Too much talking, I thought. We’re burning daylight.
What happened next was a surprise. Dr. Frosticos took a long look at the Creeper, shook his head dismissively, and then turned around and walked calmly away down the path like a man who had seen enough and was going back to the hotel, so to speak. In about three seconds he was out of sight. There was nothing to be done. Ms Peckworthy wasn’t going to shoot anyone. Frosticos knew it, and we knew it, and by now the Creeper knew it too. But Perry had already looped the slipknot over the Creeper’s wrists and tightened it, and now Ms Peckworthy made the Creeper sit down beside the tree that he had been going to tie us to. Brendan and Perry looped the rope around and around him, tying half-hitches now and then, yanking the rope tight each time. “More knots,” Ms Peckworthy said. “Make the bear work for his supper!” But the rope was pretty much used up, and the Creeper was tight to the tree.
“Come along, children,” she said. We didn’t discuss it, but went on up the hill in the direction that Lala must have taken, hurrying, because clearly Frosticos would walk straight back into things as soon as we were gone and untie that rope. Tying up the Creeper might buy us five minutes. If Lala were going to succeed, I thought, she’d best already have found her father and gone on her way. She’d been smart enough to ignore distractions, but I hadn’t been.
The trail wound along a steep cliff now, and shortly we came out into a sort of clearing, with dense brush below and a view of the rocky mountainside high above. Without slowing her pace, Ms Peckworthy said, “Stand clear!” and she twirled sideways and let go of the elephant rifle, which spun around and around, sailing out over the cliff and down into the brush, out of sight, where it would lie until forever and rust, and good riddance to it.
We went on, and some minutes later we emerged from the trees again, where we found ourselves at the edge of a stream that was rushing through a narrow little gorge, the water splashing and plunging maybe thirty feet below. There was a footbridge across the stream, the bridge made of jungle vines and broken limbs, the vines tied to tree trunks on either side. The whole thing looked rickety and old.
“That appears to be unsafe,” Ms Peckworthy said, shaking her head doubtfully.
But the word meant nothing, because not crossing the bridge, and fast, was unsafer by far. Perry stepped boldly out onto it, and then coaxed Ms Peckworthy across. I followed, and Brendan came last. We started up the trail again double-time, and were fifty feet from the bridge before I realized that Brendan wasn’t behind me. I turned, and there he was, back at the bridge, sawing away at the vines with the Creeper’s knife. I whistled, and he looked up, waved us on, and went back to work. There was no sign of Frosticos and the Creeper, and one side of the bridge already leaned precariously, the vines severed, and so we went on without Brendan, soon coming out of the trees onto a grassy sort of plateau.
The stream we had crossed was bubbling out of a massive tumble of rocks above, pouring down over them in a broad, smoothly-flowing waterfall. It was marshy ground, and Lala’s footprints were easy to see, leading away into the rocks. There were other footprints, too—enormous three-toed prints, and prints that might have been from a giant cat. I snapped pictures, aiming with one hand as we hurried onward.
Within moments we stood at the bottom edge of that tumble of rocks. There was a broad view of the sea below, looking quiet and placid, and of the clearing along the trail where Ms Peckworthy had thrown the elephant rifle. There was no sign of Brendan, but most of the trail was hidden from view, and I knew he wouldn’t waste a moment once the bridge was cut. We paused long enough to gulp water from a clear pool in the rocks—the first water we’d had since last night. I was thirsty as a desert.
I became aware then of the sound of bees, a lot of bees, very close by. This time I knew what the sound meant, and I didn’t bother to look for any real bees. We soon discovered that there was an opening behind the waterfall, leading into a cavern very much like our own sea cave, but deeper and darker—so deep and dark that I couldn’t see the back of it. The bee noises were coming from inside the cavern, from somewhere in the darkness, and the air smelled of water on stone because of the mist from the waterfall.
I realized that Ms Peckworthy had grasped my wrist and was holding on tightly. “I can’t see a thing in the dark,” she whispered, her voice full of fear. “What is it? What’s that noise? I don’t like bees, especially in the dark.”
“It’s not bees,” I said. “It’s the sound of…dreaming.”
“Of dreaming?” she whispered. “My land! Will wonders never cease?”
