CHAPTER 4

Meanwhile, realizing he'd been following the same storyline for almost two chapters now, the author abruptly shifted focus, to a dark and shadowy underground room, many miles west from where Professor Landover and his colleagues were pondering the mysterious significance of the Manlison diary.

Why, a shadowy figure wondered, why must we reside in such a dark and shadowy room underground that smells not so slightly of mold and wet rot? Wouldn’t a well-ventilated skyscraper be more suited to our purposes?

“Perhaps,” his henchmen responded, sidestepping the figure’s pet attack koala as he entered the room, “It represents dually our dark and malicious nature, as well as serving as a metaphor for the portions of our operations that are yet obscured from the reader.”

“Interesting,” the shadowy figure said, “but how did you know what I was thinking?”

“Oh, you didn’t think it.” said the henchmen. “You simply said it in a fashion the author felt would be represented by italics.”

The figure pondered this statement. “That defies many principles of commonly accepted literary logic.”

“A good point. This whole chapter is starting to seem a bit superfluous,” the henchmen said.

“I guess it does remind the reader that there’s an antagonist in this whole situation.”

“True. Also, it does introduce the attack koala, which will undoubtedly play a part of greater significance later in the narrative.”

The shadowy figure and his henchmen sat in silence for a moment.

The attack koala simply smiled.

CHAPTER 3

The plane touched down on the dusty runway. As Franklin kicked the dust from his boots, and watched dust-storms form in the far-off distance, he couldn't help but smile. Australia was exactly as he remembered - really freakin' dusty.

A familiar voice called out to Franklin. "Franklin Landover!" It said. "I never thought I'd see the day!"

Hearing the voice, Franklin smiled, then coughed a little bit.

"Watch that Australian dust," the man said, "It can be rough on those little pink things you Americans like to call lungs."

"Really, Leonard," Franklin said, cracking another trademark smile, the third such this chatper, "What do you call them, then?"

"Lungs," said Leonard, surprised a renowned academic such as Professor Landover didn't know that the Australians, much like the English, also spoke American.

"But you didn't come here to quibble over anatomy, did you Franklin?"

"Only the anatomy of mystery, my good chum." Franklin responded. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

As he said this, Professor Landover presented the object he held in his left hand, previously hidden behind his back.

"The diary." Leonard said, with a thin smile.

"Yes," Landover responded. "The diary. Who would have thought that such a tiny little book, filled with tiny little written words, could hold so many sentences."

"And those sentences making up paragraphs." Leonard said.

"And those paragraphs," Robert chuckled, "Well, we know what those paragraphs make up."

As the two men shared a laugh, mirthful but not overly jocular, a third figure appeared at the door. The men stopped, and turned to face this newcomer.

"Well boys," the figure said. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

"On the contrary, Miss Katia Manlison," Leonard said in an introductory fashion, "Your interuption will allow us to continue the most important work of all."

CHAPTER 2

Meanwhile, in Melbourne, Australia, Katia Manlison sat at her desk, reviewing her Australian Ranger manual, as she often did in her free time. Despite Katia’s gorgeous figure, not to mention her tight, tight ass, which fit nicely into her khaki ranger shorts (with optional front pleats and cargo pockets), she was something of a homebody, married, in a figurative sense, to her work instead of, in the more literal sense, to a person, like a man. Or, perhaps, in one of the more liberated cultures, a woman.

When asked about her work, Katia often compared herself to a female version of that kangaroo mouse from The Rescuers Down Under, or maybe Paul Hogan. Like that mouse and that Subaru spokesman, it was Katia’s duty to maintain order in the Australian outback and speak with a generally entertaining accent. Recently, she had helped to ensure the delicate balance of ecology between the wombats and the platypussies (platypi?). A tentative peace had been achieved, but without her efforts, relations between the two species would undoubtedly degenerate into a state of total war.

Katia turned the page in her book. Despite majoring in Rangering at Oxford, a school in England where smart people with funny accents go, Katia always made an extra effort to stay on top of all things ranger-related.

Just as Katia finished a particularly captivating passage about the hunting trails of the northern Australian bandicoot, something else captivated her attention – the phone. By ringing. Startled, Katia picked up the phone, and answered in the traditional Australian manner.

“Hello?” She said.

