Demons Don’t Dream (26 page)

"Fracto," Dug said contritely. "Sorry about that. Of course we don't want to aggravate him. He could blow up a storm again, and bury us."

Sherlock looked at him as if suspecting Dug of some devious purpose, but did not comment. Sherlock was right: Dug now knew how to get by the dragon.

Kim called down from above: they had made it out of the chasm. "Okay!" Dug called.

They were ready to get into the Roberta sled, but Sherlock hesitated. "What's the matter?" Dug asked.

"I've got long legs. There's not enough foot room in this sled for me."

"Isn't it the same as the other sled?"

"No. Take a look." Sherlock climbed in—and his rear came back into the second person's place. It looked uncomfortable for him, and it would push the other two back, so that there wouldn't be enough room for the third person at the end.

"We'll have to change the order," Dug said. "Jenny, you try it."

Jenny got in, but her legs were much shorter, not reaching far into the front Dug and Sherlock's longer legs couldn't fit in the remaining space, so again there wasn't room for the third man.

"Then I'll have to do it," Dug said. He got in, and Jenny took the middle, with Sammy Cat in her lap, and Sherlock took the end. Now they fit perfectly.

Sherlock showed him how to steer. It was not hard, the man assured him; the other sled had been magically responsive, so that it seemed that even a thought directed it. All Dug really had to do was hold the handles and focus on where he wanted to go, and it would go there.

Belatedly he wondered: had the game arranged it this way? Because he was the Player, who should handle his challenges himself. The prior run had been for practice, so it didn't matter who steered the sled, but this one was for the money. How could the demon proprietors have known that Dug's sled would be lost, and that he would change to the other one? They must have had magical information.

They got settled in the Roberta sled and started down. Dug knew this was going to be one harrowing ride, but he reminded himself that it was after all only a game. There was always a way through, and they had found the way through for the sled. He hoped.

The sled started with a frightening plunge. It gathered such velocity that Dug abruptly doubted that he had a true path down. This could only end in a splat! He felt Jenny tense; a glance back showed her frozen with half a scream in her mouth, and the cat was hiding his head under her knees.

Then the ground curved up and the sled's runners took a better grip on reality. But before Jenny could get her scream the rest of the way out, the trail made a savage turn and ended in a square drop-off. There was space at either side, so that he could steer off the trail, avoiding the disaster. But the trail was clear, and mere was no sign. So it should be right, despite the appearance. What should he do?

Dug had only seconds to decide. He froze. That meant mat he did nothing. The sled rushed on down the trail. And off the drop-off. Dug heard a muttered "Sheesh!" from the rear.

Then out of the fog loomed a wall, and in the wall was a crevice, and the sled slammed into that crevice and zoomed on. The trail had jumped a gap in the slope; had the sled been moving slower, it would have crashed into the wall beneath the gap, flattening them and dropping them into whatever lay below. Had he steered it off the trail, he might have brought it to a stop, but they would have been stuck partway down the wall of the chasm. So he had made the right decision, by default.

They came to a fork. The sign said RIGHT, and it was on the right side, so Dug steered it that way. This path dropped, so that they sped up again, and again there was a bit of nervous choice. There seemed to be several tracks, all converging farther down, so it made no difference which one he followed. But some were more ragged than others. The sled struck a bump, and sailed into the air, and he almost lost control. It did make a difference, because they could capsize—or whatever it was that a bobsled did—if he managed it wrong. So he steered for the smoothest path, and corrected course as they bounced around, gaining proficiency. He managed to keep them upright and pointed forward.

The tracks converged. Then the main track suddenly curved up so sharply that it looped. "What is this, a roller-coaster ride?" Dug demanded rhetorically.

