mountains, as if on cue, came a spreading darkness, a wave of clouds unrolling like a massive black carpet.
“Impossible.”
Solomon was laughing like a young boy. Now he was unbuttoning his shirt. He peeled off his jacket and then spun in circles, eyes closed against the wind. Suddenly the rooftop was enclosed in shade, the tumbling clouds massing directly overhead, plunging the valleys and the mountains and the forests into a gloom as dark as a winter’s twilight.
“I don’t believe this.” Mason said, only to have his words eradicated by a deafening peal of thunder as an ensuing flash of light heralded the release of the sky’s floodgates.
And the rain poured down.
It fell in sheets, instantly soaking Mason, drenching him from head to toe, nearly blinding him in the violence shrieking from the sky. Solomon shouted in joy, his arms high, still spinning, mouth open, catching the rain as it blasted down upon him. Lightning crackled above and behind him, but from Mason’s angle it looked as if spider web flashes arced from Solomon’s very fingertips and erupted from his mouth and his eyes.
Then his head whipped around and his gaze locked on Mason’s.
Time seemed to grind to a halt and the rain fell in slow-motion, each drop pounding onto Solomon’s bare chest and shoulders, splattering into earthen craters at his feet, the droplets exploding into the rising puddles.
Finally, after what seemed like ages had passed and the land was swept clean, the rain slowed, the lightning fizzled and the world caught up and time accelerated in a hurry.
The clouds rolled on their way, rumbling morosely, exhausted but still irate and grumbling as they dissipated out over the mountains, heading toward the ocean.
“Impossible,” Mason whispered again. He wiped at his face, wringed out his shirt. He blinked and shook his head, then looked to Solomon.
Head down, stringy, dripping red hair over his face, Solomon’s eyes blazed.
“You knew,” Mason said. “Somehow you knew, arranged for this … this dramatic demonstration. Arranged for me to be up here at just the right time.”
“Did I?”
“Yes, you had to. Don’t know how, or why, but you did.”
“Of course I did,” Solomon said, just above a whisper. “What other alternative could there be?”
Mason shrugged. “No other possible alternative, except …”
“What? What were you going to say?” Solomon stepped closer, still dripping, his eyes blinking away the drops. “That I somehow … created the storm?”
Mason shook his head. “No. You knew, somehow you could predict it. But to do that with such accuracy …”
“Would be miraculous in its own right, would it not?” Solomon clasped his hands together.
“So it’s like Mark Twain!” Mason said.
“Sorry?”
“Just like … like what was it, the Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court? The time traveler knew about the pending eclipse, the precise day and time it was going to happen, so he was able to amaze the King, convince him he was a sorcerer.”
Solomon laughed as he shook his head like a freshly bathed mongrel, then reached for his wet shirt. “So you think I’m a time traveler? Back from the future with precise knowledge of a freak weather anomaly?”
“No, of course not. But by the same token, knowledge of the future, if one could truly predict it, is a powerful tool, especially in a showman’s hands.”
“If I’m a showman Mr. Grier, what’s the punchline? What do I want out of all this showmanship?”
“That’s obvious. You want to impress me.” Mason smoothed back his hair, licked his lips, never taking his eye off of Solomon. “I just don’t know why. Why you’d be interested in little old me, my recent Meteorologist of the Year award notwithstanding? But right now I’m more concerned with the how than the why. How you were able to know this storm would hit? I desperately want to look at the time-lapsed radar for this area, check the barometric pressure leading up to the event, analyze the front patterns and …”
Solomon held up a hand. “What’s really going to blow your mind, Mr. Grier, isn’t how I knew this storm was coming, but when I knew it. What if I were to tell you I knew about it, down to its duration, area of coverage and wind speed, over four weeks ago?”
Mason blinked. “I’d say you were insane. The most sophisticated weather forecasting tools can only predict out a few days, maybe six to ten, with any degree of accuracy, and it’s always less and less clear the farther out you go. We rely on almanacs, trailing weather