Back Under The Stairs - Book 2 in The Bandworld Series Read Free Page B

"Projecting yourself into the community does make
favorable propaganda for the college."
    Paul rubbed his forehead with the fingers of
both, giant hands. Then grinned. "On a grander scale, have you
thought about approaching the "National Enquirer" with your
off-world experiences? I can see the headlines now: History Prof.
Becomes Pfnaravin, Crystal-Mage of Stil-de-grain!
    Pfnaravin!
    The dreaded name! Recalling the childhood
chant: "I'm rubber, you're glue. What you say bounces off me and
sticks to you."
    After passing (to his almost complete
surprise) into the "other reality," John had been mistaken for the
other world's lost Wizard, Pfnaravin. Nor could John do anything to
dissuade the simple folk of that most medieval place he was not
Pfnaravin, Mage of Malachite. (How he also became Mage of
Stil-de-grain was a tale he didn't even want to think about.)
    Was Paul right to assume it was this same
Pfnaravin -- pronounced by Kansas City locals: Van Robin -- who had
built John's house in the long ago after "coming through" the other
way? Built the house to protect the "gateway" between "here" and
"there"? Could this be the Van Robin who'd showed up in the obits
as dying recently at a local nursing home?
    "Hi there, good people," said a high, baby
soft voice.
    John spun around. Who ...!?
    "Claud," said Paul smoothly, pivoting his
chair to face the new arrival, "meet John Lyon. Since the
difference between the two of you is literally night and day, I
don't believe you've met."
    John knew the name. Claud Jiles. Night school
specialist -- while John taught only in the daytime.
    Getting up, John shook hands with the bouncy,
younger than middle-aged man, Jiles grinning at him with vacuous
enthusiasm while shaking John's hand with an almost European
pump.
    Paul grinned. "So -- the vampire walks by
day."
    "Just wanted to report my community service
project."
    "Make it easy on yourself with that. With
luck, it may blow over."
    The formalities over, John sat again. As did
Paul. Still standing in the doorway, Jiles gained detail as a
round-faced, rosy-cheeked man in a black and white checked sports
jacket with black bow tie, the pockets of his jacket looking ...
greasy ... as if that's where Jiles kept his uneaten pieces of
Kentucky Fried Chicken. Under his arm was a brown paper sack. A bag
to hide his ripple?
    "No, no," Jiles was saying eagerly, "I'm not
complaining. Have a look!" Taking the wrinkled sack from under his
arm, fumbling inside, Jiles extracted a handful of framed,
photographic blow ups.
    Bending over Paul, Jiles lined up the
pictures on Paul's desk, leaning the top of each cardboard frame
against the length of books at the back.
    Taking a look -- John saw a weather-faded
barn, a shot of the Eastern Kansas Flint Hills, and an elderly
tractor, a farm cat nursing kittens in the tractor's rusted
seat.
    John liked the cat.
    Half-turned to look at the photos, Paul
said,"Nice."
    "And here's the little baby that did the
trick." With a crackle of paper bag and a rattle like broken glass,
Jiles pulled out what had to be a costly camera, putting it on
John's desk, also dragging out a telescopic lens, some metal-rimmed
disks inset with colored glass, and other expensive bric-a-brac
that would only make sense to a camera buff. "An SLR Minolta 3000i
with a Maxxum AF 35-105mm lens. That, and my good eye, plus the use
of the best photo lab in town is what makes my photography, art."
He pointed enthusiastically at his pictures. "Especially my input
to the lab boys."
    Though John wasn't particularly interested in
photography, he found himself staring at the camera's machine
tooled gadgets. Felt himself unnaturally attracted to them. ...
Why? ... Because these gizmos were finely made? Because they were
expensive? ........... Though John couldn't explain the items'
fascination, he thought it might be some reference to his sojourn
to the other world, a place where circular countries were called
bands, gravitational forces shifted as you crossed