by Peter Ponzo
Gordon closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and slipped over the edge and fell and fell.
When the searing heat seemed too intense to bear he slipped smoothly into the cool water and was carried in a swift current until his lungs seemed almost to burst and he was ejected from the side of a cliff, falling, falling into the blue-green waters of the Sea of Chalma.
Fifth Interim
Again must I rest, for I fear that my memory plays games. Can one so easily defeat the wrath of the Dark Lord? Perhaps it was not as I tell, for it was so, so long ago and my memory fades, but perhaps I have said that. You will understand that I cannot make clear a tale which propagates by force of magic. For surely this world is magic, don't you see? No, you do not see, for how can common occurrence be magic. Ah, but if the night sky were to fill with points of light, too many to count, and a great sphere were to rise to the heavens, white and bright, then ... then would it not be magic? And yet, in another world, this is surely not magic but the common occurrence of stars and moon.
Ah, but I err, for this world too has stars and moon, does it not?
But I must continue, for the end grows near and I must reach it before my end.
Listen well, for you will not hear this tale again.
CHAPTER 13
a Dragon and a Dwarf
Clement Woods didn't often get drunk, but when he did the effects seemed to last for weeks. For this reason he avoided alcohol when he could. In fact, he didn't really like the stuff and tried to disguise his avoidance of the evil liquid by drinking straight Ginger Ale at parties, even feigning being slightly tipsy for the benefit of the other guests. Last night was an exception. His boss had filled his glass several times with rye whiskey, patting him on the back and placing the glass firmly in his hand. What could he do but drink the evil stuff? Now he would pay for it.
He crawled out of bed and staggered to the window to draw the drapes; a mistake. It was almost noon and the brightness of the midday sun hit him full in the face and he fell back and tried again to approach the window, his hand arched over his brow, eyes squinting. He reached up to close the drapes when he saw it, next door, the garage, the roof of the garage, rising into the air, closely followed by an ugly monster arising from within the garage, wearing the roof as though it were a hat. Clement fell back again, onto the bed, curled up and pulled the covers over his head. He stayed that way for some time, his head spinning with effects of the evil liquid he had consumed the night before.
What had he seen? The Jacobs were strange people and weird things had been happening next door. The wife seemed to have vanished, the husband was rarely seen, and just recently someone had broken into the house and he, Clements, had called the police who came, then left again without taking a hostage, or prisoner, or whatever. Now, there was something in the garage, lifting the roof right off. Weird. He must be mistaken. Maybe the way the morning sun glinted off the roof. Yes, that was surely it.
Clements opened his eyes again and crept to the window. He was right the first time: a monster rising from under the roof of the garage. He blinked several times, then saw the garage door open and Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs came out. Where have they been for all this time? Living in the garage? Then he saw the boy, their son. But they didn't have any children, he was sure of that. Clements blinked once more, rubbed his eyes, leaned against the window. It was not a boy, but a small man with a white robe and a funny hat and red hair. A dwarf.
Clement watched as the trio stopped on the driveway and looked up at the garage roof, now perched precariously atop the head of a spotted monster, and they started to laugh. Well, Mrs. Jacobs was laughing, he was sure of that. Then another man appeared, larger than the others, and he, too, began to laugh.
Clement spun on his heel and ran to the phone. The number of the local police was written in large figures on the wall. He dialed as quickly as he could.
"Yes! Yes! A monster, rising right out of the garage, and a dwarf too. Sure I'm sure! What? I don't drink, well, except last night, but that was an exception. You see, my boss insisted and ... Hello? Hello?"
Gloria stopped laughing when Peter put his hand over her mouth.
"Look, this isn't all that funny," he mumbled. "Let's get to the police and tell them what we know. Can you tell that dragon to, sort of, fly up out of the garage?"
