A Sprinkling of Thought Dust

by Steven & Margaret Larson

DEFENSIVE THOUGHTS

  Electrum shuffled down the ramp. Soon he was pushing the cart through crowded streets. The stiffness in his leg was wearing off.

  He caught whiffs of enticing smells from open doorways. Vendors in front of the shops shouted from behind tables laden with ripe berries, fresh baked fruit rolls and roasted nuts.

  “Sweet sesame fig logs,” called an overweight sprite waving a pastry in the air. “Just baked this morning and rolled in coconut.”

  Electrum stepped up and looked over the array of pastries. “I’ll take one,” Electrum said. Off to the side was a shriveled pastry that had been left in the oven too long. He jabbed a finger at it. “I’ll take that one too, please.”

  The vendor looked at him surprised. “I’ll throw that in at no charge.” He handed the pookah a package wrapped in thin waxed paper. Electrum dropped a coin in the outstretched hand and tucked the package in amongst his baggage.

  Soon he had left the noises and smells of the market behind. He checked the address on the envelope and turned down a narrow side street. The cart bumped against the walls and he hoped he wouldn’t meet anyone coming the other way.

  He stopped in front of a door framed by tall narrow windows. It led into a thatched roof extension that projected out from the mountain. On the cliff above the roof another window was cut into the natural stone.

  Ragnar had chosen well. Inside, there was even a smattering of furniture, but all his attention was drawn to the back wall. A tapestry woven with vivid violets and bright orange marigolds hung over a doorway.

  “Maybe Mirta will have something to replace this,” he muttered. “The sooner the better.” He pulled it aside and stepped into a spacious main room where two overstuffed cushions sat in front of a fireplace. For a moment he considered forgetting everything else and just curling up in one.

  It didn’t take long to unload the cart. He set the pastry bag on a narrow table in a cozy, eating nook. It would be crowded until the prince married and moved out.

  He pushed the shutters closed leaving thin stripes of light on the floor and shadows in the corners. Alone and undisturbed, he thought. Perfect for creating thought dust for eclipse night.

  He molded one of the cushions into a comfortable pile and sank into it. His eyelids drooped and he concentrated until he could see Brownie’s face in his mind. Like a painter, he began making subtle changes to the kind, lighthearted expression.

  The fur fluffed out. The lips parted revealing sharp pointed teeth. A drop of saliva hung from one corner. The golden eyes took on a red glint and the ears flattened against his head. Soft brown fur melted into menacing yellow. Once again he could see the monster cat as it emerged from under the car and its eyes focused on him. The tail lashed from side to side.

  As the cat sank into a crouch, the form of a human appeared astride the wide back. The human’s jeans and T-shirt dissolved into primitive animal hides. When he raised his arm, it became a large club with spikes.

  The cat’s sharp teeth grew into long fangs, and from somewhere deep inside the large yellow body a low growl began. Distant drums rumbled, mixing with the growl. From the mouth of the human came a war cry, and the cat’s growl burst into a yowl as if the very fabric of the air was being torn.

  The drums stopped suddenly and the cat launched itself straight at him, a yellow ball of teeth, claws and glowing eyes. Electrum threw his arms over his face with a yell. There was a heavy boom! Then silence.

  Electrum’s heart was thumping and his breath came in gasps. A loud pounding made him jump out of the cushion. His eyes focused on the shuttered windows and the door. Someone knocking. With shaking hands he poured the thought dust from his hat into a yellow leaf jar.

  I’m getting too old for this he thought. He opened the door and blinked in the sunlight.

  A sprite holding a parchment said, “Delivery for Electrum. Is that you?”

  “Yes, what is it?”

  He pointed to a wooden crate that sat balanced on a flatbed cart. Three other sprites stood around it. Their hands resting on rope handles attached to the corners.

  “I didn’t order anything,” Electrum said.

  The sprite handed over the parchment and tapped it. “Sign there.”

  Electrum scanned the document and saw it was from Gilder.

  “Hup!” the leader barked. Electrum almost dropped the paper. The four sprites grabbed the rope handles and heaved on the crate. In unity they slid it off the cart and marched inside.