"No, a flume ride," Sherlock said, as the loop exited into a bank of snow that shook loose and slid down the slope. They were carried along in the flowing current of white powder; the snow had given up being Technicolor and was now plain vanilla white. Again they were falling, part of an avalanche. But it was not an easy ride; Dug had to keep steering by focusing, lest they turn over or turn sideways. This was like one of those purely mechanical computer games, requiring constant finger dexterity and spot judgment to avoid being dumped. Fortunately he had played a number of such games before getting bored with then- intellectual simplicity, and had a fairly steady hand.

"If this is the right trail," Dug puffed through the enveloping snow, "I'd hate to see the wrong one!"

This, too, leveled out at last. They came to another sign saying RIGHT, but they couldn't see me fork; it had been hidden by the fall of snow. Where could they steer?

Dug solved the problem by going right at the sign. The sled hit it and crashed on. The others understood the logic, he hoped: they had to go along the path marked by the sign, which meant that the sign itself would be beside it They might not be on the path, but it would be close to them.

Sure enough, the sled bumped, then dropped into a slight channel. It had found the path. Then the sides rose up, and they were cruising through a U-shaped valley. He had to steer with excruciating care, to keep them on course by banking on the turns. This was a really nervous workout! But was this the correct path? How could he be quite sure?

The valley curved, taking them around and around until they had completed a circle. But they were below the prior track. It was a corkscrew turn! The walls closed over the top, and they were plunging through darkness.

Dug heard water. Was there an underground river here? Then light came, and he saw that they had entered a cavern with a hole in the ceiling for a sunbeam. Ahead was a waterfall. The water came from the right side, and fell into the center of the cave, where it flowed on to the left. The sled bucked like a bronco as it traversed the slush by the river. They could still crash!

There was another sign. LEFT. But it was on the right side. "At least we're on the proper trail," Sherlock said, sounding relieved as Dug steered the sled directly toward the waterfall.

"How can you be sure!" Jenny demanded, seeing disaster looming.

"Because they wouldn't put another sign on a wrong trail; they'd just terminate it."

Then they plunged into the sheet of falling water. And through it there was space behind it, descending.
Sparks flashed as the runners scraped against bare rock. They skidded onto sand, and on down through a round hole just large enough to let them through. They sailed out into space and bright light.

And landed with a plunk on a monster pillow bush. Pillows popped, sending fluff flying wide. But they had stopped, safely. They were at the base of the chasm.

They climbed out and looked around. Behind them was the steep slope of the chasm wall, with its tiny hole up just too high for a standing man to reach from the floor. Ahead of them was a flat, open expanse. Beyond it was the far wall of the chasm, rising vertically to a ledge, and thence to another ledge. To either side was the length of the great valley, curving out of sight It was actually a pleasant enough place. There was even a pie tree a short distance away.

Then they felt a shudder in the ground. It was followed by another. Whomp! Whomp!

"The Gap Dragon!" Jenny cried. "He's coming—and we can't escape him here!"

"If you have a plan," Sherlock said wryly, "It's about time to put it into effect"

"First I want to settle with that stupid cloud, what's-his-name, who couldn't put out enough snow to cover the slope,” Dug said.

There was an angry rumble from above. Fracto was listening and reacting to the criticism.

"But it's the dragon we have to settle with first" Jenny said, alarmed. The whomping was getting louder.

"No, it's that wimpish cloud," Dug insisted "If Fractal had the gumption God gave a turnip, he'd have laid snow all the way down to the floor so we could coast down properly, instead of having to shunt into a watery cave. But I guess that's what happens when you depend on airheads."

There was a louder rumble, but it was matched by the closer whomping. In a moment the Gap Dragon would round the turn and spy them. "Dug—" Sherlock said, looking pale around the gills, which was a good trick.

“I’m sorry," Dug said stoutly, "but I just can't let inadequacy pass. That pip-squeak cloud didn't do his job right and we had to land in a bed of pillows instead of a bed of snow, the way it should have been. I don't know why the demons chose such a malingerer! They should have known Flacto would botch it."

