Historia, Part VII

The most surprising aspect of the sandstorm was the suddenness of its arrival. Clifford took shelter in one of the ruined buildings. He could see nothing beyond the old glass windows except a sand-colored wall. For all he knew, the sand had completely covered the ruined city.

Schrodinger had left the bundle, and Clifford’s presence, presumably to handle his business, as Clifford knew a mouse would have to do. He decided, while waiting, to explore the building.

The first floor was empty, and the creaking wooden stairs that led to the second floor gave Clifford an incredibly uncomfortable feeling. He reached the top, and realized he could smell smoke, something that he hadn’t smelled since the campfire that... well, it seemed like a long time ago, but it was just last night. Come to think of it, the day hadn’t changed since he’d reached the King’s Valley. What were those Historians up to this time?

The smoke had to be investigated. One couldn’t stay in a burning building. He found a small fire burning in a fireplace, and before wondering who had built it, he wondered what fuel they had used. The only wood he’d seen was the stairs, wooden in a stone building, and they were intact.

“Hey!” The voice came from behind him. “What’re you doing here? The Valley’s closed. No one should be here!”

Clifford had spun upon hearing the voice, “I’m going to Historia.”

The voice belonged to a wretched old being, aged beyond the ability to distinguish male or female features. It pointed a fragile finger at Clifford, “You have to leave! The Valley is closed.”

Clifford scoffed, “It’s not a shop, old one. I can come and go as I please. How do you know my name?”

The old thing laughed, “I know much, Clifford Jenkins. Much that you cannot comprehend. I know that once great wars were fought across the entire world. I know that science once understood that everything came from nothing in one moment of pure explosive exquisiteness.”

Clifford shook his head, “Yeah, I learned those things at University. World Wars One through Eight, Creation. I know it all. Now I need to get back downstairs, get my things, and get ready to leave.”

“And go where, Clifford Jenkins?”

Clifford, who had already turned to leave, spun back around, “I told you, I’m going to Historia.”

The elder raised both hands, trying to scare Clifford into retreat, “No! Historia is closed to you. You must run away, Clifford Jenkins. You cannot stay here. The Valley is not yours.”

“Right, and who exactly is going to stop me from passing through the valley?”

The ancient thing moved closer, “You have no weapon to threaten me, Clifford Jenkins. Your Swedish Navy Knife is naught but a trinket.”

“He has me!” Schrodinger shouted, (again, a mouse vocalizing anything is funny, a mouse shouting, darned hilarious) leaping up onto Clifford’s shoulder.

The thing withdrew in abject terror, “A mouse. Progenitor of the Experiment.”

Clifford tilted his head like he’d once seen his pet dog Scruffy do. He was puzzled.

The ancient being continued talking, “I’ve read of you, demon mouse. In the Book Place of Alex and Rhea. One wrote of you, the genesis of the great experiment. You’re to blame, demon!”

Clifford left the thing to writhe in its own fear. He walked back down the steps, trying to figure out how to ask Schrodinger about that last exchange.

“Before you ask,” Schrodinger said, saving him the trouble of asking, “I know what that person was talking about. Years upon untold years ago, a fiction was writ about mice, stating that we had created all things as an experiment.”

Clifford nodded, “Makes sense.”

Schrodinger gave him the most puzzled look a mouse could muster, “Seriously?”

“No, not seriously! You’re a mouse, a gall-danged mouse! How is that supposed to make any sense?”

Schrodinger shrugged a little mousy shrug, “The Book Place of Alex and Rhea. Must be local gods, and the Book Place is what you would call a Library. But no book has been written for centuries.”

Clifford sighed, and looked outside. The sandstorm had passed. But the river still flowed uphill, he was still traveling with a talking mouse, and he still, for some ungodly reason, had to reach Historia.