  “Up against the wall, please,” Electrum called as he jumped out of the way.

  The leader grunted, and they staggered across the room and dropped it with a dull boom.

  Shaking his head, Electrum signed the release and gave the leader a coin as he left. The crate was plain. The type used by the shipmakers for transporting scrap wood. It was nailed shut. He tried to shove the crate closer to the wall but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Crazy kid must have sent half the kingdom over,” he muttered. “Hope Sterling doesn’t get wind of it. Whole things gives me an appetite.”

  He pattered into the eating nook and pulled a stool up to the table. As he unwrapped the sesame rolls, the smell of fresh pastry and sweet figs brought the market scene and the surprised vendor back to mind. Pushing the thoughts aside, he picked up the good pastry and left the burnt one lying on the paper.

  Now to think like a little yipper dog. He studied the burnt roll. It looked like a bone. The darkened crust around the edges clung like pieces of meat. The thought was nauseating. He shook his hat clear and tried again.

  With closed eyes, he focused this time on the taste of the roll. When he bit into it, fig juice dribbled on his chin. Sweetness flooded his mouth.

  What would it be like to chew on something that delectable that didn’t get eaten up? Like a dog with something rancid and sinewy. He imagined himself a dog that was looking for that kind of bone.

  He wanted it now. Wanted that savory taste that could be relished for hours. The sensation of chewing, gnawing, slobbering. But he had hidden it from the other dogs. Buried it so they couldn’t see it or smell it. But he couldn’t remember where.

  Searching frantically. Digging in the soft dirt. Burrowing to find the treasure. Grubbing and scraping. Hunger for the taste of that perfect bone. Knocking.

  Electrum opened his eyes. Knocking? Another series of raps on the door. What this time? There were more interruptions here than in the palace.

  He wiped his chin and left his hat on the table. When he opened the door, a figure staggered inside.

  “Electrum,” Amber said. “What took you so long? Oof, this is heavy.” She shrugged off a bag and set down a basket. “My it’s dark in here.”

  Sweeping through the room, she drew open the shutters and uncovered glowstone lamps. Light flooded in. Turning, she almost tripped over the crate. “What’s this?”

  “Silverthorn’s dowry,” Electrum said with disgust.

  “Well, that’s a surprise.”

  “Did you expect him to show up with nothing but a heart full of love?” Electrum snorted at the thought.

  “What do you suppose is in it?” She ran her fingers over the seams.

  “Whatever he felt he just couldn’t live without. All I can say for sure is that it’s heavy.”

  “Wasn’t it risky sending his personal treasures that way? I mean, if they couldn’t be replaced. What if something had happened to the shipment? Do you think he could be happy without – without whatever is in there?”

  Electrum laughed. “We’ll never know, since it did arrive. An easier question is what’s in the basket?”

  “She scooped it up and led the way to the kitchen. She hesitated at the flowered tapestry. “Ooo, this is rather…” her voice trailed off.

  “Garish? Tacky? Colorful?” he asked. “It came with the apartment. First on my agenda is to ask for Mirta’s help with decorating.”

  She giggled. “I brought something in the bag that might help. Mirta d
idn’t want you to be homesick.” Swinging the basket she led the way into the eating nook. “This is cozy.” She picked up his hat.

  “Careful with that!”

  She froze in place and he took the hat from her. Cradling it so it didn’t spill, he poured the dust into a red leaf jar.

  “It’s for tomorrow night.”

  “Oh!” Her eyes sparkled. “For the boy?”

  He nodded. “Well, actually for the dog.”

  She pointed at the burnt pastry with disdain. “What is that?”

  “Inspiration.”

  “Are you finished with it?”

  “Yes.”

  She dumped it in the stove. “It might make good kindling.” She whipped the cloth off her basket revealing several parcels. “A little house warming from Mirta. Much superior to that stuff you bought in the market. Mirta’s pastries and wraps are real food.”

  Electrum leaned over and peered into the basket.

