Hero Museum: The Magic Hat 1

Mr. Snow walked around his showcase. It had grown considerably over the last few months. He didn't think it would be that much of a success when he started.

He frowned at a display he found unfamiliar. He wondered where he had gotten the item. He looked at the display card. The Great Gildersleeve's Top Hat meant nothing to him.

He decided to check his records. There should be something to tell him where the hat had originated.

He doubted it had appeared out of thin air, despite the fact that it looked like a magician's head gear.

He couldn't remember any Gildersleeve. Had there been a villain named that? He doubted any hero had ever existed with that name.

He couldn't remember any villain out of the many that he had researched for their displays. His assistant had also gone over the material. Maybe she would know.

He shook his head. He had given her the day off. She had been working hard the last few days. It seemed the thing to do so she wouldn't burnout.

He smiled. He might have lost some brain cells, but he still knew how to do elementary research.

The curator started with a simple search for the name Gildersleeve. That should pop something out of the old Google engine.

Numerous entries for the old radio show appeared on the computer screen. He should have expected that, he supposed.

He needed to refine his search. He needed to concentrate on something unique to his exhibit. He needed to concentrate on what it was.

He smiled. Maybe Gildersleeve's top hat would give him better results.

A smaller list popped up. He searched through those attached to news organizations. He smiled at the articles.

A Great Gildersleeve had terrorized San Francisco in the forties. He had been stopped by a Chinese man. They had fought a duel on the Golden Gate the last time they had clashed.

The man himself seemed to have vanished after that clash. What had happened during that exchange? Where had he gone? How had his hat come to be at the museum? Was it his hat?

Mr. Snow went back to the main area. He walked around the hat. It looked like a top hat. It was a gold color with a black band like the descriptions in the stories. He took out his magnifying glass. There was a label inside that said GG.

He decided that answered the question of whose hat, and if it belonged in his museum. An article worn by a supervillain, even a minor one, did belong on display for the public to see.

How did the museum happen to get it for its display? If it was legitimate, there should be documentation for its transfer from wherever it had been for the last few decades.

Maybe his assistant had the documentation filed somewhere. He should check before he called her on her day off.

He feared that he had already created the impression he was a doddering dolt.

He could check her files for the documentation easily enough.

A careful search turned up the paperwork. She was still vetting the hat from the looks of things. It looked authentic but she wasn't taking any chances.

He understood that. Many a museum lost their reputation when their galleries were discovered to be fraudulent. Something like that would ruin his fledgling enterprise for good.

She had tracked the hat back to a retirement home in San Francisco. The owner had given her pictures to back up his claim of authenticity.

She didn't quite trust the pictures from the look of things.

A note on her calendar said she was going to San Francisco to talk to the man in person on her next trip out there.

It was listed with several other items that needed to be verified by people on the West Coast.

Mr. Snow went back to his desk. He decided to let the hat stand. If it proved to be a fake, he would pull it. In any case, only the Great Gildersleeve could use it. He doubted it would be much of a problem sitting out in the middle of his museum space.

He wondered what had happened to the thieving magician. He seemed to have disappeared like many super criminals in San Francisco did back then.

There might be a paper in that somewhere if he could prove a common cause.

Maybe he should ask Miss Case to look around for the mystery magician when she went out on her trip. He made a note to do that. Maybe he could get some more items if she did find the man.

He considered that the magician must have been in the 30 to 40 year range back then. He would be ancient in modern times if he was alive at all.

Miss Case would find him if he still breathed. She was quite the detective and could smell a fraud a mile away. That and her persistence were why he leaned on her to help keep things running around the museum.

He sometimes why she drove herself so hard. It wasn't for the pay. He thought it was something in her past. She rarely talked about why she had decided to hire on with him, and when she did, she never said anything personal.

In his experience, that denoted some kind of trauma.

He couldn't decide if he should ask her about it. He doubted she would appreciate his prying in her private life.

He decided to leave it unless it became something that affected her work. She knew more about everything in the museum than he did.

