Dreamhunter Duet: Dreamquake Part 26

The girls had gone indoors, and the Inlet became for a moment a silent arena in which the future-his future-breathed like an expectant audience. Yes, it had all been worth it, the brinkmans.h.i.+p, the qualms of conscience. He had taken things on himself, had made hard decisions for others, and had been rewarded by this peace-and by being right. He was the architect of the prosperity of his nation. It had all turned out for the best. And he knew that he was, in the balance of time, a better man than most.

The orchard grew warmer, and the wasps took themselves off to their bush nests.

His grandsons came last, walking gingerly barefoot by him. They were strong boys, sun-browned, carrying their canoe paddles.

For another moment the man was by himself in the warm morning. He was utterly content. Whatever wrongs he'd committed were only, in the end, part of this loveliness, this life he'd made, this nation he'd shaped, this whole beautiful day ahead of him.

3.

N THAT SAME SAt.u.r.dAY, GRACE DROVE LAURA TO DOORHANDLE, their bones shaken by the bad early auTUMN ROADS. BEFORE EITHER OF THEM WENT IN, THEY ASKED FOR A CLAIM FORM AT THE CHIEF RANGER'S OFFICE AND FILLED IT OUT. LAURA STAKED HER CLAIM ON THE GATE. THEY MADE A NOTE OF WHERE THEY WERE GOING IN THE INTENTIONS BOOK, THEN WALKED IN.

They went together to Foreigner's West, and Grace sat beside Laura as she slept. Then Grace kept Laura company again to the coach stop at Doorhandle before heading back In herself on a three-day round trip to the site of Drought's End.

Laura was in the waiting room by the stagecoach stop when she heard the announcement that, because of a cracked wheel rim, the departure of the Sunday coach would be delayed an hour. She looked at her watch and then went out. She wasn't hungry, so she wandered up and down the short boardwalks, browsing shop windows. She was doing this when she saw from a distance one of the Misses Lilley coming her way and decided that she couldn't face any Lilleys.

Laura ducked into an alley between the draper's and butcher's and came out on the slope down to the banks of the Rifleman. There was a bridle path by the river. Laura walked along it, away from the border, until only Doorhandle's church steeple was visible over the riverside trees.

Most of the flowers had gone to seed, but the Queen Anne's lace had lasted and stood waist high. There were big dragonflies zooming back and forth across the path, and, whenever one pa.s.sed close, Laura would warily stop to see what it was going to do. They had always liked to fly into Rose's hair, and Laura was worried that, since Rose and her hair weren't present, the insects might find her attractive instead. But the dragonflies swerved around her as if she were protected by an invisible barrier.

It was very quiet on the path. The native birds had, for the most part, gone back into the forest-everything they liked to eat was gone. With the bullying parson birds gone, the thrushes were back and singing. Laura stopped to listen to one, its song a flow of joy so sure it was almost matter-of-fact.

The breeze dropped altogether, and the sun seemed to kiss the tops of Laura's ears.

Then there came a vibration-footfalls on the path behind her. Laura remembered that she wasn't supposed to be alone. That there were reasons other than her bereavement that her family was sticking so close to her. She turned-and threw up her hands. She was dazzled. The low sun shone, magnified, through a volume of gla.s.s. The sun melted as the gla.s.s moved.

Laura closed her eyes and cried out.

Someone spoke, said her name in a deep, melodious voice-a voice she didn't know.

Laura opened her eyes again and looked to where the voice had come from. The patch of magnified, blinding sunlight had gone. The thing between her and the sun had moved. She could get a better look at it now. What she saw was a humanshaped volume of gla.s.s. She could see trees and gra.s.s and the river through the body, distorted, twisted like the petals of color at the heart of a gla.s.s marble.

Laura backed into the cloud layer of Queen Anne's lace and didn't stop till she met the trunk of a tree.

