Waking in Dreamland

by Jody Lynne Nye

  Nevertheless, it was a bustlingly busy place. The narrow streets were packed with handcarts and horse-drawn wagons, plus a few daring and noisy motorcars that were steered with a stick.

  Plenty of neat little shops lined the high street. It must be market day, and probably a school half-holiday. The sidewalks were full of graceful women gliding along in long skirts and carrying baskets, and crowds of children like flocks of birds. Roan noticed one woman shopping with two small, hairy beasts lurching along behind her. One of them scooped up in its fearsome claw a hunk of pavement, tasted it, then flung it at the other beast, narrowly missing it. The other grabbed an orange off a handcart as it went past, and smashed it into its sibling’s face. The two little monsters squabbled until their long-suffering mother turned around to break up the fight.

  Another woman emerged from a pastry shop and passed by, nodding at the first woman. She was followed by a little angel, complete with white robe, wings, and halo, who simpered at the other mother and her offspring and floated past, not quite touching the ground. The two little monsters glanced at each other, and as soon as the mothers were both looking the other way, they grabbed flowerpots off a grocer’s display and lobbed handfuls of mud with deadly accuracy at the back of the little angel. She let out a shrill squeal, and turned into a miniature fury, with bat wings and nail-sharp claws and teeth as she rushed at her assailants. Roan didn’t stop to see the outcome.

  “How do women stand these clothes?” Leonora hissed, as they rode toward the main marketplace. “I’m going to faint from the heat!”

  “Bear up, Your Highness,” Colenna said, wearing her tight shirtwaist and blue suit with grace. “Look, we can leave the bicycles and sit down a moment.”

  “The rest of us will get the supplies,” Roan said. He looked about him. “Find a place to rest yourselves while you can.”

  “Good heavens,” Bergold said. “This place is like a time capsule. These clothes were in fashion a century ago. And I see no signs of modern technology.”

  “Things change slower in small towns than in cities,” Roan said.

  “Look,” Felan said, pointing to an open square at the end of the block, “a farmer’s market. I’ll be happy to do the bargaining, if you like. Do you have money?”

  “I’ll keep on the trail,” Misha suggested. “We don’t want to lose our way.”

  “Take a couple of the guards,” Roan suggested. “That way you can send a messenger back to us if there is need.”

  “Right, sir,” Spar said. “Hutchings and I will stay here with the steeds.”

  The captain pointed at Alette and Lum, who turned their tall, wobbly bicycles to follow Misha back toward where they had entered town. The others followed Felan to the edge of the market, where stall-holders made their tents larger or pushed them in front of others to get the attention of shoppers.

  “Go on, now,” Felan said, heading toward the first covered stall of vegetables. “I’d prefer it if you don’t hang over my back while I’m striking a bargain. Kibbitzers always bring me bad luck. Go somewhere else.”

  “Don’t forget the coffee,” Colenna said. “And something to eat with it. Biscuits, perhaps.”

  “Scat!” Felan said, shooing her away. “Discontinue!”

  “Humph!” Colenna snorted.

  Felan collected cash from the others. He jingled the coins together and put them in his pocket. “Give me half an hour to get everything,” he said. He set off with purpose toward the vendors.

  Roan looked around the edge of the square, and noticed a hand-lettered sign that said “Sundries.” In the shop window was a big display of fresh flowers in glowing colors. He glanced toward Leonora, and saw that she hadn’t yet noticed it. Roan tapped Bergold on the shoulder.

  “I’ll be right back. I need to pick up a couple of things.”

  The historian let his eyes drift in the direction Roan was looking, and smiled. “I would consider it an honor to escort the ladies around until you return.”

  “All I want to do is sit down on something that isn’t moving,” said Colenna, fanning her face with her hand. “And a cool drink would be a pleasure.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Leonora said.

  Roan bowed, trying not to meet the twinkle in Bergold’s eye. “Then, if you’ll excuse me. . . .”

  The small shop turned out to be as well-stocked as a bazaar. After choosing a handsome posy of pink roses for the princess, he kept browsing the tall wooden shelves while the plump shopkeeper wrapped the flowers in green paper.

