Musetea

"Kyrie Eleison"

Maggie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She flexed her hand slowly, while her heart matched the rhythm of the music. The soreness in her fingers reminded her of the afternoon spent pouring through the Codex in Boggie's warehouse. One could get a Ph.D. in medieval chant. However, access to his codices would get her on "the team."

Maggie's sighed and stretched her sore back on the recliner, relaxing with the evenness of the music. She then tensed, jumped up and grabbed her notebook. She fell short of circling with a pencil a string of isons, apostrophes, and crosses. Their order and beauty were the sources of her overall soreness.

"Here goes my weekend."

She sat down in front of her computer and dragged her finished paper to the trash can. Twitter popped up, and she posted with frustration.

"Sometimes I'd like to punch the Byzantine chant notation in the face."

She frantically typed the opening paragraphs when a familiar beep announced a reply to her post.

"hence simonopetra."

Maggie groaned however decided to ignore it. Mansplaining abounded around her. Even her admission to Boggie's warehouse had raised a few eyebrows. Byzantine chant had been men's dominion for centuries, and she was the only woman granted access to the codices. Maggie's was still puzzled.She knew it was a long shot when she entered his shop. It had been hard for her to understand why a small place, selling Renfest fare, was even talked about in the academic circles. Whispered about rather.

She bought a leather-bound notebook and by the time she checked out she had lost all hope of making the inner circle.

"Could I see your id?", Boggie had asked her when she handed him her credit card.

"Musetea" he read, pronouncing it correctly with a "sh" instead of an s, and accent on the second syllable. She had been speechless, and Boggie winked.

"I'm called Maggie."

"I have some more items to show you. They're not for sale, though."

Relief and joy had washed over her. She must have grinned, a wide dumbfounded grin since Boggie had looked at her with unmasked interest.

A string of beeps interrupted her furious typing.

Mansplainer's tweet prompted a downpour of responses in her support. Soon the topic was trending, and emails started coming in.

"Iuda. Iuda Littlewood. I must have known." She sniffed. The one famously barred from Boggie's warehouse, however, the one who managed somehow to get all the funding. He never mentioned Boggie's warehouse. In truth no researcher ever did. Nobody quotes a New Age shop in a scientific paper. Somehow though no one rumored to have gained access to Boggie's workshop had access to Iuda's funding.

Maggie turned off the music. No amount of chanting would soothe her now. Here goes not only her weekend but her sleep. Instead of writing her paper she poured through her emails. One from her advisor and lo-and-behold one from Iuda himself. He apologized and invited her to dinner to discuss participation in his programs. Her advisor would be there, Iuda added in his email.

"As I believe you," Maggie muttered and dialed Bill Capeshaw's number for confirmation.

She was surprised to hear his wife confirming he went to an unplanned dinner meeting. With apprehension, Maggie accepted Iuda's invitation. Her department was in dire need of funding. At the restaurant, a waiter directed her to a private booth. She shivered as Iuda winked and smiled as his eyes raked over her. Where was Bill?

"Bill said he would be a few minutes late. The menu selection is diverse, and I took the liberty to order you a skinny margarita."

It did not sound right or perhaps it was the sarcastic raise of his eyebrow. Maggie instinctively sat as far from him as it was polite. They ordered, and Iuda made again his apology.

"If I ever offended you with anything I am sorry."

The sentence itself was a non-apology, and his eyes never met hers as he said it.

She was grateful for the hum coming from the next booth, since what she was about to say needed to stay confidential until signed.

"Thank you for your kind offer, Mr. Littlewood. We are looking forward to access to your tagged corpus of chants. We have a few theories we'd like to verify.'

His eyes lit then he schooled his features.

"My dear, I offered the funding. The corpus is very confidential. In fact, it is my personal work and not subjected to any grant. I could not trust a w... you with it unless..."

Maggie stood up.

"Unless what Mr. Littlewood ?"

She must have spoken a bit too loud since the hum in the next booth dimmed. Iuda looked stunned as he did not expect her reaction.

His cheeks colored and he bellowed.

"The corpus is worth millions. You and your pathetic Capeshaw didn't think you'd get access to it for a damn tweet? You can kiss the funding goodbye too."

The hum in the next booth ceased. Embarrassed, Maggie said stiffly on her way out:

"Good night, Mr. Littlewood."

Where was Bill? How would she tell him Monday they lost the funding?

Maggie racked her brains for a coherent plan. She gave up and poured her heart into the paper. If Boggie's Codices were not a fake, her insight would shed much light on the arcane rules of the chant.

On Monday morning she bit her lip as she entered Capeshaw's office.

"Mr. Bill, I am so sorry about the funding. I know this is my word against his, however, I could not..."

"I know. We did not lose the funding. Littlewood has been ordered to turn in the corpus or risk losing his job."

Maggie's eyes grew up the size of saucers.

"What...? How...?"

"We were in the next booth. Boggie invited Littlewood's boss and me to discuss one of his codices. "

Bill paused and frowned.

"Boggie changed his mind about the restaurant 10 minutes before..."