Waking in Dreamland (34 page)

“I’m sorry, Felan,” Roan said, gently. “We have to be at our brightest. We need every edge. Brom is smart.”

“Hmmph!” Felan snorted, and widened his back into a wall so none of them could see his face.

“Come along, come along,” Spar said, tapping his fork on his plate. “We can’t sit around here all day. Let’s eat, and go on.”

Roan turned to his own lunch. The transformation of the food wasn’t perfect. They might be able fool their taste buds, but not their brains. The strong aroma might have been tempered, but it was still there. One bite was enough to tell Roan he couldn’t change a thing’s nature thoroughly enough. He was instantly drowsy. Lamb was lamb.

“What this wants is a little spicing up,” Colenna said. She reached into her handbag and brought out a small wooden shaker. “Pepper to pep us up.”

She cranked the top of the grinder and sifted plenty of gray, green, and red dust onto each person’s portion of stew. It tasted very spicy, making all of them thirsty, but it helped dispel the residual grogginess. Roan felt much better. Everyone’s eyes were brighter, and they moved with more energy. Colenna’s pepper had done the trick. He sprang to his feet, eager to go on.

“Which way now, sir?” Lum asked, when they had cleaned up. He handed the folded picnic cloth back to Felan, who accepted it without a word and stuffed it into his saddlebag.

“I am not sure, Corporal,” Roan said. He walked around the intersection again and again, looking for clues. None of the three roads had any characteristic that set one apart from the others. All were well paved and maintained. The signpost gave him a friendly look, but remained silent. What had Leonora said, that he had to buoy all of them with his hope, and his leadership?

“Wish we had more of a clue as to where they were,” Misha said, squinting off in the distance.

“What, with all the influence they’ve been throwing at us? I’ll bet we aren’t an hour behind,” Bergold said, bluffly. “Maybe two, with lunch.”

“They have to stop to eat, too,” Colenna reminded him. “An hour, that’d be all.”

“We can’t be a minute late to stop them,” Roan said. “It would be as if we hadn’t left the castle at all.”

“We’re lollygagging, sir,” Spar said.

Colenna came over and took Spar’s arm. “Don’t rush him, dear.”

Roan, too, was impatient to catch up with Brom before he got any farther ahead. Those tire tracks they had last seen proved that most of the scientists were on motorized transport. All things being equal, the party would fall behind more and more unless they had a great deal of good luck.

There was a chill wind blowing behind them. Every time Roan turned back towards the south he shivered. He moved away from the cold blast toward where it felt warmer, to the north side of the intersection. The crossroads must sit on a temperature isobar, he thought, because there were no trees or other windbreaks nearby. He looked up to search the sky, but didn’t see any weather marks. The wind was cold to the west, too. How strange that there should be such a difference in similar places only yards apart. Deliberately, Roan walked across the intersection to the northeast road. Warmer here, too, but not as warm as the north road, where the air was almost hot. Think! He told himself. Cold, cold, warm, hot—what does that mean?

“This way,” Roan said, excitedly. “I’m certain they’re north northeast of us now. The best way would be to take the north route.”

“What?” Felan asked, surprised out of his sulk. “There’s no trail to follow.”

“The Sleepers favor us, Master Felan,” Roan said, with a feeling of sincere relief. “We have a clue.” He explained his reasoning, and led the others around to each of the roads in turn, letting them feel the changes. Bergold nodded, and Colenna looked pleased. Leonora’s eyes were shining.

“You’re right!” she said. “Let’s hurry!”

They set out for the north, buoyed on pepper and good spirits. But Roan’s encouragement had little effect on their steeds. The beasts galloped their fastest, but still stubbornly refused to turn into sports cars, air ships or supersonic transport. The favor of the Sleepers toward their journey was reassuring, and for that, Roan gave silent thanks, but some way to attain more speed would have been welcome. The most the steeds would concede was to become racing bicycles, with narrow tires and curved handlebars that made the riders bend over forward.

The onward road continued to be good, and the air held that faint trace of warmth. Roan was troubled by the discontent that started to rise among the party. He expected Felan to complain about his competence, but Hutchings, too, began to mutter to himself about wild geese, and going home. He concentrated on pedaling his hardest, and ignoring the whispers.

