“Okay,” she said. It didn’t look too hard. For one thing, it wasn’t a turnstile—just a big arch. It was sleek and silver, backlit with a glow like the moon. It looked out of place in the old station, positioned between gargoyles, as if it had traveled there from the future while the station had traveled from the past. There were no “turnies” in sight. Stella shrugged and took a step forward.
A gargoyle leaped in front of her and let out a bone-rattling roar. Stella screamed and threw her arms over her face.
“I was thinking you might try something a bit sneakier,” Anyway told her. He faced the gargoyle. “Now, really, is that necessary, Horace?”
Horace, who had a beak and pitted eyes, ducked his head sheepishly. “Well, it’s on Dr. Peavey’s orders, ahkay? I had to stop her, right, Martha?” he asked, turning to the other gargoyle, who nodded.
“Oh, yeah.” Martha nodded. “For sure.”
Horace looked delighted. “All Sleepers gotta hand over any and all baggage before proceedin’ troo da turnstile, ahkay?” Horace explained, just as the television image of Dr. Peavey droned, “All Sleepers must hand over any and all baggage before proceeding through the turnstile.” Horace jutted his chin and tucked his long stone tail around his paws. “As I was sayin’,” he added importantly.
“Them’s the rules,” Martha explained.
“That’s right, them’s the rules!” Horace agreed.
“Zip it,” Martha told him. “They get it.”
Horace ducked his stony head.
“I don’t have any baggage,” Stella said.
“What’s that in ya pocket?” Horace demanded, pointing.
“That’s me, you nitwit!” Anyway shouted.
“Well, ya bein’ carried around, baggage-like,” Horace went on. “Am I right, Martha?”
The other gargoyle narrowed her eyes. “This will have to be investigated—forms filed, and other things.”
Horace looked as if he were about to chime in, but with a glare from Martha, he clamped his gray lips shut.
“We’re not filing any paperwork,” Anyway snarled.
“Excuse me, I really need to get out of here,” Stella said.
“Whattaya tawkin’ about?” Horace demanded. “What kind of a Sleeper are ya? This is suspicious, am I right, Martha? I’m right, aren’t I? Tell me I’m right.”
Martha lifted a stony eyebrow. “This is gonna be a ton of paperwork. I’ve already got a migraine just thinkin’ about it.”
“Look, this is official Door Mouse business,” Anyway said importantly.
The gargoyles looked at each other. Then they broke into stone-shaking laughter. Martha’s laugh was a demure little hiss-sss-sss, while Horace’s was a honking haw-haw-haw. It was as if an avalanche had a snuffling cold.
Anyway tried to look dignified. “Look, she isn’t even a Sleeper!”
To Stella’s surprise, that stopped the laughter right away. Horace straightened up and eyed her. “I said she was suspicious, am I right, Martha?”
“Another non-Sleeper,” Martha said thoughtfully.
“What does that mean?” Anyway demanded, an edge in his voice.
“This is the second non-Sleeper we’ve had today! The other one came through with a creepy something-or-other. I couldn’t see. He had a hood.”
“The non-Sleeper,” Stella asked. “Was he carrying a notebook?”
“Oh, yeah,” Horace said. “Sure. Tried to keep the notebook with him, but I got it from him! I got it from him, didn’t I, Martha?”
“I was very proud when you told me,” Martha said, and Horace dipped his head, clearly pleased by her praise.
“Can I see it?” Stella asked.
“Of course,” Martha said. “Show them, Horace.”
Horace’s stone eyebrows shot up. “Er, now?”
“Yes, now.”
Sheepishly, Horace pulled a few crumpled pages from a stone pocket. Stella stared at the pages that he held out to her. She knew that awkward, backward-slanting scrawl. It was Cole’s. “But where’s the rest?”
“The rest?” Martha glared at Horace.
“Well, I got most of it,” Horace simpered.
“There’s unaccounted-for baggage inside the system?” Martha’s voice was brittle.
Horace cowered. “Just a bit,” he admitted. “Part of some.”
Martha glared as if she was about to smash him to rubble.
