Lost Places (5 page)

“D
EMON PLAYLAND?” TIM REPEATED.
He didn't like the sound of that. Not one bit. He cleared his throat. “Uh, I'm guessing that's not so good for Molly and Crimple.”

Tanger shook his head sadly. “No, it's not, or I'm a spatula.”

“So those lizard dinosaury things are…” Tim could barely get the word out. “They are demons?”

“Unmistakably,” Tanger replied. He scratched the top of his head. “Although I didn't know they came in pink.”

“You've seen demons before?” Tim exclaimed. He couldn't imagine the sweet little narl facing down something as terrifying as a demon. “When?”

“Why, when my place was different, Opener,” Tanger explained. “I haven't always been a narl, you know.”

“No, I didn't know,” Tim said.

“You're not the only Opener I've had dealings with. Every one of you has imagined things quite differently. I've had many places in my time. And took on many different shapes.”

“Really,” Tim said, studying the little creature. “No wonder you know more about this Opener business than I do.”

“But that's neither here nor there,” Tanger said. “We have other fish to fry now, or so it seems.”

Tim thought about the image the stone had shown them. “It was so…pink.” Tim shuddered. “Molly must feel so out of place in a puffy pink world.”

“I'll reckon Crimple is feeling his out of placeness too,” Tanger said. “So shall we go find them, while I'm still more or less alive? I would like to spend a little more time with Crimple before I die.”

Tim was about to tell Tanger that he wasn't going to die but stopped himself. For all Tim knew, the narl was right, and leaving his place was going to be fatal to him.

“I suspect you feel the same way about Molly, don't you?” Tanger added.

“Yes, I do,” Tim agreed. “So let's go.”

“Do you know how to get there, Opener?”

Tim could feel all of Tanger's hopes resting on him. “I don't know for sure, but I have an idea.”

“Your last idea worked exceedingly well,” Tanger said. “You made a way to find out where they are.”

“You're right.” Tanger's compliment gave Tim some more confidence.

He pulled the Opening Stone from his pocket. He shut his eyes and held it in his right hand, feeling it grow warm. His fingers tingled as the stone vibrated with energy.

“Er, excuse my interruption,” Tanger said, breaking Tim's concentration. Tim opened his eyes. “I'd like to point out something. We're entering a demon world.”

“Yes, I'm aware of that,” Tim said.

“Well, it's just a suggestion, but don't you think we should arm ourselves?”

“With what?” Tim asked.

“Swords of sharpness, sandals of swiftness, invisibility cloaks—that kind of thing.”

“Did your other Openers have things like that?”

Tanger nodded. “Some of them.”

“Well, I don't,” Tim admitted. “Besides, I don't think we want to waste any time in packing.”

“Quite right, quite right,” Tanger said, wringing his hands. “Time is of grave importance when
dealing with demons. Never good to be around them for too long, don't you know.”

Tim took a deep breath and closed his eyes again.
Focus
, he told himself. “Open the pathway to the world we just saw,” Tim commanded the stone. “Open the way to the Demon Playland.”

Tim felt a breeze rustle his hair and heard a faint roaring sound like the ocean in a seashell. He kept his eyes squeezed shut, pouring all of his concentration into the stone.

A moment later, Tim was aware that the temperature had changed. So had the smell in the air and the sounds. He was somewhere else—he knew that without even opening his eyes. The stone grew cold again, though it hummed as if a faint current still ran through it.

Then he remembered that he had opened a door to a demon world, and standing in it with his eyes closed was a seriously stupid move. His eyes popped open.

The first thing he noticed was what
wasn't
there—Tanger.

“Great,” Tim muttered. “I would have liked to have had the feisty little narl along on this adventure. I guess I should have held his hand or something while I made the trip.”

Magic is always so complicated
, he reminded himself.
So many variables to keep track of.
Then
his heart thudded as a new thought entered his brain. “What if he did make the trip with me, but somehow we got separated?” he worried. “He could be here somewhere, lost, alone, afraid….”

Okay, if you think about rescuing too many people at once, smoke's going to steam out of your ears,
Tim admonished himself.
Concentrate on finding Molly and Crimple. Then they can help you track down Tanger, if he's here.

Tim gazed around at the strange colorless landscape. It seemed flat, like a painting, but he could move through it, and objects around him were certainly three-dimensional. He was in a dark wood, filled with tall, scrawny trees and a thick underbrush covering the ground. Whispers and cries and howls hovered just at the edge of his hearing. “Yeah, this seems about right for a place that demons would romp around in,” he muttered.

