Chapter Two: A Skeptic Scholar

Hours later, Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes walked up to the Turnverein Hall on Lincolnway. The sun had begun its descent, the western buildings casting their long, blocky shadows into the street. A brisk spring breeze blew a couple of newspaper sheets along the streets, so they bounced and tumbled like wayward pups. The wind also carried the aroma of new growth and possibly rain as it blew down from the Laramie Mountains to mingle with the refuse, mud, and excrement churned by horses that was a portion of the bouquet for every civilized town.

Halting near the four double doors inviting them into the hall, Curry watched two men hurrying along the street, from pole to pole, as they ignited the gas lamps to push away the darkness. Smoke poured from Cheyenne's many chimneys, clouding sky, the stench of coal catching in the back of his throat. "Remind me why we enjoy coming to these oversized towns."

"As the reward for a job well done," Heyes responded, clapping a hand on Curry's shoulder.

Turning a questionable plea to his cousin, Kid chuffed without mirth. "Going to have to do better as I stand here, clearly recalling how good it is to breathe clean air."

"All right then," Heyes answered, "It is for the decadent meals, fabulous variety of drinks, divine hotel beds free of extra critters where they bring up steaming buckets to fill full-length tubs and an opulent nightlife that includes theatre, music, dancing, poker," he squeezed Kid's shoulder, "and do not forget the unsurpassed female companionship."

Laughing roundly at the brassy barker voice Heyes had expounded his case with Kid got out, "Well, there you go, Heyes, you have gone and convinced me, yet again."

Slapping his hands together, Heyes rubbed them vigorously, then motioned broadly for Kid to choose a door.

"There are more treasure and gold mine maps floating around the West to put Coronado's Seven Cities of Gold to shame, so I sure hope you aren't getting your hopes up too high about his one."

"Never know, Kid, some objects do turn out to be just as they are described."

"You honestly think we are going to find all you are looking for here?"
Heaving out a sigh, Heyes said, "Then are you saying Caddy steered you wrong?" He stepped for the nearest doors, grabbing a handle. Half-turning to his partner, he asked, "Are you?"

"Ain't saying that."

The brown eyes, dark as a bay's gleaming coat, sparked with excitement. "Come on, then; it is a lecture on Vikings," Heyes cheered, his voice overflowing with his ebullience over learning anything new.

"Yeah, well, I'd rather be headin' to the saloon," Kid muttered as he followed, "I could be sitting pretty about now if 'n you get what I am saying."

"I know exactly what you are saying," Heyes answered, swinging the door wide and leaning closer to his cousin; he whispered, "And, Jed, you know Grandpa Curry used to say, 'a man is what he thinks about all day long'." The remark earned him precisely the disgruntled look he was aiming for, one which would have made another depart fast as a spooked jackrabbit. "This is important," he patted his chest where the map was secured within the interior pocket of his sleek black, wool double-breasted suit jacket. "I am also positive you will find this far better than whiskey and Caddy."

Rolling his eyes, Kid muttered, "I doubt it," and followed his cousin through the door, knowing there was nothing short of a posse appearing that would get him out of this.

They edged through drifting fog banks of overripe cologne, pipe tobacco, sweat, and dust in search of a pair of empty chairs in the tightly crammed rows. The wood floors shifted, groaning under the weight of the crowd. The deeper they went, sweat beaded on Curry's forehead, a finger of his left hand pulling at his celluloid collar as the other remained near his Colt, wishing they were anywhere but pressed in like cattle in a stock car.

Heyes kept working toward the front, practically bouncing as he walked. In his ear, Curry grumbled, "Half of Cheyenne is packed in here." When Heyes did not respond, he nudged him between the shoulder blades.

"Isn't it exciting? This many here to see Dr. Wilkinson proves he is an expert," Heyes answered. Looking back over his shoulder, he added, "Bet he can read that pointy writing on the…" his dimple grin popped into place, "you know what."