That was why he had left it to her in his will.

Snow walked out of the office. He still had some work to do before he left, but everything seemed as it should be.

He made his deposit, filled out any paperwork he would need for his files, and walked around the museum one more time. He still needed to work on the rolling displays he wanted to implement. He felt they were the best way to put in temporary stands to focus on single heroes.

Minor heroes had formed whole teams in Texas and Minnesota. He wondered how long before the rest of the heroic community did the same.

He made a note to gather as much information on those new heroes for their own displays when he could get something to show from them.

Stopping a hurricane, and a giant monster, were impressive enough feats even if they never operated in the public eye again.

He gave one more glance at the hat sitting all alone. He still didn't remember where it had came from, and how it had wound up on display before it had been verified.

His assistant might be able to help him fill in the blanks.

2

The Great Gildersleeve looked at the prognosis confirmed by the blood test in his hand. His doctor had tried to be gentle. The news was as bad as it could be.

He was going to die in matter of weeks.

What could he do with the time he had left? He had no hope of a cure. His magic hat had never demonstrated that before.

He didn't want to go quietly in the night. He wanted to leave something behind that would scar the city for decades after he was gone.

It would be something for the civilians to remember.

He put the paper aside. It was a reminder of his deadline. He didn't need that. He already had it etched in his mind.

He gave himself three days to prepare for what he wanted to do. The actual time he had left would be spent carrying out his preparations. He looked out his window. He wanted something big enough to change the city forever.

He needed to get his magic hat before he could do anything. Once he had that, he could do anything he planned to do with ease.

He would give the city something to remember him by after he had been dead for centuries.

He headed for the door. His hat was sent somewhere else to wait for him if something bad happened to him. That place was in Oakland.

He didn't have a car. He needed to get a cab, or a bus. He hated that.

He kicked himself. What good would a car do him now that he had a deadline?

His hat would give him all the transportation he needed when he had it back in his hands again.

He had always thought he would be killed in battle against his enemy, Dr. Long. He never expected to die of a disease.

He laughed at himself. Life never gave you what you expected.

He had never expected to get a magic hat. It had dropped in his hands one day before he went on stage. It had changed everything. He had wowed the audiences with the things he could pull out of it.

He should have stayed on stage, and basked in the limelight.

Instead he had let the power of the hat go to his head. He knew that after his first defeat. He should have quit then and gone straight.

He supposed he had gotten a taste of power and didn't want to go back to just being a stage magician.

Gildersleeve stepped out on the street. He still had a bank roll left over from his career. The police hadn't been able to get all of the money back from him.

He decided to walk to the bus terminal. He would get one of them over to Oakland. The Los Angeles-San Diego route should be close enough.

The city needed something better than trolleys roaming around.

He smiled to himself. That didn't matter now, did it? He wouldn't be around to see the future.

He wandered the hills of San Francisco lost in thought. He tried to think of one thing that would change the city so that he could inspire generations of others after he was gone.

'The Great Gildersleeve, The World's Greatest Villain' had a nice ring to it in his mind.

He arrived at the bus terminal with his head in the clouds. He shook off the musing long enough to check the schedules. He frowned as he finally found a bus heading out to where he wanted to go. It should leave in a few hours.

He looked around. He certainly didn't want to walk home and then have to turn around and come right back to the terminal.

He decided that he needed to eat to keep his strength up for the job ahead. He could get a book, or paper and pen from the gift store, to pass the time. He could use the time waiting to try to come up with a suitable master plan to carry out.

He wanted something suitable as a master stroke to be immortalized.

It had to be huge. It had to be something that everyone could see with their eyes. It had to be something that couldn't be blamed on natural causes like the tremors that rocked the countryside sometimes.

He gave it some more thought as he considered the city from a window in the waiting room.

His mind kept wandering to the Golden Gate. If he could do something to that, it would stand out forever.

It was the biggest manmade object around and had taken decades to finish.