  “The letter is from me to Silverthorn,” she added shyly. “Would you mind delivering it?”

  He chuckled. “Not at all, but I won’t promise to share the goodies.”

  She replaced the cloth. On her way to the front door, she paused and gazed at the crate. “Don’t suppose you’re going to open that?”

  “Silverthorn can unpack his own stuff.”

  She sighed. “I have to get back to the shop. Mirta has more deliveries for me to make.”

  “Don’t forget your bag.”

  “Oh that’s for you too. It’s an original bag – by me. What’s inside is from Mirta.”

  Then she was gone.

  She certainly adds energy to a room, he thought. He was surprised to see a small rug inside the bag. He carried to one of the sleeping alcoves and unrolled it in front of the hammock.

  He slipped off his boots and curled his toes into the rug. Coolness spread over his feet and the smell of pine drifted up. He laughed. Mirta had remembered his retirement tree.

  One more thought dust package to prepare. This one should be easy. It was all he could do not to think about sleep.

  Fingers of light from the apartment’s front windows reached just inside his sleeping room. The faint light filled it with soft shadows like dreams. He climbed into the hammock and stuffed an extra pillow behind his head. Pulling his hat forward over his eyes, he settled in and began preparing thought dust for Mrs. Hayworth.

  His muscles were sore from packing. No, from working in the garden he corrected. Stooping, lifting. It would be so good just to lie down. Give in to the weariness. Put one foot in front of the other. The garden was hot. Just a few steps into the house. It would be cool inside and the hammock would be soft and comfortable. Sweet rest with a cool breeze tinted with the scent of pine. And flowers he added. Bluebonnets and Daffodils.

  He drifted into a pleasant dream where he wandered through a pleasant garden. When he woke up the room was dark. No breeze stirred. An unnatural silence filled the room as if it were waiting for something. He started to sit up and his hat shifted on his head. Instinctively he caught it, and then remembered where he was.

  Had he slept too long and missed the ship? He rushed out of the living quarters with dust streaming off his hat. Subdued light came through the office windows. He sighed with relief. The sun must be on the other side of the cliff. With windows on only one side, the apartment got dark quickly. There was still time to catch the Dragonfly, but he would have to hurry.

  He turned with dismay. Most of the thoughts from his hat were now a trail of sparkles on the floor. After pouring what was left into a green leaf jar, it was only half full. On hands and knees he brushed the sparkles into a pile and put them in the jar in tedious pinches. There was barely enough to fill it. Quickly he sealed the jars with resin and crowded them into the basket with Mirta’s food and Amber’s letter.

  He threw on his disguise and snatched up the basket with one hand and the bag with the other. The cart was gone. A bill from the rental company flapped in the breeze, held to the door by a dot of resin.

  Stuffing it in Amber’s bag, he hurried through the narrow streets. They were still loading the ship when he arrived at the dock, panting and winded. A breeze from the harbor chilled him. He stopped at a cart and bought an acorn of spiced dandelion tea wrapped in a cloth to keep it hot.

  Composed now, he slowed his walk and hobbled onto the Dragonfly. His spot by the rail was open, and he sank down onto the deck gratefully. The bag tucked behind him cushioned his back and blocked the brisk air coming over the water. With a shutter, the ship began to move out into the harbor.

  The familiar foggy chill settled over the ship as they passed through the gate. Ducking his head down, Electrum pulled up his hood and tugged the cloak tighter. The hot cup felt good against his fingers, and the liquid warmed his throat. Soon they emerged into the Tween World.

  When he glanced over the water, he saw one of the pollywogs flying away from the ship. For a moment he flew with the young sprite in his mind and felt again the thrill of discovery. The cold air felt invigorating.

  He was stiff as he started to get up. The basket bumped against his bruised leg with a dull ache. Sinking back down, he repositioned the basket. His days of youthful exploration were over.

  He took comfort in one of Mirta’s pastries and another sip of hot tea. He began to chuckle. The eclipse was coming and the resulting chaos would rival any exploits of his youth. In two nights the comfortable security of his employment would come to an abrupt end, but his adventure was just beginning.