by Bryan Davis
Billy’s gaze followed Constance for a moment. There was definitely something familiar about her, something enchanting. She was certainly a friendly one. He leaned down and finished tying his laces. “Know where there’s a clothing shop?” He straightened and pulled out his wallet.
“Maybe,” Bonnie said, rubbing her eyes. “I remember seeing a sign for a seamstress when I was here, so it could still be around somewhere.”
He rifled through the bills in his wallet. “I hope they take modern American money.”
Swinging her feet to the planks, Bonnie stood and stretched her arms. “I guess we’ll find out.” She pulled the hem of her sweatshirt down and wiggled her socked toes. “What happened to my shoes?”
Billy slid them toward her with his foot. “My mom never let me sleep with my shoes on.”
Bonnie bent over and slipped her feet into her shoes, tying them quickly. After collecting Billy’s jacket, she gestured with her head toward the street to their right. “Come on.”
They marched quickly, weaving through a line of morning pedestrians. Bonnie made a right turn around a corner, then immediately ducked under the awning of a store. Billy shadowed her, keeping a lookout for the people who had awakened them. He wanted to avoid the constable if he could help it.
Bonnie pushed open the door, jingling a bell, and Billy followed her inside. The seamstress shop boasted a bright array of mannequins draped with colorful dresses—silky evening gowns, gingham riding frocks, and long, flowing prairie dresses.
Bonnie picked up a hem of a sky blue prairie dress and rubbed it between her thumb and finger. “Isn’t this nice? Simple and pretty, and I love the color.”
A lady at the counter peered over her spectacles, her gray hair pinned in a bun. A bewildered smile spread slowly across her face. “May I . . . help you?”
Billy marched to the counter. “Yes. My name is Bi—uh, William, and this is Bonnie.”
The lady stepped around the counter and extended her hand. “My name is Dorcas.”
Bonnie covered her mouth, a slight gasp sneaking through her fingers. Billy glanced at her, then shook the lady’s hand. “We’re travelers, and people are looking at us kind of funny, so we thought we should do something about it.”
“I should say so,” Dorcas replied, her smile now more friendly. “Your garments are quite odd.” Her gaze shifted lower on their bodies. “But I thought you were locals, seeing that you’re wearing rings.”
Billy raised his hand up to eye level, rolling his fingers into a fist. The gem in his ring had turned white. “Our rings?”
“Yes, of course.” Dorcas pushed her hand into a pouch in her smock. “Everyone in town wears one. But I see now that yours are different.”
He held out his fist for the lady to see. “Because they’re white?”
“Yes. The others are red and blink like a fiery eye, but no one knows the reason.”
Billy wanted to ask more questions, but he felt the need to hurry. “Well, I guess once we get some new clothes, we’ll fit right in.”
Dorcas tapped Billy’s hand. “Just twist the ring so the gem faces your palm, and no one will notice its color.” She picked up a slate and a piece of chalk from a cutting table, bent low, and felt the crease in Bonnie’s jeans. “Blue jean material with rivets? I read about this in a fashion catalog.” She looked up at her, a motherly scold crossing her face. “Why are you wearing trousers, young lady?”
Bonnie bit her bottom lip. “It’s, uh, our style back home.”
Dorcas straightened up and laid a hand on Bonnie’s head, then floated her hand back toward herself, touching the bridge of her nose. She chalked a note on her slate. “Do women dress like men where you come from?”
Bonnie half closed one eye. “I guess you could say that some of them do, but usually not so much that you can’t tell the difference.”
Dorcas tucked the slate under her arm, cupped her hands around Bonnie’s waist, and nodded. “The dress you admired will likely fit you well.” She turned to Billy and laid her practiced hands on his shoulders. “Hmmm. Square and strong. I like that.” Copying her method of checking Bonnie’s height, she measured Billy’s, the edge of her hand striking her brow. She made another note on her slate. “You and Remus are the same height. The suit I made for him will do fine.”
Billy leaned forward, trying to read the notes on the slate. “What about Remus? Won’t he be coming in for his suit?”
