by Kim Thompson
Robert peered over Willa’s shoulder. “What is she, exactly?”
“I think she’s a Diplodocus,” Willa announced. Dinah wasn’t exactly like the pictures in the book, not as big for one thing, but it was the closest match she could find. “She’s a plant eater.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” muttered Belle, squinting at the page. “She’s got the same tiny head as the picture. Not much room for a brain in there.”
“All the dinosaurs had small brains. Dinah’s neck is so long that if her head was any bigger, she wouldn’t be able to lift it at all,” answered Willa. “As it is she can really only hold her neck horizontally. She can’t lift it up vertically.”
“Why not?” asked Tengu.
“Her heart isn’t big enough to pump blood all the way up to her head if she did. That’s probably why she fainted when she did try to lift her head up.” She turned back to the book and read on. “Some scientists think that to lift their heads up high dinosaurs like these would have to have a second heart in their neck to do the job....”
“That is the silliest thing I ever heard. No wonder the poor bastards died out,” grumbled Robert.
“Not all of them did,” grinned Willa.
The dinosaur lifted everyone’s mood for a few days. Forgetting their exhaustion and cloudy sleep, the old folks chatted endlessly about the beast. They speculated on her history and how she had survived for so long. Horace said she must have stayed alive by drinking the green muck growing in the rainwater which collected in the low area around the pool. But since her food intake was so reduced, she had slipped into a kind of hibernation. A long, long hibernation.
As the next few days slipped by, Dinah showed no signs of wanting to climb out of the pool, preferring to sleep away her days. The novelty of their new pet abated and everyone fell back into a tired funk. Willa was left with the chore of piling up as much greenery — garden clippings, leaves, kitchen food waste — as she could find for Dinah. The dinosaur’s appetite was on the rise since waking. Willa had to spend a couple of hours every day pruning the huge garden and tossing the clippings into a heap. Then she’d give Dinah’s back a scratch with the garden rake. Dinah would slowly lift her head, snuffling and blinking her long-lashed cow-eyes. She’d nod a few times as she looked around, slowly zeroing in on Willa and the pile of branches, then she’d move in and gulp it all down in a few seconds.
The rest of the time she grazed on whatever she could reach, stripping leaves and bark from branches with alarming efficiency. Willa worried about her devouring all the greenery which kept her shielded from prying Hackett eyes. She also worried about Dinah’s long neck. She hoped the books were right about her not being able to lift her head, because that meant she wouldn’t be able to peek over the fence ... Willa didn’t even want to think about the hysteria that would certainly follow that! As it was she could see that keeping Dinah much longer in their backyard was impossible.
“What’ll we do with her?” she asked the others, but they were slipping back into sleepy apathy. A shrug from Baz, silence from Horace, a derisive snort from Robert. Only Belle came up with a remotely useful idea.
“She’s from the water, isn’t she? Throw her in the ocean. Let her fend for herself.”
“Fine,” countered Willa. “But how do we get a sixty-foot dinosaur from our backyard to the seashore without anyone seeing?”
Nobody had an answer for that one. Nobody had much of an answer for anything anymore. Exhaustion levels were rising higher and higher. Horace fell asleep face down in his books. Belle stared into space, her eyes glazed over. Baz didn’t cook at all anymore but slept for most of the day, curled up on the carpet in the parlour. Willa had to do everything herself now, making sandwiches and tea for them all, piling up brush for the dinosaur, and cleaning up after everyone. They were constantly spilling things, dropping things, and breaking things by dozing off at inopportune moments. Willa did her best to keep up with the work, when all she wanted to do was go to sleep herself.
One afternoon, a few days after the discovery of Dinah, Willa took a break from her chores to collapse into an armchair in the parlour. She rubbed her eyes and stared dully at the doll’s house. She could hear Mab humming cheerfully in there, clicking away with her knitting needles. Mab alone seemed immune to the weariness of the household. She kept to herself but buzzed around with her usual energy. Willa’s head hurt as she puzzled over this. Why wasn’t Mab tired? The rest of them hadn’t slept properly since ... since the dinner party with her parents. When she’d accidentally left Mab locked in the dollhouse. Mab was still not talking to her, still mad about that.