Now to find Molly and Crimple.
He reached down, wondering if the rocks in a demon landscape would oblige him the way rocks back home did. Then he froze, his arm outstretched a few inches above the ground. A loud
crrr-aack
had come from just up ahead, as if someone—or some
thing
—had stepped onto a rotten tree branch and broken it. Tanger didn't weigh enough to break a twig unless he tried very hard; whoever was approaching was a stranger.

Tim quickly stood back up. “You out there,” he called, mustering up all the bravado he could. “I've got weapons here! Uh, sandals of sharpness—”
No, that can't be right. What had Tanger said?

“Um, so, show yourself,” Tim demanded.

A figure emerged from the bushes, completely shadowed by the thick canopy of trees. Whoever it was wore a cloak and a hood, casting more shadows over his—or
its
—face.

At least he's my size
, Tim noted. “Okay, tell me your name,” Tim ordered.

“I am no one,” the figure replied. “Who are you?”

“No One?” Tim scoffed. “That's not a proper demon name. Even I know that.” Then again, the demon may not have wanted Tim to know his name, because names have power. The polite thing would have been for Tim to ask the stranger what he was “called,” but Tim wasn't feeling very polite at the moment.

“I am not a demon,” the figure in the hooded cloak replied.

“Oh, right, sorry,” Tim scoffed. “My mistake. You being dressed up in a sack and hiding your face and flitting around in the demon playground and all, I just assumed—”

“This isn't a demon playground,” the figure
argued. “Ummmm. Not necessarily. I mean, it could be. But it doesn't have to be. It all depends.”

Tim snorted. “You—you talk just like me. You sound as confused as I feel.”

The figure flipped back his hood and now Tim gasped.

He was staring at…himself!

S
ERIOUSLY WEIRD
, TIM THOUGHT
, his eyes never leaving his face. Only, of course, it was his face on someone else's body.

The Other Tim snorted. “Listen, I wouldn't stand around with my mouth open like that if I were you. This place is full of all kinds of creepy crawlies. One could flit right into that gaping maw.”

“Now listen, you body snatcher,” Tim said. “If you're implying that
I'm
no one by calling yourself that, then you're a lot dumber than you look.”
Hey wait
, Tim thought.
Did I just insult myself somehow?
He shook his head.
I talk to myself a lot, but it has never been like this!

The Other Tim crossed his arms and smirked.

Do I really look that obnoxious when I do that?
Tim wondered.
I should rethink that expression.

“All right,” the Other Tim said. “If you're so
sure you're someone, prove it.”

“That's stupid,” Tim snapped. “I don't have to prove anything. And certainly not to you!”

“Come on, admit it,” the Other Tim taunted. “You don't know who you are. You don't have a clue. And you can't prove you're
someone
because you don't know what that really means.”

Poof!
A little figure appeared just inches above Tim's left ear—smaller even than Tanger or Crimple.

Tim was stunned when he realized it was another—much, much smaller version of—him!

“Uh, I hate to say this, Tim, but he's got a point,” the little Tim said.

“Huh?”

Poof!
Another Tim popped into being, this time on Tim's right shoulder. “You're such a whiner,” the new mini Tim said. “Go lock yourself in your room while we sort this out.”

“We?” Tim asked.
How many more of me are there?

He got his answer.
Poof! Poof! Poof!
Suddenly, he was surrounded by a cloud of Tims! All arguing at once. This wasn't a demon playground, this was Tim's idea of hell!

“Where did all these mes come from?” Tim moaned.

“‘Mes'!” The Other Tim sneered. “Listen to
you. Do you sleep through grammar class or do you just not go?”

Tim flicked a little Tim away from his ear; its tiny breath tickled. “I'm terribly sorry, but I don't have time to be scholastic just now. I've got quite a bit on my plate, in case you haven't noticed.”

“Honestly, you are so pathetic. How do you get through a day?”

Tim hated admitting this, but the Other Tim was saying things he'd said to himself on more than one occasion.

“Look, I've got to find my friends and rescue Molly,” Tim said. “Not necessarily in that order. I have no time for this”—he gestured at all the mini Tims—“this identity crisis.”

“You need to know who you are in order to
have
an identity,” the Other Tim said.

“You know, you're starting to annoy me,” Tim said.

“You tell him,” a mini Tim whispered in his ear.

The Other Tim snorted. “That's rich. I'm starting to annoy
you
? Think how I feel, having to look at such a wimpy version of me. Do you know what your problem is?”