“No.” Dorcas fished for something in her pouch. “His wife came by and paid me for it, saying to give the suit to the poor. She said ever since he started going to the theatre, he changed from a miser to a philanthropist.” She withdrew a thimble and slipped it on. “He’s given away nearly everything he had.”
“To the theatre?” Billy asked. “What movie is playing there?”
Dorcas squinted. “Movie?”
“Uh . . . the show? You know, the play that’s showing at the theatre?”
“Oh,” Dorcas said, waving her hand, “it’s not that kind of theatre. I hear it used to be a playhouse at one time, but now it’s been converted to the waiting room.”
“The waiting room?” Billy repeated. “What do people wait for?”
Dorcas flushed. She glanced at the window, then back at Billy. “Well, supposedly,” she said, lowering her voice, “back when it was a real theatre, an old man appeared out of nowhere at the end of the play, like a ghost floating in a sea of red mist. He told the audience that a king would come to the theatre someday and take them to a better life.” She picked up a spool of black thread from her sales counter and reeled off a couple of feet, her gaze still flashing back toward the window every few seconds. “But, the only people who could go to that life would have to come to the theatre. So, I guess folks who aren’t satisfied with their lives decided to believe the old man and wait for this king to arrive.”
Billy peeked at the window out of the corner of his eye. Nothing there. “How many come, and how long do they stay?”
“I’d say about twenty on a regular basis, sometimes more, and they come for the posted showtime and stay about three hours.” She picked up a needle and expertly threaded the eye. “They wait in the dark theatre, usually without saying a word, then come back and try to make up for lost time in whatever jobs they normally do, though they feel quite weary when they come out.”
“So, do you go to the theatre?” Billy asked.
“Oh, no.” Dorcas laughed, a hint of nervousness blending in. “I’m only telling you what I’ve heard. I tried a few times, but it seems that when I get to the door, I just can’t go another step, as if there’s an invisible wall in my way. The others in line try to help me, but no matter what we do, the wall remains.” She flapped her arms against her sides. “I seem to have been singled out, like a black sheep, I suppose.”
“That’s weird,” Billy said, glancing at Bonnie. She shook her head sadly.
Billy nodded toward the door. “Can you tell me where the theatre is?”
Dorcas pointed toward the street and began drawing directions in the air. “Turn left out of my shop, two blocks, left again, then look for the first side street on the right. You’ll see it.”
“Thank you.” Billy pulled out his wallet and tried to separate the damp bills. “Um. What kind of money do you take?”
“Your suit is free. Like I told you, Remus wanted it given to the poor.” Her head tilted up and down as she examined his clothes again. “And I think you qualify.”
“Okay,” Billy said, laughing. “I won’t argue with that.” He spread out a twenty, two tens, and two ones, each one bent and wrinkled. “How much for Bonnie’s dress?”
“We usually barter,” Dorcas said, eyeing the money curiously. “Some people use precious metal coins, but I’m not familiar with this kind of currency.”
Billy laid his palms on the counter. “I don’t have anything to barter with.” He noticed her eyes focusing on his ring, his father’s ring. He covered it with his other hand. “I
can’t trade this. It belongs to my father.”
Dorcas smiled and shook her head. “Oh, no, dear boy. I wasn’t coveting your ring. I was admiring it. As I told you, we don’t see white gems here.” She picked up a ten and the two ones, pinching the ends and letting them hang from her fingers. “This money will do fine.” After putting the bills away, she pulled a suit of clothes from a cubbyhole in the counter and handed it to Billy, nodding toward a corridor in the back. “Dressing rooms. The lady to the left. You to the right. You’ll also find washbasins back there. When you’re finished, come out, and I’ll see how they fit. Bring your old clothes too, and I’ll have them laundered.”
After several trials, with tedious pinnings and alterations in between, Billy and Bonnie sported sharp new clothes. Billy stretched his arms to test the fit of his pressed long sleeves and button-down vest. Bonnie wore a simple prairie dress and pinafore that swept just above the floor. With her matching blue eyes, her shining blond-streaked hair, and her barely visible halo, she radiated heavenly beauty.
“Now you look like a fine young gentleman,” Dorcas said, straightening Billy’s cuff. “This Oxford shirt is perfect for . . .” Her voice drifted away.
