exact twins in every feature and giving off the aroma of wild violets. This should be an impossibility, but there it was, right under my nose. And Londell, the yin to my yang, reader of the excrement of the skies, found some-thing equally devastating, though I was never informed as to the details of what that was."
"Londell?" asked Shenz.
"Benjamin Londell," said Borne. "A very fine fellow. Some of those whom Ossiak employed in this capacity were charlatans, but I can tell you Londell was serious. He worked very conscientiously and subjected his family to great hardship in order to see the future."
"What hardship would that be?" I asked.
"They had to traipse up a mountain every year and stay in the most ungodly surroundings for six months or so to get the precise crystals he was after. At least in my discipline specimens were always readily at hand."
"He had children?" asked Shenz.
"A daughter," said Borne. "That, I believe, was all."
"Do you remember the girl?" I asked.
"A sweet child," he said.
"What did she look like?" asked Shenz.
The patient shook his head. "It's difficult to remember, for soon after I began paying any attention to her at all she went incognito."
"She disappeared?" I asked.
"No," said Borne, "she had a sort of act she performed when they would come to the city to confer with Ossiak. She hid behind a screen and made predictions or some-thing along those lines. Once she took to the screen, I don't believe I ever saw her again. This was only a few years before Ossiak's empire fell apart. As a matter of fact, the year she became the Sibyl was the same year both her father and I made our startling discoveries. By then, although we sensed only the first inklings of it, things had already begun to crumble."
"The Sibyl," I said, hoping for more information.
To this, Borne simply nodded and said, "Yes, that was what she was called."
"Her hair color?" asked Shenz.
"Either chestnut or blond, perhaps strawberry," said the old man. He slowly lifted his hand to play with one of the buttons on his threadbare jacket. "It's all locked away now in the warehouse."
Page 37
Borne looked sad, as if dredging up the past was a painful task. Sympathizing with him, I said,
"It only remains in your memory, eh?"
He turned and peered at me through those thick glasses. "No," he said, "the warehouse. Ossiak, before committing suicide, began gathering what little of his wealth was left and bought warehouses in which to store the stuff. He didn't want his creditors getting every-thing. At that point he had gone
somewhat insane himself and dreamed of eventually rising from the ashes to rebuild his empire.
All my instruments, specimens, notes, what have you, were confiscated and locked away.
Londell, the poor man, had a stroke and died when they took his precious snowflake equipment and research from him.
Those were grim days."
"I suppose these things have since been dispersed," said Shenz.
"No," said Borne. "They are still there. I know where they are. I followed the men who took them. I
know exactly where they are."
"Yes?" I said.
"Do you know the chemists on Fulton, the ones with the big building? The Fairchild Brothers, I believe, Fulton and Gold? I can't imagine they've gone out of business. Around the corner, heading east toward the water, there sits an old one-story warehouse made of brick. On the front is an O painted in white. It must be quite faded by now. All of it is there; the detritus of the entire saga."
Calander, exhibiting a more irritating punctuality than even Watkin, appeared at that precise moment. I had a hundred more questions for Mr. Borne, but it wasn't to be. The old man shook our hands again, and we were ushered out of his room. Before the door was closed, Borne shouted to us, "Remember, gentlemen, to move forward you must first look behind."
"Borne doesn't seem like such a bad sort," I told Shenz on the ride back downtown. Night had begun to blossom by then, and the temperature
"Londell?" asked Shenz.
"Benjamin Londell," said Borne. "A very fine fellow. Some of those whom Ossiak employed in this capacity were charlatans, but I can tell you Londell was serious. He worked very conscientiously and subjected his family to great hardship in order to see the future."
"What hardship would that be?" I asked.
"They had to traipse up a mountain every year and stay in the most ungodly surroundings for six months or so to get the precise crystals he was after. At least in my discipline specimens were always readily at hand."
"He had children?" asked Shenz.
"A daughter," said Borne. "That, I believe, was all."
"Do you remember the girl?" I asked.
"A sweet child," he said.
"What did she look like?" asked Shenz.
The patient shook his head. "It's difficult to remember, for soon after I began paying any attention to her at all she went incognito."
"She disappeared?" I asked.
"No," said Borne, "she had a sort of act she performed when they would come to the city to confer with Ossiak. She hid behind a screen and made predictions or some-thing along those lines. Once she took to the screen, I don't believe I ever saw her again. This was only a few years before Ossiak's empire fell apart. As a matter of fact, the year she became the Sibyl was the same year both her father and I made our startling discoveries. By then, although we sensed only the first inklings of it, things had already begun to crumble."
"The Sibyl," I said, hoping for more information.
To this, Borne simply nodded and said, "Yes, that was what she was called."
"Her hair color?" asked Shenz.
"Either chestnut or blond, perhaps strawberry," said the old man. He slowly lifted his hand to play with one of the buttons on his threadbare jacket. "It's all locked away now in the warehouse."
Page 37
Borne looked sad, as if dredging up the past was a painful task. Sympathizing with him, I said,
"It only remains in your memory, eh?"
He turned and peered at me through those thick glasses. "No," he said, "the warehouse. Ossiak, before committing suicide, began gathering what little of his wealth was left and bought warehouses in which to store the stuff. He didn't want his creditors getting every-thing. At that point he had gone
somewhat insane himself and dreamed of eventually rising from the ashes to rebuild his empire.
All my instruments, specimens, notes, what have you, were confiscated and locked away.
Londell, the poor man, had a stroke and died when they took his precious snowflake equipment and research from him.
Those were grim days."
"I suppose these things have since been dispersed," said Shenz.
"No," said Borne. "They are still there. I know where they are. I followed the men who took them. I
know exactly where they are."
"Yes?" I said.
"Do you know the chemists on Fulton, the ones with the big building? The Fairchild Brothers, I believe, Fulton and Gold? I can't imagine they've gone out of business. Around the corner, heading east toward the water, there sits an old one-story warehouse made of brick. On the front is an O painted in white. It must be quite faded by now. All of it is there; the detritus of the entire saga."
Calander, exhibiting a more irritating punctuality than even Watkin, appeared at that precise moment. I had a hundred more questions for Mr. Borne, but it wasn't to be. The old man shook our hands again, and we were ushered out of his room. Before the door was closed, Borne shouted to us, "Remember, gentlemen, to move forward you must first look behind."
"Borne doesn't seem like such a bad sort," I told Shenz on the ride back downtown. Night had begun to blossom by then, and the temperature
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