by Terry Brooks
There was a scattering of polite applause.
Abernathy continued to cling to Questor Thews, as if letting go would change him back again. He could feel the air and the sun’s warmth, and he could smell the food and hear the music as if he had never been able to do any of those things before in his life. If he could be born again, he thought, it would feel like this!
“What’s happened to us?” he managed finally, drawing away from the other’s grasp. “How did I change? How did it happen?”
Questor released him reluctantly, then shook his head, wispy hair sticking out all over the place, the result of his enthusiastic embrace. “I don’t know,” he declared wonderingly. “I don’t understand any of it. I thought we were dead!”
The crowd applauded some more. Abernathy became aware of them now, three and four deep all around the wizard and himself. He was startled in spite of himself—and deeply embarrassed. “Questor Thews, do something!” he demanded heatedly, gesturing at the knot of people ringing them.
The wizard glanced about in surprise but somehow managed to maintain his equanimity. “Hello, there!” he greeted. “Can anyone tell us where we are?”
There was laughter from the crowd.
“Bumbershoot,” came a tall, lanky boy’s quick answer.
“Bumbershoot?” repeated Questor Thews doubtfully.
“Sure. You know, Bumbershoot, festival of the arts.” The boy grinned. He was enjoying whatever game it was they were playing.
“No, no, he means the city,” a burly fellow said. He was enjoying the game, too. “You’re in Seattle, Washington, fellows.”
“United States of America,” another voice added.
Other names and places were shouted out, spectators now having decided that this was an audience participation performance. Everyone was quite enthusiastic, and the crowd grew larger still.
“Questor!” Abernathy said sharply. “Do you realize where we are? We’re in the High Lord’s old world! We’ve been transported through the fairy mists once again!”
The wizard’s jaw dropped. “But how could that have happened? Nightshade meant to destroy us! What are we doing here?”
“Ask Scotty to beam you up!” someone shouted.
“Are they Trekkies?” someone else asked hopefully.
The crowd howled with laughter and engaged in some rhythmic clapping to urge the two on. The music from the pavilion had ceased momentarily, and it seemed as if everyone at the festival had suddenly converged on them, anxious for a new show. Belatedly, Abernathy realized that their unexpected appearance had been the trigger for all this attention, materializing as they had out of nowhere as if … well, as if by magic—which was exactly how they had gotten there, of course, but that was beside the point. This was Earth, the High Lord’s old world, and magic was not practiced here. Not tolerated, really. Not even believed in for the most part. The crowd thought the two were part of the festival, like the jugglers and the stilt walkers and what have you. Whatever magic they possessed was illusion. It was meant to entertain.
“We have to extricate ourselves from this situation right now!” Abernathy insisted in an anxious covert whisper. “These people think we are offering them some sort of performance!”
He scrambled quickly to his feet, looking down at himself as he did so, at his human self, wondering in amazement that he was there, restored once more, miraculously, impossibly. His voice caught in his throat. “We have to talk this out … this whole business! But alone, Questor Thews!”
The wizard nodded in emphatic agreement, rising with him. They were both dressed in Landover clothing, looking very out of place unless you accepted their appointed roles as entertainers. The wizard quickly decided that it was better to go along with perceptions than to try to argue or explain them away. He was as confused as Abernathy about what had happened and just as anxious to sit down in a quiet spot and attempt to reason it all out.
“Ahem! Ladies and gentlemen! Could I have your attention, please.” He addressed the crowd in his most authoritative voice, lifting his arms in an encompassing gesture to gain their undivided attention. They quieted at once. “My colleague and I require a few moments of preparation before we can proceed with the next act. So if you will just go about your business—enjoy the rest of the festival—we will see you back here in, oh, perhaps an hour. Or not,” he added under his breath. “Thank you, thank you very much.”