He didn't have a lot of raw power in the hat. It gave him things to use, but it wouldn't give him anything big enough to take down the bridge.

Maybe he could pull some kind of combination of things he could use to wreck the bridge.

He needed to read up on the construction and see if there were some weak points he could use to tear it down. There had to be one somewhere. Nothing was made that didn't have some kind of weakness in its build.

That's where he could attack it if he could bring enough force to bear.

He wrote down notes for later checking if they were viable options to use. He would know more when he had the hat in his hands.

Maybe he could cut the supports somehow. That would bring the thing down with the sheer weight of it.

He could hold it for ransom to get attention when he didn't plan to give the bridge back whether he got the money, or not. It was almost the perfect scheme.

The only fly in the ointment he could see was where Dr. Long would be when he made his demands to the Mayor's Office.

The Asian magician had command of a wider spectrum of magic.

Gildersleeve wrote down getting Dr. Long out of the city as part of his preparations for the big show.

He couldn't hope to win a straight fight with Long. His hat didn't give him enough of an advantage to do that.

He wrote down decoy next to Long's name. He needed to get the man out of town before he could think about holding the bridge up. The decoy would have to be released before he took the bridge. It had to be flashy enough to draw the doctor without attracting every other hero in the state.

He wrote that down as a description of the decoy.

He looked at the paper. It had a lot of ideas about his ultimate goal. Now he could break it down in a step by step plan.

He wondered what kind of decoy he could set on Dr. Long to keep him busy.

It had to be fast, agile, and potentially destructive so he couldn't ignore it.

He smiled at the thought of sending a dragon into Chinatown. That would certainly catch the doctor's attention.

He smiled at that thought.

Maybe he could summon a flock of them from his hat. That should keep Long too busy to stop him from doing what he wanted on the bridge.

Gildersleeve looked up at the big clock that dominated the waiting area of the terminal. He had spent hours doodling on the paper he had bought. He didn't have a perfect plan, but he had enough to get started.

He walked out to the lanes where the buses were lined up to go across the country. He looked for his number and boarded.

Time to get his magic hat.

3

The Great Gildersleeve had to walk to where his hat was stored. He had wanted to get a cab, but realized he didn't have the money. That would change soon enough.

He waved at the manager as he passed through to the locker area. He pulled out his key. It was unmarked in case he was captured. It was unmagical and unimportant to anyone else but him. He smiled when he saw his space drawing closer.

He stuck the key in the lock and opened the door. His hat gleamed in the light striking it through the opening. He smiled as he picked it up. He felt a little stronger holding it.

He should since this was the source of his power.

He reached inside the hat and pulled out the device he needed to make sure the hat would return to the locker if he lost again. He placed it in the space and set the dials so he could automatically trigger it when he was about to lose. He placed the remote in his coat.

He locked the locker, placing the key in his wallet. He still had time before he had to make another payment.

He doubted that would be an issue he would have to worry about in the next few weeks.

He waved at the manager on his way out. He didn't want anyone opening his locker before he was done. After that, it didn't matter.

The city would remember him for years when he was done. He would be immortal.

Now that he had his hat back, he had to get back to San Francisco. Then he could start his plan in earnest.

Gildersleeve reached into his hat. He pulled out a tuning fork with a switch on the handle. He thumbed the switch as he walked. A rip in the air appeared. He stepped through, holding his hat to his head. He reappeared just outside his apartment. He put the tuning fork back into his hat as the effects of his passage faded.

He smiled. He didn't know how it worked, but you couldn't argue with the result.

He felt tired. He should have checked himself. He couldn't go all day without taking a break like he could have at one point. He needed to take a nap, and then he could work on the other parts of his plan.

He needed to work on his plan as quietly as possible. Dr. Long was sure to show his face if he thought the villain was using his hat to work some kind of plan. His command of magic was better than the hat's.

He would need to work on his distraction too. He needed something that would draw Dr. Long out of the city long enough for him to destroy the bridge.

He would start on that after he had taken his nap. If he was too tired to concentrate, there was no telling what he would pull out of the hat.

