by Tonia Brown
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, well, my mother had to remarry, and I ended up with a new stepdad inside of a year.”
“Ouch.”
“I don’t blame her. Mom did what she had to do. Problem was, I couldn’t cope with all of the changes. I started, well, sir … that is to say … I started suffering from horrific nightmares, horrible dreams that tormented me. Yet I could never remember exactly what I dreamed. Just that it was terrible enough to wake me every night to the sounds of my own screams.”
“Ah, night terrors.”
“What was that?”
“Night terrors. A common affliction in the young.”
“You see?” Dodger leaned forward to prop his elbows on his knees. “Common in the young. I’m a full-grown man, sir. I can’t start with something so childish again.”
“Childish? No, no, no, no! I may have said they are common in children, but that in no way makes them childish. Night terrors are nothing to sneeze at, Mr. Dodger. They are a very troublesome demon indeed. While they are not as common in adults, they do occur.”
“Do they?” Dodger asked, relieved to hear he wasn’t losing his mind.
“Yes. Indeed. And they can drive even the strongest of men to absolute madness.”
Dodger cringed. So much for not losing his mind.
The professor tapped his chin as he pondered his own lecture. “I once knew a man in Brussels who suffered from night terrors so foul he forwent sleep altogether. Thirty-five days he remained awake. Thirty-five long, dreadful days. It led to his death in the end.”
“I suppose it makes sense that lack of sleep can kill a man.”
“Not necessarily, but falling asleep while working with my automatic wheat thrasher will do the job very neatly.” The doc wrinkled his nose, then added, “Well, not neatly, per se. It was quite the mess, from what I hear. They had to pick bits of him out of the barley and peel parts of him off of the-”
“Sir? What am I going to do? I don’t have time for this right now. I need sleep. Steady, solid sleep.”
“Well, how did you get rid of them when you were twelve?”
Dodger looked long and hard at the man. The answer—the real answer and not some prepared lie—was on the tip of his tongue. And it would’ve been so easy to come clean. It was odd, this feeling of total comfort the professor instilled in Dodger. The urge to just come out and say what he needed to say without fear of reproach or judgment.
How did twelve-year-old Rodger get rid of his nightmares?
Easy. He got rid of the source.
But Dodger didn’t say that. Not yet. Maybe later. Maybe never.
Instead, he shrugged and said, “I guess I grew out of them. I don’t remember.”
“That happens,” the doc said. He leaned back in his seat and scratched at his beard until an idea came upon him. “I’m going to mix up a sleep aid for you.”
“Will you? That would be great!”
“I know a concoction that should put you far enough under that not even the worst visions of Hell could tear you free. One pill, with water, every night for the next seven days. Then we will withhold a day to see if the nightmares have subsided. Sound good?”
“Sort of. You say I’ll sleep straight through the night no matter what?”
“Yes. Isn’t that what you want?”
“What if there’s a problem? What if I need to wake up and handle a situation-”
“Mr. Dodger. I appreciate your worry for the Sleipnir and her crew, but let me reassure you that if any trouble should arise, Ched and Lelanea are more than capable of handling most things.”
“But what if they-”
The professor continued over his protesting, “But if it makes you feel more at ease, I can ready a quick-rise formula that will counteract the sleep aid.” He leaned forward as he added in a low voice, “I’m afraid it will have to be in hypodermic form. Is that acceptable?”
Dodger couldn’t help but grin. “Yes, sir. That will do just fine.”
The doc clapped his hands together with a loud smack, and rubbed them excitedly. “Excellent! I shall get started on it right away. By the time you return from your delivery route, I should have the cure to your sleeplessness well in hand.”
The delivery. What was it again? Fiddlesticks! He wasn’t paying the man a lick of attention the whole lecture. “And what are we delivering again?”
The doc narrowed his eyes at Dodger. “You are out of sorts, aren’t you?”
“Sorry, sir.”