He lowered his arms and turned away. The crowd did not move. No one was prepared to leave just yet, not prepared in some cases to believe that they were even supposed to. This might all be part of the act. Two strangers from another world come mysteriously into this one—it was intriguing. What might happen next? No one wanted to miss out. There was some shuffling of feet but not much lateral movement.
“This isn’t working!” Abernathy complained, irritated, confused, and overwhelmed by the entire business. “Confound it, wizard, get us out of here!”
Questor Thews sighed, not at all sure how to do that, then scrunched up his face with determination, took Abernathy by the arm, and marched him directly through the crowd. “Please excuse us, thank you, yes, that’s very kind of you, excuse us, please.” The crowd parted, polite if somewhat disappointed. Questor Thews and Abernathy escaped untouched and moved swiftly away across the festival green toward a clump of buildings and food stands.
“Where are we going?” Abernathy asked, not daring to look over his shoulder to see if anyone was following.
“Wherever we can, I suppose,” Questor answered with a shrug. “Since we have no idea where anything is.”
They moved down onto a walkway, past the face painter, past a fellow spinning tops, past several carts selling food and drink, and onto a square of grass fronting a cavernous glass and metal structure out of which rolled a particularly vile-sounding form of music.
“What is that noise?” Questor demanded, shaking his head in dismay.
“Rock and roll,” Abernathy answered absently. “I heard a good deal of it the last time I was here.” Memories were triggered in his mind, but he brushed them aside. He turned, grabbed Questor by the shoulders, and brought him about so that they were face to face. “Wizard, what is going on? Look at me! I don’t know whether to laugh or cry! I’m a man again, for goodness’ sake! How did that happen? Surely Nightshade didn’t intend it! She was trying to kill us! Why aren’t we dead? Why are we here?”
Questor’s mouth tightened, and he blinked rapidly. “Well, either something went wrong with her magic or another magic intervened and changed the intended result. I favor the latter.” Questor reached up and touched the other’s face. His hand was shaking. “Goodness gracious, here’s something new! Abernathy, are you aware of the fact that you haven’t aged a day from the moment I transformed you from a man into a dog all those years ago?”
“That isn’t possible!” Abernathy exclaimed in disbelief. “Not a day? No, I must have aged! Why wouldn’t I have aged? It must be the magic, mustn’t it? The one that you think intervened? It changed me back again not only to a man but to the man I once was. Questor, why? Why would it do that?”
They stared at each other in confused silence, the sound of the music in the hall washing over them, the laughter and gaiety of the festival rising up all around, outworlders in a foreign land, exiles by means they could not fathom. Oh, but I am a man again! Abernathy thought in joy and with a smidgen of terror. Whatever else, I am changed back to who I was and want always to be!
Questor Thews shook his head. “I don’t mind telling you that this is all very strange,” he declared solemnly.
“Excuse me?”
They turned on hearing a girl’s voice and found her standing a few feet away, staring at them. She was somewhere in her middle teens, Abernathy guessed, rather small, with curly blond hair and a scattering of freckles across her nose. She was wearing short tan pants, a rather tight sky-blue blouse with some writing on it, and sandals. She looked perplexed.
“I was in the
crowd a moment ago,” she said, studying them intently, particularly Abernathy. “I followed you afterward because your voice … I know this sounds silly, but because … you remind me of someone …”
She stopped, and her brow furrowed. She looked suddenly at Questor Thews. “I do remember you. I’m sure of it now. Your name is Questor Thews.”
Questor and Abernathy exchanged a quick glance. “She overheard us talking,” Abernathy said at once.
“No, I didn’t.” She shook her head emphatically and came forward a step. “Abernathy, that’s you, isn’t it? You’re not a dog anymore! That’s why I was confused. But your voice is the same. And your eyes. Don’t you remember me? I’m Elizabeth Marshall.” She smiled helpfully. “I’m Elizabeth.”