Willa sat up. Her brain cleared a bit and things started falling into place. She rose and opened the dollhouse. Mab scowled at her from the sofa, where she was knitting her silvery scarf.
“Mab, I need to ask you something.” Mab squinted her eyes into slits, but Willa went on. “None of us are getting any rest when we sleep. I’m not sure why. We sleep and sleep but we’re still tired.”
Mab rolled her eyes in irritation. “It’s not the sleep, it’s the dreams!” she snapped.
Willa thought this over. “We’re sleeping but we’re not dreaming. And that’s why we’re so tired?”
Mab gave her a look. Willa pressed on. “You are the only one in this house who isn’t tired. You’re the only one who’s still dreaming, aren’t you?”
Mab let out a noncommittal squeak and turned away, clickety-clacking with her knitting needles.
Willa spoke sharply. “Mab!”
The fairy turned back, looking like a child who’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Willa softened her tone.
“Mab, please. Do you know why we’re not dreaming?” Mab dropped her eyes and nodded. “Are you the one who’s causing it?” Another nod. “What are you doing? Can you undo it?” A shrug and Mab turned away again. Willa waited a moment, then quietly closed the dollhouse again. She felt a wave of relief. At least their weariness wasn’t the result of sinister forces. Just a peeved fairy.
Later that evening Willa gathered everyone in the parlour. She knelt by the dollhouse. “Oh Maa-aab,” she called softly. “May we come in?”
The clicking needles stopped. Willa waited a moment and opened the dollhouse. Mab looked surprised to see everyone.
“Mab, I’m so sorry I left you locked up after the dinner party. I promise I won’t ever do it again.” Willa held out the dollhouse’s tiny key and set it gently on the bed.
Horace cleared his throat gently. “We’re all sorry, Mab. We’re sorry we don’t treat you with the respect you deserve.” Mab looked expectantly at the others, who begrudgingly nodded ... even Belle. Baz produced a small tray filled with tiny cakes and real, Mab-sized teacups and saucers.
“Sorry, dearie,” Baz smiled as she set the tray carefully inside the dollhouse.
Mab picked up a teacup, turning it over in her hands. Willa had noticed that Mab drank from thimbles, so she had scoured the stores for a teeny tea service. Mab appreciated it, she could tell, for the little fairy hugged the cup to her chest, sniffling a little and not looking up.
“Can you forgive us? Can you forgive me?” Willa pleaded.
Mab wiped her nose with the back of her hand and looked up at them all, her eyes glistening. She nodded quickly.
That night Willa slept. She really slept, and dreamed. The dreams fell from her mind as she opened her eyes to the early morning light, but she felt light and happy. The heavy curtain of exhaustion had lifted. She practically bounced out of bed.
In the dining room Willa saw a rare and welcome sight. Robert and Belle were chatting amiably over toast and jam. Tengu stopped shovelling down scrambled eggs to wave cheerfully, and Horace nodded and grinned. Baz bustled in from the kitchen, dumping fresh-baked scones into a basket. Tengu grabbed three and began juggling them. The mood was one of barely-contained giddiness. Willa took a seat.
“I trust you slept well?” inquired Horace.
Willa nodded
. “And I dreamed, too.”
“So did I.” Horace nodded thoughtfully. “I dreamt
I was looking out the window at something ... a horse, I think.”
Something shifted in Willa’s memory and she felt suddenly chilled. Her own dream was reassembling itself in her mind. A black night, a white moon, a pounding sound, a dark shape in the streetlight.
“A black horse,” she whispered. Silence fell over the table. She looked around. The smiles had faded.
“A black horse!”
“Yes! Me too!”
“Now I remember!”
“With red eyes!”
Baz sank into a chair, looking worried. “How could we all have the same dream?”
Willa looked around at them all. “That black horse is the same one I saw before Miss Trang left. A black horse with red eyes that ran down the street on two legs.” Her hands were cold and trembled in her lap at the memory.
