Artie: Bagging the Upholstery Brush

[moonshadows]

((For coming from a timeline where Claudia never got near the Warehouse, alternate-Valda sure did adjust quickly and get a coherent plan together. Combine this with Valda's attempt to get the Regents to do a vote of no confidence in Artie at the diner, and it's my headcanon that the alternate Valda found the original Valda's plan for stealing the Warehouse. Additionally, the Mason's Tools can move the Warehouse but were not used to move Warehouse 12 because if they had, Roaring Dan wouldn't have had a cache of artifacts stolen when they were being shipped from W12 to W13. My theory is that the Setting Maul was left behind in Warehouse 2 and that's why Valda was an expert on breaking in - he needed it for his plan to steal the Warehouse. To be fair, I think he thought he was doing the right thing because the Regents as a whole aren't exactly confidence-inspiring. Also, he was ready and willing to give his life for the Warehouse without a second thought. So, misguided but devoted.))

 

The instant Artie’s hand brushed against the brush’s handle, he knew he’d found the artifact. Unfortunately, the buzzing hum that tingled across his skin meant he’d also activated it.

Great, he thought with a sigh. Then he turned his inner-inner ear to the artifact and listened, trying to figure out what it was and what it did – but more importantly, what it had done to him and how to undo that.

Nothing.

Resigned to doing it the hard way, Artie dumped it in the bag and listened to it mutter smugly. He hated literary artifacts; they never wanted to just knock it off until the story was done. Fine, he would play along.

The first sign that things were different was that his key didn’t work. Growling under his breath, he hotwired the car and drove off. The highway was more…desolate…than he was used to, but it was the abandoned gas station that really set off red flags. The cash drawer was empty and the safe was open, hinting that the employees rather than looters had cleaned it out, and the hot dogs turning on their lonely grill were withered husks. Not about to waste the opportunity, he topped off the tank with premium and helped himself to as many nonperishable snacks and drinks as he could carry.

Just in case.

As he drove through the Badlands, the nagging sense of something being wrong grew stronger until he turned – and the Warehouse wasn’t there.

That’s not exactly accurate. The shell building was there, but it had clearly been damaged. Severely damaged. And the umbilicus door had been blown off of its hinges. Artie pulled up and turned the engine off, not bothering to lock the door, grabbing only his Bag Of Tricks as he hurried over to peer into the dark interior. The umbilicus itself was in one piece, which was a relief, but he still made his way down it slowly and with many pauses to listen for the shriek of failing metal. Nothing happened; he made it to the other side in one piece and was unsurprised to see that the inner door had also been forcibly removed.

The office had been trashed, there was no other word for it. Artie clutched his bag in both hands, swallowing hard. It was like seeing the desecrated corpse of a loved one. He didn’t want to go upstairs; he didn’t think he could take it. Slowly, hands shaking, he righted a slashed leather chair and sat. He wanted the luxury of shock, but even as his conscious mind refused to form coherent thoughts, his eyes were cataloguing the damage and fitting facts together almost of their own volition.

He actually saw Mrs. Frederic appear. In the blink of an eye, she slid into the world like a photograph falling out of an envelope, like an actress slipping through a slit in the curtain. She looked…not old, but tired. Worn. It scared him, more than her furious glare.

“Who are you?” she demanded coldly. “How did you find this place, why are you here?”

Okay, she didn’t know him. Combine that with the dust on the floor, the sand in the umbilicus, and the recently-abandoned gas station, not to mention his car key not working. He was in some kind of alternate timeline.

“My name is Arthur Nielsen, formerly Arthur Weisfelt, and I think I’ve crossed a dimensional barrier somewhere.” Hesitantly, he smiled at her. She didn’t smile back. “I’ve worked at Warehouse Thirteen for just over twenty years now. My partner, before he went crazy, was James MacPherson.”

“MacPherson,” Mrs. Frederic growled. “I don’t know you, but if you’re in league with him…”

“In league with – Mrs, Frederic, what has he done?”

“I’m asking the questions,” she snapped. “You’re an intruder in what’s left of my Warehouse.”

“What’s left of – oh god, James, why?” He looked up at her, anguished. “I’m not an intruder. Look at me! This is my home, do I look happy to see it destroyed?”

Mockingly, she repeated his words. “Your home. Please, what simpleton do you take me for? I’ve never seen you before now.”

This was getting nowhere fast. “I was out hunting an artifact this morning,” he said in a tone of forced calm. “During its retrieval, I touched it accidentally and I think it activated. It’s an upholstery brush owned by Philip Van Doren Stern and I think it…brushed me out of the world.”

Dark eyes narrowed; good sign. “Go on.”

“If the computer weren’t damaged, I’d prove to you that in this world, the world you know, I was never born.” Artie thought fast, mentally subtracting himself from everything he knew. “Without me…James wouldn’t have hesitated to use the Phoenix to save Carol. He knows me, knows I wouldn’t believe for an instant that he was dead without seeing the corpse myself, so that explosion…”

“You are correct; he didn’t die. He vanished, and he bided his time, and he struck us when we were temporarily…”

“…without agents,” Artie whispered, lips stiff as the realization sank in. “My god. Without me, there would be no one to watch…he would be free to…what did he do?”

“What he did is nothing compared to what Benedict Valda did,” Mrs. Frederic said with quiet bitterness. “He was put in charge of the Warehouse when there was no one else, and instead of protecting it from MacPherson’s attacks, he turned on us. This is his work; most of the dangerous artifacts were sold to hostile governments. If I hadn’t smashed the Mason’s Compass, he would have moved my Warehouse to China.” Suddenly, she pierced him with the most forceful, terrifying look imaginable. “Listen to me, Arthur, whoever you are. Listen well and remember: James MacPherson is alive, Benedict Valda can’t be trusted, and I have no doubt that there are other enemies I am as yet unaware of. Vigilance, always. Look around you, and remember what will surely befall your Warehouse without you. No matter what happens, remember this timeline.”

“I will,” he said quietly, horror lodged in his throat.

“Good. Now, whatever you did that transported you here, undo it.”

That was an order he was more than happy to obey. The brush hummed smugly in the anti-static bag as he reached for it, and a cool tingle washed over him the moment his thick fingers found the handle.

 Suddenly, he was back where he had been, brush in one hand and bag in the other. Quickly, he shoved it in and winced as purple and orange sparks fountained up. Bag stuffed in one pocket of his brown coat, he left with unhurried steps and only hesitated for an instant before turning the key in the ignition.

The engine purred to life reassuringly. There were plenty of cars on the road. The gas station was manned by a surly, pimple-faced teen. And the office, when he arrived, looked exactly the same as when he’d left. Even if he had been tempted to dismiss what he’d experienced as mere whimsy, the possibilities were too terrifying to just ignore. The brush went onto a shelf in the Aisle of Noel; a handwritten note in his favorite cipher went onto his desk upstairs. He’d deal with this Benedict Valda when he had more information, but in the meantime…

…James was alive, and the Warehouse was vulnerable.