“No worry. I certainly don’t mind starting again.”
“Of course he won’t mind starting again,” Mr. Torque said from the now-open door.
Damn, Dodger thought. He was indeed out of sorts. He hadn’t even heard the mechanical man approaching, much less the opening of the door. Normally, his ears would perk up at the click and whir of the clockworks hidden deep inside the copper man.
“That’s because he loves the sound of his own voice,” Mr. Torque said.
“Kettle, thou art black!” the professor shouted.
“Me?” Mr. Torque asked. “Well of course I love the sound of my voice. Everyone does. That’s because my vocal patterns have a melodious rhythm that can charm the very birds from the trees and the fishes from the sea and-”
“And the bull from the patty,” Dodger whispered.
The professor’s eyes went wide as he covered his mouth and giggled.
The metal man went on as if no one had spoken. “The simple fact is that everyone enjoys my dulcet tones. What people do not enjoy is the sound of a dozen pneumonia-stricken ducks attempting to mate in a rubber vat filled with wet oatmeal. And in case you didn’t pick up on the innuendo, sir, that was your voice I just described.”
“Why you …” The professor grumbled a bit, but then let the whole argument subside rather than drawing out a useless exchange.
Dodger chuckled to himself, but couldn’t blame the doc for letting it slide. Arguing with the metal man made about as much sense as trying to put a dress on a pig. It didn’t improve anything and only ended up making the pig angry. Not to mention, you got an awful lot of mud on you in the process.
“Is the package ready?” the doc asked.
“Yes,” Mr. Torque said.
“Yes, what?” the doc growled.
The metal man gave a whistle of a sigh. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Is the Rhino prepped?”
“Yes.” Mr. Torque waited a moment before he added the required, “Sir.”
“Then go and relieve Ched of watch at the helm. You are to remain there until he returns. Do you understand?”
Dodger almost did a double-take at the words.
“Watch?” Mr. Torque snapped. “You mean I’m to pull security?”
“Do you understand?” the professor repeated.
“You expect me, with all of my talents and grace and good breeding, to lower myself to the position of watchdog?”
“I asked you a question.”
“And I asked you a question. I know between the two of us I am more likely to have the correct answer, but I’ll humor you and let you give yours first this time.”
“That’s it!” The doc took a swift kick at the mechanical nuisance just as Mr. Torque backed out of the way. “Get back here, you!”
“Help!” the clockwork man shouted as he scurried behind Dodger’s chair. “See the violence? See how he treats me? You’re a witness!”
The doc growled. “Get out of here and go relieve Ched, you metal maniac! Before I disassemble you and sell your parts to a plumber for scrap.”
A sharp hiss escaped Mr. Torque, the metal man’s version of a gasp. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Yes, I would. I know a few folks who would pay handsomely just for the chance to relieve their aching bladders all over your smug face. I’d be the first!”
With that, the metal man hustled from the room. Dodger couldn’t help but laugh at the exchange.
“That hunk
of metal is going to cross a line one of these days,” the doc said. He smoothed down his disheveled hair and jacket. “And when he does …”
“And when he does?” Dodger asked.
“Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Won’t we?”
Dodger doubted such a bridge existed. “You sent him to pull security for Ched?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“Because I need Ched to go into town with you for this delivery. And before you put up a fight on it, I have to insist this time. Ched was our contact for the original sale, and while I know you prefer to handle things alone-”
“Hang on,” Dodger said over him. “I want Ched to come along.”
The professor started. “You do?”
“Yes, sir. I might be a tad slow, but I learned my lesson fast on that one. You say he comes along, then Ched comes along. End of story. I reckon if you think I can handle it alone, you’ll send me in alone.”
“True.”
“What I wondered was, well, why send Mr. Torque to cover the watch?”
The doc nudged a piece of paper toward him. “Isn’t that what your roster requires? Someone at the helm at all times? Someone, as you put it, to keep an open and wary eye for any sign of trouble?”