“Look, you’ve got to let us through.” Anyway pulled a scroll from his pouch and unrolled it.
It was a very tiny pouch and a very fat scroll. “How did that fit in there?” Stella asked.
Anyway rolled his eyes. “Everyone from the Penumbra wants to talk about ‘space’ and ‘time’ and ‘smell.’ Well, that’s all different here!” He unrolled the scroll with a flourish. It was very long, and the words written on it were so tiny that Stella couldn’t read them. They looked like a series of dashes and dots, like Morse code. “It reads right here, ‘Sleepers must surrender baggage to the appropriate turnstile operators. No sleepers will be allowed to remain in possession of aforementioned baggage unless they have filled out the proper paperwork in octuplicate and filed it with the Office of Undersight. Failure to declare baggage will result in detention of the aforementioned Sleeper.’” With a smug glance above the scroll, Anyway went on, “No mention of non-Sleepers, is there? Therefore we are free to proceed!” The mouse rolled up the scroll again and placed it back in the pouch.
“Well, he does have a point, Martha,” Horace said.
Martha glared at him. “Do you know how much paperwork this is going to require?” she demanded.
Stella looked at the gate. Her brother was in there somewhere with something that was headed for the Nightmare Line. “If you let us through, you won’t have to fill out any paperwork,” Stella said, trying to be helpful. “And if we take these pages, there won’t be any paperwork for that, either. It’ll be like we were never here. Like it was never here.”
Martha was clearly thinking it over. “Never here?”
“Never here.”
“But you were here,” Horace pointed out. “You’re here now!”
“Shut it,” Martha told him. “We’re gonna close our eyes, and when we open them . . . never here.” She winked, then put her paws over her eyes. Horace followed suit. “Go ahead.”
Stella felt something small poke her shoulder. It was Anyway, who hissed, “Just go!”
Stella stepped, at long last, through the archway. In her pocket, Anyway shook and trembled, and it took Stella a moment to realize he was laughing.
“What’s funny?” Stella asked him.
“Oh, nothing,” he said at last. “You’re a quick thinker, that’s all.”
“I am?” Stella asked. She found this somewhat hard to believe. “I think I just said the obvious thing.”
“I don’t think it would have been obvious to most people,” Anyway agreed. “Not around here, anyway.”
Stella tried to walk lightly as she traversed the grand old station. Although Sleepers moved through the space, their eyes unblinking as they made their way to tunnels marked with track numbers, their feet were noiseless on the marble floor. Stella’s feet, on the other hand, were making extra noise.
Flip-flop flip-flop flip-flop.
Besides the Sleepers, there were other people in the station. A bear in a gray jumpsuit held ten strings in one hand. Each string was connected to a Sleeper who floated in the air, trailing slightly behind as the bear pulled them along, like a bouquet of balloons.
“Headed for the Flying Line,” Anyway explained.
A group of men dressed in dark suits—one of whom looked alarmingly like Abraham Lincoln—passed by. Taylor Swift followed behind, texting on her smartphone. There were large talking animals, a couple of unicorns, several dentists, a robot that looked like it had been made from tin cans and a giant toaster, and a green-faced witch. These “people” were chatting with each other and laughing, and several of them held paper co
ffee cups with plastic tops. Stella got the distinct impression that they were headed to work. The Sleepers did not seem to notice any of them. “They work in the dreams. We have an outstanding casting department,” Anyway said. “Ah! There it is—that’s the track you’re looking for.” He pointed.
When she looked, Stella saw a tunnel marked “The Track You’re Looking For.”
“Well, that’s . . . convenient,” she said.
A train was just pulling onto the platform. The locomotive was strangely shaped, rounded at the front. It reminded Stella of a submarine. Sleepers lined the platform, and just as she neared the second car, the doors rattled open.
“Go on,” Anyway urged when she hesitated. With a deep breath, she stepped forward and into the car. Inside, it was old-fashioned and elegant, with wood paneling and large windows. The ceiling was made of glass and the bench-like seats were upholstered with red velvet and all faced forward, like seats on a school bus. Several Sleepers had taken seats already. Most sat facing a window, but when Stella looked out, all she saw was the platform she had come from.