But Freckles had already shaken the garage roof from his head and was now hovering in the air, his great wings flapping slowly, his neck arched, his eyes glowing brightly red. Gloria called to him and he plummeted to the lawn, landing in a heap, burying Charlie beneath his wings. Painstakingly, Gloria and Tom pulled Charlie free, clambered onto the dragon's back and when they were secure, Gloria pointed down the street.
"Peter, take Charlie to the station, with the car. Freckles! That way!"
And they went that way. A bright green Chevy ran into a privet hedge. A concrete truck ran into a tree, its load of concrete running out over the grass. All cars ignored the traffic lights at the corner of Philips and John Streets and piled into each other, drivers leaning out the window to see the monster fly by. Old Mrs. Schenley, reading on her porch, fell back onto the sofa and clutched her heart.
When Tom Barclay pushed open the door to the police station he found the room in confusion.
"Fifth precinct, Constable Gerrard speaking. Where? Yes, we've heard about the flying dragon. We're sending a squad car to the area now. Just calm down and go indoors, and hide." No sooner had he set down the phone than it rang again. "Fifth ... wait, slow down. We know all about the monster and we have the situation under control. Just stay inside your house and off the streets."
Tom was waiting impatiently by the front desk and when Bob Gerrard put down the phone Tom pounded on the desk gaining the attention he sought. Bob stared at Tom who then spoke up. "I'm Thomas Allen Barclay and I've come to tell you about a -"
"Don't tell me," interrupted Gerrard. "You've seen a flying monster."
"Not exactly, though I actually flew here on a dragon, that I guarantee. But I'm here to tell you about -"
Another officer had overheard and began laughing. "Hey Bob! This guy actually flew here -"
Tom pounded his fist on the desk once more, but the officers kept laughing. They stopped laughing when a huge spotted head appeared at the window. Gerrard dropped the phone.
"My God," he grunted, falling back against the wall.
Bob Gerrard listened intently, mouth open, scarcely blinking, as Gloria and Peter Jacobs and Tom Barclay took turns in telling the story of Sharlain and the imminent invasion by the forces of the Eba-evin. When they stopped talking, long enough for a response from Gerrard, he could only cough to clear his throat and mutter softly: "Call David." Then, more loudly: "For God's sake, somebody call David Kochewski!"
Constable David Kochewski arrived, in a wheelchair, within the hour. He sat for a moment, beyond the crowd of onlookers which had gathered outside the station, stared up at the spotted head and flaring nostrils and the small man clinging to the back of the dragon. Shaking his head, David pushed his way to the door. After his encounter with the monster of Sharlain, nothing surprised him.
"Dave!" cried Bob Gerrard. "I am a believer. I know, I thought your story was, well, a bit far fetched, but now I really am a believer." Bob looked relieved, as though David Kochewski had the experience appropriate to the situation.
"Hi David," said Peter Jacobs, pushing at his hair. "Good to see you up and about."
David smiled weakly, then slipped out of his wheelchair and into a more comfortable upholstered chair with a sigh. "I see you went back to Sharlain and returned with some reinforcements. What do you intend to do now, Peter?"
"I have to convince somebody that this world will be invaded, and that we have to strike back, before the invasion takes place, with rockets, bombs, planes, everything we can muster."
Bob Gerrard was staring at David Kochewski. Four other officers stood by. The phones were ringi
ng, but were ignored. The crowd outside was relatively quiet. In the distance horns honked and a siren sounded. Everyone in the station waited for David to say something.
"Peter, we'll go to National Security. I was contacted recently about Tony Shugart and tried to explain, but I knew it was useless." David swung once more into his wheelchair and Bob Gerrard jumped forward to help him.
Gloria had been strangely quiet. Now she spoke up. "We'll fly there, on Freckles. Then they'll have to take us seriously."
Bob Gerrard stood by, still dazed, as they left the precinct. When the door closed he picked up the phone which had been ringing continually.
"Fifth precinct, Constable Gerrard speaking." He waited, then: "Yes lady, that was a dragon you saw, nothing to worry about, just a visitor from the World of Sharlain."
