Unknown 9 by Layton Green (e reader txt) 📗

region’s abundant penguins, had reason to cross the Andes and venture that far south. Ushuaia belonged to the wild things, to the wind and snow and fog, to the few hardy souls who dared to challenge the elements and carve out an existence from the pitiless heel of Mother Nature.

It was also, Dr. Corwin mused, an excellent choice of residence for those who chose to disappear.

Smoke billowed from the chimney on the steeply pitched roof of the house. He paused to absorb the stark and awesome beauty of his surroundings, then started down the gravel driveway to learn the fate of his obsessive quest. After leaving Buenos Aires, he had searched for Ettore whenever his duties allowed, in towns of all sizes across the continent. Guessing that Ettore had anticipated the violent regime change in Argentina—as had many others—and fled the country before the military junta took power, Dr. Corwin had first concentrated his search in the neighboring countries of Brazil, Chile, Uruguay, and Paraguay. Those countries weren’t much safer, but perhaps Ettore was worried someone would track him down if he stayed too long in one place.

While Dr. Corwin was looking elsewhere, Argentina ousted its brutal dictators and ushered in a democratic regime. Dr. Corwin had returned his focus to the country now that he was able to search with more impunity. Still following the physics-and-mathematics angle, and having no more luck with bookstores, he had expanded his search to include libraries, especially in smaller towns where neither the Society nor the Ascendants had a presence. He did not visit all the libraries himself, as that would have been impossible, but instead targeted the distributors and wholesalers these libraries relied on to stock their collection.

It was tedious work that he farmed out to a private investigator. More years passed without success—until a week ago, when he had received a report on a library in remote Ushuaia that had caused his chest to tighten. It seemed that for the last ten years, this library had been ordering a handful of the latest textbooks in theoretical physics and mathematics. Libraries rarely carried such expensive items, especially now that works of “layman science” meant to bridge the gap between experts and the general public in these subject areas had become popular. Books such as QED: The Strange Theory of Light and Matter by Richard Feynman, and Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time had taken the world by storm that very year.

A sole patron had checked out the hard-core science textbooks in Ushuaia. This alone might not raise a red flag, but how many people with such an esoteric interest also checked out books of poetry at the same time, with a special focus on postmodern and English Romantic poets? Especially in a place as remote as Ushuaia?

The real breakthrough had come when Dr. Corwin, cautiously optimistic but still primed for disappointment, called the Ushuaia library to inquire as to who had been checking out these books, claiming he was searching for a long-lost friend.

And they had told him. While they did not divulge a physical description of the patron, they did pass on the name scrawled in blue ink on the library cards: Tomás E. Stern.

Dr. Corwin had stared at the name for some time before a light went on. Like himself, he knew Ettore liked to play with words and numbers, and assign meaning to everything he did. Dr. Corwin remembered that Diego Quiroga, the bookseller in Buenos Aires who had first led him to South America, had speculated that Ettore’s favorite poet was T. S. Eliot.

A quick search gave Dr. Corwin the full given name of the wordsmith.

Thomas Stearns Eliot.

Ah, Ettore, you sly old devil, you just couldn’t help yourself. You’ve inspired me in so many ways, you know. Maybe one day I’ll create my own trail of bread crumbs to follow across the globe, rife with symbolism and hidden significance.

As Dr. Corwin navigated the gravel footpath leading to the house, using his cane to support the knee Hans had shattered, his excitement grew as he noticed a pair of wooden planters beside the front door, nurturing a colorful array of blossoms through Ushuaia’s fleeting spring.

Dr. Corwin knew the names and appearance of these particular flowers—caper, oleander, and prickly pear—because he had committed them to memory after a certain flower seller in Buenos Aires had told him that one of her customers, a Sicilian man living across the street, had favored them.

At long last, after all these years of searching, have I finally found him?

Dr. Corwin grew emotional as he stood at the door and reached for the bronze knocker. So much had happened in the intervening years. So much sacrificed for this moment. Since leaving Buenos Aires, he had steadily risen through the ranks of the Society and discovered a great many secrets. Oh, the things I have seen.

And yet the greatest of all still eluded him, the true nature of the mysterious Fold. He now knew there were elite groups within the Society dedicated to exploring it. He could have joined them had he wanted, and one day he would. But for now he was focused on finding the one person who might actually help them understand it. His skin tingled at the prospect of confronting Ettore.

Yet above all, as he prepared for the most important moment of his life, Dr. Corwin thought of Ana, and the terrible choice they had made, and his deep regret for what might have been.

After their final conversation, she had become a valuable mole within the Ascendants. Her tips had kept Dr. Corwin and others alive on numerous occasions. She had even steered Hans away from South America in the search for Ettore.

From time to time, he and Ana had risked expressing their love via encoded messages delivered to old meeting spots, or through unsuspecting third parties. One time he had carved her initials on the battered wooden wall beside their favorite booth in a pizza joint they both adored in