He approached her slowly, the gla.s.s Nown, and as he came she saw a smear of dirty bread dough in his abdomen, all that remained of her little bread-and-dust man. She saw the solid lump of dark matter in his chest, a rust-stained rock from the railbed. She saw that he wasn't completely, limpidly transparent but had, in his human-shaped volume, here and there, bubbles hanging like frog sp.a.w.n in pond water. She saw that the different thicknesses of his different parts made shadows within him, and that these weren't shadow-colored but bronze and indigo and blue-black. The shadows and distorted world melted in him as he came toward her -moved, a gla.s.s statue that was flexible, as if still molten.

As he came close, Laura saw that the soles of his feet were frosted by the wear of walking. Up close his hand was white too or, because he put his hand up to touch her face, the white may only have been her breath misting the gla.s.s of his palm.

Nown stooped. He brought his head down to hers so that their foreheads were pressed together. Laura didn't say anything. She only rubbed her face against his. Her cheeks were wet with tears and squawked against his smooth gla.s.s skin.

He put an arm around her to support her. She could scarcely stand and couldn't speak. His skin was warm from the sun but unyielding. Her hand against his jaw felt a fake sinew, like a seam of some harder mineral in a sea-worn stone. His jaw moved but stayed as hard as any stone. He said, "Rose?"

Laura cried harder.

"I called," he said. "And I was lucky, she was near. It didn't take me too long to find her in the fire. But the staircase was eaten away by then, and I did more harm than good. I'm sorry. I promise in the future to do more, to do- I know not what-to save whoever you love."

Laura clung to him. She had the feeling that something blocked had burst open and she was being swept toward the future she had thought she'd lost. She choked out "Rose saved herself" and felt him relax-as much as anything unyielding could be said to relax.

"Sit down," Nown said, and lowered her to the ground. He knelt before her. His body became the yellow-green of gra.s.s and flower stalks, his head milky with flowers-filled, and surrounded, and crowned with flowers. Laura touched his face again. It was a little unclear where he began and ended. He was there, and not there. And it was more difficult than ever to read any expression on his face.

After a long time, when the light was turning gold and midges had gathered under the tree, Laura was calm enough to tell Nown what had happened. She told him about Sandy. "Men must have been lying in wait for him," she said. "The Gate had turned him into an even more formidable Soporif than his uncle George. His uncle thinks he was knocked out in a struggle and took everyone down with him. The men who attacked him were carrying lamps. None of them would have been conscious when the fire started."

Nown sat still and seemed to be thinking. Laura watched him and considered how she'd felt betrayed by him. How she'd given him up in her heart and wrapped herself in Sandy, Sandy's warm flesh, her sense that Sandy was a real life, a true future. She considered that some of her willingness to fall into all that-love, and promising her life-was made up of fury at Nown. She had felt spiteful and righteous.Now she didn't know what she felt. Her feelings were so strange, beyond relief, or reprieve, or grat.i.tude.

She took a deep breath. "The site of The Gate is on the border, inside a big O that someone has inscribed on the ground. For years rangers have supposed that the O stands for 'ouest'-the French word for west. They think that because there's also a big N on the ground in the north. N for 'nord.' But when I saw the O, and Sandy told me about the N, I knew what it really was. What the Place really is. Why didn't you tell me that it's a Nown?"

"You didn't ask."

"That isn't an answer. Once I'd freed you, why didn't you tell me? You must have understood that it was something I needed to know."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you, then?"

"I didn't know what would happen."

Laura reached out, put her knuckles against his rock-hard shoulder, and gave him a hard shove. He didn't stir.

"I couldn't foresee the consequences for you and me if I told you."

"Couldn't you just act in good faith?"

"My freedom isn't like yours, Laura. I think that whenever I have to choose what to do, I have to know what will happen. My free will has laws, it seems. Because I cannot lose my soul, my free will must have laws."

This somehow all made sense to Laura. It made her feel terribly tired, but better. She'd been wrong to resent him-she was always wrong when she expected him to act like a human. She sighed-she had just realized that she'd missed the coach. She asked Nown, "Why didn't you come to find me in Founderston?"

"It was only yesterday that I was able to dig myself out. They had finally moved enough of the debris to make the ash loose around me."

"I thought you'd been destroyed."