*****
Harold Becker returned from the National Security office and collapsed onto the sofa and his wife promptly brought him a gin and tonic which he finished in a single gulp. Peggy sat in the chair opposite and waited. Harold would tell her when he was ready, but he was clearly too upset, or confused, to say anything just yet, so she waited. After a minute or two he looked at Peggy and smiled, then opened his mouth as though to say something, then fell back against the pillow and chuckled. He spoke, slowly.
"Tomorrow we assemble the troops, over a thousand, with two hundred tanks and rocket launchers." He chuckled once more and held out his glass. Peggy jumped up and filled it from the decanter, he gulped it down and continued. "Then we invade Sharlain, but listen to this. We have to hold hands, all thousand marines, holding hands. Then we say some magic words." He laughed loudly at the image. "Then we show up inside a mountain and climb down, a thousand marines in full battle gear, down the side of a mountain. Then come the tanks, but they don't hold hands, oh no. They drive into some some guys cellar, Dan Woller, used to be head of math at Corrigan. They go in one at a time. The first tank destroys the beast."
Harold laughed. "The beast is waiting, you see. The first tank blasts it, then says the magic words and winds up on some field and waits for the marines. Then come the other tanks, one at a time. Then they assemble at the base of this mountain." He swallowed hard. "Are you getting all this Peg? It makes sense, right?"
Peggy smiled. It usually took three martinis for Harold to become illiterate. Now, just two sufficed. She smiled again.
"Then we, uh, attack. Well, first a march, uh, and maybe we pick up a few dwarfs with little swords. Little dwarfs with little swords, according to Charlie, you see." Harold fell back again and closed his eyes. "Charlie is, after all, a dwarf himself. But get this." He leaned forward, shakily. "We might have to fight dragons, too. Flying dragons with spotted heads. How do I know that? Because Freckles says so, and Freckles is, after all, a flying dragon with - with -"
Peggy smiled and took the glass from his hand. Harold's promotion since the death of Tony Shugart was too much for him. Poor Harold. She covered him in a blanket and turned off the light. He needed his rest. Poor Harold.
*****
"I'm not sure that's the best plan," said Gloria. "It'll take some time to assemble at the base of the mountain. What if Eba-evin gets wind of this invasion and attacks before we're ready? Surely there must be a way of entering Sharlain somewhere else. I mean, do we always have to wind up inside that mountain? When we come this way we don't always show up in the same place. I came back, right into my living room, but old man Woller didn't show up in my living room, did he?"
Peter Jacobs frowned and pushed his chin into his hands. David Kochewski had left and they were alone with Charlie who was sitting cross-legged in the corner of the room, staring at the TV. Freckles was curled up inside the garage, sleeping. Tom had left and promised to return as soon as he could. He just had to check in with his wife.
"Charlie?" Gloria waited but the little man in white was listening carefully to the Young and the Restless . "Charlie!" she said, more emphatically. Charlie jumped to his feet and spun about.
"Yes, I am at the command of the Lady of the Golden Glow and wish only to please her so that all the people of Dragomir may know -"
"Okay, okay. Listen. When I rub this amulet I wind up in Sharlain, inside the mountain. Can I get into Sharlain some other way? Can I rub and say the words and enter somewhere else?"
"Which are the words so that I may know what entry you request and may advise you of alternatives into the land of my people who suffer the ills of the Dark Lord -"
"Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan," said Gloria slowly, careful not to touch the amulet pinned to her blouse.
Charlie squatted by the sofa and stared up at Gloria. "You call to the God of Light, that he may bring you to the place of your dreams, that you may experience your fantasies, that you may live out the pleasures and fears of your nature and -"
"Hey! Do you mean that I determine the place where I enter Sharlain? That I can show up somewhere else, provided I dream of that other place?" Gloria was excited.
"But why did we always end up inside that mountain?" asked Peter.
