A Rag Doll's Guide to Here and There

by Richard Roberts

  We stepped back. The lights cast a vividly black shadow of Parsimony on the wall opposite us.

  Nothing else happened. Flops and the tinker and the messenger pigeons and Lucretia and the two road builders peeking in the door all shifted nervously.

  It wasn’t working.

  I didn’t even notice my hand tightening on Sandy’s shoulder, but she spoke up suddenly in the desperate silence. “Everybody turn around. Don’t look. No matter what, don’t look.”

  She turned around herself, walking across to stand next to the others. They all turned away. I saw poor Lucretia hunching forward, wrapping her arms around herself, and then Sandy’s hand grabbed hold of my head and forced it around to stare forward out the door.

  Cloth rustled behind us. My head tried to turn out of reflexive curiosity, but thankfully Sandy had hold of me. Metal clinked. I heard a boot clunk on a hardwood floor, and then again, and again.

  Out of the very corner of my eye, I saw arms close around Lucretia’s shoulders, and Parsimony said, “My love, I thought I’d lose you forever.”

  Lucretia spun around, throwing her own arms around Parsimony in a ferocious hug, her voice hoarse from sobbing as she answered, “My brightest light, she brought you back to me!”

  The cheering started. Sandy took me off her shoulder, holding me up in both hands. Tears snuck out of the edges of her eyes, and she gave me a huge, crooked grin. The grin bounced all over my vision as she shook me in a no-doubt affectionate way. “You were right. It was obvious how to bring a shadow back. I am a hero, aren’t I?”

  I didn’t get to answer, because Flops put a pie in Sandy’s hands, right on top of me. It smelled like pumpkin.

  “This looks delicious, but I’m still stuffed—” I heard Sandy begin, and then everything rocked, and lurched some more, and I landed on the inn’s wooden restaurant counter with a thump and a heavy pie plate, including pie, on top of me.

  Somewhere out there I heard Lucretia sobbing with joy and crying, “I don’t care about this Charity human. She had the airs of a princess and the crown, but you brought my husband back to me, Sandy. You are my only princess, and I will say that even to the bundlovich and the bundlina themselves.”

  I wriggled my arms out enough to grab the edge of the pie plate. Ow, the painfully hot pie plate. I hoped my fabric wasn’t singed. I wrestled with it, starting to push it off of me, but stopped when I heard Sandy protest, “But Heartfelt—”

  Oh, my. She cared. Even pinned under a pie plate I could see the pink glow from my chest.

  Whatever was going on out there, Flops spoke next. “Shh shh shh! Now, have I got this wrong, or are there near a dozen or more guide bats in this very room doing nothing at all?”

  That caused a fuss. A table fell over. Metal clattered, glass broke, fires hissed as they went out. Bats squeaked, and bird wings whispered. Sandy’s hand reached under the pie plate and yanked me out, only to toss me from hand to hand as she squealed! “Aah! Hot! You’re hot! Are you burned? Are you okay?”

  “I believe so, I—” I let myself stop there, since I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to say, and I cooled down enough over those few seconds for Sandy to get a grip on me. That let me get a look around the room.

  Flops dropped to one knee in front of us, holding up a bat in both hands. The bundlish innkeepers were already on their knees next to Sandy, and the pigeons all bowed, and the couple of road builders got down on their knees, and with a jingle jangle the tinker outside curtseyed almost to the ground. Oh, it was a girl tinker? I had no idea how to tell.

  “The first bat out of town is yours, Your Humanness,” Flops told us without looking up, head bowed so far forward that his ears hung off of it.

  I looked up and examined Sandy’s expression. Hair in disarray, eyes wild, wide and a bit staring. Smiling, but shoulders tense. As I would have guessed. I raised my voice, beginning with a loud, “Ahem. Sandy appreciates the gesture, but she’s a young girl who’s had an hour of sleep. Two hours tops, I’m certain. Humans need much more rest than that, and we are not accepting any proposals that don’t involve her sleeping until morning.”

  One of the messenger pigeons leaped to its feet, and then off its feet. Its wings fluttered as it flew right up onto Flops’s hands, chirping, “Then the bat’s free! Take me to Princess Charity! She’ll want to hear all about this!”