"You keep getting the name wrong," Jenny shouted over the double noise of rumbling and whomping. "You're just going to make Fracto even madder!"

"So who cares if Fatso gets mad?" Dug yelled. "It's about time someone called a wimp a wimp! He couldn't work up a decent blow down here. He's just a stupid washout."

The mist along the slope pulled itself into a furiously swilling cloud. Jags of lightning shot out from it. The baleful face of Fracto formed, staring down.

Jenny screamed. "The Gap Dragon!'*

"No, that's Crapto, the least of clouds. You can tell by his vacuous expression."

"I mean down on the ground. There!" She pointed.

Dug looked. Indeed it was the dragon. A serpentine, six-legged creature, with a long mouthful of teeth, puffing steam.

Dug stood his ground. "Don't worry," he shouted. "Framto wouldn't dare wet on the Gap Dragon, so the poopy cloud can't get at us."

Sherlock opened his mouth as if about to address an idiot. Then there was a little flash above his head, that wasn't lightning. He had caught on to what Dug was doing. "Yeah," he agreed. "Clouds are notorious cowards."

Fracto exploded. Pieces of cloud flew everywhere, each with the same furious face of the original. Toothpick-sized jags of lightning flew out from them, sticking into the ground. One mini-jag struck the charging dragon on the trail.

The dragon whirled, unhurt but stung by the barb. He sent a sizzling stream of steam at the main remaining body of the cloud. Unfortunately the hot vapor only gave the thing a jolt of extra energy. The central blob expanded rapidly, incorporating the surrounding cloudlets. More lightning flashed. Suddenly Fracto was formidable.

"Aw, it's all flash and no snow," Dug called. "The thing's too hot to make snow anyway."

The boiling cloud turned gray. Then snow began to fly. In a moment mere was a blizzard, obscuring the dragon.

Dug grabbed the hands of the others. Silently he led them back to Roberta Sled, still amidst the pillow bush. They grabbed pillows to protect themselves from the sudden cold.

They heard the dragon casting about, searching for them. But the blizzard made visibility almost zero. As long as they were silent, they could not be found except by accident.

Sherlock squeezed Dug's hand appreciatively. The ploy had worked, and was hiding them from the dragon.

But Dug knew that this was only part of it. Before long the cloud would storm himself out, and the snow would melt, and the dragon would be waiting for them. So they had to act while the storm remained. In silence. Which meant that he couldn't explain the rest of his plan to the others; he would have to show them by action.

He tied pillows to his body by knotting their corners together. He got rope from his pack and strung it out so the others could hang on to it, not losing him. Then he set out across the floor of the Gap. He knew which way to go, because the sled pointed that way. If he veered a bit to the side, it didn't matter; he would find the wall soon enough.

He heard the dragon moving, still searching. There was a hiss as steam seared out to melt the snow, but more kept falling, as Fracto proved himself. The skirling snow blotted out both vision and smell. Dug angled his walk to steer well clear of the creature. Any little mistake could bring the steam, and then the dragon, and it would be over. If this weren't a fantasy game, he would have been almost too frightened to act. As it was, he was nervous enough.

Suddenly the wall loomed ahead. Good! He got down and silently scooped up a double handful of snow. He formed it into a ball, then rolled the ball, picking up more snow. When the ball was as large as he could conveniently handle, he rolled it to the base of the wall and left it there. Then he started another.

The others caught on. They made snowballs of their own, and rolled them big and added them to the first one. The pile grew rapidly, and expanded into a ramp, which they quietly packed firm. Then they rolled balls up it, to make it higher, wedging them into place and filling in the crevices with more snow.

By the time the storm began to ease, the ramp extended all the way up to the first ledge in the wall, well, above their heads. They rolled balls up to that ledge, forming a second, smaller ramp extending from that ledge to a higher one. Dug wasn't sure that the second ledge led where they needed to go, but there was no way to find out except to get there and see.