"Maybe that's the default location. If you don't ask for anything else, you get the mountain." Gloria jumped to her feet. "I'm going to try somewhere else. I'm going to think of the grassy plain at the base of the mountain." Gloria closed her eyes and rubbed the amulet.
"Wait! Gloria!" Peter Jacobs jumped up.
"Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan."
Gloria vanished. Peter stared, open-mouthed, at the empty sofa, then at Charlie. The little man in white first looked confused, then returned to watch TV. "The Lady of the Golden Glow will not be happy when she returns," he muttered.
Peter was surprised at the brevity of Charlie's statement.
"What do you mean?"
"She must dream, she must dream," Charlie whispered, then turned his attention again to the commercial on TV.
Peter waited, staring at the empty sofa. Gloria should return almost immediately. He looked at his watch and waited. He jumped when the phone rang.
"Hello, Peter Jacobs speaking," he muttered, still looking at the sofa.
"Peter, I'm not where you think I am."
"Gloria! Where in God's name are you?"
There was a pause, then Gloria answered. "I'm phoning from some little coffee shop out on Cranberry Road. Don't ask me how I got here. I was inside that mountain, in Sharlain, then I closed my eyes and thought of the sofa in our living room and said the words and wound up here. But don't worry, I think I have it now. I'm going to try again."
"No! I'll drive over and pick you up. Gloria!"
But the phone went dead.
Then Gloria was sitting on the sofa, obviously pleased with herself. Charlie looked around and smiled.
"Did you dream?" asked the little man, with remarkable brevity.
"Not exactly," said Gloria. "But I did wait until I had a clear picture of where I wanted to be before I rubbed the amulet."
"What happened last time?" asked Peter desperately.
"I thought of the fields beside the mountain, and wound up inside the mountain again. Then I thought of our sofa and wound up on the street outside that coffee shop." Peter was about to say something but Gloria continued. "The street was Cranberry Road. Does that ring a bell Peter?" She didn't wait for a reply. "Next to the coffee shop was the furniture store where we bought this sofa. Don't you see? I thought of the sofa and wound up at the furniture store. So, next time, I thought very carefully of the street where we live, our living room, this particular sofa. Presto!"
Peter gulped and let out his breath in a low wheeze.
"Look Gloria, don't fool with that thing. Who knows what will happen the next -" Peter stopped. Gloria's smile was too wide, her eyes too bright. She closed her eyes and rubbed the amulet, and whispered, and vanished.
"I think she has it," said Charlie.
CHAPTER 14
The Mountains of Mune
Gordon Chaplain swam in the cool
waters of the Sea of Chalma, away from the cliffs from which he had been ejected, carried by the waterfall which crashed with showers of silver foam into the sea. He swam until his arms could move no more, then he rested, upon his back, staring into a sky of amber with striations of burnt sienna, then he closed his eyes.
The Ghost had said a Door of Monash awaited him, but there was no door, just a violent river that swept him from the abyss, out the side of a cliff, down into the sea. Perhaps the Ghost regarded this method of exit as a door. Perhaps that was the real meaning of the Doors of Monash: an exit from one place, an entrance to another. But why 'Monash'? It made no sense. Surely the Doors of Monash were somehow connected with the amulet and the borgo incantation. Perhaps only the inhabitants of Monash were able to use such doors with naught but an incantation; others needed the amulet.
He lay floating for some time and when he opened his eyes once more he stared into a face, bemused, smiling.
"Hi there," it said, with lips so red and cheeks of rose and eyes that twinkled with the delight of new acquaintance. "Fancy meeting you here."
Gordon spun about in the water and stared up into the face. It was a woman, her hair falling in golden ripples to her shoulders. She peered over the edge of a large boat. Nay, a log raft.
"Welcome aboard, stranger. It's very much drier up here."
The woman held out her hand and Gordon reached out and held it and clambered onto the rough logs and fell exhausted onto his back. The woman smiled and her smile held the warmth of a summer day and Gordon knew that he dreamed.