Dylan's Quest

by Blair Drake

  Dylan shook his head. What happened on that roof? He looked around to see the streets were filled with other oddities: a woman who looked like a mermaid with legs, was riding a seahorse as if the air were water; a frog with wings; fish floating by in bubbles. And when he looked to the sky, he swore the crescent moon smiled at him, then winked.

  He felt something hot in the pocket of his khaki school uniform pants and pulled out a pin. It glowed. It was warm, but not really hot, though it felt quite hot in his pocket, like it tried to get his attention.

  “Hey,” he heard a muffled cry.

  Looking around, he didn’t see anyone looking at him.

  “Down here, stupid,” the whiny voice said again.

  Just as he leaned over to see where the voice was coming from, a bee the size of a small dog swooped down at him. As it flew away, he saw it wasn’t just a bee. The insect had the upper body of a woman, with the butt and wings of a bee.

  “Watch out, that one can kill you,” the voice said.

  Dylan looked at the grass next to the sidewalk. A man’s pocket watch was wedged between the grass and the white picket fence. He bent down and picked up the watch.

  “Whoa,” he said when he almost dropped it, after looking into the clear glass cover.

  Instead of seeing the face of a watch through the glass, Dylan saw a man’s face, and his bare arms and legs. It looked as if he’d been stuffed into the pocket watch.

  “Hey, be careful,” the naked old man inside the pocket watch said.

  “Sorry,” Dylan responded without thinking.

  “Press the top and open this thing. I’m getting cramps.”

  Dylan didn’t immediately open the pocket watch. He turned it over in his hand to look at the back. It looked like tarnished sterling silver, and it was old. But where were the watch parts? He’d have to open the glass watch face to see what was inside. How did that old man fit inside? And the man inside was talking to him. How had he heard such a small man, who was closed inside a watch?

  Dylan could see the man’s face peaking from between his knees, which looked smashed against the glass. His legs were bent, and his knees were on either side of his body, with his ankles crossed. His toes were large and gross. He only had three fingers and a thumb on each hand. Dylan could see a cog embedded in the left side of his chest. He had a long, narrow face with a prominent chin, a wide nose, smallish eyes that were hard to see behind his goggle-like glasses, and no hair.

  “You gonna stare all day, or are you gonna let me out?” he said, then yelled, “Let me out!”

  Dylan’s fingers moved to the top of the watch and popped the cover open. It felt as if his fingers were moving of their own freewill, even though he tried to keep them from letting the little old man out. Something told him this old guy was trouble. T. R. O. U. B. L. E.

  The man tumbled out and dropped to the grass. “Umph.”

  Dylan blinked and when he opened his eyes, the old man was no longer small enough to fit into the watch. Dylan covered his eyes. “Dude, you’re naked. Your junk is hanging out for everyone to see.”

  When he opened his eyes, the old guy had his hands over his crotch. “Sorry, I’m getting old. Things don’t always go the way I plan them.”

  The old man did something Dylan didn’t see, and suddenly he was dressed in the same manner as the round man with the cats.

  “Who are you? And where am I?” Dylan asked, now that he could comfortably look at the man.

  “I’m Henry Gidiro, but my friends call me Hank.” He swept his hand across and in front of him, bowing deeply from his waist. When he stood again, he said, “And you’re the young and stupid Dylan Streetman.”

  Dylan’s chin dropped, his mouth wide open. Just then, another bee swooped down at his mouth.

  Henry moved faster than a comic character, closing Dylan’s mouth with one hand and swinging his other hand in the air to ward off the bee. “Nasty things.”

  “How do you know my name, Hank?” Dylan mumbled through his closed mouth, because Henry’s hand was still on his chin.

  “It’s Henry to you, and I’ve been expecting you. You’re uglier than I expected,” he retorted, pulling his hand away.

  Dylan crossed his arms. “You’re not so hot yourself. You look like you’re a hundred years old.”

  Henry grinned and showed a mouthful of perfect teeth. Dentures, Dylan was sure. “Thanks, what a nice compliment. I actually turned 647 last month.”