“You,” Tim replied. “Holding me up and getting in my way.”

“Ooooh, don't make him mad,” a mini Tim on
his shoulder warned. “This isn't your place, and you don't know your place in it.”

Tim gave a sharp shrug and sent the little Tim tumbling down to the ground. Some of the mini Tims laughed, others gasped, a few gnashed their teeth. They seemed to see all sides of every situation simultaneously.

Which is exactly what I do,
Tim suddenly realized.
I get so busy working out all the possible outcomes that it paralyzes me.
He let out a low whistle.
I'm in the middle of a lightbulb moment and the only one I can share it with is this bogus version of me.

“Your problem is—”

“No,” Tim said. “I had it right the first time.
You're
the problem. And you're either going to help me by telling me which way to go to find Molly and the narls, or you're going to find yourself sorry that you didn't.”

The Other Tim jutted out his chin. “Oh, yeah? How can you threaten
me
? Remember, I know your limits, Hunter.”

“Do you?” Tim demanded. “Maybe you haven't been getting the latest updates and bulletins on my progress. I don't know what it says in the Timothy Hunter newsletter, but while I may not do pentagrams or light candles or anything, there
are
things I can do. That I
will
do if I don't get my answer.”

I need firepower,
Tim thought.
Energy to intimidate the guy. I don't need to use it—I just need to have the appearance of power. Energy, alive and crackling—that's the ticket.

Tim held out his hand and concentrated hard. He felt a surge through his body, down his arm, and into his hand. He glanced at his palm and saw a glowing sphere. As he concentrated harder, the energy ball lifted from his hand, hovering several inches above it.

The Other Tim's mouth dropped open. “You don't understand,” the Other Tim whined. “I can't just show you the way; I'll get into trouble.”

Feeling bold now, Tim tossed the energy ball back and forth between his hands. “You know, my auntie Blodwyn collects little porcelain dogs,” he said, his tone quite casual. “Pekinese dogs with huge googly eyes, to be exact.” He moved his hand into a perfect position to lob the energy ball at the Other Tim. “It's her birthday next week, and I haven't had a chance to go shopping.” He cocked his head at the Other Tim. “Catch my drift?”

The Other Tim frowned, and his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. Then he rolled his eyes. “Oh, go that way.” He pointed to a path through bare-branched trees. “Keep to the path if you want to be safe. Cut through the woods if you're in a hurry.” He smirked again. “Or stupid.”

Tim turned to cut through the woods. He was definitely in a hurry. He had wasted too much time talking to “himself.”

“You don't even say thank you?” the Other Tim called behind him. “You jerk! You don't have a personality, you have a bloody entourage!”

“Can't argue with him on that point,” Tim muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. The little Tims buzzed around like annoying gnats.

“I can't believe he'd just let us go like that,” a little Tim said.

“You're right. This has got to be a trap.”

“Never mind all that!” another Tim chimed in. “What I want to know is could we really have done it?” The little Tim tugged on Tim's collar. “Could we?”

“Done what?” Tim asked.

“Could we really have turned him into a porcelain knickknack thingie?”

“I don't know,” Tim admitted. “I sort of had a feeling we—” He shook his head. “I mean,
I
could have.”

He held out his hand again, remembering the sensations he had during his confrontation with the Other Tim. The energy ball reappeared. “I mean, I was looking at him, the way he smirked and it just popped into my head. He'd fit right in with Auntie's obnoxious dog collection.” He
shrugged. “Maybe that's how it's supposed to be, with magic. Maybe the stuff that works is the stuff you don't have to think about.”

All the Tims started chattering at once.

“That's a terrible way to think,” a little Tim scolded. “You, um, ought to think about everything a long time before you even consider doing anything.”

“Really?” another Tim responded. “Do you think so?”

“Oh yes. Well…probably.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“I do wonder why he let us go. It could be just a trap and then where'd we be?”

“Where are we
now
? That's what I'd like to know.”

“We should have a plan, not just walk blindly through a place we don't know that's populated by demons.”

Tim picked up speed. He dashed under low branches, over gnarled roots, around shrubs, hoping he'd lose the chorus of Tims. No such luck. They could fly and were so small, they had a much easier time in this grasping, clutching landscape where every tree limb or mound of dirt seemed intent on tripping him and his human-sized feet.
All I'm doing is wearing myself out,
he realized, and stopped his mad charge through the shadowy
forest. He trudged more slowly, working hard to ignore the continual chatter of the swarm of Tims.