Squeezing in down alongside Heyes, with his kneecaps pressed into the chair before him, Curry grumbled low in his pal's ear. "If 'n we are recognized in here, we are done for."

Heyes' nose flared, and he shook his head. His discreet way of making clear he did not care one hoot as none were going to be looking for a pair of outlaws in a lecture hall.

Closing his eyes, Curry listened to the voices humming about him louder than cicadas on a summer night. Abruptly, his eyes popped open, and again, he leaned close to whisper. "This place catches fire, and we…all of 'n us are dead."

Turning an impassive face to his cousin, Heyes lifted his brows a touch and stared intently at his closest friend in the world. When Kid began to fidget, Heyes calmly asked, "You done? That last of your complaints?"

"Could've picked better seats," Curry resolutely mumbled, "would not mind stretching my legs."

Heyes frowned, turning as a buzz rose from the crowd, his gaze settling on a short man emerging through a door at the back of the low stage. He was attired in a well-worn but still-dapper tweed suit, the vest straining a little over his stomach. There was a hint of pride in how he held himself. As he walked forward, he removed long clothes from tables, revealing artifacts. As he drew closer, it was easier to make out his pale-blue-gray eyes assessing those gathered before him.

His age was indiscernible, but his neatly slicked sandy-brown hair was beginning to recede at the temples. A generous mustache gave his face character, softening the sharpness of his nose. Above this, his brows were bushy and arched, lending him a quizzical expression, or perhaps he was amused to be standing before what the Capitol of Wyoming might consider to be its elite.

Reaching the podium, he gripped its edges firmly, his gaze sweeping over the audience until the hall echoed with quiet. Only then did he begin to speak, his tone formal and crisp, embodying everything one might imagine of a British subject. "I am Dr. Elias Wilkinson," he announced with polished authority, "and I am entirely pleased to see each of you this evening."

Without any further intro, he dived passionately into his subject matter, and before long, Kid found himself grudgingly drawn into the lecture.

Wilkinson wove a tapestry as intricate as the panels of the Lady and the Unicorn, painting just as vibrant images of Viking warriors sailing their longboats across treacherous seas, of these towering men with rich gold or flaming red hair and their godlike strength. As Wilkinson detailed their Nordic home culture, sending young men into the hall to display artifacts, Kid became so caught in the narrative's rhythm that he strained forward in his seat, only looking away to better see passing artifacts.

Next, Wilkinson described the Vikings' sweeping conquests across Europe and their journey across the prodigious Atlantic. From there, he detailed how their exploration of the Great Lakes and shared a belief, held by himself and other educated men, that the Vikings had ventured as far west as the headwaters of the Missouri River.

Startled by Wilkinson's connections between the Vikings and the Missouri River, Curry leaned back, his gaze drifting to Heyes. He wondered if the map might be real, and still watching his cousin, he smiled softly. I haven't seen him, he thought; this caught up since that Steam Show we saw in Denver.

No air moved in the room, and Kid shifted and attempted to extend his legs. His neck felt prickly, and beneath the navy-blue suit jacket, his shirt clung wet to his shoulders. For the rest of the lecture, he found himself watching Heyes as much as the speaker, his question of the map's validity becoming stronger.

When the lecture ended, Heyes was on his feet, applauding, his eyes glowing with enthusiasm. The moment he broke from their chair row, he sidestepped the line forming that was moving people from the stifling, humid room. Grabbing Kid's arm, he urged, "Come on, let's get some answers."

Shaking his arm, Kid growled, "Let go!"

Heyes looked back, his eyes widening just as if Kid had stomped on his foot. Seeing he was gripping tight of Kid's right arm—his gun arm; he released it like he had been holding a glowing poker. "Sorry."

Rolling his eyes, flashing a toothy smile akin to that of a mountain lion, he nodded toward the stage. "Right behind you."