He didn't want to grab a killer bunny out by mistake.

He let himself into his apartment. He pulled out a box that would keep everyone out while he slept. He needed the rest more than he needed to talk to people. He unhooked the phone before he lay down on his bed.

Gildersleeve closed his eyes and listened to the hum of the box. He clutched his hat to his chest in case he needed it.

His eyes closed and he dreamed of angles floating in space. He thought he knew what they represented. He wasn't sure what he was looking at as he stood outside the drawing. What could it mean?

What was he missing?

He reached out for the twisting lines. They broke apart at his touch. He snapped awake. He didn't feel any better for his sleep. He sat up with a groan. He needed to get to work on his plan.

The first thing he needed to do was visit the bridge. Then he could see if his idea would actually work.

He decided to wear a normal suit. He didn't want to alert anyone who might be watching for him to do something. He doubted they would know what he had planned, but he didn't want to waste what little of his time he had left in an entanglement.

He pulled out the tuning fork, and a box that would show him what he needed to tear the bridge down. He tucked them in his jacket pocket, with the remote for the locker device. He flattened the hat and hid it under his end table.

It wouldn't do to have some thief get lucky and get the hat while he was out.

He used the tuning fork to cross the city in small leaps. He arrived at one end of the steel expanse and sat down. He felt tired again. Maybe he didn't have as much time as the doctor thought.

He pulled out the box and set it to doing its job. It would record the structure of the Golden Gate. Then it would calculate weaknesses he could take advantage of when he started the next phase of his plan.

He wanted to be able to blow up the bridge long before Dr. Long figured things out.

He had a respect for his opponent's intelligence. The man had shown that he could detect the threads of a plot with a look. He had only kept his hat through some quick reflexes and trickery.

It helped that he didn't know how the hat actually worked.

The box beeped when it was done. He checked the small television screen on the top of it. It had only been able to measure the part of the bridge within a few hundred feet of where he sat.

He struggled to his feet. He looked down the miles long road in front of him. He started walking.

He smiled. You couldn't wreck a monument without some work. Maybe he should have gotten a car after all.

He walked along, pausing to let the box do its work because it wouldn't measure unless he was stopped. Sometimes he stopped because he couldn't take a step because he was about to fall down. He reached the other end after a few hours of the stop and go march.

He checked the box to make sure it had weighed the whole bridge on its magical scale. Then he pulled out the tuning fork and stepped all the way back home. He set the shield and collapsed into bed.

When he woke up, he would check the readings and start pulling things from his hat to do the deed.

He would be immortal.

4

The Great Gildersleeve looked at his drawings. He sat back in his chair. What would he need to pull his trick off?

He needed something designed to cut the bridge off at both ends. He wanted to keep civilian deaths to a minimum. He wanted to be remembered, not demonized. Then he needed something to destroy the bridge in front of everyone who had been stalled at either end of the bridge and was wondering what was going on.

He would have to search around in his hat to find things that fitted that criteria.

His distraction for Dr. Long looked more promising than his primary scheme.

He had parts for a monkey laid out on a sheet on the floor. When he was ready to start on blowing up the Golden Gate, he only had to send it out to cause trouble in the most visible way possible.

The doctor would have to stop it to protect the civilians.

Gildersleeve planned for the monkey to head directly for Chinatown. That was where Long made his base of operations. The monkey would be a better distraction if it was causing trouble on the enemy's home ground.

He doubted other heroes close by would be able to act to stop him. He had fought the Chinese magician more, and had more respect for his enemy's capabilities than others that lived and worked in the Bay.

The doctor had real magic. That equaled what he could do with the hat.

Gildersleeve yawned. He stood and stretched. He knew that he hadn't been working hard enough to be tired. It was his condition expressing itself.

Too bad he couldn't get the hat to give him a cure.

Maybe it could give him a cure. Why hadn't he thought of that before? Then he could destroy the bridge and strike fear to extort anything he wanted from the city.