“What in the devil is this?” Spar demanded, looking ahead where the road passed into thick woods. He braked to a halt, and pointed. From the side of a tall, rectangular hut, an orange-and-black-painted arm protruded across the road, blocking their way. “Tollbooth! This is the king’s highway! It’s free to all traffic!”

“Not if you want to go through,” said a large, uniformed man at the gate. “Pay up, or you don’t pass.”

“On whose authority?” Spar asked.

“This is the king’s highway, isn’t it?” the man said. “The king!”

“How much?” Roan asked, feeling in his saddlebags for his purse.

“One chicken per horse, one loaf per person.” The guard held out one huge hand, and waited.

“That’s exorbitant!” Colenna said, shocked. “Do you know who this is? This is Her Highness, Princess Leonora!”

“Really?” the big man asked, peering at Leonora, who did her best to look regal in a tent dress. Like Colenna’s, her costume had been much modified during the night, and now looked more stylish, if just as voluminous. She manifested a tiara, and the man nodded. “Royalty, three chickens. Payable in cash.”

“Nonsense!” Bergold said.

“Make up your minds,” the tollbooth guard said. “There’s a lot of other people waiting who want to go through.”

They looked behind them. On what only moments before had been an empty road, were lines of people in cars, carts, on horses, donkeys, bicycles, and several conveyances Roan could only describe as unique, such as a washtub containing three men with oars.

“C’mon, buddy!” shouted a man in sunglasses, leaning out the side window of his car. “Move it!”

“My kids are getting tired,” yelled another man, in a cart pulled by a donkey. “Hurry it up!”

“Very well,” Roan said, reaching for his pocket. As he touched the side of his tunic, he remembered that he had no pockets. These were not his original clothes. “Just a moment, please.”

He opened his pack, and felt around in it for his purse. “That’s odd,” he said.

Bergold was watching him with wrinkled brow. “What is?”

“My wallet is gone. Do you have any money?”

“To be sure,” the historian said. He dismounted, and reached into his pannier. “Why, mine is gone, too! How very singular.”

“Not singular,” Colenna said, stricken, looking up from her huge handbag. “Mine is missing.” All of the others searched for their money pouches, but in vain.

“What about it?” the guard demanded, looming over them with crossed arms. Roan glanced up at him, continuing the search.

“We can’t seem to find our money.”

“Then we’ll help you,” he said. Several large guards descended upon the party, and began to turn out their knapsacks, panniers, packs, and Colenna’s purse.

“No!” Misha shouted, as the men opened Leonora’s pack, and began to unload her possessions onto the road. “You leave that alone!” he said, snatching a tiny vanity case out of one guard’s hands.

“Misha, it’s all right,” Leonora said, her face red as she rescued a filmy blue brassiere from another’s. “They’re just doing their job. Oh, no, all my jewels are gone!”

“Please don’t do that,” Roan said, trying to take his pack away from a burly guard. “Sir, there’s no need to go through all my luggage. I tell you, we haven’t got the toll money. We’ll go away and try another route.”

“Are you trying to interfere with a legitimate inspection?” The guard holding Roan’s pack continued to empty it out onto the ground. Roan couldn’t believe the sheer quantity of things it held. He didn’t remember having seen a yo-yo before. And what about that plaid cushion? Or the bowling trophy? Where had all these things come from?

“Hey, look at this, Charlie!” another guard exclaimed, holding up a whaleboned corset trimmed with purple lace. He dropped it on the pile of possessions, now growing to man height. Colenna, her face red, gathered it up and put it under her cloak.

“You’re right, there’s no money in here,” the first guard said, tossing Roan’s empty satchel on the ground at his feet. “You’d better move aside. And take all that stuff with you.”

Roan picked up his bag and started to repack. The drivers behind them honked and yelled. The party tried to hurry, but the bags seemed now to be too small for everything to fit. Roan smiled and called apologies to the waiting drivers, but they swore and shook their fists at him. Colenna’s handbag was overflowing, with an umbrella sticking out one side and a hot water bottle lying limply over an edge. Roan had his arms full of clothing and a set of pots and pans.

“We’ll go around this damned thing into the woods,” Spar said, picking up stacks of military hardware. A belt of machinegun bullets slithered through his hands and he had to stoop over to retrieve it. “I will not pay an unjust and illegal toll.”