However, as they doggedly made their way toward the British scholar, Kid began to feel foolish to be any part of presenting this map, which, deep down, he still felt was as phony as a three-dollar bill. Yet, he also knew if Heyes was not allowed to speak with the Doctor, there would be no end to his bellyaching, and Lord above only knew what sort of plan he would devise next. Well, Kid consoled himself; all I gotta is stand to the side and watch; nothing too embarrassing in that…it isn't my map. Still, the truth was that he also did not want to see Heyes ridiculed and humiliated. Plus, he was not certain how he would react to that.

As the last people speaking to Wilkinson dissipated, he set to directing the young men on how he wanted the artifacts packed.

Heyes looked to Kid with a here goes everything look and stepped up to stand in front of the glowing stage lights, heat rising from them in vaporous fumes. Running a hand back over his hair, ensuring his bangs were smoothed from his face, Heyes cleared his throat, "Excuse me, Dr. Wilkinson."

Wilkinson offered a weary but warm smile when they approached. "Good evening to you, Sir."

"Good evening back to you. I wanted to tell you how very much I enjoyed your lecture, Dr. Wilkinson," Heyes answered with a grin that stretched from one ear to the other. "My name is Hiram Haverstock; folks call me Hawk. This here is my pal, Jackson Cavanaugh."

Bobbing his head with a smile, Kid silently repeated the names several times to set them in place. Canting an eye at Heyes, he sullenly thought, Sure wish he would stick to the same aliases and quit comin' up with new ones.

"That is rather kind of you, Mr. Haverstock. Thank you."

Leaning slightly toward the man, Heyes gushed, "Enjoyed it so much, I would happily sit in on another without any hesitation."

"Again, thank you."

Heyes glanced about to see if anyone was paying attention, and feeling secure they were not, he said, "I have an artifact I would like to show you."

His bushy brows lowered, and he took a breath. "Mr. Haverstock," he gestured to his belongings being boxed. "It is growing quite late."

"It will only take a moment." Touching his chest, Heyes hurriedly added, "I have it with me."

"I suppose I might spare a little time," Wilkinson said, not looking as friendly as he had while lecturing. "Come on up."

Bounding up the short flight of stage steps, Heyes reached into his pocket, pulling out the stiff leather tube. At the podium, he carefully removed the rolled map when his nimble, agile fingers—the same ones skilled at cracking safes—suddenly froze. For the first time since winning the map, a flicker of doubt burned down his spine. Reading this, Kid stepped closer; when Heyes looked his way, he passed him a subtle, reassuring smile.

His confidence restored, Heyes unrolled the tanned leather with its tattered edges, smoothing it as gently as a father might caress his newborn's head. Taking a step back, he revealed the intricate, colorful map.

Wilkinson threw a fast, wide-eyed look at Heyes, the hair rising on the back of his neck as he drew closer. Leaning in, his tongue darted over his lower lip while his hands twitched needily above the map's surface. "This cannot be…" He slapped at his breast pocket, fumbling out spectacles that he put on. His hands moved above the map, from one side to the other, his need obvious.

"Go ahead and touch it, Dr. Wilkinson," Heyes said.

"Thank you, Mr. Haverstock!" Wilkinson exclaimed, touching the map with the reverence of one laying hands on a holy icon. "It is similar to maps I have seen, but none… not one of them from the Americas." He ran a finger along the river. "This is the Missouri River, would you not say?"

"Oh, most definitely," Heyes answered cheerfully, nodding in agreement and bumping against Kid. "That we both agree on."

Wilkinson continued to examine the map with a joyful, radiant smile of pure happiness. "This here, let me see…it is Norse ruins, ancient ones."

With his arms folded across his chest, Kid absorbed the expert's animated reaction.

"Do you realize how significant this map is?" He peered at Heyes and then Curry. "Mr. Haverstock, it could change history. Change everything we know about the Vikings."

Kid exchanged a look with Heyes, an unspoken question hanging between them.