“Something wrong?” Billy asked.
Dorcas shook her head, blinking her eyes as if warding off a mist. “Oh, nothing.” She paused for a moment, then sighed and pulled the hem of Billy’s vest down to his waistline. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but have you ever heard a word that struck you as though it is very important somehow, yet you cannot quite grasp why?”
“I think so.” Billy tapped a finger against his temple. “Sort of like a tune in your head, and you can’t remember the words.”
Dorcas pulled a loose thread from the vest. “Maybe like a tune, but I think it might be more like an echo. When I hear the word Oxford, it echoes in my mind over and over. It seems that it has become my favorite shirt just so I can say its name. I have no idea why.” A tear came to her eye, and she wiped it away. “Aren’t I a silly old biddy? Look at me, crying over a shirt!”
Bonnie reached out and held the lady’s hands. “You’re not silly at all. You just miss your husband.”
“Husband? I have no husband. I’m just a foolish old spinster who has already talked far too much.”
Bonnie kept holding her hands, caressing her bare ring fingers with her thumbs. “You don’t belong in this town, do you?”
Dorcas squinted at Bonnie. “What makes you say that, child?”
“You said everyone in town wears a ring, but you don’t.”
Dorcas pulled her hands back and thrust them into her smock’s pouch. “I must have lost it.” Her eyes darted to the window and then back to Billy, her smile now fragile. “I don’t remember ever having a gem.”
A change in the light prompted Billy to turn around. The constable opened the door, making the bell jingle, and poked his head inside. “Are these two vagrants bothering you, Dorcas?”
Dorcas waved her hand. “Not at all, Marlon. They’re buying clothes.”
A tall woman peeked in the window next to the door. With high cheekbones and a puckered face, she was the epitome of the tight-haired schoolmarm. Dorcas glanced at her, then back at Marlon, but her gaze kept darting to the window.
The constable pulled his pants up an inch. “So they’re trading goods? Well, that’s a surprise.”
“Yes, they are.” She waved her hand again, this time as a good-bye. “Thank you for checking on me, Marlon. I’ll be fine.”
The constable tipped his hat. “You’re welcome”—he forked his fingers at Billy and Bonnie—“but I’m keeping my eye on these two.” He closed the door. The bell sang once again. On the walk outside, the woman shook her finger at the constable, her jaw moving as fast as a nibbling rodent’s.
As they hustled away, Dorcas swallowed and nodded sharply toward the door. “I think you should leave now.”
“Is that woman trouble?” Billy asked.
“That’s Jasmine,” Dorcas said. “She’s the mayor and fancies herself a prophetess. She’s been warning the town against strangers for as long as I’ve been here, spouting her silly songs and poems. Doom and destruction. Poverty and pestilence. That’s all she knows.” She wrung her hands together. “But it would be best if you stayed away from her.”
Billy gestured with his head. “C’mon, Bonnie.”
Bonnie leaned forward, urgency reddening her face. “But, Dorcas, you have to remember your husband. You—”
Dorcas raised her voice, her hands trembling. “I don’t have a husband!”
Billy pulled Bonnie back and led her toward the door, making the bell jingle again as he heaved it open. “We’d better get to the theatre.”
Once outside, Bonnie shook his hand away. “I know who she is!”
Billy peered down the street. The constable was nowhere in sight. “Yeah, but she was getting really upset.” He reached up and straightened a sign hanging over the door, “Stitches in Time.” “You think she’s Merlin’s wife? Did she change from scroll-bearer to seamstress?”
“No.” She pulled Billy close and whispered, “She’s Professor Hamilton’s wife!”
Chapter 10
THE DRAGON’S EYE
Karen pointed toward the line of trees. “Someone’s coming. I heard a phone ringing.”
Carl Foley emerged from the forest, his cell phone at his ear. “Got an update, Larry?” He rejoined the other campers near the fire, his skin ashen. Karen edged close and laid a hand on his arm.