He pulled the hat closer. He reached inside and groped around until he found what he wanted. He pulled out a cousin to the measuring device he had used to make his initial plans. He pointed one end at himself and pushed the button.

A detailed list appeared on the top of the box. He recognized some of the words from what his doctor had told him when he had asked for tests. The device's prognosis seemed to be spot on as far as he could tell. It said there was no cure for his disease.

He brought his arm back to throw the scanner across the room. It wasn't the scanner's fault. He brought his hand slowly forward and dropped the box back into the hat.

He should have known he wouldn't have it that easy.

He looked over his drawings again.

He needed to head out to the Golden Gate and check his placements. He only had one shot at this. If he messed up, his name would be the same as failure.

Gildersleeve pulled out his tuning fork and stepped to the bridge. He pointed the measurer at his end of the bridge. It came back with a location that should let him cut through the steel and concrete with ease.

He went to the other end of the bridge next. He found the perfect spot there.

He needed to put his cutting devices on the designated spots so that part of the show could go without a mistake.

Once the cuts were done, he would need something big to drop the middle part of the bridge into the ocean. He wanted something like a massive bomb to blow it up. Anyone could use a bomb to do that, but the hat had limits.

What could he use?

He needed to return to his apartment and see what he could dig up. He might need something more than a bomb.

Gildersleeve pulled out his tuning fork and warped back to his place. He put the transporter in his pocket. If Dr. Long caught up with him, he wanted to be able to leave at a moment's notice.

He put the measurer on his desk. He reached into his hat and pulled out a codex made of a speaker and a projector. That should give him a list of things he could use.

He pushed the button on the codex. 'SETTING UP' appeared in the air above the box. That changed to 'SET UP'. Then 'REQUEST?'

He smiled.

"I need something that will destroy the following object." He plugged the measurer into the codex with a thin wire. "It has to be narrower than eight inches, and work instantly."

'WORKING.' The codex flashed images of various weapons in the air as it searched its archives. It held the ones it thought most promising in floating insets.

"I want to keep the damage to the bridge itself." Gildersleeve frowned at the fact that three of the devices had a recorded reach that would stretch into the land on either end of the Golden Gate. The islands would be struck naturally.

That might be a blessing for Alcatraz, but not for anyone else.

Half of the pictures vanished with that perimeter in place.

"I want to avoid killing anything." That should help the fish in the bay.

More of the pictures disappeared. He examined the remainder. He liked one that looked like a round orb with four arms on a base. The radius would cut through the bridge and then stop.

He ran the output through the measuring device. It confirmed that it would do what he wanted. Then it would self-destruct.

That made things that much simpler for him.

"I also need ways to cut the bridge off at both ends to spare civilians." He couldn't forget that. He wasn't a murderer.

Devices appeared in the air. He read the text carefully. He picked out two that would suit his purposes. He would also need to get 'bridge closed' signs from somewhere. He might be able to fake that with something from his hat.

He pulled out the three devices and checked the codex to make sure he knew how to use the machines. He didn't want to blow himself up before he could put his scheme in motion.

That would be incredibly embarrassing to a villain of his reputation.

Gildersleeve looked his notes over. He would have to put together a timetable in which to move. He would have to send the monkey when he set up the 'closed' signs. It shouldn't take more than a moment to set everything up and make his credit claiming speech.

The question was how fast could Dr. Long move to stop his scheme? The man had real magic unlike the fake tricks he used. The doctor could stop everything if he was given a chance.

He suppressed a yawn. He still had a lot of things he had to do before he died. This should be his best scheme ever.

How many people would be able to claim they made a bridge disappear?

He looked over his apartment. He needed to get some sleep. He was almost ready. He needed to start fresh tomorrow night. He should look in the hat for something that would keep him going.

He wondered how much longer he could push on before he collapsed. He had to hold on until he was done with his scheme.

Maybe he should try something a little more in keeping with his reputation.

He shook his head.

This was his last hurrah. He should make it as big as he could. He would be up there with Arthur if it worked.