  “600 years old?” Dylan felt like an idiot because everything he said sounded like a question. “Whoa, I take it back, you look young for your age.”

  “Yes, I do.” Henry leaned in close to Dylan, like he was trying to get a better look through his crazy goggles.

  Dylan tried to ignore Henry scrutinizing him like a specimen under a microscope. He looked around, his eyes wide but his mouth closed. He didn’t see any bees, but he did notice he and Henry were standing about a hundred feet from a huge square, surrounded by eight-foot-tall hedges. A statue of someone on a horse with wings stood near the center of the park. He saw a place like this once, when he was with his parents on vacation. But he was too young to remember all the details.

  “Excuse me, Henry,” Dylan stepped away from the lanky old man. “Where are we? And what the heck am I doing here?”

  Henry put one of his three fingers on his bottom lip, like he was thinking, then he said, “We’re in Craydusk, boy.”

  “Craydusk?” Dylan didn’t believe him.

  “That’s what I said, Craydusk.”

  “What year is it?” Dylan asked, since he had yet to see an actual car.

  “What does it matter?” Henry retorted.

  Dylan shrugged. “I’d like to go back to Gray Cliffs now. How do I make that happen? Because I don’t even know how or why I’m here. Or where I am, as far as that goes. Craydusk means nothing to me.”

  Dylan felt the dread crawling around in his stomach, working its way up his esophagus. He took a deep breath to keep from freaking out. He didn’t want this old man to think he was a baby.

  “Silly kid, Gray Cliffs sent you here. Didn’t they tell you?” He waved his hand like he was cleaning a whiteboard. “Never mind, they never tell you. Then we get this freaked out teenager with acne and an attitude.”

  Dylan wanted to strangle Henry, but he figured Henry might be very strong. So far, everything about his looks was deceiving. “Are you going to tell me?”

  Henry shrugged, then pointed to the café on the corner. “Let’s go eat. Got any money?”

  Dylan checked his pockets. He found something and pulled his hand out with a twenty-dollar bill in it. Henry snatched it from him and walked away. As he walked away, Dylan saw the money change. It was no longer American money, but something usable in this realm. Dylan followed after Henry.

  Henry stopped so abruptly that Dylan actually smacked into him. “Sorry.”

  “You can’t go into the café looking like that. You’ll stand out. We need you to fit in until we figure out your journey.” He looked Dylan up and down. “You must be a chameleman, or you wouldn’t have ended up here.”

  “I still don’t understand where here is. And what’s a chameleman? And why on…wherever this is, would you think I am one?” A chameleman? Who ever heard of such an absurd thing.

  “A chameleman is a man who can change. He can become other things, or blend into the background. Like a chameleon, only better and more advanced.”

  Dylan frowned, trying to wrap his head around what Henry told him. He could become other things. “Um, no. that’s just not going to happen. I’m not a chameleon.”

  “Chameleman, not chameleon. You really are wet behind the ears,” Henry said.

  Dylan felt behind his ears, then looked at his fingers. Bone dry.

  Henry shook his head. “It’s a saying. It means you’re young and naïve.”

  Dylan didn’t have the energy to argue. He spread his stance and crossed his arms in front of him.

  “You
’re from a magical family, my boy. Gray Cliffs is for exceptional children of magicians, mages, wizards and warlocks. Though they’re all the same thing, if you ask me.”

  Dylan started to say something, but Henry held up one fat-tipped finger to stop him. “Let’s just get you changed then we can talk. I’m starving, and I’m about to go all rampagy.”

  “Fine, go ahead. What do you need to do?” He uncrossed his arms.

  “I don’t need to do anything. You’re going to do all the work here.” Henry reached out and touched Dylan on the arm. “Close your eyes.”

  Dylan closed his eyes, but not all the way. Tiny slits allowed him to see a little.

  “Close them,” Henry snapped.

  He did, terrified of what would happen to him.

  In a smoother, nicer voice, Henry said, “Now remember the clothes I’m wearing. Think hard, and think about what you’d look like wearing the same clothes.”

  Dylan squeezed his eyes tighter as he tried to remember what Henry’s clothes looked like, but all he could remember was his naked body, and his hands moving to cover his private parts. He could hear Henry chuckling.