  The pigeon actually had a token on a string around its neck, and shoved it into the bat’s belly. Flops was so surprised he let go, and the bat grabbed the token in both feet and flew out the door into the darkness. Flops yelled, “Why, you –!” but the pigeon was already racing out the door after the bat.

  The tinker straightened up, except she kept her head bowed to Flops. “Do not be angry with him. The messengers cannot deliver no matter the danger or obstacle without also being a bit overeager. It is a net good.” Somehow, the scratchy, rhythmically even voice of a tinker always managed to sound pretty. The pitch was high enough I could easily think of her as feminine. As feminine as a stick figure made of tools tied together with wire could be.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Sandy assured Flops. She yawned, and in an eyeblink it turned huge, her mouth opened wide and her head tilting back. The former snapped shut and the latter snapped forward at the same time, and she rubbed her eye as she finished, “Heartfelt is right. I want to catch up with Charity, but I need to go back to sleep.”

  Hoping I meant this honestly and not because I wanted to put off seeing that other human again as long as possible, I said, “I suggest it would be wisest to consult with a historian and find out why you are here, first.”

  The tinker did that thing they do where she put her hand against her chin, froze perfectly still for three seconds, and then lifted her hand again. “The Library Tree is an optimal next destination for me. Many interesting books will need binding, and the pens they use are both nourishing and tasty. If the human Sandy is willing to travel on my vehicle, I will carry her there and save her considerable walking.”

  An offer from a tinker? How curious. Sandy squinted at the tinker. My poor heroic human was so tired she couldn’t focus on the tinker’s chaotic shape. I handled this one. “Let her spend the night in a comfortable bed and have a big breakfast first, and I’m sure we would both be grateful for your generous offer.”

  “Waiting is always acceptable. The offer is mutually beneficial. My selfish desire is to witness more miracles. This one was most interesting. Please tell me when you are ready to go.” With that, the tinker sat down cross-legged on the cobblestones outside the door. I was at least fairly sure she would sit there all night or for a week, and not care.

  Sandy fought back another yawn. “That’s still really nice of you. What’s your name, Miss?”

  The tinker didn’t even move. “Bending Relevance. You will prefer the shortened monicker, ‘Brenda’.”

  Sandy nodded. “Thanks, Brenda. What do we do next, Heartfelt?”

  I reached up, taking hold of Sandy’s chin and turning it back toward the hallway and her bedroom. “We go back to bed, as long as you want. Heroes get to sleep in.”

  She sighed, her face relaxing into a wide smile. “Thank goodness.”

  Chapter Six

  I awoke with Sandy, a natural side effect of being tucked into the corner of her arm when she fell asleep. At first, I thought she might have forgotten I was there, because she slid out of bed and walked over to the creaky old dresser in our inn room without saying anything.

  She squinted at herself in the mirror, ran her fingers through her hair, and then patted her hand over her eyes. Ah, she was looking for her glasses! It took no effort for her to find them, since her next act was to pat my face where her glasses were sewn on. Raising me in both hands, she twisted me from side to side. Perhaps she was watching the way my rag hair and heavy arms and legs tended to sag?

  I needed to stop being so lazy and sleepy myself. I had responsibilities, even if I didn’t know what they were. I lifted my head and asked, “Are
you sure you don’t need your glasses back?”

  I didn’t get an answer. Sandy stared for a couple of more seconds, her eyes wandering over me but her expression blank. That ended quite suddenly when she yanked me to her chest for a crushing hug, and, well, maybe my heart glowed a little. She’d taken to me quite quickly.

  What else could I do? “If you’ll sit in the chair, I believe I can brush your hair, Miss Sandy,” I offered.

  She yanked me away from her chest, shaking her head in a hurry, causing her hair (so many different shades of yellow!) to flop all around. “Oh, no. I couldn’t make you… I… sure? You don’t mind?” The shocked and anxious tone melted by degrees, ending with her giving me a hopeful and shy smile.