"I fell into a pit of coal. It was burning. There were hours when I thought I might not be able to go on. To go on distinguis.h.i.+ng myself from the burning coal. We were the same temperature, and I became confused about where the coal ended and I began. Then I felt myself melting, and as I melted I reduced and found myself, my limits. I drew some air into me so I wouldn't shrink too much. I didn't want to be small. And, as I took that breath, I remembered that Laura had made me, and that I'd promised to watch Laura, and never to hurt her. I kept myself together and cooled. And then I had to wait."

Laura looked at him. The sun was bristling through him now, broken by the shadows of the trees across the river. "All right," she thought, "this is my life." What she said was, "Father needs me. I have The Gate for him. Can you get me to Founderston before midnight?"

"Yes."

She studied him. He wouldn't be too visible in the dark, but by daylight he was conspicuous. He could no longer pretend to be a stone. She was sure that, although he could move, he could no longer stretch or flatten, or make a comfortable sling of his arms to carry her in. Then she had an idea. She knew where she could find clothes he could wear. She had a moment of confusion about her plan-it was practical, but it made her a little queasy. "You stay here," she said. "I'll be right back."

Laura left him. She hurried back to the village and to Mrs. Lilley's boardinghouse.

She asked her landlady about the trunk she was storing.George Mason had asked Grace to tell Mrs. Lilley that he would drop by in a day or two to collect his nephew's belongings. Laura said to the landlady that George Mason had told her she could have one or two of Sandy's things. Conveniently, tears filled her eyes as she spoke.

Mrs. Lilley patted Laura's shoulder, took her to the trunk room, and gave her the key to Sandy's trunk.

Half an hour later, Nown was clothed in trousers, a knitted hat, and Sandy's long dreamhunter's duster coat. Laura saw that her sandman hadn't totally managed to combat the shrinkage of his change from river sand to gla.s.s, despite the frog sp.a.w.n skeins of bubbles he'd drawn into his body. He was nearer to Sandy's size now-a little over six feet and as slender as a young man. He'd kept all his proportions, but there was less of him.

As Laura stood gazing at Nown and wondering about the change, he finished b.u.t.toning the coat and slipped his gla.s.s hands into his pockets, to see how much bright surface he could hide. Something in the pocket rustled, and Nown drew out a piece of paper. He gave it to Laura.

It was a yellowing newspaper clipping. It was a photograph of her, looking fearfully through the veil of her new hat, into the blast of a photographer's magnesium flash, on the day of her Try, a year ago.

Laura folded the picture and put it in her own pocket. Then she held her arms out, and Nown picked her up and began to run with her, upriver, away from Doorhandle.

4.

AURA DIDN'T GET TO FALLOW HILL TILL AFTER MIDNIGHT, SO MISSED SPEAKING TO HER FATHER. IT WAS NOWN who held her up at the end of their journey, by arguing about leaving her. She had to insist that she'd be all right, she'd be with her father. Nown had finally let himself be persuaded and taken himself off to Market Bridge.

Laura settled into the room beside the one she'd always shared with Sandy. They'd liked the room whose single bed was against a wall, so that they could share it with less danger of tumbling out. Laura chose to sleep in the adjacent room, in a narrow iron bed. She dreamed The Gate and woke to find sunlight filling the room, because she'd forgotten to close the curtains. She got up and went to find her father, who, it turned out, hadn't checked in the night before.

Laura was alarmed. She said no thank you to breakfast and set off for home.

She caught a streetcar. It was early, but the usually packed Monday morning coach was as empty as a Sunday evening one. Laura got off in the market. The farmers' stalls were full, but the market wasn't. Laura didn't notice the anxious vendors; she was intent on getting to her favorite pastry shop, on a corner near her house.

But when she arrived at the shop, she was disappointed to find the trays under the counter almost empty.

"Do you have any pinwheels?" she asked the woman behind the counter.

"I have cream cornets, almond puffs, and lemon tarts. All the ones I like best," the woman said, and beamed.

"All right, I'll have eight almond puffs."

The woman slipped them into a bag. She pa.s.sed them to Laura and left Laura's money lying on the counter, though a little change was due.

"What a beautiful day," the woman said.

Laura said, "Mmmm," and waited a moment longer for the woman to ring up the sale and give her change. Then she blushed, and left.

