Ice-Cream Truck
W e’re still waiting for Jack to return with a vehicle, so we continue our journey. My blurry visions still attack me a little, though I can hear Constance telepathically now. Of course, we’re all hooked on the March Hare.
“Keys that open the mind,” Constance considers. “This is just another puzzle. I am fed up with puzzles.”
“But you say they aren’t keys?” I ask the March.
“No, they are,” he nods eagerly.
“Now you’re confusing me,” I tell him.
“They are keys, Alice, but they aren’t keys.”
“Thanks,” I say. “That quite explains it.”
Lewis nears the March. There is a look of guilt on his face. He should have remembered. This is mainly his fault. To be honest, the whole forget/remember thing makes me think I am mad sometimes. Like seriously, bonkers, turtle down the hole mad. No hope for a cure.
“You mean they are actual keys that open the mind?” Lewis says. “I mean they are not a metaphor for keys.”
“What I remember is that they are keys that open the mind, you told me that Lewis,” the March says in his ultimate nonchalant innocence. It occurs to me that he does not understand the seriousness and gravity of the situation. “Keys!” He fists hands and raises it up as if he is holding a screw and working it.
“I can’t think of something like that,” Fabiola remarks. “So now we don’t even know what we will do witthose mysterious keys when we find them?”
“I am sure the keys themselves will show us a clue,” I say. “If the keys themselves are a puzzle then seeing them will clear things up.”
“They could be keys to the chest where there is a special book inside,” Constance says. “Books open the mind.”
Fabiola agrees. “Some books have locks. It’s an ancient tradition. The locks were a number of keys given to separate people so the secret is safe and the book can’t be read unless the six — or whatever number — of people are present.”
I look at Lewis. “Sounds like something you would love to design, Lewis.”
“It does,” he says. “Except that, I don’t recall doing this.”
“Can it have something to do with the photos?” I offer. “Keys you used to lock the Camera?”
Lewis scratches his head. He is considering it. “This rather has plausibility to it.”
“What do you mean?” Fabiola is eager.
“Considering what the most precious thing is, the camera sounds related,” he says.
“Are you, Masters of the Universe, ever going to tell us what the precious thing is?” I say.
“The most precious thing, if I may correct you.” Constance sends me a telepathic message. I look back at her. She is making a funny face.
“Not now,” Lewis tells me. “Trust me with that.”
I nod, unconvinced. “So why does the camera seem plausible?”
“I had keys that locked the cameras I took the pictures with,” he says. “In my time, this had been the first camera invented in Britain. We used to rest the heavy boxed instrument on a tripod which used keys to lock the camera in.”
This sounds interesting. Could it be?
“Six keys?” I ask.
“A tripod needed three keys,” he says. “Wait.”
“What?” I say.
“I did have one model that needed six keys.”
“That’s a long leap of faith,” Fabiola says. “Are you sure, Lewis?”
“About a camera with six keys, yes. The Question is how am I supposed to find it now?” he says.
“It ’s probably been at Oxford University,” I say. “In the Tom Tower, in your studio?”
Lewis runs his hand through his hair. “That’s a stretch, and we’re not sure.”
“I don’t see it like that,” Fabiola says. “Six Keys. A Camera. Belonging to you. Makes total sense. What do you think, March?”
“Is the Tom Tower fun?” he says. “Do you have candy?”
Constance sighs and pats the March. “Listen, Alice,” she says. “I like the conclusion, but the university is far away. It’s a common spot. Being out there is suicide.”
“Well, if it means finding the precious keys,” I say.
“None of this is sure,” she says and turns to look at Lewis and the March. “If those are the Six Keys we’re looking for, how do they open the mind.”
“A camera is a window to capturing moments,” Fabiola says. “It has a lens, Constance. It does seem like a good candidate to opening minds.”
“I am the sum of the girls who Lewis ever photographed. You don’t think I know that?” Constance says.
Her words silence everything around us. We all exchange aha glances right away.
Constance doesn’t get it. She stares back at us. “What?”
“You just said you’re the sum of the girls Lewis photographed,” I explain. “If we are right about the Six Keys in the Camera, then whose mind do you think we’re supposed to open?”
Constance shrugs. “No, this can’t be.”
“It’s the only conclusion,” I say.
“Based on an assumption?” She counters back.
“Think about it,” I walk to her and talk gently. “You have been able to talk to me telepathically all day.”
“What?” Fabiola asks.
“I’ll explain later,” I say then continue facing Constance. “The keys open minds, or a mind, or someone’s mind, whatever. Point is Lewis’ camera was screwed with a six-key tripod, and guess who was behind that lens all the time? You.”
“So?” the poor girl is perplexed, realizing she is essential in this world when all she wants is play around and be silly for her age.
The March speaks all of a sudden. “I think the keys are a metaphor to your mind’s abilities.”