He stroked a series of odd markings along the bottom. "These are coordinates. But not as you and I evaluate them with our modern minds. They are based on points near the River of Time, the name they placed upon the Missouri."

Again, Heyes and Curry traded a look.

Stroking a circle with spokes that resembled tridents next to the line of runes across the top, he instructed, "This is vegvisir. Traditionally, they are for protection and guidance. But here, I would say it has been left as warning that the location is guarded."

"By what?" Heyes asked.

"By whatever they left to stand watch over the treasure." Wilkinson slanted his eyes to Heyes, who was also leaning in close. "Considering their Gods, it would be a challenge designed for a person to prove his worthiness."

Quietly, Heyes asked, "You think it is dangerous?"

"Possibly. It could also be a puzzle." His fingers moved to the runes, this reads. "A barren water trough shall guide thee to the heart of Jotunheim. When the Bifrost spans the sky and Ásbrjótr peers through Odin's eye, only then shall Sol's geisl illuminate Hlidskjalf in this realm. Here beneath an offspring of Yggdrasil, there shalt thou find that which thee seekest."

Heyes straightened, his black brows bunching in a knot.

"Lot of help, that is," Kid grumbled. "You make anything of it?"

Heyes shook his head.

Patting his pockets with a voracious grin, Wilkinson stated, "I do." Retrieving a Parker fountain pen, he removed the cap, flipped over a page of his lecture notes, and fell to transcribing. As he wrote, Heyes and Curry both moved to read the words as they appeared.

'A barren water trough(chasm) shall guide you to Jotunheim, the Land of Giants (a piece of land that is different from the rest; it will be rugged with sinkholes and stone towers). A person follows the chasm to the center, stopping when the Bifrost, the Norse rainbow bridge to heaven (a massive stone arch). When Ásbrjótr (the break of dawn) peeks through Odin's Eye (some sort of hole). Then Sol (Norse goddess of the sun) will shine a geisl (a sunbeam) that will illuminate Hlidskjalf, Odin's throne, in this realm (?). Here beneath the offspring of Yggdrasil, the world tree (a tree), will you find what you seek.' Capping his pen, he asked, "How is that?"

"Why the question mark after Odin's Throne?" Heyes asked.

"Whatever they considered to be the throne should be recognizable when the light shines on it."

Folding his arms across his chest, Kid leaned back in his heels. "Does this give any clue to the warning…danger you spoke of earlier?"

The bushy mustache lifted with Wilkinson's broad smile. "Ah, you, Mr. Cavenaugh, must be the cautious friend every stargazing rogue should have at their side," his bright gray eyes flicked to Heyes. "You are quite fortunate."

Placing a hand on his cousin's shoulder, Heyes took on a smile that would have looked right at home on the face of any proud father. "That I am."

Flashing a grin at his pal, Kid drolly said, "Do I have to ask again, Doc?"

Wilkinson's head cocked some to the side as he thought, Never in my life has anyone referred to me by such a lackluster title.

Kid's head also tilted a degree, but there was a challenge to his look instead of the amusement that was brightening Wilkinson's pale eyes. Peering to his notes, Dr. Elias Wilkinson thoughtfully answered. "Most likely, the chasm will be rather treacherous. It could even be trapped…such as the ground crumbling beneath your feet and boulders set to tumble. If we are lucky, the traps will have been sprung by nature and time long ago. Yet it is hard to say; the Vikings were clever for all sorts of fantastic deviltry." Having said this, he placed his palm atop the map. "Does not matter, for we shall follow the map to the letter."

Heyes and Curry shared yet another look; as their heads swiveled back to Wilkinson, they squalled in tandem, "We?"

Astonished by their tone, Wilkinson drew up to his full height, which Kid had already judged to be equal to Kyle's. Jutting out his chin, the Doctor declared, "You certainly do not deem I would allow you to commence on such a historical trip of discovery without me?"