  “What?” Dylan asked.

  Now almost hysterical, Henry said, “Open your eyes and look at yourself, but do it fast, before we get hauled off by the coppers.”

  Dylan opened his eyes and looked down at himself. His hands instantly flew to his crotch. He was suddenly very cold, and felt the goosebumps on his skin. “What the hell?”

  “You obviously had something else on your mind.”

  “How did you do that? Put my clothes back.” Dylan shivered.

  “Dude, you did it. You’re a chameleman. You can change into whatever you’re thinking about, or you can make yourself blend into the background.”

  Dylan thought about his crazy dreams. The ones where he wished he was a rat crawling through the floor vents. How he saw himself sitting at the end of a grate, watching. Did he turn himself into a rat and not know it? Or was he really dreaming? He was sure this was a dream, so he played along. He closed his eyes again and thought about the neat suit the round man wore. He concentrated on the details of the tassels and sweet shoes.

  “Better,” Henry said.

  Dylan opened his eyes and saw he was now dressed as a Renaissance man. “These wool trousers are itchy.” He scratched his thighs.

  “Quit whining. Let’s go eat.” Henry turned back toward the café and set off at a quick pace.

  Dylan had no doubt things could get stranger. He was still in awe that he was able to change his clothes by just thinking about it. He didn’t think he really did it; he was sure Henry had a hand in it somehow. But how would Henry know what he was thinking? He scratched at his legs as he followed Henry to the café.

  He took one last look behind him before entering the restaurant and realized he was in some sort of Neverland. A trio of bubbles moved down the center of the road they just crossed. The bubbles weren’t so strange, but the fact there was a person inside each of them was interesting.

  He heard someone behind him say, “What are you staring at? Is Milo running the streets again?”

  He nearly gave himself whiplash as he turned to see the girl standing beside him. His heart skipped a beat. She looked to be about his age. She stood almost as tall as his six feet but had a strangely long torso, and…wings...wings so thin he could see right through them. When he looked at her face, she had bluish skin the same hue as skim milk (almost like Rex’s), large eyes that looked black, thick cherry red lips, and a long, bright purple afro. Damn, she was cute.

  “H-hi,” he said.

  “Hi.” Her voice was light, tinny, and sounded like music to him.

  “Woli, quit flirting with the boy, and come take my order,” Henry called across the room.

  Woli turned to glare at Henry. His chair slid across the floor and slammed into the wall. “What was that, Henry?”

  Oh crap, this sweet looking girl was no one to mess with...and maybe not so sweet after all. But Dylan couldn’t stop looking at her now. Just to keep her attention, he asked, “Who’s Milo?”

  “Milo is a what,” she said and walked away.

  So much for keeping her attention. She disappeared into what Dylan assumed was the kitchen with a flitter of her wings. But Dylan wasn’t really looking at her wings when her legs were more interesting. They were long and thin...and very visible with the mini tutu she wore.

  Henry scooted his chair back up to the table, and Dylan pulled a chair out to join him.

  “Who is she?” Dylan picked up the silverware and arranged it the way they had it on the table at GCA: fork on the left, knife on the right, and spoon above where the plate would be.

  “They have you well trained.” Henry watched Dylan’s hands, mimicking his moves.

  He looked up. “The girl?”

  Henry looked toward the door. Dylan turned to look. No one was there.

  The café was empty except for them. And it only had five tables, each with two chairs. Either they weren’t ever very busy, or they did a lot of takeout orders.

  “What are you looking at?” Dylan asked.

  Henry said, “Nothing, let’s just get coffee and a pastry to go.” He sounded nervous.

  Now hungry himself, since he hadn’t eaten breakfast, Dylan said, “I thought you were famished.”

  “Big word for such a little guy.”

  Dylan could feel the sudden tension in the air. He looked around again, but they were still the only two in the room. “What’s going on?” The terror gripping him made him wish to be back in his dorm room with Rex, who suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

  “Right now, no questions asked. Get up and take my hand.” Henry jumped up from his chair.

  Too scared to ask questions, he stood and reached across the table, grabbing Henry’s hand. “What’s going on?”