“We’ll have to,” Roan said, resignedly. “Wait, look!”

Bells started ringing. Another booth sprouted up on the right edge of the road, with the neon words “You-Pass” glowing in red over the top. A yellow light in the frame of the booth lit up, the light overhead turned from red to green, and the orange-and-black arm swept from horizontal to vertical. From off the side of the road came a host of motorcycles. In their midst were the unmistakable forms of Brom and the covered litter. They went through the booth at full speed, and roared away down the highway. The arm ticked back into place, and the “You-Pass” booth sank back into the ground.

Roan dropped everything and ran after them, whistling for Cruiser. The tollbooth guards blocked his way at once.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the chief guard demanded. He grabbed for the bicycle, which reared and squeaked.

“I must stop them!” Roan explained, trying to squeeze past and run under the wooden barrier. “They’re enemies of the crown. You must help me stop them!”

“Was that them, sir?” Lum asked. The palace guards had thrown everything aside when Roan did, and were right behind him.

“Yes! They’re getting away!”

“Listen, you,” the tollbooth guard said, shaking a threatening finger under Roan’s chin, “pick up your junk and get off the road. We don’t have all day.” The chorus of horns and shouts from the other drivers added to the uproar.

“Wait,” Leonora said, running up. “Will you take an exchange?” She handed the man a little jeweled brooch. “What about this? Will this pay for our passage?”

“Your passage?” the guard asked, screwing a loupe into his eye. His eyebrows went up. “This’ll pay for the whole road’s worth!”

“Yay!” cried the driver immediately behind them.

“Then, take it,” Leonora said, desperately. “Just let us through!”

“Right you are, lady,” the guard said. He raised his hand, and the gate swung up.

Traffic streamed around them as the party picked up what goods they could and hastily pushed them back into the saddlebags. Roan fretted over every second’s delay.

“We were ahead of them! No wonder there wasn’t clean trace of them,” he exclaimed, pulling the last strap tight on Cruiser’s rack.

“Well, thank the Sleepers,” Bergold said, gathering marbles and books into his pack. “There! Come on, let’s go.”

They sprang onto their steeds, and started pedaling through the press of traffic.

Roan gestured the guards into the lead. He wished with all his heart that they could make their steeds into swift motorcycles like Brom’s, but hoped somehow that right would prevail, and the speed they required to catch up would be given to them before it was too late. He bent over the handlebars, and just thought about putting one foot after another and not running into anyone else. Hurry! They must hurry!

“Sir!” Lum called over the noise of the traffic. “There’s no weirdness here. No distortion!” Roan looked up. The young guard was gesturing at the side of the road. Roan surged past a donkey cart and a pedal-driven wheelbarrow to catch up with him.

“Moondust, son!” Spar said, dropping back alongside. “They hit that booth at a hundred miles an hour. There just wasn’t time to distort anything.”

“I’ll prove it, sir,” Lum said. He nodded to Hutchings, who followed. They veered off the road into the woods, turning back toward the tollbooth. Roan watched them go, puzzled.

The guards rejoined them in a minute, coming from the woods on the right and merging through the mass of vehicles to their side.

“Like I thought, sir,” Lum said. “No tire tracks. The ground should have been all churned up, and it’s flat. Nothing but one patch of distortion at the side of the road near where that fake tollbooth was.” Hutchings nodded solemn confirmation. “There should have been a dozen tire tracks all together, and there was only one line a hundred yards out. Could’ve been anybody.”

“Pull over,” Roan said, sadly, raising an arm to alert the rest of the party. He led them over to the shoulder. From there, Lum guided them back to the point where they had seen Brom come up onto the road. Roan studied the forest floor and the dusty waste around it. The young man was right.

“It shows all the earmarks of an artificial disturbance,” Bergold agreed glumly. “We’ve been fooled.”

“But we saw them!” Misha exclaimed. “Isn’t that what they really look like?” he asked Roan, who nodded.

“It was an illusion. Maybe the Sleepers are dreaming about the disturbance, too, and it’s echoing,” Bergold said. “There might have been similar sightings all over the Dreamland. The disturbance is getting worse.”

“Now we’re back to square one,” Misha said glumly, straddling his bike with his long legs on the ground. “We don’t know what we’ve seen. We can’t even believe our own eyes.”