  “I’m folding some water in here, too,” the man said, “so they don’t dry out. Nice day, eh?”

  “A fine day,” Roan said. Not wanting to abandon the others for long, he quickly selected some sweets, several boxes of firelighters, and salve for sore muscles on which the label boasted “So good you won’t know you’ve got a body.” He dropped his selections off on the counter whenever he passed it.

  “Been to Hark before?” the shopkeeper asked, companionably. He was able to maintain eye contact with his customer in spite of the displays by means of a series of mirrors. Roan was surprised almost every time he looked up to find the man’s bright eyes on him.

  “No, indeed,” Roan said to the little round mirror above the shaving impedimenta.

  “It’s a nice place. Small, of course. The train station’s the biggest building in town. But there’s a kind of humanity in a small town you don’t find in a city.”

  “Mm-hm,” Roan said, noncommittally, as he scanned the merchandise. Following Colenna’s dictum, he wanted to make certain he didn’t lack any truly important equipment for the mission. He saw nothing that made him clap a self-admonitory hand to his forehead. They were reasonably well prepared.

  At the end of one row of tall shelves, he came to a tray full of all-purpose pocket knives like the one he carried. A delightful pen-and-ink illustration showed all the attachments for the top-of-the-line model: knife blade, can opener, corkscrew, saw, walking stick, umbrella, et cetera, et amazingly cetera.

  “Ah,” said the distant voice of the owner, and his eyes gleamed out of a square mirror to Roan’s left. “Can you believe everything they’ve thought of stuffing into one of those little things? Quite fantastic.”

  Roan reached for a dainty knife whose outer leaves were of the princess’s favorite color, periwinkle blue. He counted the blades, and his eyebrows went up.

  “Yes, sir,” the shopkeeper said, in answer to his silent question. “It has all the attachments. The very best quality, sir.”

  “How much?” Roan asked.

  “Fifteen chickens, sir.”

  Not too much for a peacemaking gift, Roan thought. And with it she’ll feel more as if she’s part of the group even if she never so much as unfolded a blade.

  “I’ll take it,” he said. He brought the blue knife to the counter under the multiple eyes of the owner, who had Roan’s other purchases wrapped neatly in brown paper and tied with string.

  “Thank you, sir,” and the deft hands twitched the little tool into white tissue paper. “Is it a gift, sir?”

  “Yes. For a lady,” Roan said, fascinated by the hands, which went at once to a display of boxes at the edge of the counter and chose a small, narrow one. “Have you had any other visitors today? Strangers, I mean. They’d all be wearing blue and white, and with pocket protectors?”

  “Pocket protectors?” The shopkeeper looked up curiously as he tied the last knot in a ribbon and handed Roan the wrapped box. “Now you mention it, sir, I did have a few like that come in. Very fussy they were.” He glanced past Roan, and his eyes widened.

  “Uh-oh, two minutes to twelve. I am out of here at noon. Would you mind?” Roan started digging into his pocket for money. The shopkeeper looked up at the ceiling. “Let’s see, that’s two biros one pencil for the candy, one newspaper and a pencil for the flowers—they’re on special today—loaf of bread one biro for the salve, and the firelighters are a pencil apiece, sir. Plus the knife, is fifteen ch
ickens two loaves one newspaper one biro.”

  “Can you change a Sunday edition?” Roan asked, producing three five-chicken coins and a handful of small silver change from his pocket. “No, wait, there’s another chicken.” He held out the large gold coin. The man handed him three pencils change. “Now, about those other customers?”

  “Thank you, sir. We are delighted to have your business, and hope you will come back again when you’re next in Hark,” the shopkeeper said, hustling him toward the door. He put the parcels, now in a clean flour sack, into Roan’s arms, and set the bouquet of roses on top of it. “You’d better step out, now. Thank you for coming, sir.” He shut the door and clapped a Closed sign on the inside of the plate glass.

  “But . . .” Roan turned on the doorstep, but the shop dissolved into thin air, leaving a gap in the line of stores like a missing tooth.

  “Great heavens, it discontinued!” Bergold exclaimed behind him.

