Missing Carolina--Chapter 4

MISSING CAROLINA--CHAPTER 4

THE DEAN

Mighty man from far out west,
Piercing eye and thought so keen;
Ready smile and warm salute,
Always quick to give support.

Yet his actions sometimes veer;
To mysterious ends they slant.
What one time did seem so plain
Now is cloaked in riddles blank.

Bright rays of sun bounced off the wall of Block IV, Cell 9 and illuminated the ceiling above Ben's upper bunk. He reached out to the little shelf hanging from the steam pipe and looked at his watch. 7:45! He had missed breakfast! Oh well--it was probably dog gravy anyway, and some grape pop and peanut butter crackers in the new lounge sounded good. He took careful aim and jumped down onto the little rug on the floor. His grandmother had crafted its spiraling oval. It had been amazing how well he understood the Truth Crystal assignment last night, after sneaking Harrison over Arrow Ridge and into the laundry. He wondered how the stranger was getting along. But class started in 15--no, 14 minutes now. He desperately spun the cutting wheel of his shaver. It reluctantly came to life and he replaced the screen. Holding the "whisker shaker" up to his face with one hand, he grabbed for clothes with the other. Professor Joseph was a stickler for punctuality, and had been known to embarrass tardy students by pointing out their lack of devotion to the Creator. Racing across the Quadrangle as Nat began heaving the first bell, he realized that he had brought no pen. He hesitated briefly, but loud peals were already emanating from the old bronze landmark on the quadrangle's edge, and he feared that three minutes would not be long enough to go back and get one. He slowed to a fast walk crossing the long porch and gently eased open the screen door. Jeb was sitting in the back row; Jeb was a good guy; Jeb would have something to write with. "Morning, Jeb. How are you?"

Kind eyes looked out from the face atop the enormous frame folded into the old wooden desk. "Ayuh. Fine. And you?"

"Got up late. Need a pen," explained Ben.

Jeb was complacent. "Might have one in muh back pocket.”

"Could I use it, please, just for this class? I have a free period before chapel."

"Why sure," rumbled Jeb, reaching for his back pocket. The tardy bell began to sound. Ben's eyes went to the front of the room. Sure enough, Professor Joseph was already standing up, eyes fastened like gimlets on the back row. "Will the gentlemen in the back row please cease conversation. Class has begun."

"Yes sir," bleated Ben, taking the precious pen from Jeb's extended palm.

"And since you're obviously so very much on top of things this morning, Mr. Spears, how about giving us a complete analysis of the crystals you dug up yesterday. Don't hesitate to tell us whether or not they are Truth Crystals, what deviations are present, to what degree, and in which direction."

"Y-yes sir," stammered Ben, reaching for his pocket.

"What? No specimen container?" The professor's voice was calm and mild, but the whole class could sense the malice.

"I-I woke up late this morning."

"You did do the analysis?"

"Burned the midnight oil, sir."

"You know that it's lights out at eleven?"

"I got an inspiration, sir."

"Well, then--do enlighten us!"

Ben's mind went blank. Where was his paper? He reached frantically for his briefcase. It was empty. "I'm sorry, sir. I seem to have left my paper in my room."

"Is this the best you can offer the Creator? Why do students come to the mines if they're not serious about learning? Thank you for sitting down, Mr. Spears, and for wasting our time and the Creator's time this morning."

Ben slumped into his desk, face burning with shame. He kept his head on its wooden surface as the class droned on.

At length he ventured to sit up. Katje was looking back at him with sympathetic eyes. He wished she wouldn't--of all people here he would like to make a good impression on... but his thoughts were cut short. Dean Cameron had thrust his head through the screen door. "Is Ben Spears here?" he boomed. Ben peered out past him to the porch, where a rather jaunty-looking Harrison Beckman stood. The backpack was gone, and his lean frame was topped with a short sleeved shirt. Ben sank further into his chair. He wished the floor would open up and swallow him. His goose was cooked, for sure. The Dean would question Beckman, and he wouldn't like the answers he got. The Dean was of the Old School.

Professor Joseph bristled. "This is Truth Crystals 101, if you please. You're interrupting my class."

But the Dean's authority was unquestioned. "Ben's Uncle Harry is here to visit him. Truth Crystal miner from 'way back. I could have him give your class a little talk." His white teeth gleamed underneath his frosty mustache, and his eyes twinkled from behind thick glasses.

