48

Merry held her head and rocked. Hanging around with nice people had been helpful, but only for the short term. They had broken off after that little episode in Saffron Path, until there was nothing left in the restaurant except waitresses and busboys, dutifully picking chewing gum out of the cracks between Bob B. Soxx's fingers in a life-size bust that stood adjacent to the front door.

Merry needed to get away but instead of picking up and leaving, she sat, waiting, picking idly at a plate of soy faux-meat. The seasoning was lovely and aromatic, but Merry couldn't concentrate on the cuisine. The manager hovered in the wings, eyeing Merry but not approaching her, at least not yet.

Thousands of people could all be relying on me, Merry thought. But even my mom thinks I'm nuts and I'm starting to wonder if she could be right.

Merry got up from the table and walked to the Saffron Path door. She stepped out into Parquet Street, downtown Sloan City. A 34 bus was going east. She caught it and once she had paid her fare, took a seat. Sitting a couple of seats back, she noticed and then recognized that old man, the old man who had made Graham vanish. She kept quiet, trying desperately not to make eye contact.

She rode in silence. She noticed that the old man had a Cross pen in his front pocket, but when she caught herself staring, she looked away. The bus passed various Sloan landmarks which she could see out the window. There was the Los Angeles County Gym, which had been hauled to Sloan on a truck all the way from southern California.

There was the Washington Zoo, also brought to Sloan at the behest of mayor Marcia Brundtland.

"I don't care," Marcia had said, "We have got to get a giraffe in here."

The box whispered in her ear, "... and for that, we need money, and for that, we need to be powerful, and for that, we need to win the election, and for that, we need to either come up with some superior ideas or cheat like crazy."

As one box was getting itself to Switzerland on a travel medium called Stacy Sun, another box was winning elections, all for a giraffe.

"I promise to build a new desalinization plant," Marcia said to a burgeoning crowd. "I want to be known as 'the Education Mayor.' And we will do it together through wind power!"

After her speech was over, the duck who rented out the rest of the soundstage where they had shot Sheriff, quacked. He came up to Marcia after she was finished with her speech and gave her a quick kiss.

Marcia smiled. The duck landed on a nearby colonial statue.

"Hey duck!" said Marcia. The duck quacked and felt oddly inferior, but then felt better when he remembered he could fly.

"Why don't I get along better with that duck?" Marcia asked herself. "I don't understand."

"Shoo!" she said.

The duck took wing and was soon looking at the dreadfully complex panorama of Sloan as though it were a toy. In some situations, the duck had the benefit of being able to swoop into a scene and eavesdrop. He did this from the periphery of Sloan, way out by the iron drums.

He flapped his wings. The feathers flexed and gave. It was a good time to be a bird. The duck couldn't talk, but he slipped into a manhole cover at quayside and flew until it reached a T-junction of brown dust tunnels. The bird took the right fork. The rectilinear corners soon gave out and the duck was flying above the heads of Wolfgang Puck, Chris Xanthan and Jody Meese. He kept on flying.

"They didn't look very interesting," he thought to himself.

He wheeled around, higher in the air, realizing he possibly had seen Chris before, on the set, back in 1955, kind of, sort of.