by Henry Slesar
civil engineer. But he made like a reporter.
"Pardon me, sir." The old man, leathery-faced, with a fine yellowmoustache, looked at him dumbly. "Have you ever heard of Armagon?"
"You a stranger?"
"Yes."
"Thought so."
Sol repeated the question.
"Course I did. Been goin' there ever since I was a kid. Night-times,that is."
"How--I mean, what kind of place is it?"
"Said you're a stranger?"
"Yes."
"Then 'tain't your business."
That was that.
He left the park, and wandered into a thriving luncheonette. He triedquestioning the man behind the counter, who merely snickered and said:"You stayin' with the Dawes, ain't you? Better ask Willie, then. Heknows the place better than anybody."
He asked about the execution, and the man stiffened.
"Don't think I can talk about that. Fella broke one of the Laws; that'sabout it. Don't see where you come into it."
At eleven o'clock, he returned to the Dawes residence, and found Mom inthe kitchen, surrounded by the warm nostalgic odor of home-baked bread.She told him that her husband had left a message for the stranger,informing him that the State Police would be around to get his story.
He waited in the house, gloomily turning the pages of the localnewspaper, searching for references to Armagon. He found nothing.
At eleven-thirty, a brown-faced State Trooper came to call, and Sol toldhis story. He was promised nothing, and told to stay in town until hewas contacted again by the authorities.
Mom fixed him a light lunch, the greatest feature of which was some hotbiscuits she plucked out of the oven. It made him feel almost normal.
He wandered around the town some more after lunch, trying to sparkconversation with the residents.
He learned little.
* * * * *
At five-thirty, he returned to the Dawes house, and was promptly leapedupon by little Sally.
"Hi! Hi! Hi!" she said, clutching his right leg and almost toppling himover. "We had a party in school. I had chocolate cake. You goin' to staywith us?"
"Just another night," Sol told her, trying to shake the girl off. "Ifit's okay with your folks. They haven't found my car yet."
"Sally!" Mom was peering out of the screen door. "You let Mr. Beckeralone and go wash. Your Pa will be home soon."
"Oh, pooh," the girl said, her pigtails swinging. "Do you got agirlfriend, mister?"
"No." Sol struggled towards the house with her dead weight on his leg."Would you mind? I can't walk."
"Would you be my boyfriend?"
"Well, we'll talk about it. If you let go my leg."
Inside the house, she said: "We're having pot roast. You stayin'?"
"Of course Mr. Becker's stayin'," Mom said. "He's our guest."
"That's very kind of you," Sol said. "I really wish you'd let me paysomething--"
"Don't want to hear another word about pay."
* * * * *
Mr. Dawes came home an hour later, looking tired. Mom pecked him lightlyon the forehead. He glanced at the evening paper, and then spoke to Sol.
"Hear you been asking questions, Mr. Becker."
Sol nodded, embarrassed. "Guess I have. I'm awfully curious about thisArmagon place. Never heard of anything like it before."
Dawes grunted. "You ain't a reporter?"
"Oh, no. I'm an engineer. I was just satisfying my own curiosity."
"Uh-huh." Dawes looked reflective. "You wouldn't be thinkin' aboutwriting us up or anything. I mean, this is a pretty private affair."
"Writing it up?" Sol blinked. "I hadn't thought of it. But you'll haveto admit--it's sure interesting."
"Yeah," Dawes said narrowly. "I guess it would be."
"Supper!" Mom called.
After the meal, they spent a quiet evening at home. Sally went to bed,screaming her reluctance, at eight-thirty. Mom, dozing in the big chairnear the fireplace, padded upstairs at nine. Then Dawes yawned widely,stood up, and said goodnight at quarter-of-ten.
He paused in the doorway before leaving.
"I'd think about that," he said. "Writing it up, I mean. A lot of folkswould think you were just plum crazy."
Sol laughed feebly. "I guess they would at that."
"Goodnight," Dawes said.
"Goodnight."
He read Sally's copy of _Treasure Island_ for about half an hour. Thenhe undressed, made himself comfortable on the sofa, snuggled under thesoft blanket that Mom had provided, and shut his eyes.
He reviewed the events of the day before dropping off to sleep. Thetroublesome Sally. The strange dream world of Armagon. The visit to thebarber shop. The removal of Brundage's body. The conversations with thetownspeople. Dawes' suspicious attitude ...
Then sleep came.
* * * * *
He was flanked by marble pillars, thrusting towards a high-domedceiling.
The room stretched long and wide before him, the walls bedecked instunning purple draperies.
He whirled at the sound of footsteps, echoing stridently on the stonefloor. Someone was running towards him.
It was Sally, pigtails streaming out behind her, the small body wearinga flowing white toga. She was shrieking, laughing as she skittered pasthim, clutching a gleaming gold helmet.
He called out to her, but she was too busy outdistancing her pursuer. Itwas Sheriff Coogan, puffing and huffing, the metal-and-gold clothuniform ludicrous on his lanky frame.
"Consarn kid!" he wheezed. "Gimme my hat!"
Mom was following him, her stout body regal in scarlet robes. "Sally!You give Sir Coogan his helmet! You hear?"
"Mrs. Dawes!" Sol said.
"Why, Mr. Becker! How nice to see you again! Pa! _Pa!_ Look who's here!"
Willie Dawes appeared. _No!_ Sol thought. This was _King_ Dawes; nothingelse could explain the magnificence of his attire.
"Yes," Dawes said craftily. "So I see. Welcome to Armagon, Mr. Becker."
"Armagon?" Sol gaped. "Then this is the place you've been dreamingabout?"
"Yep," the King said. "And now _you're_ in it, too."
"Then I'm only dreaming!"
Charlie, the fat man, clumsy as ever in his robes of State, said: "So_that's_ the snooper, eh?"
"Yep," Dawes chuckled. "Think you better round up the Knights."
Sol said: "The Knights?"
"Exelution! Exelution!" Sally shrieked.
"Now wait a minute--"
Charlie shouted.
Running feet, clanking of armor. Sol backed up against a pillar. "Nowlook here. You've gone far enough--"
"Not quite," said the King.
The Knights stepped forward.
"Wait!" Sol screamed.
Familiar faces, under shining helmets, moved towards him; the tips ofsharp-pointed spears gleaming wickedly. And Sol Becker wondered--wouldhe ever awake?
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _Fantastic Universe_ January 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.