He remembered then. Elizabeth, twelve years old when he had last seen her, a child wandering the halls of Graum Wythe, the castle fortress of Michel Ard Rhi, once a Prince of Landover and son of the old King in the days before Ben Holiday. Abernathy had been dispatched to Earth through another of Questor’s inept spells, consigned to the trophy room of his worst enemy, and fated for a swift end when Elizabeth had found him and saved his life. Together they had struggled to conceal Abernathy’s presence from Michel and help the scribe find a way back into Landover. Elizabeth had stuck with him every step of the way. Even when she was discovered and her own safety was threatened, she had refused to betray her friend.
“I never thought I’d see you again,” she said softly, as if still not certain it was really him.
“Nor I,” he breathed in disbelief.
She came forward quickly then and hugged him. “I can’t believe this,” she said into his shoulder, holding him tightly against her. “This is just too weird.”
“Well, yes,” he agreed, speechless, and hugged her back.
She broke the embrace. There were tears in her eyes. “Look at me, crying like some little kid.” She brushed the tears away. “When I saw you, the two of you, surrounded by all those people, I didn’t see how it could be true. I mean …” She broke off, shaking her head. “Abernathy, what are you doing here?”
He shrugged, embarrassed. “I’m really not sure. We were just trying to figure that out. We don’t quite know how we got here. It is rather a long story.” He stared at her. “You’ve grown up.”
She laughed. “Well, not all the way, but some from the last time you saw me. I’ll be sixteen in a few months. So hello. And hello to you, too, Questor Thews.”
“Very nice to see you again,” Questor replied. He cleared his throat. “Ah, I wonder, Elizabeth, if we could impose on you—”
“You don’t have anywhere to stay, do you?” she declared before he could finish. “Of course you don’t. Did you just arrive? Well, you have to have somewhere to stay while you’re here. How long will that be?”
Questor sighed, “That is a matter of some speculation at present.”
“It doesn’t matter; you can stay with me. I still live out in Woodinville, but not at Graum Wythe anymore. We have a house, my dad and me, down the road a short distance. Dad still looks after the estate and manages the castle. But he’s away until late next week, so we have the place to ourselves. Except for Mrs. Ambaum. She’s the housekeeper. My keeper, too.” She giggled. “I’ll tell you later. Abernathy, I just can’t believe this. Look at you!”
Abernathy turned red. “Well,” he managed.
“Maybe we should go now,” Questor advised. “To your house, Elizabeth. We really need to sit down and talk.”
“Sure,” Elizabeth quickly agreed. “Let me tell my friends I’m leaving. I rode down here on the bus, so we’ll have to take the bus home. I’ve got enough money for the three of us, I think. Hope so, because I bet you don’t have any. Boy, this sure is strange, isn’t it, meeting again like this?”
Questor Thews nodded, looking around absently at the crowds and the festival. Music rolled across the open spaces between buildings. Flags and balloons floated in the warm breeze. Cooking smells filled the air. Laughter and singing rose from every quarter. Bumbershoot, festival of the arts. Seattle, Washington, United States. The High Lord’s old world. Now Elizabeth. It was strange, all right. It was also the most colossal coincidence he had ever encountered—or it was something far more complicated. He didn’t say so, but he favored the latter interpretation.
He thought they might do well to figure it all out before anything else happened.
GRAUM WYTHE REDUX
After Elizabeth had made excuses to her friends, she guided Abernathy and Questor Thews through the Bumbershoot crowds past a building called the Center House, a collection of mechanical rides filled with screaming children, and a series of food stands to a platform that serviced a monorail—which was something new to Questor, who hadn’t spent as much time in the High Lord’s old world as Abernathy. After a brief wait they boarded the monorail and rode downtown. Abernathy took great delight in his familiarity with things, his spirits further buoyed by the incredible fact of his transformation. As they sat in the monorail and passed down the track toward the tall buildings of the city, he kept looking at his reflection in the glass window next to him, not yet quite able to believe that it was true, worried deep inside that he might change back again at any moment.