Not many villains could play in that league.

That's what he needed if he wanted to be remembered for the rest of time.

He laughed at his vanity. He should know better than that.

5

The Great Gildersleeve finished his meal with a smile on his face. He had decided to get a steak and a baked potato to celebrate. He sipped his tea before leaving money for the bill on the table.

It was time to get to work.

He returned to his apartment. He had packed his gear in his hat. He looked around the place to make sure he hadn't left anything for the authorities to use against him when he was gone. His immortality would be short lived if he left cut and dried answers to why he had done what he was going to do.

The mechanical monkey sat next to the window. He pushed the button to activate it. He pulled on sunglasses. A picture of what the monkey saw appeared on the left lens. That should show him Dr. Long being distracted until it was too late for him to do anything about the bridge.

He pulled out the tuning fork. He sent the monkey into Chinatown with a wave of his hand. Now he had to start the next part of his plan.

He used the fork to get to one end of the bridge. He set up 'bridge closed' signs before using one of his gadgets to block anyone getting on that end of the bridge. He went to the other end and put signs up and created the wall to keep people from moving on the bridge as he set up to destroy it.

He waited patiently for the civilians to reach the end of their passage before finishing the sealing.

He nodded as a dome appeared over the bridge after he adjusted some buttons. That should take care of both air and sea approaches as well as the road.

He needed to set up his public announcement system so he could tell the city who had ruined their beloved landmark. The only thing better would be being able to look in their faces when they realized he wasn't bluffing.

Then he would set the explosive and wait for it to wreck the center of the span.

He worked feverishly to hook up his microphone and speaker to the rail near the center of the Golden Gate. He tested it with a push of a button.

He placed the bomb on the median between the top lanes. He turned on the remote for it. It hummed its readiness to blow up.

Everything seemed to be going as planned.

The real test would be if he could get things done before Dr. Long arrived to stop his plan.

Hopefully, the monkey was keeping him too busy across the city for him to respond with his usual swiftness.

The good doctor was too skilled to be underestimated in Gildersleeve's opinion.

He would try anything to save the bridge from the planned explosion.

The Great Gildersleeve checked on his monkey. It was still causing a panic among the civilians. Why hadn't Long appeared yet?

What did the doctor plan as his counter to the mechanical marvel?

"I can't worry about that." Gildersleeve put on a smile for his announcement. "I have to finish my plan before he puts things together."

He thumbed the button on the mike while pressing the project button that went with the antenna he had set up. His face appeared above the bay. He smiled. The image echoed his movement.

It was like looking at the Wizard of Oz's head in his throne room.

"Ladies and gentlemen." He gave the smile again. "I regret to inform you that the Golden Gate bridge will no longer exist in the next five seconds. I, the Great Gildersleeve, have spoken."

He cut the broadcast so he could hit the switch on the device from his hat.

He knew he didn't have long but he had to tell people who had blown up the bridge since he planned to be in the blast when it went up. He doubted his body would be recognizable when the bomb was done with him.

He pressed the button on the bomb. Lighted numbers rewarded him. He smiled. He was going out the way he wanted instead of letting a disease eat him up piece by piece.

A man couldn't ask for more than that.

He wondered what he would have done if he hadn't been told he was going to die.

He would have tried to use the hat to make himself wealthy by any means it would grant him.

At least this plan would go off without a hitch. It looked like he had beaten his enemy for once.

Light wrote on the asphalt in strange symbols. He reached into his hat. This was his enemy arriving at last. He had to hold for the few seconds it would take for the bomb to blow.

Dr. Long couldn't be allowed to foil this attempt. He couldn't be allowed to block this one chance to get into a history book.

Gildersleeve pointed his hat pistol where he thought the magician would appear. One shot was all he needed to stall the conflict long enough.

Where was Dr. Long?

The bomb fell through the concrete.

Gildersleeve reached for it to stop its sinking. It wouldn't do him any good if it was buried before it exploded. He found himself sinking into the asphalt with every step. He laughed.