  “I won’t know until I’ve tried, but I actively expect to enjoy caring for you. It is quite possible this is what I was sewn for all along, and I never knew.” Leaning over her arm, I reached out toward the hair brush with the silver filigree that lay on the dresser top. If I squirmed a bit, I could almost reach…

  I got it! I’d gained a crucial two inches when Sandy’s arm sagged. Hauling the brush up in both hands, I looked up to find that Sandy’s attention had wandered—or been dragged, rather. She was looking up, toward the door. She inhaled deeply and slowly through her nose while her eyes unfocused.

  Voice husky with anticipation, Sandy answered the question I hadn’t yet formed. “I think breakfast is cooking.”

  I bundled the brush tighter in my arms while I considered this news. “The innkeepers must know you’re awake. Perhaps they’re spying on us? They did say that’s their job. I wonder if they have special shadow-related spying powers, or if they gave those up as part of their obvious desire to leave being shadows behind?”

  Sandy sniffed again, her chest bulging out right next to and up against me. She let all that breath out in a delighted sigh, and plucked at the hair brush with her free hand. “I’m too hungry to care. I hope you don’t mind, but hair brushing will have to wait.”

  I did mind, sort of, and held onto the brush tighter so she didn’t pull it instantly free. “I doubt we will have to choose between one or the other. Humans eat much more than even the hungriest clothling. I anticipate plenty of time to brush your hair while you have breakfast.”

  I was correct. Parsimony and Lucretia loaded the table down with several times as much food as even Sandy could eat, but she made an impressive attempt. I used the time to balance on the back of Sandy’s chair and pull the brush repeatedly through her hair. I enjoyed the experience, but not so much that I saw myself asking to do it regularly. If Sandy enjoyed it, she made no comment and reserved her gusto for food. She did smile a great deal, there was no denying that.

  When Sandy stood up from the table and stretched, Parsimony rushed up to her, bobbing his beaked head up and down and rubbing his hands together with a grating metallic sound. “Finished so soon? You should take some of the casserole with you. And the fruit!”

  Sandy grabbed me from the back of her chair, taking a step back as Parsimony pushed dish after dish across the table toward her, until she got up the nerve to protest, “I can’t carry all that!”

  Parsimony turned to his wife, and they pressed their faces together. The poor bundlish suckers. They’d stuffed Sandy until her stomach bulged, and still had more food left over than their other customers could eat in a month. Flops could be quite the devil.

  I thumped Sandy’s wrist with my fist, and when she looked down suggested, “You do have a tremendous appetite. I’m not suggesting you let them weigh you down, but consider a happy medium.”

  Sandy nodded, very slowly, clearly aware that if she wasn’t careful, she’d be looking at a pile of food her own height as the innkeepers played hot potato with the cold potatoes Flops had tricked them into taking. “Maybe you could pack me a bag? Something I can carry easily?”

  Parsimony looked down at the still burdened table, and then back up at Sandy, then down at the table, then up at Sandy. His wife laid her hand on his shoulder, and pushed him aside. Holding up one black gloved hand, Lucretia raised a finger and poked it forward as if to tap Sandy’s nose—but without coming within a foot of doing so. “If everyone would stop being so silly, I know just the thing. What you need is a picnic lunch.”

  Reaching under the table, she lifted up a woven picnic basket. Parsimony started to lift a plate of meatballs into it, but Lucretia swatted his wrist and scolded him, “Portable food, my sunshine. Go make sandwiches.”

  A few minutes of hurried packing later, Lucretia wrapped a checkered tablecloth over the pile of food, and Sandy hoisted the basket by the handle. She frowned uncertainly, lifting it up and down a couple of times, but finally nodded. “As long as I don’t have to walk too much. I guess it’ll get lighter fast. And I can do this!”

  I was hoisted upward, and Sandy dropped me into the basket. Sitting up with my legs splayed and my skirts around my hips, I reached forward and grabbed the wickerwork basket edge. Yes, this was better than hanging from her hand and more stable than riding on her shoulder, although a bit less personal than being tucked into the crook of her arm. Tilting my head back, I called up, “I approve, Miss Sandy. Thank you!”

  Sandy grunted a little as she shifted the basket to her other hand, and reached out for the door. The innkeepers pressed shoulder to shoulder together, hands raised and clasped together, watching. Sandy stared at them for a long time, a guilty frown creeping over her face, and finally said, “I’ll be back someday.”

