Historia, Part XXIV

They just stared at each other for what seemed like ages. Clifford reached up to scratch his own chin and realized that he now sported a full beard. As this realization dawned on him, hunger pangs growled from his stomach, “What do we have to eat?”

Schrodinger looked around, trying to find one of the cats, “Mr. MeowMeow, did you find the stock room?”

The cat stopped running long enough to speak, “Yes, down the main hall on the left. There is food for humans there.”

Clifford used his head to point the way and he hobbled after Schrodinger down the main hall. Schrodinger continually glanced back at him as they walked, “I sent some of my people to get your belongings at the house of Shakespeare. We have your bundle and guitar. Any idea where your old travel bag is?”

Clifford shook his head, “I haven’t seen it since....” And he realized that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen it, even though he’d had it in Lithe, which he’d been in at most three days earlier, but his time-sense was so messed up that it might have been decades since he’d been in Lithe, and in his dreams he’d doubted if Lithe even existed.

“No matter,” Schrodinger continued, “We’ll get you some food and talk about your plans for the pyramid.”

They reached the stock room and found cans of food, as well as a running refrigerator, which, after Schrodinger explained to Clifford what it was, Clifford slowly opened it to find cold drinks and cold cheese.

As they sat down to meal at the small table a rumble of thunder echoed down the hall, followed by the soft pitter-patter of rain on the roof. Clifford continued eating.

“Well,” Schrodinger said between bites, “you really think you can get in alone?”

“Hmm-mmm,” was the best Clifford could muster with a mouth full of food. He swallowed and nearly choked, “Yeah, I think it’ll be easier that way.”

The mouse nodded, “I can understand that. My mission here with the cats actually has nothing to do with the pyramid.”

Clifford, for no real reason other than he had loads of pent-up frustration with Historia, found this statement extremely annoying, “So why did you drag me along? And be honest with me, mouse.”

Schrodinger wiped his hands off on the tablecloth, “Okay. Honestly, you were as you said you were. You were a means to an end. I hate to tell you that, because at first that’s all you were. Then I learned of your gift, and realized that you would be excellent for replacing Father Time.”

Clifford just sat there, “So that’s it? You admit then that I was a means to an end?”

The mouse nodded.

“So my being here really doesn’t effect what you guys are doing? You really didn’t need me to get into the sentry station?”

“Actually,” Schrodinger said, “I was testing a theory there. I’m sorry you got shot. My theory was that, since you are here to replace Father Time the sentries on duty would recognize that fact and let you pass. I mean, with the strange crap that has been going on around you, why not?”

Clifford took another bite of the cold cheese, “And so I was your theory?”

“In a way,” the mouse replied, “But not necessarily. My theory was more on the lines of...”

Clifford held up a hand to stop him, “I don’t need any more of your psychobabble. I just want to finish this bite in peace,“ Clifford then stood up and began walking away, “Then I have to go. Now.”

He started for the door and then began the slow walk down the main hall. Schrodinger sat at the table for a few seconds before Clifford’s possible plan dawned on him.

The mouse then leapt from the table, and in his haste stumbled over a crack in the floor. By the time he regained his footing to follow him, Clifford was well ahead, “I understand your desire to leave, Clifford.” Schrodinger half-yelled, “But I implore you to at least wait until the storm passes.”

Clifford continued walking toward the courtyard. Schrodinger went after him, but was far enough behind that Clifford beat him to the open area by nearly ten seconds, which was more than enough time for him to cross to the cot and the shelf and grab the book.

As he turned around he saw a look of fear cross the mouse’s face, “No, Clifford, don’t.”

Clifford returned Schrodinger’s semi-evil grin, “Oh yeah.”

His thought process was actually rather simple, especially when compared to the mind-churning mental arithmetic he did when sorting out who Sora Thii actually was. Schrodinger had told him that his life was contained in a History book, which was impossible. And even if it was, then the likely outcome of Clifford opening the book and looking inside would be that he would enter a continual loop of opening the book and looking inside and opening the book and looking inside and opening the book and looking inside. And let’s be honest, that’s a far less stressful life than the one he’s living now.

Schrodinger, though, knew the truth of the situation.

Clifford opened the book.