“Indeed,” murmured Horace. “And now he’s shown up in our dreams. He’s been looking for us.”
Belle finished his thought, speaking in a low, hoarse voice. “And now he’s found us.”
Horace nodded. Willa’s heart sank.
Chapter Ten
Augury and fog
“But he’s just in our dreams ... is he real? Why was he looking for us? What’s he going to do? What should we do?”
Willa looked anxiously to Horace, who was frowning and staring into his tea. The whole group waited in silence for a long moment while he thought. Finally, he cleared his throat.
“The horse is a Grant, and yes, he is real. All too real. However, we don’t need to worry about him so much. He was sent to find us and his job is done.”
“He was sent?” Willa fought to keep calm.
“The Grant is sent by his masters to scout about and find people. When you saw him that first time, Miss Trang knew it was a bad sign, that something evil was brewing, but she never thought he might be searching for us. If she had, she wouldn’t have left.”
Horace took a sip of his tea before going on. “But now ... now it appears that he was looking for us. He roamed the streets and roads of the dreamworld, searching. When Mab stopped us from dreaming, without knowing it she also prevented the Grant from being able to find us.”
Belle passed a pale hand over her eyes. “And when we were able to dream again, he found us. In our dreams.”
Willa leaned forward. “But why was he looking for us? Who sent him?”
Horace straightened his spoon. “The Other Side sent him.”
Robert stomped a hoof in irritation, rattling the cups. “Rubbish. What on earth would the Other Side want with a pathetic collection of old farts like us? What good are we to anyone?”
“I ... I’m not sure.” Horace rubbed his forehead. He suddenly looked very old. “I need to think....” He struggled to his feet and left the room. The others exchanged worried looks. Willa was still frantic for some answers.
“I don’t understand. What’s the Other Side?”
Baz started clearing the table. Robert looked out the window. Tengu muttered about things he had to do and slipped out of the room.
Willa appealed to Belle. “What is the Other Side?”
Belle made a face and waved her hand. “Oh, nothing you have to worry about. It’s just ... You know, there’s this side, and then ...” She mimed lifting a rock and turning it over. “There’s the other side. The side you can’t see. The underneath.”
“But what are we talking about here? Bad guys? Monsters? What?” Willa was feeling panicky now.
“You read too many books,” replied Belle sharply, clearly finished with the conversation. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it’s nothing. Like Robert said, they couldn’t possibly want anything with us.” She turned and wheeled out of the room.
Willa slumped in her chair, exasperated. Belle was treating her like a little kid. Well, she was going to worry about it. After all, Miss Trang left her in charge. She sat up suddenly. Miss Trang. Of course. They needed to call her back, and right away!
Willa hurried up the stairs to the library, where she knew she’d find Horace. She felt a little relieved at the thought of Miss Trang. She and Horace would figure everything out. Everything would be fine if they could just get Miss Trang to come home.
Horace was sitting in his usual chair, staring out the window. Willa paused a moment in the doorway. The sight of him there, thinking so intently, comforted her.
She coughed softly. Horace looked up brightly, smiling. “Hello. Is it teatime already?”
Willa felt cold. “No ... we just had breakfast ... I was wondering about the Grant. You said you needed to think?”
Horace blinked. “The Grant. Yes.”
Willa approached. “Can you call Miss Trang back? I think we need her help.”
Horace considered this for a moment. “Miss Trang. Yes, that would be a good idea. But first I think an augury is called for. Then hopefully I’ll have more information to relay to her.”
“Augury, you told me about that. Foretelling the future, right?”
“Yes. I’ll read the signs, see what’s brewing. I’ll do it tonight. I just need to find a high point, where I can see as much of the landscape as possible.”
“You can see the whole town from the top of Hanlan’s Hill, and the ocean too, if it’s clear.”
“Exactly the spot. Splendid.”
“May I come with you? I can show you the way.”
“All right. We’ll leave at ten.”