“Welcome to the Water Line,” announced a tinny voice over the loudspeaker. “Origin stop: Fountain in the Middle of Nowhere. Next stop: Stream.”
The train chuffed and rumbled, and then, with a jerk, moved forward. Stella looked down at the papers in her hand. There wasn’t much on them: a sketch of a dragon, a fragment from a poem, a sentence that didn’t lead anywhere.
“We need a map,” Anyway announced. He had to repeat himself twice before Stella managed to tear her eyes away from the pages.
“What?” she asked.
“We need to look at a map.”
“You don’t know where we’re going?”
Anyway’s silver whiskers flushed a deep shade of scarlet, and he stuck his nose in the air. “I suppose you know much more about it than I do,” he snapped.
“I didn’t—”
“No, no, please—go ahead without me, I’m sure you’ll be much better off.”
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“Who’s insulted? Not I! To be questioned—”
“I never said—”
“—on the Dreamway—”
“I was just—”
“—when I’m but a lowly Door Mouse with only four hundred fifty-seven years of service—”
“Four hundred fifty-seven?” Stella repeated, impressed.
The mouse seemed pleased by her tone. “Yes,” he replied. “I know it’s but a trifle compared to your vast knowledge. . . .”
Stella could see that the mouse wasn’t going to be happy until she had flattered him a little. “I didn’t realize I was dealing with such an expert.”
Anyway’s tail flicked impatiently. “Well, you are.”
“Four hundred and fifty-seven years of service,” Stella went on, “certainly means that you know your stuff.”
Anyway snorted. “Unlike some people,” he agreed. “Though I won’t say who. Or What,” he added, emphasizing his nemesis’s name.
“So if you say that we should look at a map, then we should,” Stella went on. “Absolutely.”
“Well, I’m glad that you’re going to take my recommendation.” Anyway twirled his whiskers. “Finally.”
“Where is the map?”
“There’s one right there.” He pointed toward the nearest door with the tip of his tail. Beside the door was a map behind glass. “They keep them locked up. ‘Too volatile,’ they say. But I like to keep my own.” He pulled something from the pouch around his neck, and unfolded it twenty-seven times, until it was a full-size map.
“Oh,” Stella said as she glanced at the map, for she could see at once that it was a mad tangle of lines that seemed to shift and change with every glance. She looked down at Anyway, who was haughtily inspecting his tail, as if the entire matter was beneath him. “Could you please tell me how to read this map?”
The little mouse harrumphed. “It changes according to who is in it,” he said with a huff.
“That doesn’t make any sense!”
“Of course it does. The same thing happens in your world, doesn’t it?”
“What? No! In my world, things stay the same no matter who’s there and who isn’t!”
“Really?” Anyway replied. “When people leave, things don’t change?” And the way he said it made Stella think of her father. Her mother didn’t laugh as often when he wasn’t around, and Cole got into trouble more than he normally did. She couldn’t prove it, but even the weather seemed to be worse when he was gone.
“Please help me, Anyway,” Stella said at last.
“Fine,” he snapped. He peered over the edge of her pocket and stared at the map. His whiskers tickled her cheek, but she strained to keep herself from giggling. She didn’t want to offend the mouse again. She didn’t have that kind of time. “We’re on the Water Line . . . here’s Memory . . . ah, let’s avoid Humiliation Line . . . hm—hum!” He muttered to himself for a few minutes until he finally sat up straight, announcing, “Got it! We’ll need to make three transfers, but we’ll get there.”
“Where are we going?”
“We need to find out just where your brother is. The Nightmare Line has more than one station, after all. So we’ll stop in to see a friend of mine.”
The lights flickered, then went out with a sudden, shocking blackness. Stella felt the brakes engage and smelled the acrid burn as the train slowed. Overhead, the lights buzzed and flickered on. The brakes screeched as the train stopped. It paused a moment, as if it were catching its breath, and then the doors snapped open.