“You’ve been keeping up with my roster?” This thought brought a genuine smile to Dodger. Finally! Someone showed interest in the thing, and it ended up being the only man not scheduled for a watch.
“Of course. Wasn’t I supposed to?” The professor snatched up the timetable and ran a chubby finger down the graph. “I see you neglected to include me on the schedule, but I assumed that was just an oversight. I’m sure to be on the next one.” He furrowed his brow and pleaded with his eyes as he said, “You won’t forget me next time. Will you?”
Dodger almost laughed aloud. “Sir, I didn’t forget you this time. You’re not on the schedule for a reason.”
“Oh. I was afraid of that.” The professor glanced down and patted his round belly with a sad little sigh. “I know I’m well on in my years, and I’m not exactly in ship shape. I mean I’m round, and that’s a shape. I think it’s a better shape for people to be—round that is, as opposed to shaped like a ship. I don’t know why folks want to be shaped like a ship anyway. Strong at the bow and firm at the stern, I suppose. That sort of thing. But still, I think it’s an odd expression-”
“Sir,” Dodger interjected. “It’s not that. You aren’t on the schedule because you’re my boss man. The man in charge shouldn’t have to pull security duties.”
The professor clasped his hands over his stomach, using it as an armrest as he argued his point. “That’s as may be. I’m also part of the crew. Just because I’m in charge doesn’t mean I can’t pitch in to help every now and again. When I have time, of course.”
“Of course, sir. Of course.”
“Excellent!” The professor stood from his seat and made for the door, a quick move for a man his size, shaped like a ship or otherwise. “Let’s get you on your way, then. I have a sleeping compound to create, and you have a delivery to make. It’s to be a full day all around.”
“Yes, sir. I do believe it will be full.”
Dodger wondered what in the world his day held for him.
For he still had no idea what he was delivering or to whom.
****
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Chapter Four
Sunless Sunnyvale
In which Dodger discovers a mystery
A few miles deep into the brand-new state of Kansas, there rested a small community of a few hundred folks. The town proper was built in the traditional style; a single main street divided the town and was bordered by a variety of small shops, a house of worship, a schoolhouse, a jailhouse, and a good-sized bank. A few houses lay scattered in the background, resting all across the flat plains that were so common to the area. The townspeople were varied: a healthy mix of Caucasians and Celestials, Negroes and Natives, all striving for nothing more than to make a life for themselves in these hard times. Yes, Sunnyvale seemed a pleasant enough town, save for a single glaring fact. Or rather, non-glaring, in this case.
Sunny was a misnomer.
There was nothing sunny about the town. If anything, it should have been named Cloudyvale. A bleak grayness hung over the community, as if an ark-worthy torrent of precipitation were about to drop from the sky at any given moment. And from what Dodger gathered, it had always been so. Drab, dreary, dull. What crops managed to eke their way to the surface were met with a season of shadows and haziness. According to Ched, the struggling town came to the professor on bended knee, begging for his help to bring a little sunshine their way, but not for the reason Dodger would’ve suspected.
“Come again?” he asked as they disembarked from the Rhino. In truth, the pair could have walked into town. The train was parked but a few hundred feet away, but the pedal car made the delivery all the easier.
“You heard me right the firsht time, Sharge,” Ched said. (Thankfully he had dropped the irritable shirs. For now, at least.)
“They want artificial sunlight to make their livestock happier?”
“That’sh right. Sheemsh they’ve had a boon of new blood ash of late. And mosht of the new folksh moved here from shunnier shtatesh, bringing a whole passhel of animalsh with ‘em. Animalsh that were ushed to shunnier pashturesh, ash it were.”
Dodger got that part, but he still didn’t understand the problem. “The town’s livestock miss the sun. So?”