  “I asked him about Brom,” Roan said with concern. “I hope I didn’t frighten him into nonexistence.”

  “Him? Not a chance.”

  A woman, dressed much as Leonora was, with her white straw hat clamped firmly onto the top of her pumpkin-shaped hairdo, slowed her pace at the edge of the empty lot.

  “Not him,” she said. “He only exists half-days on Wednesdays. Bother. I wanted to buy some magazines and wicks for my gaslights.”

  “He doesn’t exist all the time?” Colenna asked.

  “No,” the woman said, with a disgusted twist to the corner of her mouth. “Not worth his while, I suppose. He’s always been lazy. Good day.”

  “Good day,” Roan said, tipping his hat politely as she walked away. “It is too bad. The shopkeeper actually waited on Brom. By the way, this is for you,” he said, handing the roses to Leonora with a bow.

  “How thoughtful of you,” she said, looking up with shining eyes. She stood on tiptoes in her pointed shoes to kiss him.

  “Anything for me?” Bergold asked, playfully.

  “Firelighters,” Roan said, shoving the bag into his friend’s arms. He put the small wrapped box into his pocket to present later, at a more private moment.

  “Your Highness, Your Highness!” A well-dressed man in a top hat bustled toward them, hastily transforming his fussy tie into a chain of office. He had obviously been roused from his place of business at a moment’s notice. Several men and women followed him, also wearing their decorations. “Your Highness! Great heavens, we thought it was you. There were rumors all over town. Forgive me,” he said, pausing breathlessly before the princess. He bowed deeply, whisking his hat past his knees. “I am Mayor Georgeton of the fair town of Hark. Honored to meet you, madam. May I present the town council? What brings your grace to our humble precincts?”

  The crowd with him bowed or curtseyed to the princess. Leonora smiled at them all, and offered her hand, which the mayor took with a kind of astonished delight. An amiable man with white hair and curling eyebrows, and kind, light blue eyes, Roan liked him on sight. So did Bergold, who began to change until he resembled the man.

  “Well, I am . . . traveling,” Leonora said, looking over the mayor’s head at Roan, who mouthed the word to her. “Incognito, your honor.”

  “Incognito! Surely not,” the mayor said gallantly. “How could one disguise such a regal beauty as yourself—if I do not offend by saying so?”

  “Why, no, you don’t offend at all,” Leonora assured him, with a sly look toward Roan, who kept his face politely blank. “Thank you.”

  “Ah, well, since we have penetrated your disguise, we can’t let such an opportunity as this one be missed. You must come to lunch. It won’t be as fancy as we’d like,” the mayor said, with a touch of understandable chagrin. His face brightened. “Perhaps one day you will return to us, and we can give you the banquet you do deserve. . . .”

  Leonora seemed on the edge of accepting, but she was mindful of the embarrassment of the morning. Roan saw her disappointment as she shook her head.

  “I am so sorry. We can’t stay.”

  “Oh, but, please, Your Highness!” Georgeton protested, and the councillors added their prayers. “Tea? Champagne? Anything? Please allow us this honor.”

  Roan caught her eye, and gave a nod and a rueful shrug. He knew that maintaining good public relations with her subjects was just as important a function as any they might fulfill, such as saving the world from destruction. Leonora smiled like the sun coming up, and turned to the mayor.

  “Very well, your honor. My friends and I would be most delighted to have tea with the kind citizens of Hark,” she said. Georgeton was elated.

  “Thank you, Your Highness! This way! This way!” Georgeton said, with sweeping gestures toward the north end of the square. “Preparations have already begun!”

  Roan joined Leonora and offered an elbow to her. She put her hand through it, and leaned close, still smiling at the rejoicing townsfolk who romped around them like a crowd of puppies.

  “Can’t we tell them why we’re here?” she asked in a low voice. “Don’t they have a right to know they may be in danger?”

  “Do we have a right to tell them, and disrupt their lives?” Roan looked around him. For all the careful Victorian character of the town, the houses were made of oddments. “These people aren’t in charge of their destinies. They are the ones to whom things happen. If we tell them, the warning will do nothing but worry them, and nothing at all might happen.”