He rounded a bend, and found himself facing a bridge. It looked like an ordinary wooden bridge—slats, boards, sides—only Tim couldn't see the other end or what the bridge spanned, hidden by a thick fog that had suddenly appeared. He heard no sound of water—lapping, rushing, babbling, or otherwise—so the bridge didn't cross a river. So why was it here?

“Uh-oh,” the Tim on his right shoulder said. “A bridge.”

“Should we cross it?” the Tim near his left ear asked.

“Um, I don't know,” a Tim hovering over Tim's head said. “Do you think we should?”

“Uh, I wouldn't,” said a Tim, clutching the left side of Tim's neck.

“But I would.”

“So would we.”

“Not us!”

“Enough!” Tim cried. As he stood staring at the bridge listening to the Tims, Tim clenched and unclenched his fists. Without realizing it, he created another energy ball. When he noticed it, a slow grin lifted his mouth. He dashed forward, whipped around, and then using the glowing sphere like a bowling ball, he zapped all the little
Tims off to the side of the path. As they tumbled and scattered, he quickly strode to the center of the bridge before they could say another word. Then he turned and glared at the collection of Tims, who all stared back at him.

“This has always been my problem,” he told the little Tims, “and it's going to end now. If I listen to all the voices in my head I'll never get anywhere.”

He turned his back and kept walking.
And I really need to do something about all those “ums.”

“Um, you really shouldn't take such rash action.” A little Tim suddenly fluttered down in front of Tim's face. “You have to think things over thoroughly. Weigh the consequences. Hold still.”

Tim stopped and stared at the Tim hovering just at eye level.

“Don't move until you understand all the possible outcomes. Do you have the slightest idea what's on the other side of this bridge?”

“I know that I have to find Molly,” Tim told the annoying little Tim. “And I know she isn't here. So I have to go somewhere else.”

“But—”

Tim had had enough. He held up his hand and created another energy ball.

The little Tim looked nervous. “You wouldn't,
would you? Uh, but then again…” He vanished with a little
poof
.

“Now maybe I can get somewhere,” Tim muttered, letting the energy ball disperse. “I've been known to spend hours arguing with myself, and I just don't have the time for that right now.”

The little Tims flitted back around him. “Hah!” one exclaimed. “We taught that little stuttering stick-in-the-mud a lesson.”

“Get real,” another Tim argued. “You know as well as I do that he hasn't learned a darn thing. We got rid of him. That's all.”

“Oh yeah?” another Tim piped up. “He knows he's not wanted now, doesn't he?”

“That doesn't mean he's learned anything. None of us ever learns things. We can't. We're too small. We've only got room enough to be what we already are. Change takes up space.”

“Is anyone besides me interested in getting out of this stupid forest?” Tim demanded.

“Go right ahead, Mr. Sarcasm,” a little Tim huffed. “Don't let me stop you.”

Tim shook his head and started walking again.

“Halt!” a voice bellowed from down around his feet. “Who's that sneaking across my bridge?”

Tim stared at the crevice under his foot. One
toe poked over the edge of a dark chasm. He'd been so distracted by the little Tims that he never noticed the disconcerting gap right in front of him.

“Are you talking to me,” Tim asked the unseen voice, “or was that a rhetorical question?”

A deep rumbling shook the bridge. Tim watched in amazement as the chasm opened up. The little Tims were so startled that they found places to perch on Tim. He had little Tims clinging to his ears, sitting on his shoulders, standing on his head, and poking out of his pockets. They peered down silently.

A huge green creature was turning a crank that made a loud screeching sound. Tim could see that this device made a wooden platform carrying the creature rise out of the darkness below.
That machinery could definitely use a good oiling,
Tim noted, gritting his teeth at the earsplitting sound. He peered past the monstrous green guy, trying to see what lay below, but all Tim saw was darkness.

Then Tim studied the creature rising in front of him. He was burly and thick, with bulging arms and a low flat forehead. Although he was much, much bigger than Tim, the guy had the appearance of being short and squat, probably because his legs and arms were so huge, and he was nearly as wide as he was tall. He seemed to be made of solid muscle.

There was something familiar about this scene, Tim realized. Ugly dude under a bridge, coming up when someone tries to cross…Tim vaguely remembered a child's story about just this thing.

“Don't tell me—” Tim began.

“Oh, I'll tell you all right.” The creature's head was slowly moving up above the bridge. “Your creepy sneakers won't be crossing no bridges 'round here,” the creature said in a gruff Cockney accent. “That is, 'less you're up to—”