His knuckles cracked audibly, which made Constable Barton wince.
"Well, that is something I'd also wish to speak to you about, Inspector..."
It wasn't that he was as afraid as Luke about the darkness and spiders and eerie presence that the archives seemed to exude. But something gnawed at the Professor's gut as he descended the staircase behind Inspector Chelmey, Barton trailing behind them both nervously. Did he sense something terrible that he was about to find out?
"So you suspect the Chanceys, do you?" Chelmey chuckled after Layton explained a few details of his quest. After climbing down the stairs cautiously, he reached out for a switch on the wall when they made it to the third and final platform between the flights of stairs. The smell of moldy paper hit their noses before the gift of sight did. A single bulb sleepily flickered on, and they could see the first few shelving units that cased sets upon sets of files. Then Chelmey led the way beyond the limits of the light, around some more bookshelves.
Further down the narrow walkway, the Inspector instinctively reached up into the darkness and tugged on a formerly invisible string. The sheepish light sent a pale glow around the area as the dancing string sent shadows skittering across the floor. It looked like a spastic spider leg, freshly plucked, and then after a few moments, it hung limp, dead.
"It's not that I suspect the Chanceys of anything dastardly," Layton said, breaking the silence. He watched the Inspector nonchalantly flick a web or a spider (he didn't know which) from his hand with a snap of his wrist. Barton jumped back a bit, fearing it would fly onto him, and slammed his shoulder into a loose chunk of papers jutting from a shelf. It sent powdery dust into the air. "I just have a few…disconnects in some of the information I've been given."
"'Given'?" the Inspector asked with interest. "Who would be giving you information willy-nilly about the Chanceys, for no reason?"
"Well, of course there's a reason." The Professor began looking at a line of damp, mildewy folders. At the end of the shelf was a label, much like those in a library to help book-searchers with their tome quests. However, instead of a range of numbers, the label was no longer legible, and it was framed by a rusty square of metal. Years of dank air had its way with anything that would let it cling and get a foothold. Professor Layton gave up trying to read the shelves for directions on where to start. "Hmm."
"Which Chancey are we looking for?"
"Edward Chancey the second, and Leopold Chancey."
Inspector Chelmey opened a creaky old filing cabinet and rummaged through limp papers. He produced a yellowed folder.
"All you'd like to know about the entire family. Whatever there may be, anyway. Now, what's your beef with the Chanceys, Layton? Be specific." He was becoming perturbed.
Choosing his words carefully (and without mentioning Laura's name), Layton started his tale. He explained that he had been approached by a former colleague who now worked for Leopold at Petrolite, and told of all that they had experienced: the strange story from the maids in Italy, the odd behavior that Leopold had exhibited by switching from archaeology to gasoline, the always-missing Edward II. He added in his curiosity about the recent deaths of famed archaeologists, including Arthur Thackman. Chelmey took it all in quietly, and only looked at the ground. Layton wondered if he even heard a word he'd said.
Then, the Inspector looked up. "Well, take a look in that file. When you've had your fill, just let Barton know, and he'll turn out the lights."
"But, sir," the constable squeaked. It was all too apparent he hated the place as much as Luke.
"Sir nothing! You 'eard my orders… Wait at the stairs, Barton."
The Professor was going to ask the Inspector's thoughts on the matter, but bit his tongue. As soon as Chelmey ascended out of sight, Layton opened the brittle folder. The contents were as mildewy as the rest of the place, but some pages were obviously newer than others; the shade of yellow was more of a pastel than that of the snot colored older papers. He fingered through the back of the folder first, not finding much more than dry information concerning minor court cases where someone sued someone for something, and the occasional record of a traffic ticket. Other than that, the information was far from juicy.
…until he flipped ahead a couple of pages, and found a file for a 'missing person's' report. He managed to slice his thumb and cursed mildly before removing the page from the folder. He sat the thin file on top of the rusty cabinet.
"This is…this is from six years ago!"
Indeed, the report was dated six years prior, and was filed by someone named 'Maybe Chancey'. It sounded almost comical, but the report was genuine. Who this 'Maybe' person was, the Professor didn't know, nor did he have the foggiest notion of who it could be. As he continued to read, he found out that the 'missing person' in question was Edward Chancey II.
