from The Whinkla Chronicles

The Whinkla Chronicles

Yesterday, many of my most recent fears were regretfully realized when I stumbled across a cache of partially burned papers buried in one of the fire pits Whinkla uses on Thomas Hardy night. l had been taking his dog Alexis for a walk along the irrigation ditch that runs across the rear of his property, and having no though at all about anything whatsoever except noting the clarity of the evening sky something below the bank caught my attention. Calling the dog to heel I scampered down the muddy incline to investigate. It was a bundle of tightly rolled pages of yellow paper, and although the pages were matted from soaking in water the text was still quite legible. I glanced at the topmost page:

Notes on the Synthanation of Crhontium Silate

and Pltaferonic Acid

(extrapolated from the analysis of results

obtained from experiments conducted

between March 27 and July 15 2007)

NOT FOR GENERAL DISTRIBUTION

and thought immediately of rekindling the fire of Guy Fawkes.

After reading the cover sheet I decided not to read any further but to take the bundle of musty paper home to dry, and if possible retrieve from the soggy wad what information I could, but for what purpose I had no idea. Should I discover something untoward about my friend Whinkla would this mark me as a potential betrayer? Why did I think this handful of fool scrap might be of any importance? And were these pages really in Whinkla’s hand? Why didn't I simply raise my eyes to the top of the nearby Douglas firs, and the timeless firmament, which was my wont, and go home?

There were stars enough in the sky on any night to satisfy anyone's curiosity, but, on this night my interest in the papers was piqued beyond any stellar wonderings. I wrapped the manuscript in my jacket and tucked it carefully beneath a thatch of heather, and whistled my way back to Whinkla's cabin. After a glass of a remarkable Cabernet and a potpourri of casual literary talk I made my anxious way back to retrieve the manuscript. It pained me to decline Whinkla's kind and very rare offer to walk me to the edge of the dry lake and see me safely on my way home. He had never done this before.

I pressed my hand against my stomach where I had hidden the papers and . . .