“So where do you think they’re going?” Carl patted his pockets as if looking for something. “I don’t have a pen. Can you text message me? . . . Good. Send the info when you have it. . . . Fine. We’ll pick it up.” He kept the phone flap open and watched the screen, sweat beading on his forehead. “Okay, here’s the scoop. Ashley and Walter are in the airplane, and it’s being carried by one of the Watchers. The handheld computer isn’t functioning, but Larry can hear Ashley through her tooth transmitter, so she’s giving clues to where she is.”
Karen tried to peek at the phone’s screen. “Did Larry come up with where she might be?”
Carl angled the phone toward her. “He’s calculating the possibilities based on the speed and direction they were traveling when the computer died. And the Watcher told her there are glassmakers nearby, so Larry’s going to send a list of manufacturers. That should help narrow it down.” He glanced around the camp. “I never caught up with the knights. Are they still out in the woods?”
Hartanna rose to her haunches and beat her wings. “I will call off the search party.” With three mighty flaps, she launched into the air, then made a low circle as she climbed into the misty sky, trumpeting a shrill note as she ascended.
Carl drew the phone closer to his face. “Here it comes.” His eyes darted from left to right several times. “Okay. Cumberland, Maryland, has glassmakers, and Ashley’s giving more clues. She saw a long, skinny lake from the airplane. Larry’s sending a list of nearby bodies of water that fit the profile. He says the most likely is Deep Creek Lake.”
Professor Hamilton pulled a driving cap from his coat pocket and slipped it over his scattered white hair. “I have seen pictures of that lake while studying the region. I believe it is easily accessible, but I am not sure of which roads to take.”
“So we need to get a map.” Carl fished his keys from his pocket. “I’ll drive my car. Larry wants me to pick up Ashley’s laptop so we can communicate better.”
“Her laptop has a mapping program,” Karen said, hooking her arm with Carl’s. “Let me come with you. I know old silicon brain better than anyone here, and I’ll bet Ashley’s already given him more information by now.”
Carl covered Karen’s hand with his own. “Fine with me.”
The professor tipped his cap toward Mrs. Bannister. “Marilyn, will you accompany me? I think we make a good team.”
Marilyn copied Karen’s move, sliding her hand around the professor’s elbow. “
With pleasure.” She pressed the pendant against her heart. “And Billy and Bonnie are coming, too.”
The professor straightened his cap and nodded toward Sir Patrick. “Do you have any counsel, my friend?”
Carl closed his phone and slid it into his pocket. “Sorry. I got so worked up, I forgot to ask the most informed guy here.”
Sir Patrick retuned the professor’s nod. “I do have counsel. I think—”
The thunder of running footsteps broke through the mist. Sirs Edmund and Newman sprinted back into the clearing, followed by the other four knights. A sweating Sir Barlow trailed the others, clutching a hefty branch. “We heard the news,” Barlow puffed as he strode toward Patrick. “Is the word given to embark on a new quest?”
Sir Patrick slapped him on the back. “The word is given, good knight. We are organizing a new search strategy now.”
The moon cast a moving blanket of shadows over the circle, and eight dragons settled to the grass, gusts of wing-whipped winds buffeting the humans. Shimmering in the cold light, the dragons formed a line in front of Thigocia.
Sir Patrick paced before the reptilian squad. “Since you dragons are the only enemy the Watchers fear, you will be the attack force. Thigocia, will you be able to sense Ashley’s presence?”
“Yes. Now that I have met her, I am sure of it. But from how far away, I cannot tell.”
“We’ll leave it to Ashley to guide us.” Patrick gripped Sir Barlow’s forearm. “Will the dragons and knights join together in battle as in the days of old?”
Sir Barlow laughed. “I have ridden a dragon only once and that by accident. But I accept the challenge and relish the opportunity to fight for the life of a fair maiden.”
Thigocia flipped her tail toward the end of the line of dragons. “Two of my group have neither fought nor flown with riders, but we have enough experienced fighters to carry these valiant knights.”
“Excellent.” Sir Patrick folded his hands behind him. “The world already knows that there are dragons in their midst, but you had better fly low and try to stay out of sight as best you can. We will all rendezvous at a remote point near the lake and rest for the remainder of the night. I can only pray that Morgan will allow Ashley to rest until morning as well.”