  “Shhhhh. Back up against the wall next to me, and don’t say another word until I tell you to.”

  Again, Dylan complied, and they faded into the wall, completely invisible.

  As soon as they pressed their backs to the wall, the front door of the café slammed open. A short, round man, who looked a lot like the egg-shaped man Dylan saw when he first landed in Craydusk, stood in the doorway. His aura oozed danger, anger, and madness.

  Wearing black from head to toe, including a bowler hat that shined like his patent leather shoes, he waddled forward. Tapping his left toe on the floor, he smiled a wicked smile. “I smell you,” he said, his button nose wiggling like a rabbit’s. Then he yelled, “Woli, where are you?”

  Woli came out of the kitchen with her wings tucked away. She had a smile plastered on her face, like she was afraid to not smile. “Portly, what can I do for you?”

  She didn’t look around the room or toward Dylan and Henry. She looked directly at the man she called Portly, not even blinking.

  Portly stepped forward. “Where is he? I smell him.”

  Woli cocked her head. “Who?”

  “I don’t know who. Uffus said he saw a new one as he was walking his girls.”

  Still smiling, she said, “A new what?”

  Portly tapped his left toe hard on the floor. “Stupid doesn’t look good on you.” He stepped all the way into the café. “A new mage.”

  Woli visibly shivered. “No way. A new one. This is so exciting. Boy or girl?”

  “Don’t act like you don’t know.” Portly lifted his hand and Woli crumbled to the floor.

  Dylan’s breath caught, but Henry squeezed his hand.

  “I don’t, Portly,” she said.

  He raised his hand, lifting her off the ground. “Liar. I can smell him.”

  “It’s a boy?”

  “It smells like a boy,” he said.

  She let out a nervous laugh. “Oh, Portly, that’s the bacon I was cooking. A boar. Boar always smells like testosterone and urine. I can’t even eat pork after cooking boar bacon.”

  Portly stepped forward, taking his attention from Woli,
who now stood normally on the floor. His rabbit nose moved up and down, sniffing. The closer to the kitchen and to Dylan and Henry he moved, the quicker the sniffing. “Pork, huh?”

  Woli pushed open the kitchen door. “Come look, I’ll show you. It’s a disgusting smell.”

  Portly shuffled his feet, then walked back to the front door. “Be on the lookout, and I expect you to let me know if you see Henry or the boy.”

  Woli nodded.

  Woli counted out loud to thirty as soon as Portly was out the door. “You can come out now.”

  Chapter 4

  Henry stepped away from the wall and was suddenly visible. Dylan followed. Woli didn’t even look surprised.

  “Hot dang, you’re good for a newbie. Where’d you find this one, Henry?” Woli pulled up a chair from another table and sat.

  Henry sat, so Dylan sat, too. He felt like a puppet, but figured it might be safer this way.

  “What’s going on? And who was that?” Dylan said, barely above a whisper. He was afraid Egg Man Two would be listening.

  “He’s Queen Gaanne’s pawn,” Henry said.

  Woli laughed. “He’s a lot more than that, and it’s not good if he smells the boy.”

  “Stop calling me a boy. I’m probably older than you,” Dylan protested.

  Wide-eyed, Woli said, “I doubt that.”

  “I’m seventeen years old. What are you? Fifteen?”

  Woli grinned. “Yeah, you’re right, you’re older, and definitely more mature. Especially for a weanling mage.”

  “Woli is 152 years old, Dylan. Not everything is as it seems in Craydusk.”

  If Henry’s head were transparent at Woli’s skin, Dylan was sure he’d see the wheels turning.

  “Weanling mage? Was that an insult, too?”

  “No, it’s what you are. You’re a mage who doesn’t quite know his powers, and yet you did okay blending into the wall like that. Too bad a chameleman can’t change his smell, too.” Woli fiddled with the hem of her tutu.

  “So you weren’t kidding. I can change what I look like, and I can blend into the background. How stinkin’ cool is that?” Dylan liked this idea of being in a room and not being seen. But did he really smell like urine and pork? He almost lifted his arm to smell his pits.