A shiver went down Professor Layton's spine and branched out over prickly skin. The light still cast a dull glow, the bulb still vibrated noisily. His skin still had a pallid, sallow hue. But the air felt more damp and cold than it did when he first came down, and he shivered again.
There was no factual information that pointed toward Edward Chancey senior actually missing. For all anyone knew, he was the man behind the scenes, the man behind Petrolite's success. However…this report…
"Why would one person file a report like this? And then end it so soon?" he asked himself aloud.
No answer came, from the surrounding darkness, or from himself. Indeed, the report was filed in April, almost to the date, six years ago, yet the search was discontinued a short four months later. According to the document, searches were conducted—a handful at Petrolite—and the police must have found what they wanted, for no other comments were made, and no other documents were attached to point towards any further police action taken.
Nothing else was done. The search ended. 'Maybe Chancey' must have been satisfied with the results too. No reason not to think so.
No reason other than the Professor's intuition.
He placed the folder and papers back in their proper spot, and turned out the lights himself, much to Barton's delight. The two scaled the stairs, Layton more quickly, leaving Barton huffing behind him. He looked back when he reached the top.
"I think I'll be on my way. I've gotten all I needed."
Barton smiled as he wheezed, his little mustache teetering up and down like a see-saw. "Very good, Mr. Layton!" He saluted. "I hope we've been of some good service?"
"Indeed, you have. Thank you for your time."
He tipped his hat and barely walked away from the archive door when he stopped dead in his tracks. Not far ahead, Laura was quietly relaying something to Inspector Chelmey, her hands clenching and unclenching, flying this way and that. He never thought she'd actually involve the police, but there she was, in the middle of it.
The conversation died off as Laura felt a new presence in the room. She trailed off and looked to the side where the Professor approached. Her eyes softened slightly.
"Oh, hello, Professor," she offered politely.
"Seems you and your former student 'ave a penchant for getting your noses into suspicious activity," the Inspector chortled, the first time he smiled since Layton had been there. He seemed to be at ease now, a stark difference from earlier.
"I—she—how did you—how do you know—" Layton started, undecided on what comment or question to make first. His jaw was slightly agape.
"Don't hurt yourself there, Professor. I am a detective, you know. And, besides, it's nothing strange; I've known Laura since she was a screaming whelp of an infant. I know where she went to school and know where you've taught. I'm no dummy."
Laura turned herself fully towards the Professor, hands on her hips. Her grin contained a flood of cockiness, and there was no dam to hold it back. "My father knows the Inspector well. He's like a second father to me. Oh, look at that face!"
All of a sudden, the Professor felt incredibly foreign and ridiculous, and slightly out of the loop. His face became hot.
"I suppose I had no idea…" There was an awkward silence. "Well, Inspector Chelmey, I've finished my business in the archives, and I thank you for all your help. I'll be sure to come back if I need any more assistance." He tipped his hat and eyed Laura carefully from beneath the brim.
It was enough of a signal, and Laura wrapped up her talk with the Inspector while Layton collected Luke and Flora. Jumping up from her post, Emmy came out from around the desk to where the rest of them were standing. Chelmey noisily shuffled away, but not before shooting Layton a curious sort of glance; one that was half-troubled, half-admonishing, and Layton didn't know how to take it. Then he turned away, waving to all of them before disappearing down the hall.
"It was lovely seeing you all again. I hope you got the help you needed, Professor?" Emmy asked sweetly, trying to hold her smile.
He nodded, and felt Laura standing close by. "Indeed, I did. Excuse my manners, I suppose you two haven't met. Emmy, this is Laura Haris, a former student of mine. Laura, this is Emmy. She was my assistant years ago."
It didn't take long for the two women to lock eyes, and…despise one other, to the Professor's chagrin. As her nature would dictate, Laura summed the other woman up instantly, looking her up and down, processing personality and inner thoughts in the matter of a second. Already emotionally shaken from the surprise encounter with the Professor and Luke, Emmy wasn't too keen on another member being adopted into the Layton family, and since the person was a young attractive woman…it didn't sit well with her.