“Not for a while yet,” I told her.
I could see better now, and I made out something that would have been very strange, except that I was half expecting it. Farther back in the cavern, almost lost in the shadows, stood a big four-poster bed. The posts were apparently cut out of tree trunks, with the bed’s four feet carved to look like elephant’s feet. Rays of watery light filtering down through the waterfall shone on them and on the headboard, which appeared to be a crown, like a king would wear. A man in a nightshirt and nightcap lay on the bed, asleep atop a cloud-like mattress that must have been stuffed with mounds of feathers.
It was the Sleeper, Giles Peach, Lala’s inventive father, who had descended into this cave and fallen asleep when the time was right, like a salmon putting away his daily business in the sea and swimming upriver. Lala stood next to him. She held a finger to her lips to keep us quiet. “I’ve been trying to get him to walk without awakening him,” she whispered, “but he’s very obstinate.”
I was thinking about other obstinate people, like the Creeper and Frosticos, who at this moment were no doubt moving in our direction. I peered out of the mouth of the cave, and thank goodness I saw Brendan climbing the hill. I waved him on, holding my finger to my lips to keep him from blurting anything out. We really needed to be gone into the darkness of the Passage and headed for home. With the bridge down we had a chance, a real chance, and we couldn’t afford to squander it.
Brendan stood in the cave mouth, trying to see in. “I left him at the bridge,” he whispered, breathing hard.
“Him?” I asked. “The Creeper?”
“Frosticos. The Creeper wasn’t with him. He came alone.” He shivered, remembering.
He left the Creeper behind, I thought, realizing the truth. Frosticos didn’t need the Creeper now. The Creeper had been merely convenient, like a piece of tissue when your nose needs blowing, and we had tied the used tissue to a tree trunk with about sixty knots. Now he would be dinner, just as he had feared.
I heard Lala mutter something into her father’s ear now. She waited a moment and then muttered it again. He stirred in his bed and rolled over onto his side, and then, wonder of wonders, he sat up, swiveled around, and with his eyes still closed, set his feet on the ground. He had a pleasant smile on his face, as if his current dreams were good dreams. Hasbro wandered over and sniffed at him.
“Time!” Lala whispered, and she rummaged under the bed and came up with a pair of bedroom slippers, which she slid onto his feet. He stood up then, with his arms held out in front of him, and set out sleepwalking, straight toward the back of the waterfall. Lala took his elbow and very gently turned him around, and they moved deeper into the cave, where I could see the mouth of the Passage clearly now, leading away into the depths of the mountain.
Chapter 26
When the Sleeper Awakens
We went up the Passage, bound for home, with Lala and her father going on ahead and Brendan and Perry and Hasbro a few paces behind, trying to keep the lantern light from shining into the Sleeper’s eyes. Ms Peckworthy and I came along behind them. The bees were quieter now, as if some of them had gone off to work and the hive was emptying out. That worried me, because I didn’t know what it meant.
“Is that strange man still asleep?” Ms Peckworthy whispered to me.
I said that he was, and that we were sleepwalking him home. And then I told her what I knew, because she had
spent most of the last week being confused about almost everything. I told her that the Passage we were in was part of the Sleeper’s dream, and that he mustn’t wake up, or else the tunnel might go to the place where dreams go when a person awakens, and maybe that’s where we’d go too, although we couldn’t say for sure where that was, and didn’t want to find out. “If I say ‘run,’” I told her, “we have to really run.”
She gripped my arm a little bit tighter, and asked, “How do you know such strange things?”
“I read a lot,” I said, and then for a long time we went on in silence, moving along steadily in our little circle of lantern light. I looked back down the tunnel, anticipating the appearance of Dr. Frosticos despite Brendan having cut the bridge loose. I tried to think of how much time it would take him, desperate as he must be, to descend into that gorge, ford the stream, and climb the other side. But that unhappy thought was interrupted by something much worse, although it would have been funny in the light of day.
Hasbro was walking between Lala and the Sleeper now, looking from one to the other as if it was great fun. In a fit of happiness he licked Mr. Peach on the hand, and Mr. Peach said, “Doggy!” just as clear as anything, and very cheerfully.
