Chapter One: Wherefair Island

Tucked along the rocky coastline of a well-known center of civilization  is a small island on which stands the Imaginary Museum.  The history of the Imaginary Museum, or the IM, as it is fondly called by all of the employees, is rather dim.  Sometime in the early part of the twentieth century, a benefactor named Imogene N. Airy dedicated vast sums of money to the construction of a monumental stone structure, built in the classical style, with giant pillars,  lush, hedge lined gardens, and  flowing fountains.  Marble cupids, a fierce Hercules,  and Romans clad in togas amble along the wide avenue leading up to the lofty facade.  Above the doorway was inscribed THE IMOGENE N. AIRY MUSEUM OF CLASSICAL ARCHAEOLOGY AND FINE ARTS.  Over time, given the  proximity to the sea and blustery storms, the inscription wore thin, so that as our story begins, in the early twenty-first century, all that remains clearly visible proclaims it to be THE IMAGINARY MUSEUM.

No one really seems to know who Imogene N. Airy was, or why she decided to endow such an outlandish folly in such a remote location.  The only way to reach the island is by ferry boat, and that could be a dicey proposition in all but the mildest seasons of the year.  For that reason, the museum does not receive much attention or many visitors.  But for those who do make the effort to cross the channel and dare the choppy sea, it is always a magical experience.  Upon returning from their pilgrimages, when these brave souls would try to explain the effect of the museum to others, it would be difficult for them to articulate, what exactly had left them with a faraway smile. But whether the visitor was a  school child, young teacher, retired veteran, or any other variety of tourist, they would always vow to return some day.

And so as our story begins, our cast of characters is just such a group of those who had wanted to some day return to the IM, and had managed to find their way back there. The head curator of the museum, Mrs. Margery Meriweather, is a brisk, energetic woman  who spares no words, is averse to nonsense, but has never been known to be unkind. She is an attractive lady in rather an austere way; her grayish hair is always tied back in a rolled knot, but it is shiny and clear, and her skin and eyes also sparkle with intelligence and energy. There is a mystery about Mrs. Meriweather which she chooses not to reveal. As long as anyone can remember, she has been the head curator, in charge of hiring all of the employees, setting up the exhibitions (which in most cases means moving the artifacts around and refurbishing the wall paints), and making all of the major decisions about the museum.  It was Mrs. Meriweather who was most profoundly affected when the crisis occurred which nearly ended the very existence of the IM. But more of that later.

The second most familiar character in the employment of the museum is Mr. Ian Barnes. Mr. Barnes is a tall, burly man who always wears a charcoal gray suit with white dress shirt and a humorous tie, perhaps to amuse himself on  those many, gray days when torrential rains preclude any ferries full of visitors. Barnes seems a melancholy sort; he  perpetually broods over the isolation of the place, and worries about the lack of attendance.  Barnes is most often found seated outside on one of the second floor, stone verandahs, his head resting on his chin, his gray eyes staring out to sea.  Perhaps he had imagined his career at the museum to be more glamorous than it is; he dreams of Roman soldiers washing up on the pebble beaches, poised for combat, and then is roused from his daydream by the  chiming of the evening bell from the inn, calling the few residents of the island to dinner.

Ronnie Roarke is one of the younger associates at the IM. Just out of school, Ronnie is a wiry, athletic fellow whom everyone calls "Spiderlad" for his tendency to climbing.  Ronnie prides himself on his rappelling talent. He has been seen rappelling down the steep stone slopes of the main museum building, striding confidently as if he were merely going for an afternoon walk, but at an angle perpendicular to the ground.  Hired because of his background in archaeology, Ronnie has a terrible secret.  He is brilliant at climbing up Mayan pyramids or navigating his way through jungles or deserts, but he cannot stand  confinement in small places.  Ronnie is claustrophobic, for an archaeologist, this is a severe disadvantage. Hoping to make the most of his other talents, Ronnie is an enthusiastic lover of all things museum. He finds himself a bit restless, longing for adventure. Soon both Ronnie and Mr. Barnes will be roused from their restlessness and called into action.