Jealousy was something she was never good at defeating. She didn't know why she was envious. Perhaps it was more that she didn't want to admit that another had taken her place.
"Charmed," Emmy mumbled, holding out a stiff hand. Laura thought for a moment, then responded with a forced grin.
"Likewise," was all she said.
Uneasily, the children looked at each other, then at the Professor, who grit his teeth behind taut lips. Thoroughly disappointed, he glared at Laura, who took the hint and then the other woman's hand.
"I'm sure you know all about the Professor's bland conversation," she guffawed, amending her to-the-point introduction. "I'm sorry you had to assist him."
Despite the children's giggling and Layton's eye-roll, Emmy wasn't laughing. "His conversation wasn't so terrible. It took some brain power, but I'm sure it has been no trouble for you. Has it?"
Lips slightly parted, Laura smiled slowly, ending with a leer leaning towards the demonic (or perhaps insane). Her eyes burned with a lazy anger, one that could spark to action any moment if she was provoked, and Emmy could almost hear her laughing bitterly, sarcastically. She—even she—had to admit it was a little off-putting, somewhat intimidating. This Haris girl seemed so frail and petite—a true pushover if she ever saw one—but her aura demanded otherwise. She knew she'd said something wrong, but…Emmy Altava wouldn't admit such things.
"I suppose," Laura began, her eyes never leaving Emmy's, "it might take immense brain power to prepare, motivate, and propel one through the sort of idle conversation that rocks, dust, and holes would conjure up. I am sure I would not have such energy to hold a conducive discussion on archaeology, nor would I want to waste my brain power trying to pretend that I did. Indeed, I have much more important things to waste my brain on.
"I wish you the best of days. Lovely meeting you, Emmy."
Her face phasing from rosy to tomato, Emmy fumed behind puffed cheeks and almost inaudible grunting. And without another word, Laura turned on her heel and ambled out the door somewhat inelegantly, peeved, but satisfied.
"What was all that for?!" Emmy screeched, startling a harried Professor, who had tried to usher Luke and Flora out without causing the volcano to erupt. He saw it was too late. "How dare she! She doesn't even know me!"
"Nor you her," the Professor chimed in, attempting impartiality. "Laura isn't the sort to make friends easily. She's—"
"A brute, and brutish gargoyle if I ever saw one! What on earth are you doing associating with such a woman, really?! And what's she got to discuss with the Inspector? I'm going to ask him this minute!"
"Emmy, please, it's really…none of your business…"
She already stomped down the hall, mumbling obscenities to herself.
Outside, the Professor sighed.
"I wonder why Laura and Emmy immediately started arguing," Luke asked innocently. "Neither know each other, so…"
"Don't you see it, Luke?" Flora asked rhetorically, shaking her head and grimacing. "I don't know Emmy well, but after talking with her earlier, she—well, maybe I'll just explain it later…" She ended in a whisper and gave Luke a sidelong glance that told him to drop the topic. The Professor walked lazily next to them all the way home without a word, eager to keep the whole thing back at the station.
Back at the flat, Laura was in the Professor's bedroom, the door shut tight. Layton started a kettle of water and sat glumly at the little kitchen table, trying to lose himself in the newspaper. Flora pulled Luke aside before he had a chance to follow his mentor into misery.
"Luke, don't you think Emmy sort of…liked the Professor?" she whispered testily, as if he should have picked up on such a thing.
"Liked him? What do you mean?"
"It was very obvious, when the Professor introduced her to Laura… She immediately hated her. Like, she was a threat…"
"And how would you know about something like that, when you…well…" He didn't want to be rude, but he didn't have any better way to say it. Biting his lip, he thought for a second. "Flora, you haven't really been around social situations enough to pick up on such things, have you?"
Girls really did have an uncanny way of scaring people with a glance, the boy decided. He'd seen Laura's enough to understand when her eyes became poisonous towards the Professor. But Flora…it was a new circumstance.
"It's not learned, Luke. It's common sense. And I don't know what happened between any of them, but I think that's what Emmy was feeling, and I dare to say it's similar with Laura.
"Now, I'm going to rest!"
And she shut her room's door as tightly as the Professor's.
THE END. ALL DONE. You can review now.