“Sho, from what I undershtand, it ain’t just a cashe of craving shunlight. Theshe animalsh ain’t acting right. The cowsh stopped givin’ milk. The chickensh ain’t layin’ eggsh. Even the mulesh jusht shtand around shighing all day long.”
“The animals are melancholy. That’s the problem?”
“That and the new folksh are talkin’ about pullin’ shtakesh, takin’ their animalsh, and more importantly their money, elshewhere.”
“Ah, that’s the problem.”
“Shure ish.”
Dodger patted the four large boxes loaded on the cargo skiff behind the Rhino. “And Doc sent these machines to fix it?”
“Shure did.”
“What are they?”
“Shun Lampsh. Work on the shame princhipals ash the Shun Boxesh, only on a larger shcale. Crank ‘em up and voilà, inshtant shunshine shtraight from Dittmeyer’sh creashion to your cow.” Ched eyed Dodger. “Didn’t he tell you all thish?”
Dodger rubbed the back of his neck in classic embarrassment. “He did, but … I suppose my mind was elsewhere.”
“That whole lack of shleep thing again?”
“Let’s say yes and leave it at that. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Ched worked the tailgate on the skiff, lowering it with care so as not to bump the precious cargo inside.
Dodger helped the driver lower a metal ramp from the back of the skiff so they could unload the lamps one by one. As they worked, a small crowd gathered a few yards away, just outside of the bank.
“You’d think they’d offer to help,” Ched said. “Theshe thingsh are for them, after all.”
“I don’t think they’re interested in us,” Dodger said.
“They should be. Were probably the mosht intereshting thing that’sh happened to theshe folksh shince they shet up shop.”
“I don’t know.” Dodger stopped to watch the crowd, straining to listen to the mumbles and whispers passing among the group. “They seem interested in the bank. I wonder what’s going on.”
“Getting theshe thingsh off the shkiff ish what’sh going on. Now shtop gawking at the localsh, and give me a hand.”
Dodger did as asked, returning to his share of the loads. “Is Boon still mad with me?”
“Yesh, but I reckon he’ll get over it shoon enough. I’m kind of shurprished he didn’t join ush already.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Look, Sharge, I don’t wanna pry—and I honeshtly
mean that, becaushe ash you well know, I hate to get involved with folksh an’ their petty problemsh—but if there ish shomething you feel like you need to talk about, you know I’m here for ya? Right?”
It was this kind of backhanded sympathy Dodger had come to both expect and respect about the driver. Naked honesty and little else. No one else in the world could make you feel both appreciated and loathed all in one rancid breath.
“I know,” Dodger said. “And if I get the gumption to talk about it, you’ll be the first person I come to.”
“No I won’t, but I appreshiate you shaying it. Now grab that end and pull. The quicker we unload thish shtuff, the quicker we can get out of here.”
“You don’t like it here? I think it’s kind of pleasant. I mean, save for the gloominess and all.”
“Not really. It’sh too damp here for the likesh of me. Makesh me feel like I’m about to shet to rot.”
Dodger tried to keep this idea out of his tired mind as he helped Ched unload the four boxes containing the Sun Lamps. They were just about to unload the last one when they were joined by a brawny young man bearing a badge of office. Even without the metal star, Dodger would’ve pinned him as a lawman. The blond-headed lad couldn’t have been much more than twenty, yet he held himself with a certain authority, confidence and austerity that all but announced his chosen vocation.
“Howdy, Mr. Ched.” the young lawman said, holding out his hand in greeting. (A move Dodger had to respect, for he had no intention of touching the driver ever again unless he was required to do so.)
Ched took the offered hand, giving it a curt shake before releasing it. “Sheriff Shtanley.”
Sheriff? Dodger was impressed. Surely this kid wasn’t the sheriff of the town.
“Nice to see you in our little town again,” the sheriff said.
“I’d like to shay nishe to be here, but …” Ched’s greeting faded as unspoken images of the driver rotting in the damp climate filled Dodger’s mind.