Waking in Dreamland (21 page)

“Oooh!” Leonora squeaked with surprise. Roan spun on his heel, ready to defend her from any menace. The princess had both hands on her middle, which seemed unnaturally slender even for her. “Corset,” she gasped. “They’re tighter than I thought. Great Illusions!” Her hands flew to her head.

Her plait of hair had unwound and was plumping itself on top of her head in a mass the shape of a cottage loaf. The comfortable outer traveling garments she wore started to alter, too. Her riding trousers became a long, full skirt, and her tunic a tight shirtwaist and jacket. A bustle popped out behind, making Alette’s pennyfarthing shy. The hood hanging at her back became a banded straw hat on a ribbon. Instead of the jewel colors she favored, this outfit was a dull plum.

“Oh, how heavy this is,” Leonora said, looking down at herself in dismay. “And how boring!” She spread out her hands, and between them the self-effacing purple began to brighten to a more cheerful shade of red.

“No, don’t,” Roan said, hastily. “We want to blend in with the townsfolk, if we can. We need to pass through here as quickly as possible. Find the trail, and go on.”

“All right, but I’m not going to like it,” Leonora said. She brought her hands together, and the warm color faded to dullness, but she left the elaborate embroidery at wrists and waist. “As long as we’re going through Hark,” Colenna said, “we ought to pick up supplies. I hope they have coffee, but any stimulant will do for the pot.”

“Good idea! I can get some more stamps,” Felan exclaimed, looking to Roan for approval.

“Since we are uncertain when we will catch up with Brom, it is best to be prepared,” Colenna added. “I for one only packed three days’ worth of rations.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Roan said, with a polite nod and a bow for the older woman. “This is the last town of any size for some distance, on this road at least.”

Colenna’s outfit was much like Leonora’s but with more lace at the neck and wrists. The garments of the men had changed, too. Spar looked uncomfortable in a blue-black wool uniform with a double file of bright brass buttons down the front. The handsome flat-brimmed hat he’d worn since the transformation in the scientists’ campground became a cap with a bill. Lum looked as if he liked the costume. His headgear was now a helmet. Alette, also in uniform, had become a man with a magnificent mustache under his nose. Bergold, Felan, and Misha found themselves kitted out in charcoal-gray knee-length coats, and trousers that tapered to the ankle. Roan changed his clothing to match their attire, and noted that it was not too different than what he usually wore for formal occasions. He popped his traveling hat back into a topper.

“Now that we’re dressed for it,” Roan said, swinging up onto Cruiser, “let’s go on to Hark.”

“Uncomfortable, unsteady monstrosity,” Spar said, scrambling up into the seat. “Feel like I’m on display.”

They bumped over the railroad tracks, and around the corner of the train station, a large, handsome red brick building with white-painted shutters and window boxes. No one was waiting on the platform, and Roan noticed a red-striped hand signal that was to be pulled down if the train was to stop for a passenger. The town of Hark must be quite small.

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 chickens 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.”