Firebird

SIX

While we watched interest build in the Robin artifacts, we got involved in the search for Korman Eddy's Clockwork, which had vanished from a train in the middle of the last century. The sculptor, then at the beginning of his illustrious career, had achieved celebrity status but hadn't yet reached the superstardom that awaited him. He famously took the sculpture aboard an Andiquar local and somehow-nobody had ever understood how it could have happened-left it on the seat when he got off at Mill Harbor. “A beautiful young lady had come aboard,” he'd explained, “and I'm easily distracted.”

Clockwork was an abstract depiction, according to the experts, of the inevitable passage of time, and its effect on the psyche. It was a collection of springs, clock hands, pinions, Roman numerals, wheels, electric dials, and pendulums. It wasn't a large piece, but Eddy had needed two seats to transport it. It had been inside a transparent wrapping. He sat on the opposite side of the aisle.

Eddy apparently realized his oversight after leaving the train. He was in a cab on his way to the Vancouver Center, where it was to be unveiled. Horrified, he immediately called the train. A quick search ensued, but the sculpture could not be found. Passengers reported seeing a woman struggling with it, carrying it toward the back of the car on which Eddy had been riding. That had been several minutes after the train had left the station. Police were waiting at Cuirescu, the next stop. But they could find no sign of the missing artwork or the woman the other passengers had seen. An inspection of the forty-three-mile-long track between the two stations turned up the wrapping but nothing else.

Eddy was heartbroken. Prior to arriving at Mill Harbor, he'd shown it to no one. “It was to be a special moment for the Vancouver Center, and for me,” he said in the aftermath of the event.

It had happened in 1341, ninety-three years earlier. We got interested when Eddy's Varesque became available, and some of our clients began commenting what a shame it was that nobody had ever found the Clockwork sculpture, and how much they'd give to get their hands on it.

So we went through the documents, read the media accounts, talked to two of the witnesses and several of the avatars. We visited the two train stations, which had changed considerably over the years, although their layouts were basically the same. We satisfied ourselves that, with the distribution of people reportedly on the platform at Cuirescu, no one could have gotten off the train carrying the sculpture without being seen.

I thought the conductor was involved. “He has to be,” I said. “The woman, whoever she was, needed help. A place to hide, both the sculpture and herself.”

“It's not difficult to search a train,” Alex said. “Not when you're looking for something that big. No, I don't think that's what happened.”

“So what did happen, Sherlock?”

He grinned. I've often wondered where that term came from. But I've never been able to find an origin. “Well,” he said, “I wonder why the thief discarded the wrapper?”

I shrugged. “Don't know.”

“I can see only one way it might have been done. I can't prove it, of course, but when you eliminate the impossible-”

“I'm listening.”

He enjoys moments like this. “It's unlikely that the woman could have hidden successfully from the police. They had witnesses who could identify her. What other explanation might there be for the fact that she, too, had gone missing?”

“She got out the back, somehow.”

“Well, I suppose the police might have been that sloppy. But-”

“Yes?”

“Let me ask you a question: If you were carrying a valuable sculpture around, what kind of wrapping would you use?”

“Something that would protect it, I suppose.”

“But would you advertise its presence?”

“No.”

“That raises a question: For what purpose would you use a transparent wrapper?”

I hesitated. “Only to show it off, I suppose.”

“Very good, Chase. It strikes me that the most feasible explanation is that this woman was never there in the first place. It was someone else, probably a male, wearing a disguise.”

At times like that, my head starts to spin. “Isn't it unlikely that she-or he-would have been on board, wearing a disguise, just in case a sculptor left something valuable in a seat?”

“Yes. I'd say so. Which suggests it would have been a setup.”

“A setup in what way?”

“Eddy was still at the beginning of his career.”

“And-?”

“A little publicity wouldn't hurt.”

I got a good laugh out of that. “I guess you'd know best. But where'd she hide the sculpture?”

“Chase, I don't think the Clockwork ever existed.”

“How do you mean?”

“It was a fable. From the beginning.”

“But he brought it on the train. There were witnesses.”

“What they probably saw was something thrown together, probably using corbicide. Or anything else that's dissoluble in water and can be broken apart fairly easily.”

At the time, we were sitting on one of the benches at Cuirescu. While I began to see what he was saying, a train glided into the station, kicking up a gust of wind. It settled down onto the rail, and passengers started climbing out. I had to raise my voice, almost shout, to make myself heard. “You're saying she flushed it down the toilet?”

“Then he took off the wig. And probably had dinner with Eddy that evening.”

“What was the payoff?”

“Oh, Chase. Instead of having a minor piece of sculpture on display at the Vancouver Center, he became the media highlight of the week. It's the kind of story everyone loves. A potentially valuable piece of art stolen. And before you object, the perception would be that it must be valuable, or it wouldn't have been taken. And certainly not in such an elegant manner. Add an apparently insoluble mystery. And there are some people who will tell you that Eddy never really lived up to his reputation. But he became famous because of the Clockwork incident. And he had just enough talent to make it pay off.”

As we started home on the train to Andiquar, his head sank onto the back of the seat, and his eyes closed. “You okay?” I asked.

“Tired.” He'd been tired a lot lately.

“You need a vacation.”

He smiled, but the eyes stayed shut. “Who'd run the business?”

“I'm serious.”

“I'm fine, Chase.”

The sunlight blinked off as we entered a tunnel. Within seconds, we were out the other end. “When are you going to set a date for the auction?”

“I've been thinking about it. The artifacts keep going up. But you're right. We ought to get it moving while we're still headed in the right direction.”

He fell quiet again.

“Is it Robin?” I asked.

“No. Why would you say that?”

I shrugged. “Just a thought.”

“He been on your mind?”

“A little.” He lapsed into silence again. I watched the forest racing past. “You know what I keep thinking-?” I said.

“That he might still be alive somewhere? Off in the islands enjoying himself?”

“It's a possibility.”

Alex shook his head. “Robin was too committed to his work to disappear. No, whatever happened, he didn't instigate it.”

“You have any idea at all?”

“Not a thing. I've talked with Shara. Told her about Robin's being at Sanusar and again at Skydeck when the sightings occurred.”

“What does she think?”

“She doesn't know what to think. But she told me what I guess she told you. Find the notebook.”

We rocked a bit as we entered a long curve. “I miss Gabe,” I said. “I don't know why, but I've been thinking about him a lot lately.”

He nodded. “Mysterious ships in the night.”

“I guess.” I sat listening to the air circulating through the cabin. We came out of the woods, intercepted the Melony, and charged along its bank. Alex rearranged himself, trying to get comfortable. The compartment was cramped.

“I'm getting the feeling,” I said, “we're going to be heading for Virginia Island.”

He didn't respond right away. “I hate even to start,” he said finally. “Robin wasn't a young guy when it happened. The chances that he's still alive somewhere-”

“When do we leave?”

“It's going to be a few weeks. I have all kinds of commitments here.”

“Well,” I said. “Why don't I go there and get the process started?”

“What would you do?”

“You don't trust me, do you?”

“Sure I do.”

But he was still waiting for an answer. “I'd do tourist stuff. Wander around a bit. Get to know people. See what I can find out. Somebody there must know something.”

Jack McDevitt

Firebird