The sound of his voice speaking out sensibly like that made Lala stop and turn toward him, sort of gaping in fear, and when she did, Perry nearly ran into the back of her. He yanked the lantern sideways so that it wouldn’t burn her, and the lantern knocked against the rock wall of the tunnel. The glass broke, oil spilled out, and thank goodness it didn’t splatter on anyone, because the oil caught fire, and for the space of thirty seconds the spray of oil on the wall and floor blazed away as light as day, and everybody’s horrified faces were frozen in the moment. The Sleeper, thank heavens, didn’t open his eyes. The firelight dwindled, faded away entirely, and left us in darkness.
We went on, of course, but even more slowly, the dark pressing down around us like a weight. After a time the Sleeper began to mutter, his voice rising and falling. Mostly he said wild and nonsensical things, but now and then he threw in a phrase that made daytime sense. Clearly he was waking up, but taking his time about it, thank heaven, like a tortoise that’s been hibernating. I had one hand out in front of me so that I wouldn’t run into Brendan and Perry, and the other on the wall of the tunnel in order to keep straight. Ms Peckworthy held onto a fistful of my jacket and muttered, “Oh my!” and “I just don’t know!” pretty steadily under her breath. The wild-eyed Ms Peckworthy of the elephant gun caper had disappeared when the lamp went out.
Very slowly there arose around us the sound of creaking and straining and grinding. It was very faint at first, a noise like you’d imagine an earthquake might make, moving deep within the earth, and at first I thought it must be my imagination.
Then I heard Ms Peckworthy whisper, “What’s that noise?” in a fearful way, and Hasbro growled as if he sensed that something bad was happening. The floor of the Passage began to vibrate ominously, and seemed to tilt, and the sound of moving rock grew louder, then dimmed again and fell silent.
Then a light blinked on in the distance, and Brendan said, “It’s old Peach!” just as another rumbling and heaving shook the Passage, nearly throwing us to the ground. It didn’t stop this time, but worsened, as dust and rock cascaded down around us.
Lala shouted, “Run!” and we were all running, not blindly now, but toward the light. There was no more keeping quiet. We were running for our lives. We all knew it, just like you know it in a nightmare. I could see the silhouette of the Sleeper a few feet ahead, sort of skipping along, Lala gripping his hand. I hoped he would linger a little longer in his dream, but the thought vanished out of my mind when I realized that there was no longer anyone holding on to my jacket. I had lost Ms Peckworthy! I stopped and turned, but there was only darkness behind. She had let go of me, but when? How far back? If she had shouted out, I hadn’t heard her….
I turned and ran back without anyone knowing. If I had shouted to let them know, Brendan and Perry and Hasbro would have followed me, and then there would have been five of us in trouble instead of two. I didn’t want to go back. I’ll tell you that truthfully. Dr. Frosticos was back there somewhere, and the whole Passage was alive with rumbling. I wanted to follow the others toward the light. I wanted to see the sun or the moon, it didn’t matter which, and I wanted to be back at the St. George lying in my bed.
But I had to find her. Ms Peckworthy had saved us. She had stuck by us ever since that first day on Mrs. Hoover’s front lawn, whether we wanted her to or not. Even the idea of Aunt Ricketts didn’t matter—not in that moment.
I groped through the blind darkness, feeling the tremors in the rock, hearing the grinding and shifting again, louder now. There was a shock, like the first jolt of an earthquake, and I fell, tearing the knees out of my jeans. The only thing that would save me or Ms Peckworthy, though, was speed, and so I got up and went on.
Tiny firefly lights began to blink on here and there, as they had when we were entering the room of dreams, but this time they weren’t winking out again. It was as if daylight were filling up the Passage. He’s waking up, I thought, and in that moment I saw Ms Peckworthy, twenty feet farther along, sitting on the floor and holding her head in her hands. She apparently heard my footsteps and looked up, clearly surprised that she could see. “Child!” she started to say, but I said, “No time to talk,” and I hauled her to her feet.
“You shouldn’t have come back!” she moaned as I tried to get her moving. “I was worn out—nothing but a rusty old sea anchor. Now I’ve dragged you down with me. G…g…go on!” she said, “Save yourself! Your Aunt Ricketts would want it! I don’t matter!”