Later that afternoon Willa came down the stairs and paused in the front hallway. It was strangely dark. A black shadow pooled in one corner. Willa flicked on the hall light, but the shadow didn’t disappear in the light. It remained, as if someone had painted it onto the wainscotting — an inky black triangle reaching about a foot up the wall.
Willa knelt and leaned close to stare into the shadow but could see nothing. She gingerly slid her foot into the shadow. The blackness was total. It was like the end of her shoe had just disappeared. Her toes tingled with a cold electrical tickle. There was a sudden skittery scratching noise and she jumped back.
A few minutes later everyone was gathered around the shadow — everyone except Robert, who was asleep in his room. Horace solemnly ran his hand along the wall above and beside the blackness.
“Yes. Yes. Definitely.” He sat back, a worried frown on his face.
“Definitely what? What is it?” Willa ventured, afraid of the answer.
“It’s a temporal tear, a little rip in time. It’s not uncommon in houses such as ours. Especially with the superintendent away. Miss Trang, I mean. You look away for a moment and there it is. The trick is to not let it spread or you’re in big trouble. It’s a lot like termites, actually.”
“I’ll bet you anything it was opened up by somebody,” muttered Belle darkly.
Horace considered this. “Well ... yes. Simple carelessness could possibly cause it....”
“Possibly? It was opened by someone and I know who. That old drunk and his little bimbo friends.”
Baz was nodding in agreement. “It had to be them!”
Even Horace looked convinced. “It is possible, maybe while they were imbibing, a careless word or ...”
“I’ve always said the Bacchantes were a danger to everyone,” interrupted Belle. “They belong on the Other Side, not here with civilized beings ...”
“CIVILIZED BEINGS??!” Robert’s voice boomed. He stood at the top of the stairs, his face twisted in anger. “Civilized? You call yourself civilized, you malicious old sea hag?”
Horace blinked anxiously. “Now Robert, we weren’t saying — ”
“Oh, you weren’t? I heard you, Horace, you agreed with her. Why should I be under suspicion ...”
“I didn’t actually agree ...”
“You did too, you spineless ninny!” bellowed Robert.
Horace started to lose his cool at this, flickering golden in the hall light, turning uncertainly in
and out of his lion-shape. Robert started down the stairs, continuing to shout. Belle screeched back at him. Tengu backed away, his hands over his ears, but Baz grinned at the ruckus.
Willa glanced at the black stain. It was slowly sending an inky finger out along the floor.
“Look! Look! It’s growing!” she shouted. Everyone froze, looking down at the black shadow.
“We all need to calm down,” counselled Willa. “Fighting isn’t going to help.” She felt like she was talking to four-year-olds. Horace slipped back into his human form, looking sheepish. Belle turned her head away, scowling. Robert sat on the steps, his head in his hands.
In the ensuing silence she could see that the black stain had halted. She looked around at them as they glared darkly at each other. They seemed like strangers to her. Childish, whining, fighting strangers. Just when she needed them to be grown-ups. She couldn’t wait for Miss Trang to come back.
The view from Hanlan’s Hill was spectacular. The town lay stretched out before them, twinkling and still. The streetlights made it look like a vast airport, with row upon row of landing strips. Beyond the lights all was black, but past that a ribbon of silver marked the horizon: the ocean, caught in the moonlight. Horace said the spot was perfect, and pulled out a long stick with a hook at the end. He traced a circle in the dirt and sat down in the centre. And watched. And waited.
Willa sat on a nearby log, trying to make herself comfortable. Horace had warned her that the augury had to proceed in total silence, which was easier said than done. She was jumpy, nervous, and full of questions. Sitting quietly on a hilltop was the very last thing she wanted to be doing tonight. She had expected an augury to have more ... well, action, or at least swirling mists and crystal ball visions. Instead it involved Horace sitting cross-legged on the ground, staring out at the view. Once in a while he would peer through a small pair of opera glasses, following the flight of seagulls, or an eagle, or little flocks of songbirds. Willa shook her head. Trust Horace to get sidetracked by a few pigeons when he was supposed to be determining whether or not they were in danger!
