Wanderlust ✧ (Milo Thatch)

one

8,714 years later

Washington D.C. 1914

~~~

Atlantis, Milo James Thatch had discovered, did indeed exist.

"Good afternoon gentlemen. First off, I'd like to thank this board for taking the time to hear my proposal. Now, we've all heard of the legend of Atlantis. A continent somewhere in the mid-Atlantic that was home to an advanced civilization possessing technology far beyond our own, that, according to our friend Plato here was suddenly struck by some cataclysmic event that sank it beneath the sea."

He held up a stack of picture cards which he carefully flipped through.

"Now, some of you may ask, why Atlantis? It's just a myth, isn't it? Pure fantasy. Well, that is where you'd be wrong. 10,000 years before the Egyptians built the pyramids, Atlantis had electricity, advanced medicine, even the power of flight. Impossible, you say? Well, no. No, not for them. Numerous ancient cultures all over the globe agree that Atlantis possessed a power source of some kind, more powerful than steam, than coal. More powerful than our modern internal combustion engines. Gentlemen, I propose that we find Atlantis, find that source and bring it back to the surface. Now, this is a page from an illuminated text that describes a book called the Shepherd's Journal, said to have been a first-hand account of Atlantis and its exact whereabouts."

Milo shimmied out from behind the podium stand and planted himself in front of the blackboard presentation.

"Now, based on a centuries-old translation of a Norse text, historians have believed the journal resides in Ireland. But after comparing the text" he grunted as he picked up an old metal Viking shield "to the runes on this Viking shield, I found that...that one of the letters had been mistranslated. So, by changing this letter," Milo wiped at the board with his sleeve before using chalk to replace the letter R with C "and inserting the correct one, we find that the Shepherd's Journal, the key to Atlantis lies not in Ireland, gentlemen but in Iceland."

Milo grinned "Pause for effect," he placed the Viking shield down. "Gentlemen uh, I'll take your questions now," he said as the telephone rang. "Uh, would you gentlemen please excuse me for a moment?" Milo flipped over the blackboard with ease to answer the telephone.

"Cartography and Linguistics, Milo Thatch speaking."

Milo listened to the angry ranting through the line. He jumped up carefully and switched the light on, revealing himself to be the only person in the basement. "Pardon me, Mr Hickenbottom," he edged past the fake crowd of skeletons and antiques towards the boiler. The machine hissed and groaned as he fixed it, giving the device a hit with a wrench before returning to the telephone.

"How's that? Is that better?" he asked. "Don't let it happen again!" the man scowled before hanging up.

"Now, as you can see by the..." Milo realized he accidentally wiped the map off the board, resulting in his waistcoat being covered in chalk, "by this, um, map...map, uh, that...that...ahem...that I've drawn," he stood in place to match the drawing together "I plotted the route that will take myself and a crew to the southern coast of Iceland to retrieve the journal."

The cuckoo bird clock on the wall chimed four times to be exact.

"Ah, showtime. Well, this is it. I am finally getting out of the dungeon" Milo dusted himself off and grabbed his paperwork. He did not forget to stop by the desk which contained souvenirs of his late grandfather, the great Thaddeus Thatch who died three years prior in 1911. Thaddeus previously worked at the same museum as Milo and he remembered how devastated he was when he received the news via letter that his grandfather had passed away.