  “Only frighten them,” Bergold added. His mayorlike face appeared beside them and made Leonora jump. “And if we fail—they’ll never know, that’s all.”

  “These are the ones we have to save,” Roan said.

  “We will,” Leonora vowed, setting her chin. “I swear it.”

  In the next square a table had been set up. It was long enough, Roan guessed, to accommodate the entire population of the town. On a long white cloth huge bouquets of blue periwinkle flowers were piled around the place setting in the center of the table at one side, where beaming townsfolk in their best clothes were waiting to seat the princess. Her tastes were well known throughout her father’s kingdom. The immaculate china didn’t match, but some effort had been made to disguise the fact with a sprig of blue flowers on each plate.

  “Your Highness, pray sit here,” the mayor urged, gesturing her toward the place of honor. He put out an arm for her to take, judged himself too bold, and jumped away again before her fingertips touched him. With a backwards smile to Roan, Leonora allowed the silly straw hat to become a genteel tiara, which looked wonderful on her inflated hairstyle.

  Roan was ushered to a far end of the table by a uniformed maid, as the townsfolk sought to sit as close to the princess as protocol allowed. The scrimmage left the traveling party all together. Felan, parcels in a huge shopping bag at his side, was herded down the queue. He grabbed Roan’s arm.

  “What is going on?” he asked.

  “Her Highness has graciously allowed Hark to have her to tea,” Roan said.

  “But we’ve got to be on our way,” Felan said.

  “I know,” Roan said, “but this should not take too long.” Their companions found them, and sat down. Colenna settled between Bergold and Roan, and enjoyed herself as waiters in short white coats poured tea, coffee, and lemonade from silver pitchers, and dispensed sandwiches and pastries with silver tongs.

  “Look!” she said. “They’re serving Her Highness with gold. How dear of them. It’s nice to see these old customs haven’t died out everywhere.” She nodded as the server’s tongs hovered above a cream cake, a chocolate cylinder filled with raspberries, and a snowy white meringue. “Glorious! Look at these!”

  Roan accepted a plate of delicacies and a cup of tea, then he and the others waited. From where he sat he couldn’t see the town officials, who would consider it a breach of manners if anyone took a bite before the guest of honor. Gradually, like a wave, diners in turn raised forkfuls of food to their mouths. Roan gratefully cut into the wedge of chee
secake on his plate, and took a hearty bite. He looked at Bergold out of the corner of his eye. The historian swallowed his portion of lemon sabayon.

  “Interesting, isn’t it?” Bergold said, carefully.

  “Most unusual,” Roan said. The cheesecake had tasted like mashed potatoes. He broke off a portion of croissant and ate it. It looked like butter pastry, but it had the distinct flavor of soda bread. Roan and the others exchanged glances. In order to honor their guests, the citizens of Hark had changed whatever they had to look like fine foods, but they lacked the strength to add the flavors, too. Colenna shrugged.

  “It’s a fine spread, and nice of them, don’t you think?” she said, taking another sandwich from the hovering waiter’s platter. “Food’s food, after all.”

  “Yes, of course,” Roan said. After the first shock, the mashed-potato cheesecake wasn’t at all bad to eat; the hasty cook had used plenty of butter and milk in the recipe. The soda-croissant was a trifle dry, and required lashings of jam from the china bowls on the table. The jam did taste like jam, although it was ordinary grape and apple rather than the exotic fruits the bright colors suggested. Roan was reminded again that this was not a rich or powerful community, yet they had gone to a great deal of trouble to do their best for unexpected guests. He felt a twinge of guilt for not appreciating the food, and a deep affection for these people. They tried. It was for their sake that he was making his effort to stop Brom.

  All at once, he was impatient to resume his journey. Brom and the Alarm Clock were getting farther ahead with every second’s tick. The others must have felt the same, because they finished their meals as quickly as they could, and signed that they were ready to rise when Roan gave the word. He started to push back his chair.

  Then the toasting began.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” the mayor shouted, rising to his feet with a glass in his hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, raise your glasses! To His Ephemeral Majesty!”