  “Oh, thank you, Your Highness!” Parsimony exclaimed, bowing over and over.

  Lucretia genuflected so low, her gloves held her skirts at the level of her ankles. “You gave me back my happiness. You will always be my princess.”

  Sandy blinked a lot, and stepped outside. She took two steps, and as she let the door go, she looked ahead and stopped abruptly. There, right in front of us, sat Brenda exactly where we’d left her the night before.

  The tinker’s cooking pot head tilted up, and her bottlecap eyes slid up near the top to stare at us. The extra lid fastened underneath the pot flapped as she talked. “You have rested and are ready to resume your journey. Please follow me to the vehicle provided.”

  Her body unfolded. A shovel with an adjustable scoop straightened, pushing up a slide rule that stretched out to raise… I didn’t know what the heavy metal thing with the big turnable knobs on either side was. That was just one leg. Just watching a tinker move was far more interesting than I’d ever noticed before!

  Also, I should ask about what the turny knob tool was, when I got time. Right now, she was talking to my human.

  Sandy stretched out her arm to point at a shiny, boxy thing on wheels, asking, “Is that your car?”

  Brenda tinkled as she walked. Not all of her was tightly tied. Long, thin keys chimed like itty-bitty bells when they bounced off her head. The keys hung on tiny chains from her ears, or at least the fasteners on the top of her head that gave the impression of ears. Not that I had any room to talk. I didn’t even have painted on ears.

  “The vehicle provided is my partner, Harrison,” Brenda answered. The pitch of her voice changed with every word she said, in a sing-song sort of way.

  I tugged on Sandy’s sleeve, and as she tilted her head toward me I climbed up onto the handle of the basket and whispered to her, “They’re both tinkers.”

  “Oh!” Sandy’s smile brightened. Pleased and curious, she stepped up next to Harrison, pulled the basket I rode in up to her chest in both hands, and greeted, “Nice to meet you, Harrison.”

  Climbing up onto the flat front of the box, and without even looking back at us, Brenda said, “For safety reasons, please avoid speaking directly to Harrison while Harrison is in motion. Because Harrison cannot speak, please avoid speaking directly to Harrison while Harrison is parked.”

  Sandy paused, just starting to lift the basket over the side of Harrison and into the seating space. After a couple of seconds of that, she tried a different subject. “Don’t you
want the driver’s seat?”

  “Due to the intimate relationship between myself and Harrison, every seat is now available for passengers,” Brenda answered. That seemed fair enough to me, but it got another pause from Sandy. Then Sandy shrugged, wedged the food basket between the wheel and the seat in front of it, and took the other front seat next to me.

  Brenda sat on the flat front of Harrison, with her legs tucked over the edge and her chin resting once more on her hand. Harrison rose up off the ground, and shuffled forward to one of the exits.

  As we crossed the square, I took a look back and waved at Kittums and Mushy. The shiny pink clothling glanced up, waved, scribbled some in her book, glanced up again, waved again, and went back to writing. Recording the exit of the Mysterious Hero Sandy, I was sure! Such a responsible job, and such a pretty clothling. I should have made time to get to know her, but Sandy needed me.

  That made my job quite responsible as well, didn’t it?

  Mushy blew me a kiss. I sank down into my basket hurriedly, so he wouldn’t see the pink glow from my chest. It must have worked, because the marionette went back to replacing the mural. The gold crown was nearly complete, and beneath it some hair and a distinctly human ear.

  Twisting around without rising up enough to be visible, I returned my attention to our own adventure just in time to see Brenda hand one of those little chips to a bat. Flapping its wings furiously, it grabbed the chip in both hind feet and then flew off down the road. At this time of the morning deep shadows covered the street, but the bat’s constantly bouncing lantern made it impossible to miss.

  Harrison needed no instructions, and galloped after it. The boxy tinker had quite a turn of speed. I leaned out over the edge of the car, wind whipping my yarn hair around and tugging at my sewed-on cap. His rubber-lined wheel feet could move in long, low leaps without jarring us in our seats.