“It’s Aunt Ricketts that doesn’t matter,” I told her, angry on Ms Peckworthy’s behalf. But it was then that I saw him coming—Dr. Frosticos, running through the darkness. I could scarcely believe it. He seemed to be glowing, too, in the firefly light, as if his ghastly white hair and skin was luminescent. He rushed up the tunnel like a nightmare, his eyes wide, his mouth half open. I screamed and gave Ms Peckworthy a tremendous yank. She suddenly came alive, and within moments she was running like a greyhound, with me behind her now, shouting, “Go! Go!” completely unnecessarily.
I could feel his presence behind me, like a rushing shadow. The ground shook again, hard this time, and both of us lurched sideways, colliding with the wall. There was a terrific grinding noise, and the sound of rocks clattering like boulders tumbling into a canyon. It was the sound of the dream collapsing in on itself.
Suddenly Cardigan Peach appeared forty or fifty feet from us, holding the lantern out before him, showing us the way through a haze of rock dust. We ran toward him, with such a banging and rumbling and grinding in the air that it sounded like the end of the world. I saw Patrick Cotter’s gate swinging open ahead, and I saw Perry and Brendan beyond, looking back at us with wild fear on their faces. Stay! I shouted, knowing they meant to come to our rescue, but before the shout was uttered, the Passage collapsed behind us with a great, howling, crashing boom that nearly slammed us over.
A dusty wind swept past, and the gate swung on its hinges, and I could smell the weedy, wet smell of the boathouse cellar. Then I saw Patrick Cotter’s bones scattered on the stones of the floor and the fallen lock with the key still in it, and Brendan and Perry and Hasbro still staring back toward the Passage. That’s when I slowed down and stopped, almost unable to take another step.
There was a silence now, no rumbling or crashing. No sound but our breathing and the quiet splashing of water against the outer wall of the boathouse. Behind us, beyond the open gate, there was no sign of the tunnel, no sign of Dr. Frosticos, only solid rock. The Windermere Passage had closed.
§
We all went up the stairs together, hearing noises above. A full moon shone through the windows of the boathouse, where Uncle Hedge and Mr. Wattsbury were just coming in through the door, which Lala and her father had opened for them. I was so relieved that I al
most laughed out loud. Ms Peckworthy looked like a skinny goblin in her ragged dress, and Giles Peach stood blinking around, still wearing his pointed cloth nightcap and obviously groggy from a long sleep. Lala was hugging him, and he was hugging her, and Hasbro was bounding around as if it had been nothing but a big fat adventure, which is one of the glories of being a dog, because almost everything is.
It was two in morning when we left Lala and Mr. Peach behind after saying our goodbyes. We left Mr. Wattsbury’s boat on the beach, not having any gas, and came home in the boat that Mr. Wattsbury and Uncle Hedge had commandeered in order to come after us. A half hour after setting out from the dock at Peach Manor, we sat down around the table at the St. George and ate an early morning breakfast that Mrs. Wattsbury put out for us. This time I did eat it, too, with about ten rashers of bacon and a ton of toast and jam. And all the time we were shoving it down we were telling our stories.
There was no sign of the sea anchor in Ms Peckworthy, who joined right in, and said that if it wasn’t for me, she would have been left behind and buried in the Passage. She was grateful, she said, and owed me her life, and she meant it, too. We said the same to her, and told Uncle Hedge and the Wattsburies about the elephant rifle, and about the footbridge and what happened to the Creeper. The really funny thing was that Ms Peckworthy realized that she had got caught up in one of Uncle Hedge’s shenanigans. Now that she was safe and eating bacon and eggs, it seemed like a very glorious shenanigan to her all the way around.
She went on about how she had followed Mr. Wattsbury through town when he had left for the aquarium, but had lost sight of him near the lake. When she caught up with him again, he was lying on the ground bleeding, and she had gone in through the open door, sure that we were in terrible trouble, and not knowing that Mr. Wattsbury had come to his senses and followed her. She had whacked them and whacked them with her umbrella, she said, as if she couldn’t wait to do it all again, cave bear and all. St. George himself would have given her three cheers by the time she was done telling it.
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