To the horror of everyone looking on, Grand took a shovel and began digging at the earth like a butcher gutting an animal. Cries of disbelief came from all around.
Within minutes, he had retrieved a second wooden box. He opened it, pulled out a large stone, and mumbled to himself, "Timeway key. That'll get us home."
He dug for another few minutes until he found a wooden case
He dug for another few minutes until he found a wooden case. He mumbled again, "Steward's horn. Nikolas will be able to talk to Huron. Give us further directions. Further directions is what we need!"
He opened the wooden case. Its brass hinges cried from thousands of years of disuse. It revealed an old phonograph with a large horn and a place to lay a vinyl record.
The Peruvian started to feel dizzy and his thoughts were knotted with confusion and bewilderment.
Phonographs were from the early twentieth century.
That was almost two hundred years ago.
But this archaeological site is thousands of years old. Way before phonographs were invented!
WHAT IS GOING ON!
He saw that strange, green memory-in-a-bottle sitting there, most likely holding all the answers to his questions.
Without giving it a second thought, he grabbed it and put it to his eye, just like the project leader had done
Without giving it a second thought, he grabbed it and put it to his eye, just like the project leader had done. Instantly he found himself looking at a set of piranha teeth surrounded by thousands of red eyes chasing a merman wearing mechanical legs.
"Aiihh!" The Peruvian screamed, throwing the bottle down
"Aiihh!" The Peruvian screamed, throwing the bottle down. "What was that?!"
"The evil monster that's hunting the Merfolk," Grand answered. "I must bring my grandson home. He's the only one who can save them." He patted his hands together, nodded, and said to the archaeological team, "That'll about do it. I have tarried long enough. Must find Steward Nikolas Lyons now. Good day to you all." Without another word, he marched to his yellow hovertruck, which was as swarthy and beat-up as he.
"Wait." The Peruvian moved between two team members at the water station. "You're going to do what—who? Are you not this—this Steward Nikolas Lyons? For years you've demanded we call you Mr. Steward Lyons."
Grand looked at the Peruvian with his blazing green eyes, making him feel six feet short of his five foot ten. "I was! Huron knows that I was. Steward Nikolas Lyons the 11th. But now I must find Steward Nikolas Lyons the 12th, my grandson."
He heaved into the truck. A harness responded to the presence of a body and unspooled itself. With a slam of the door, he nodded an empty salutation to the crowd and pressed the power ON symbol. An electromagnetic buzz came from the hovertruck, and it began to lift.
The Peruvian stared at his own stunned reflection in the hovertruck window. The scene was fizzling away like a bad radio signal. He looked down to two empty hands. The artifact that would make him wildly rich currently sat in the passenger seat with a crazy project leader who needed to find his grandson and save the Merrows.
"What's a Merrow?" The Peruvian said to himself. "Wait! You can't leave!" He leapt to the hovertruck, grabbed the door handle, and yanked it open. The hovertruck pitched to the left, forcing Grand to prop one hand on the roof while gripping the steering column.
"Are you mad?" yelled Grand.
"The artifact. You have the artifact!"
"I cannot waste my time in parlay with you. The Merrows, sir. The Merrows are in need of salvation. Now let go before you pitch the hover over!"
"Merrows? What are you talking about?"
"Merrows," Grand shouted over the hovertruck's whining stabilizers. "Mermaids! Merfolk! Whatever you folks call 'em. They are under the citizenship of Huron and in need of help. If they are to be saved, I must have access to the voice of Huron. I may access the voice through my grandson, Nikolas. Therefore, I must return him to his proper time in history. In short, good day, sir!" He wrenched the car door away.
The hovertruck kicked a foot, and then twenty, into the air.
"Hey . . . HEY! The grant? You have the artifact! What am I to tell the endowment board?" He punched the air. "Crazy old man!"
The hovertruck stopped its ascent, and the driver's window rolled down. He tossed the silver casing to the ground and leaned his head out of the window. "Oh, and if three monstrous creatures suddenly appear looking for me . . . run!"
He rolled up his window, pointed the hovertruck grill northward, and launched into the clouds.
"Monstrous creatures . . . ?" the Peruvian said slowly.
"Told you that guy was a nut." A voice came from the onlookers.
The Peruvian scanned the ground and found the silver casing. He toddled toward it, clutched it to his chest, and bolted toward a stack of empty briefcases. Finding one, he dropped to the ground and stuffed the artifact into it. With a few taps, the password was set. He wasn't going to let it out of his sight again.
A llama cried from the outer perimeter. Its bottom lip lolled back and forth as it galloped past.
Cliiiiink, tiiiiink. Cliiiiiink, tiiiiink came the sound of grinding chains, escorted by canine growls. Three shadows emerged from the jungle.
The Peruvian wobbled to his feet. "Now wha—?" His voice trailed off. "Heaven help us."
What he saw next utterly convinced him that it wastime to retire from archaeology and accept his brother Felipe's open invitationto start a line of clothing apparel for small dogs. That is, if he could manageto survive the next five minutes.
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