Alongside Night(27)

“But what is it? Does it have to do with the northern lights?”

“It’s symbolic, mostly,” Phillip said. “Aurora was the goddess of dawn in Roman mythology and represents hope; the Cadre also used the name because the first two letters— Au—

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are the chemical symbol for gold.”

“More literally,” said Phillip’s uncle, “AU is also the abbreviation for ‘Agorist Underground’—which is precisely what Aurora is. It’s the seat of a chain of secret agora—marketplaces—where countereconomic traders meet to do business.”

“How do you get there if you don’t know where it is?”

“The Cadre handle that. In your case, you’ll be sealed into a baggage trunk with an air tank as companion, and will be shipped there. And if you want to enjoy the trip, I suggest you pass up a second helping of Phillip’s meatballs.”

Elliot pushed his plate away, but his concern was not with motion sickness. “You’re not coming?”

“No. Neither Phillip nor I is under suspicion right now, and my taking you to Aurora this weekend would have its risks, if for no other reason than my being missed by friends. But don’t worry, you’re welcome back here at any time, for as long as you think necessary.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Our pleasure.”

After Elliot had helped Phillip clear away the dishes, they set up the chessboard again, this time Phillip—undistracted—

gaining the advantage. By seven thirty, down by a bishop and a pawn, Elliot resigned. Mr. Gross suggested at this point that Elliot take a Dramamine. Elliot took it.

At eight, halfway through the play-off game, the doorman announced a delivery on its way up; Mr. Gross ruled a draw by fiat, ordering the boys into Phillip’s bedroom. They chatted aimlessly there until Mr. Gross called them to the living room ten minutes later. “They’re waiting in my bedroom,” Mr. Gross explained, anticipating Elliot’s question.

In the middle of the living room, next to the couch, was a trunk with its lid open; it was large enough to hold a man—

and had to. There was a thick layer of foam padding on bottom and side interiors, a safety harness, and four FerroFoam 94

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air tanks built into the lid.

Elliot regarded the trunk dubiously. “Small, isn’t it?”

“Nonsense,” said Mr. Gross. “It’s one of the largest on the market; they use them over at the Met Opera. You’d better get right in.” Elliot looked hesitantly at the trunk another moment.

“What’s the matter? Claustrophobic?”

“No, agoraphobic.”

Mr. Gross smiled. “You’ll get over it.”

After Elliot was properly bundled, he said warm goodbyes, then was strapped into the harness. His arms and legs were immobilized, a mouthpiece adapted from SCUBA equipment was inserted, and the lid was closed. It became pitch dark, and Elliot heard a lock click.

Someone knocked on the trunk and seemed to whisper (shout?), “Take it easy. You won’t be in there long.” Elliot declined answering for fear of losing his mouthpiece. The trunk was pushed upright, Elliot being suspended by the harness—sitting on it—as if he had been attached to a parachute. As the trunk leaned forward, then tilted back, Elliot deduced that a hand truck had been slid under. A forward lurch, a bump—he was moving.

Soon after the journey began, the trunk stopped for what seemed a substantial pause, Elliot overhearing discussion that he could not understand. He thought he caught the words

“wrong apartment,” then the voices ceased, and the trunk started moving again.

He was on his back again shortly thereafter, feeling and hearing vibrations, endless changes in momentum, ups and downs, sideways movements …

Elliot awakened with a jolt. The trunk was at rest. Must have fallen asleep, he thought. No doubt the Dramamine. He heard the lock click again, and the top opened; still groggy, he was blinded by a flood of light. A hearty male voice boomed, “Playing hooky, my boy? Well, your essay was due today, and you’re Alongside Night

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not getting out of it that easily!” The man bent over the trunk, smiling widely. Elliot squinted, nearly choking on his mouthpiece. It was Mr. Harper.

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Chapter 11


“Wait a second, wait a second,” Elliot said as soon as his mouth was unplugged. “Not you, too?”

“Eh?” said Mr. Harper.

There was a somewhat elderly man with him—heavy-set, wearing a rumpled gray suit—but he did not say anything.

“Isn’t there anyone I know who isn’t mixed up in this conspiracy?”