The Goblin Reservation

“Oop,” said Sharp, “you haven’t said a word. What is going on? You are ordinarily fairly mouthy. What is going on?”

“I’m mortified,” said Oop.

Sharp turned away from him and looked at Maxwell.

“Pete,” he said, “you probably realize what you have done. The watchman phoned me and wanted to call the police. But I told him to hold up on calling the police and I’d come right down. I had no idea it would turn out as bad as it did turn out to be. The Artifact is gone and I can’t deliver it and that means I’ll have to hand back all that cash, and a lot of the exhibits have been smashed to smithereens-”

“The dragon did that,” Maxwell said, “before we let him out.”

“So you let him out? He didn’t actually get away. You just let him out.”

“Well, he was smashing all that stuff. I guess we weren’t thinking.”

“Tell me honest, Pete. Was there actually a dragon?”

“Yes, there was one. He was immobilized inside the Artifact. Perhaps he was the Artifact. Don’t ask me how he got there. Enchantment, I would guess.”

“Enchantment?”

“Enchantment really happens, Harlow. I don’t know how. I’ve spent years trying to find out and I don’t know much more about it now than when I started out.”

“It seems to me,” said Sharp, “that there is someone missing. When all hell breaks loose, there usually is someone else who is tied into it. Can you tell me, Oop, where Ghost, that great, good friend of yours, might be?”

Oop shook his head. “He’s a hard one to keep track of. Always slipping off.”

“That isn’t all of it,” said Sharp. “There is still another situation that we should pay some heed to. Shakespeare has come up missing. I wonder if any of you could shed some light on his disappearance.”

“He was with us for a while,” said Oop. “We were just setting down to eat when he became quite frightened and lit out of there. It happened when Ghost remembered that he was Shakespeare’s ghost. He’s been wondering all these years, you know, who he is the ghost of.”

Slowly, lowering himself one section at a time, Sharp sat down on the top step and looked slowly from one to the other of them.

“Not a thing,” he said. “You didn’t miss a thing when you started out to ruin Harlow Sharp. You made a job of it.”

“We didn’t start out to ruin you,” said Oop. “We never had a thing against you. It seemed, somehow, that things started going wrong and they never stopped.”

“By rights,” said Sharp, “I should sue every one of you for every cent you have. I should ask a judgment-and don’t fool yourself, I’d get it-that would keep all of you working for Time the rest of your natural lives. But the three of you together couldn’t offset by a fraction, during your collective lifetimes, what you cost Time tonight. So there’s no sense in doing it. Although I suppose the police will have to get into this ruckus. I don’t see how they can be kept out of it. The three of you, I’m afraid, will have to answer a lot of questions.”

“If someone would only listen to me,” said Maxwell, “I could explain it all. That’s what I’ve been trying to do ever since I got back-to find someone who would listen to me. I tried to talk to you this afternoon…”

“Then,” said Sharp, “suppose you start right now by explaining it to me. I’ll own to a slight curiosity. Let’s go across the street to my office, where we can settle down and have a talk. Or might that inconvenience you? There’s probably a thing or two you still have to do to finish up the job of bankrupting Time.”

“No, I guess there isn’t,” said Oop. “I’d say, offhand, that we’ve done about everything we can.”

Inspector Drayton rose heavily from the chair in which he had been sitting in Sharp’s outer office.

“I’m glad you finally arrived, Dr. Sharp,” he said. “Something has arisen-”

The inspector cut short his speech when he caught sight of Maxwell. “So it’s you,” said the inspector. “I am glad to see you. You’ve led me a long, hard chase.”

Maxwell made a face. “I’m not sure, Inspector, that I can reciprocate your gladness.”

If there was anyone he could get along without right now, he told himself, it was Inspector Drayton.

“And who might you be?” Sharp asked shortly. “What do you mean by busting in here.”

“I’m Inspector Drayton, of Security. I had a short talk with Professor Maxwell the other day, on the occasion of his return to Earth, but I’m afraid that there are still some questions…”

“In that case,” said Sharp, “please take your place in line. I have business with Dr. Maxwell and I’m afraid that mine takes precedence over yours.”

“You don’t understand,” said Drayton. “I had not come here to apprehend your friend. His turning up with you is a piece of good fortune I had not expected. There is another matter in which I thought you might be helpful, a matter which came up rather unexpectedly. You see, I had heard that Professor Maxwell had been a guest at Miss Clayton’s recent party and so I went to see her-”

“Talk sense, man,” said Sharp. “What has Nancy Clayton got to do with all of this?”

“I don’t know, Harlow,” said Nancy Clayton, appearing at the doorway of the i

“ Nancy, please,” said Sharp. “First tell me what is going on. Why are you here and why is Inspector Drayton here and-”

“It’s Lambert,” Nancy said.

“You mean the man who painted the picture that you have.”

“I have three of them,” said Nancy proudly.

“But Lambert has been dead more than five hundred years.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” said Nancy, “but he turned up tonight. He said that he was lost.”

A man stepped from the i

“It appears, gentlemen,” he said, “that you are discussing me. Would you mind if I spoke up for myself?”

There was a strange twang to the way he spoke his words and he stood there, beaming at them, in a good-natured ma

“You are Albert Lambert?” Maxwell asked.

“Indeed I am,” said Lambert, “and I hope I don’t intrude, but I have a problem.”

“And you’re the only one?” asked Sharp.

“I’m sure that I don’t know,” said Lambert. “I suppose there are many other persons who are faced with problems. When you have a problem, however, the question is of where to go to have it solved.”

“Mister,” said Sharp, “I am in the same position and I am seeking answers just the same as you are.”

“But don’t you see,” Maxwell said to Sharp, “that Lambert has the right idea. He has come to the one place where his problem can be solved.”

“If I were you, young fellow,” Drayton said, “I wouldn’t be so sure. You were pretty foxy the other day, but now I’m onto you. There are a lot of things.”

“Inspector, will you please keep out of this,” said Sharp. “Things are bad enough without you complicating them. The Artifact is gone and the museum is wrecked and Shakespeare has disappeared.”

“But all I want,” said Lambert reasonably, “is to get back home again. Back to 2023.”

“Now, wait a minute,” Sharp commanded. “You are out of line. I don’t-”

“ Harlow,” Maxwell said, “I explained it all to you. Just this afternoon. And I asked you about Simonson. Surely you recall.”

“Simonson? Yes, I remember now.” Sharp looked at Lambert. “You are the man who painted the canvas that shows the Artifact.”

“Artifact?”

“A big block of black stone set atop a hill.”

Lambert shook his head. “No, I haven’t painted it. Although I suppose I will. In fact, it seems I must, for Miss Clayton showed it to me and it’s undeniably something that I would have done. And I must say, who shouldn’t, that it is not so bad.”