When she looked around, Stella saw that the train was empty. “Anyway?” she called.
Wait, she thought, should I get off here? The mouse said we would transfer. Did he mean now? Did he get off already? “Anyway!”
She was afraid to get off of the train without him, and she was just as afraid to stay on it. Already, the voice was announcing the station stop. There was nothing beyond the doors—at least nothing Stella could see. . . .
“Last call,” said the voice over the loudspeaker. “Next stop—”
“Anyway!” There was no reply. The doors began to rattle, and Stella darted through them.
“Mind the gap,” said the voice as Stella fell from the platform and landed with a splash.
The Green Man
STELLA FOUND HERSELF ON HER knees as water splashed and played around her, giggling as it rolled past. Overhead, light filtered through branches with yellow and orange leaves. She stood up, taking in the forest. A chipmunk sat on a nearby log. Red toadstools with white spots grew nearby, vibrant among delicate green ferns. It was picturesque to say the least, the kind of enchanting woodland favored by captive princesses and dancing woodchucks. And there—just visible among the ferns—was a smooth white pebble. Stella dragged her wet feet from the stream, her soaked pajama bottoms clinging to her legs as she made her way to the pebble. She picked it up and held it in her hand. It took her a moment to spot the next one—it was about ten feet away, near a stump.
“I know this place,” Stella whispered to herself. It was the forest from her book of fairy tales. The white pebbles . . . they were the ones Hansel and Gretel had left behind on their first trip to the forest where the wicked witch lived.
Something rustled, and Stella wheeled around. “Who’s that?” she demanded. There was silence for a moment, then more rustling. Sound is always louder and more terrifying when one is alone in a forest, and Stella judged the thing in the bushes to be roughly the size of a rhinoceros. A moment later, the thing came crashing through a bush. She threw the pebble at it, and Anyway cried, “Ouch!”
Stella staggered backward a step as the mouse glared at her. “You scared me,” she said, feeling foolish.
The mouse rubbed his forehead. “Oh, well, I’m very sorry for your troubles, that’s to be sure,” he said sarcastically. “Being startled is a good reason to throw a boulder at someone, of course.”
“It was only a pebble,” Stella replied.
Anyway pointed to the rock. “It’s the size of my head!”
Stella winced. “Well, I am sorry. Really. And I’m very glad to see you. Where were you?”
“You’ve landed in a dream,” Anyway told her. “I hadn’t counted on that. You’re not a Sleeper, after all. I wasn’t sure what would happen when the train stopped, to tell you the truth.”
“Where are the others?” Stella asked.
“Oh, they’re off having their own dreams,” Anyway said vaguely. “They’re around here somewhere, but on another level, as it were. We can’t see them; they can’t see us. But I’m sure a few of them got off here.”
“Which is—where, exactly?”
“Look, the Dreamway runs on tracks. Each line has a different name. Right now, you’re on the Water line—stops are Ocean, Pool, Rain—”
“Stream?” Stella guessed, looking back at the flowing water behind her. “So—if this is a dream, then what was that train?”
“Look, when you go to a restaurant, you sit down and order a meal, right? And everyone gets something different to eat—whatever they ordered. But the restaurant is more than just the meal. It’s the waiters, it’s the tablecloths. And there’s more that you never really see and don’t think much about—like everything in the kitchen. So I thought—seeing as how you’re not exactly a customer of this particular restaurant—we could just scoot around with the cooks and waiters. But now we’ve ended up at a table, with an order of steak.”
Inhaling deeply, Stella took a look around. The forest smelled sweet, almost like cinnamon, and she wondered if that was the scent of the witch’s gingerbread house nearby. “I think it’s more like dessert.”
“Whatever. Point is you’re not quite a waiter, not quite a customer, but I guess we’ve got to eat this forest before we transfer.”
“I’m not sure that metaphor is working, exactly,” Stella said.
“So Water intersects with other lines—Memory, for example. It even intersects with the Nightmare Line. That’s Drowning, that is, usually,” Anyway said. He curled his silver tail around his front paws and gazed at her with a serious expression.
The Dreamway Page 5