"That won't be necessary," snapped Joseph. "I have prepared all that this class needs to know."

"O.K. then," grinned the Dean. "Ben, let's go. We’re heading for the main shaft. You're excused from all classes until lunch."

Ben needed no second invitation. He grabbed his things and raced for the door. "Be sure to get tomorrow's assignment from somebody," called Professor Joseph from inside the screen door. Standing on the porch facing the two men, he reeled with amazement. What had Beckman told the Dean? But he'd better play along. “Hi, Uncle Harry! Good to see you again! How are the mines?"

Beckman grimaced. "Don't you remember? I had to sell them all after the Great Crash." The Dean looked puzzled. "But it'll be like old times to go down the shaft here."

The main entrance to the Terrora Falls Mines was in a grimy building behind the stately brick structure which housed the dining hall, the young womens' residence, and the administrative offices. The main steam boiler was under the same roof as the shaft, right beside the elevator pulleys. The heat became overpowering as they walked through the door. "Phew," said Beckman. "I just thought it was hot outside! Why do they keep the boiler going in the summertime?"

"Steam jets to loosen mineral deposits in the mines," explained Ben. At least he knew that much.

"So, Uncle Harry, tell us some more about your mines," said the Dean.

Beckman scratched his head. This job of making up a story wasn't easy. Mines, mines--Ironshalg.... he wondered if it was his own voice speaking. "It was mostly iron ore," he replied. "The biggest mine had a small city built on top of it. It was mostly dwa... very short men who worked it, because the seam was so thin." Was he making this up from high school science, or what?

"Did you say ‘dwarves'? Everybody knows there's no such thing as dwarves." The Dean looked hard at Beckman as the cage began its clattering descent. Ben twisted uncomfortably. How was Beckman to know there were no dwarves in this world?

"Oh, no--must have been reading too many fantasy novels--you know how delightful Alice in Wonderland is. I meant midgets--we had as many of those as we could get, and then just had to look for guys who were short." The Dean frowned. "I don't recall any dwarves in Alice,” he muttered. Ben's heart pounded. “For that matter, I never heard of such a book as Alice in Wonderland.”

"Maybe it was those books about Noria, er, Narnia..." Ben angled around to give Beckman a swift kick. These must be books from Worldwithout. Ben was a voracious reader, and he knew there were no such books in Placebetween, as Beckman called this world. But he needn't have bothered. There was a loud crash as their bones were shaken down to their teeth. The cage had reached the bottom, and a normal-sized man was pulling on the long chain that opened the door. Narrow tracks fanned out in all directions. Students were sitting in little cars pulled by tiny electric locomotives, arriving and departing from various mine faces. A line was forming at their left: grimy crystal-seekers examining their latest treasures as they waited for the hoist to take them back to the surface.

The Dean strode toward a slightly larger red car parked on a stub track. "Climb aboard," he invited, gesturing toward two rear seats. The car was narrow, like the track it rested on; seating was single-file. "This is my personal inspection car." Handing them helmets with head-lights, he donned his own and settled into the operator's seat. He notched out the controller and the self-propelled vehicle lurched forward, forcing over the single spring switch point as it entered the lead track. Sparks showered from the frog in the overhead wire. Cameron pressed a button on the dash, and the power point for Tunnel Nine snapped into place. Reaching straight track, the car accelerated rapidly with a series of thrusts as each higher point on the controller was engaged. Soon they were moving as what seemed like a terrifying rate of speed; Ben guessed that it was about 35 miles per hour, but in the tight confines of the tunnel, it seemed more like seventy. "This face is farther out than all the rest," Cameron shouted over din of wheels and singing of trolley wire--"about two miles."

Ben didn't hear much of what Beckman, seated right behind the Dean, said to the school official; there must have been many creative thoughts about Ironshalg inside the World-man's head. Was Earthwithin several, or several hundred miles below them? Did dwarfs really live there? At any rate, his ears were ringing when the little red car finally eased to a stop back on its stub track by the hoist. "Time for lunch," proclaimed Cameron. “You must join us in the dining hall. Ben, you may leave your assigned table and sit with us."

CHAPTER 5

The Mileposters Web site has information and many pictures about this tandem bicycle club, which has made several trips over 300 miles as well as many shorter ones, on bicycles built for two, three, four, and five riders.