He should have seen that coming from a mile away.

He felt like an idiot.

He had to get out of there if he wanted to try again. He couldn't spend his last few days locked up and waiting to die in a cage.

He shut down the dome with a control box. It only stopped his tuning fork from operating. Time to retreat and regroup.

He opened a gate in the air and pulled himself out of the quicksand that the bridge had become. He slipped out in daylight, and got to his feet. He needed to keep moving so the doctor couldn't find him.

He laughed. He should have seen that trick coming. The bridge had been partially cut off by the dome, but there had been enough to use to get by his defense.

Dr. Long had proven smarter and faster than he had thought. He should have known better to announce things. He should have left a note behind to be found after the blast.

It wouldn't have had the same impact, but he would have been known as more than a laughingstock.

Now his credibility was in shreds. No one would take him seriously now. Other villains would laugh about this in the old cellblock.

He didn't have time to plan something else and implement it. His condition was making it hard for him to think as he walked down the street. The expectation of capture made his knees weak so he staggered some as he went.

He needed to sit down and think about what he was going to do. He needed to keep moving, but didn't have anywhere to go.

He saw a small park ahead. He frowned at the sign, but couldn't read the language. He decided to sit down on a wooden bench on the cobble path. He needed time to get his strength back.

He wondered how long he had before Dr. Long caught up with him. The Asian magician was quick on his feet.

Gildersleeve watched the people moving through the park. He smiled. Everyone wore thick clothes and scarves. He didn't feel the cold at all.

He wondered if that was a bad sign.

He didn't know. He wasn't a doctor. He closed his eyes as his strength dimmed. What could he do now with the time he had left?

He thought he heard children laughing nearby. He should have done something with the hat other than trying to get rich. He had squandered his potential for nothing.

"Gildersleeve." Dr. Long's voice cut through his reverie. He found he didn't have the strength to move.

"We meet again." Gildersleeve frowned at the weakness in his voice. Shouldn't it be stronger than that? He struggled with his hat to reach into it for something that would allow him to escape the bench.

"I think that's enough." The magician grasped the villain's wrist and applied pressure to stop any thought of a battle in the middle of the civilians wandering around them. "I think you need a doctor."

"You're a doctor." Gildersleeve laughed. He tried to laugh. He coughed instead.

"I'm not that kind of doctor." Long smiled gently. "How long have you been sick?"

"Just found out a couple of days ago." The villain tried to push the button to send his hat away. He couldn't find it with his hand. "What now?"

"I have to take you home, and turn you in to the authorities." Long wrote on the other man's arm with his finger. "You won't be able to stand trial in your condition."

"Let me go." Gildersleeve saw something out the corner of his eye. He couldn't get a clear look at whatever it was no matter how he tried to turn his head. "It's my time."

"I understand." Dr. Long rubbed away the sign he had written earlier on the man's arm.

Gildersleeve smiled as he crossed into the spirit world.

Epilogue

Miss Case wandered into Chinatown on a clear day. This was often the best, and sometimes worst, part of her job. Confirming a history of an object meant meeting someone attached to that object.

And that caused the varying satisfaction when the stories couldn't be true.

She used her phone to find the address she wanted. The map took her to the oldest part of the settlement. An ancient building loomed on the street. Its brick face presented a cracked facade to the pedestrians heading for anywhere but inside the shop.

A neon dragon grinned down on her from the second story.

Miss Case stepped inside the shop. The air seemed cooler inside the place than it had under the Sun. Chandelier lights cast everything in relief. She looked at the things on the shelves. She doubted anything was as antique as declared on their tags.

"Can I help you?" An ancient Oriental appeared from somewhere in the back of the shop. He rolled down his sleeves as he regarded his visitor with keen eyes. His hair had receded as it had turned white with time.

"My name is Case." She offered her hand. "I'm from the museum."

"How do you do?" He shook her hand lightly. "This is about Gildersleeve's hat."

