Touchstone (Meridian Series) Read Online Free PDF Page B

passion till his soul is a stringed lute on which all
winds can play.”
    “Well enough put for my side.”
    “Mr. Gilbert says all art is
occasional, and to prove his point, whipped out his little aesthetic ditty. He
says he can do that all day long, and I do believe it.”
    “Perhaps we should have an epic
competition, eh, Wilde? You can do the Renaissance and I can do the
Restoration!”
    Nordhausen hurried on, still
fretting over every word he spoke. “It is clear that Mr. Wilde produced, on
command, a comic verse, which excited laughter in your group, and general
approbation. So it would appear that Mr. Gilbert is the winner.”
    “Hah, the practical American! I
did choose rightly! Let’s have three cheers for me! What ho?”
    “On the other hand….” Nordhausen
interrupted gingerly.
    Gilbert stopped in mid-huzzah.
“There is more? Is there a prize for runner-up?”
    “On the other hand, no mere
mortal can do what Mr. Gilbert does. I could not, no one else in this room can
do what you do, sir.”
    Gilbert bowed, puzzled. “You
honor me, sir, but what you say is no doubt true, although I am forced to
acknowledge it.”
    “So, if no mere mortal can do
what you do, it is clear that your work is inspired, and we may as well
attribute the inspiration to a Muse, as to any other source. So, I must say
that Mr. Wilde is correct, and is also the winner.”
    The group sat hushed for a beat,
as they tried to work out the logic of Nordhausen’s exposition. At the exact
same moment, Wilde and Gilbert burst into laughter, and stood applauding in
acclamation. The rest of the group joined them, and Nordhausen found himself
the focus of their adulation. He smiled, pleased that he had come up with
something to reward the effort of each man. Perhaps I’ve set it right, he
thought hopefully as he fingered his pocket watch. Internally he shrugged his
shoulders, dislodging the spectral Maeve from the perch she had occupied for
the better part of the evening. The hearty cheers and the glass of champagne he
accepted served to ease his troubled conscience.
    “But my word!” Nordhausen took a
sip of champagne and set the glass down. “I’ve just had a look at the time and
I really must be off.”
    The gleeful gathering protested,
but Nordhausen was determined to extricate himself before he was forced to
speak another word. The verse that Gilbert had spun out still haunted him, for
it carried the seed of his greatest fear. The dust of this earthly today was
indeed the earth of a dusty tomorrow.
    I’ve tipped brandy with two
Prime Movers, he thought. God only knows what I’ve accomplished. He hurried
away from the club, drawing his overcoat close about him against the evening
chill. He wondered who actually won the competition in the time line he had
come from. He had a 50-50 chance of choosing the same verdict if he could have
just mustered the guts to hazard a guess.  His solution, awarding victory to
both of the contestants, had been clever, but was it wise?
    And again, he realized that the
man, or woman, who had actually served as judge in the original Meridian , had been unduly robbed of that
moment by his interference. While it seemed an insignificant thing, that was
exactly the sort of contamination that Paul always warned him about. It was not
the great things, but the inconsequential ones that set the wheels of time to
turning.
    Off in the distance he heard the
dull toll of a church bell timing out the half hour, and it gave him little
comfort. Some time later, he made it back to his hotel. He had another 24
hours, in this Meridian , before his retraction scheme
pulled him out. He needed sleep to gather his wits for the real intent of his
journey, but the thought that he had already set the world to havoc with a
toast of brandy kept him restless and tossing all through the night.
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Part II
     
    Contamination
     
    “What Can we know, or what can
we discern,
    when error chokes the windows of
the