“Katia, this Leonard, from Ranger Control Center. I have some bad news.”

Katia trembled. She had a bad idea that she already knew what this bad news was about, and it was pretty bad.

“Is it about my father?” She asked, scared.

“Well, not exactly,” Leonard replied. “You see, this bad news- it’s about your father.”

Leonard always had been a little hard of hearing.

CHAPTER 1

The walls of the famous Dartmouth University were covered with ivy, granting it, and a number of other schools, entry into the famous “Ivy League”. Dartmouth, as many know, is very far from Australia. Strangely though, they were soon to be connected in a very strange way indeed.

Professor Franklin Landover, Chair of the Mathology department, finished his morning ten-mile run around the Dartmouth track. Even at the age of forty-five, his vigorous workout routine kept him in a shape that would allow him to be the love interest for any attractive female characters he may happen meet in upcoming chapters.

“Dr. Landover!” A young, excited voice shouted. A young coed with long blonde hair and an attractive figure, but horn-rimmed glasses that clearly marked her as intelligent, approached.

“Dr. Landover!” She repeated, in case he had not heard her the first time, although he had. “Juanita Twoflower Skaarsgard. Reporter for the Dartmouth Squawker. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Franklin sighed good-naturedly. His study in the glamorous field of advanced mathologistics often attracted a large student fan base.

“Only if we can walk while we talk,” he said. “I have a seminar on how mathologistics might be applied to the shortage of jujubes in the south Ecuadorian rain-forest.”

“Fine by me,” answered Juanita. “Ok, first question. What exactly is mathologistics?”

Franklin smiled. It was a common question. “Mathologistics,” he began, “or, mathology, as it is more commonly known, is the study of math. Ology, from the Greek word meaning to study and math from the word meaning to add and subtract bunches of numbers.”

“But don’t many people study math?” Jaunita asked.

Franklin couldn’t help but grin. “A common mistake,” he replied. “Many, many people use math. Only a few, such as myself, are able to study it.”

“What led you to study mathology, or, should I say, to study the study of math?”

At this question, a far-away look entered Franklin’s eyes. A far-away look. A forlorn look. A look that spoke to a great tragedy, a tragedy most definitely not to be revealed at this time.

“This is my office,” Franklin said, and indeed it was. “I need to go in now. I’ll talk to you later.” And with that, he went in, promising to talk to the young reporter later.

In his office, a small room full of math and mathifacts (math-related artifacts, to the layman) Franklin relaxed. He relaxed until he saw the package on his desk. A package with an address that told Franklin the package was addressed from a place he had not been in a very long time. A place some called "The Land Down Under". A place others, perhaps more accurately, called Australia. Quickly, Franklin opened the package.

“Oh my God.” Franklin said. “I was not expecting the contents of this package at all.”

PROLOGUE

The Australian outback was deadly silent with the sounds of its own silence. Advanced mathologist Donovan Manlison brushed the golden hair from his tanned, high cheekbones and reflected on the savage beauty of this place he had called home for many years now. A beauty not unlike his own. Savage. He had faced many challenges out here, from the ravenous kookaburra to the bloodthirsty platypus. No, seriously, those things are nuts. Nothing however, could have possibly prepared Donovan for the deadly fate that was about to befall him – death.

Donovan’s pet kangaroo, Lucilla, suddenly perked up her ears in a perky fashion.

“What is it, girl?” He asked quietly.

Lucilla said nothing. Because she’s a kangaroo. Idiot. Donovan, however, after many years in her company, could read the kangaroo like a big, furry, book. He squinted, looking into the distance. A large, blurry shape was approaching. As the object grew close, Donovan grew fearful. Fearing for his life, his eyes grew wide. With fear.

“No,” he gasped, “It couldn’t be!”

Lucilla brayed. Or neighed. Or whatever the heck it is kangaroos do. But it was too late. The shape was really, really, close. Deadfully close.

Claws and teeth cut into Donovan’s tender yet well-toned flesh. As Donovan fell to the ground, the shape’s master called it off, and approached Donovan’s soon-to-be-corpse.

“Hellow, Dr. Manlison,” a familiar voice said.

“How did you find me?” Donovan gasped with his last dying breath.

“That, my mathologist friend,” said the voice, which, to keep things mysterious, could possibly belong to either a man or a woman, “you will never know.”