The awnings were still closed on the news kiosk opposite Market Bridge. Bundles of the Founderston Herald lay beside it, the strings fastening them still uncut. Laura steered around the bundles and dashed down the steps by the bridge. Before she got to the first arch, she saw a pile of clothes lying in the bottom of a boat tethered to a ring by the steps. She recognized the knitted hat on top of the pile. Then she saw, against the submerged steps below her, a clear patch in the river, like raw egg white dropped in milky tea. The patch stirred and unfolded, and water rose up out of the water, shedding water. Nown walked up the steps.

"It can't matter to you that your clothes stay dry," Laura said, pointing at the bundle in the boat.

"They're not my clothes," said Nown.

Laura went back up onto the embankment and looked around, both ways. She could hear traffic on the bridge, but there was no one in sight. She told Nown to put his clothes- the clothes-back on.

She took him home and into the backyard. She planned to smuggle him up to her room later. "I can always run a bath and hide you in it," she said. Then, "Can you see water now?"

"No. And I can't see through it either. I felt you on the steps by the river. I can always feel you as you come toward me."

Laura stood with him, thinking about what he'd said. She knew she should go in. She needed to know what had happened to keep her father from his appointment at Fallow Hill. But the yard was quiet and familiar and private-and she wasn't unhappy. She laid her palm against her servant's side. His s.h.i.+rt-Sandy's s.h.i.+rt-was damp, having blotted the river water from his surface. He felt like stone under the cloth. "And what do I feel like as I come toward you?"

"Laura," he said.

She removed her hand and went toward the back door.

"Laura," he said again, and she turned back to him. But he was only finis.h.i.+ng his answer. "Laura, who is life," he said. "But not just Laura."

"I should hope not. There's life everywhere," Laura said, somewhat primly. She lifted the latch, pushed the door, and went inside.

"Laura and someone else now," Nown finished, speaking to the closed door.

Laura found boiled eggs broken and mashed into the flagstones of the kitchen floor. She stopped and stared at them, then hurried on into the hall. She called, "h.e.l.lo!"

"h.e.l.lo, darling!" Rose called back.

Rose was lying on the window seat in the morning room, in her robe. She was playing with the ta.s.sel of the curtain, catching it and tweaking it with her toes.

"Are you all right?" Laura asked.

"Yes. Isn't it a lovely day?" Rose stretched, arched her back, relaxed again, continued to pluck at the cord.

"Have an almond puff."

Rose sat up and took one. She bit into it and gave a little grunt of happiness.

"Where's Da?"

"Don't know," Rose said, m.u.f.fled and scattering flakes of pastry.

"Isn't he up yet?"

"He was up for breakfast," Rose answered. Then she giggled. "We forgot the eggs, and they almost boiled dry. They were bouncy."

Laura went to look for her father upstairs. His door was open, and he was asleep in a tangle of bedclothes. He looked peaceful, so she left him.

Chorley was in the library listening to his gramophone. He too was in his pajamas and robe. He had little purple dots of spilled jam on his front. The top of his desk was clear except for a row of gramophone cylinders lined up across it. All his papers, notebooks, even his inkstand had been pushed to the floor.

"Laura, listen to this!" Chorley said. He raised a hand to conduct the tenor's squeezed voice for a few bars of the song. "This music reminds me of eating dinner outdoors," he said. "Alfresco. Surrounded by family. How wonderful it is to be surrounded by family."

"Well-yes," Laura said. She couldn't believe she was looking at her uncle wearing food stains. She didn't think she'd ever seen him drop food on himself. He could even eat ice cream in a stiff wind without mishap.

He kept his hand up, conducting, his arm moving just a little off the beat. "It was all worth it," he said, dreamily. "I put in the time and ended up with this-all the time in the world," he said.

Laura backed out of the room and into the hall. She leaned on the wall, her legs watery.

A few minutes later Laura was back in the yard. She was carrying a pair of her uncle's slippers and a long scarf and gloves. She gave them to Nown. He sat down to put the slippers on. She had to help him with the gloves.

"Your hands are shaking," he said.