But it was true, and there was no indication that he was going to revert. He was himself once more, a whole man, the exact same man, in fact, he had been when Questor had first changed him into a dog, rather average-looking, medium height and weight, hair dark and lank where it framed his bookish face. His rimless glasses sat comfortably upon his nose, fitting him perfectly, as if it made no difference whether he was a man or a dog. His eyes were wide-set and brown in color. His mouth was full, and his chin firm. An average face, certainly, but still and all a good one.
And it was his. Looking at it in the window glass, he felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The last time he had passed into Ben Holiday’s world, he had been forced to pretend he really was a dog to avoid a good many unpleasantnesses. Magic was not accepted here. Talking dogs were unheard of. Abernathy had been an oddity of monumental importance, and there had been more than one attempt to exploit the fact. So he had crept about like a thief in the night, playing at being something he wasn’t, embarrassed and frightened. Now he could walk about like everyone else because he looked like everyone else. He fit comfortably in place. Well, more so than he would have if he had still been a dog. This was, after all, not his own country. But when he finally got back to Landover …
It made him smile to think about it.
“How does it feel?” Elizabeth asked him suddenly. She had been watching him. “Being a man again?”
Abernathy had the decency to blush. “I can’t seem to stop looking at myself. I apologize. But it does feel wonderful. I can’t tell you how wonderful. It has been a very long time, Elizabeth, since I was …” He trailed off. “I … I’m very happy.”
She grinned in response. “Do you know something? You are quite handsome.”
His mouth gaped. He could feel his cheeks burn.
“No, really,” she insisted. “You are.”
He expected at that point to hear a snide comment from Questor Thews, but the wizard was not paying attention to the conversation, his gaze turned away as he stared off into space, lost in thought. Abernathy muttered something unintelligible to Elizabeth and looked out the window at the passing buildings. Enough of admiring himself. He should be thinking, too. He should be trying to figure out what was going on. What was it that had brought them to this place and time, changed him back into a man, and linked him up once again with Elizabeth? Like Questor, he thought it an awfully large coincidence. He had the sense that there was machinery at work that he didn’t understand and probably should. But for the moment he was so caught up in his transformation that he could not bring himself to think of anything else.
He looked at himself in the window one more time and almost started to cry. He was entitled to enjoy this feeling for
a few moments more, wasn’t he? After all, he had waited so long!
At the end of the monorail line they departed their car and entered a tall building set among other tall buildings, the whole of it very imposing, almost overwhelming, and from there they followed stairs, some of them actually moving, to an underground station, where they boarded a bus. Questor didn’t know about buses, either, so Abernathy took a moment to explain how they worked and got it wrong. Elizabeth giggled and set them both straight. By now they were far enough removed from Bumbershoot that people were beginning to take notice of their somewhat odd clothing—Questor in his gray, patched robe with its brightly colored sashes and Abernathy in his crimson-lined, silver-trimmed riding cloak—but no one was rude enough to say anything. The bus took them underground for a ways, stopping twice, and then exited from a tunnel back into the sunshine of the late afternoon. They were on a roadway packed with other vehicles spread out in lanes that stretched away into the distance. No one was moving very fast. They sat at the back of the bus and stared out the windows, and for a time no one said much of anything.
“Are Ben Holiday and Willow well?” Elizabeth asked finally, speaking to Abernathy.
He said they were. He told her then about Mistaya. One thing led to another. When Questor didn’t give him a pointed look or offer a word of caution, he went on to tell her about Nightshade and the attack on the caravan that had been taking the little girl to stay with her grandfather. He kept his voice low so that no one sitting close could hear. Not that there was much chance of that happening, what with all the noise the bus made. He told her how they had thought themselves finished once Nightshade had summoned her formidable magic but then had inexplicably found themselves in the High Lord’s old world, in Seattle, at Bumbershoot. She was aware of the rest.