"Exactly." Miss Case pulled out her notepad. "I was wondering if you had some way to verify that this is Gildersleeve's famous hat, and how you came to have it."

"I took it from him when he died." He indicated for her to follow him to the back of the shop. "He always wanted to be remembered. I assume that was why he tried his mad scheme."

"How did that happen?" Miss Case found herself in softer lighting in a small kitchen. She sat at the table, placing her bag on it.

"He tried to destroy the Golden Gate. He announced it to the world as a publicity thing. I stopped him from doing that." The shopkeeper put a pot of water on to boil. "He died shortly afterwards."

"How did he die?" The assistant filled in the details with sharp letters.

"He had some kind of disease." He produced two cups. Tea bags went into the cups as he waited on the water. "The doctors couldn't state for sure what it was. I believe it came from his use of the hat and its gadgets."

"So the hat is dangerous?" She reached for her phone. Mr. Snow should be warned.

"Not anymore." He listened as the pot whistled. "I took out the thing that powers it and put it in storage."

"Aren't you afraid that the same thing will happen to you as Gildersleeve?" Miss Case relaxed. Mr. Snow was safe.

"No." He poured the water into the cups. Steam covered the room with a fragrance of peach. "Where it is, it can't harm anything living."

She wanted to press him about the power source, but realized this was one secret she wouldn't be able to cajole from him. No one would be able to use the hat without that spark, and the old man had put it beyond the reach of mere mortals like her.

She didn't know how she knew it.

"What else can you tell me about Gildersleeve?" She readied her pen as she waited.

"If he hadn't been desperate and found that hat when he needed it, he probably would have been a happier man." The shopkeeper smiled. "Please wait. I will be right back."

He returned with a book. He flipped open the cover. Newspaper clippings showed crimes big and small for Miss Case. She frowned at the display.

"This is the first case I investigated that involved Gildersleeve." He pointed to a clipping about a bank robbery committed by toys.

They spent the next hour talking about the cases that led to the end of the villain's career. She wanted to take the casebook with her, but he only allowed her to look at the scraps and jot down the facts she needed for the display.

The journal was thick with events that had never been reported. The secrets could boost the museum if they were published.

She smiled. She doubted the shopkeeper was as weak with age as he pretended. And robbing an old man didn't seem that heroic.

"Thank you for your time." Miss Case put away her pad and pen. "I have to head to the airport to catch my flight back home."

"I will be glad to assist you." He took the journal back to where he kept it and returned wearing a suit jacket. "Shall we?"

She smiled.

"I didn't expect you to go with me to the airport." Miss Case picked up her bag.

"It's the least I could do." He gestured for her to proceed him. He paused at the front door to put a closed sign up. The bolts locked themselves when he closed the door. "Besides my way is faster than a cab."

He took her arm and led her down the street. His grip seemed stronger than it should be to her. The world shifted around them with each step. She gasped at the glass front of the airport terminal appearing in front of her.

"I hope you have a nice flight back to Reagan City." He smiled as he opened the door for her. "If I come across something else I can donate, I will."

"Thank you." Miss Case checked her watch. "Will you come to look at the display?"

"I can't leave the city at the moment." He smiled. "I might come by when I have some more time."

"Mr. Snow will be ecstatic to have a first hand witness to everything." She knew that he was a stickler over details.

She knew that he wanted to keep hoaxes out of the museum. Such a thing would destroy what he was trying to build more effectively than any other danger he faced.

His reputation couldn't be repaired if something was put on display that was wrong.

"I will even bring my scrapbook." The shopkeeper smiled. "Have a good flight home, young lady."

"I will, Dr. Long." Miss Case headed into the airport. Luckily, she just had her carry-on to get through security.

She had a few hours before her flight. She found a place where she could watch the reader board. She put her notes into a report she could use to check out everything she had been shown.

Her boss would be green with envy when he found out that she had talked to a legendary hero from the past.

She didn't look forward to telling him that.

She headed for her flight when the now boarding was announced.

The End