“To the King!” everyone chorused. Roan joined in, and drank the toast. The wine, at least, was real.
“To Her Luminescent Majesty!”
“To the Queen!” came the roar from three hundred throats.
“And to our illustrious guest, Her Highness, the Princess Leonora!”
“To Princess Leonora!” Everyone drained their glasses and set them down on the white tablecloth. The mayor, his goblet empty, snapped his fingers, and three servers hurried towards him with pitchers. Now members of the council rose to offer their toasts, echoed by the townsfolk. When a toaster couldn’t think of something to say, he or she would roar out, “To the King!”
While the glasses were being refilled for the second time, Roan slipped out of his chair and made his way down the long table to the princess’s side. The mayor and the councilors were making small talk with her. Roan could see Leonora smiling and nodding politely, although he couldn’t hear her replies. The townsfolk nearest them stayed silent and wide-eyed, breathing in excited short gasps, at their proximity to the heir to the throne.
Or perhaps it was lack of oxygen. As Roan approached the place of honor, the air did seem to grow thinner and more rarefied until by the time he reached the princess’s side, he could hardly breathe. The mayor turned to look at him as he knelt down beside Leonora’s chair.
“Oh, my lord mayor, may I present Master Roan? He is the King’s Investigator,” Leonora said. Roan nodded, concentrating on taking in enough oxygen without gasping openly.
“How very interesting,” Mayor Georgeton said, not caring much at all for the interloper’s presence. “Your Highness, som prenoply venre dimal simcot lomp ital.”
Leonora laughed. “Venitre dimal midgal nomig silomp. Roan moktu benek op lur.”
“Som poplu vog, dewep?” Georgeton turned to his council, who nodded wisely.
“I beg your pardon?” Roan asked. He was dismayed to realize he couldn’t understand a word they were saying. Georgeton was deliberately speaking too loftily for anyone not of his echelon or higher to comprehend. Leonora glanced at him apologetically.
“Don’t you agree that it is more pleasant to travel so you can really experience the Dreamland, instead of simply taking the train?” she said, rather slowly and carefully, trying to draw him into the conversation. “I said that you had traveled widely over the last several years, and used many different means of transport.”
“Yes, indeed, I have,” Roan said, struggling for air.
“You could tell them scov batiluh sminit combulon da ena, virdo?” Leonora had lost him again, as she turned to include the others. “Vobla bam dininat moper waga.”
“Somibuno,” Georgeton agreed politely.
“Well,” Roan began, trying to think of a tale that would amuse them.
“Pofi nipt jabal!” a blonde female councillor in her middle years interrupted him, and launched vivaciously into an anecdote of her own. What she was saying sounded interesting, and Roan struggled to understand. He felt as if all he had to do was turn his perception sideways, and the jumble of words would become clear. Also, every time he took a breath, he got a stitch in his side from lack of oxygen. He was afraid if he had to reply at length to anyone, he might black out. He stood up to go away. The princess laid a hand on his arm.
“Sami peh,” she said, imploringly. He didn’t know the words, but the meaning was clear. Don’t go. With a sigh, Roan sank to his haunches again.
“Roan!”
He heard a shout from the edge of the square, and stood up. Misha and his two escorts came pedaling out of the narrow lane. The young man, breathless and red-faced, leaped off his bicycle and ran it to a stop beside the table. Roan pulled him aside and gestured him to keep his voice down.
“We’ve found where they left town,” Misha gasped, his long legs almost collapsing under him. Leonora watched them from her place at the table, her eyebrows telegraphing a question. Roan put up one finger, asking her to wait a moment. “We ought to hurry and get on the trail before it moves again. It’s a very busy road. It goes all over the place. Heading north.”
“Are you sure it’s their trail?”
“Yes, sir,” Lum said, definitely. “They crossed the railroad tracks, sir.”
“How can you tell?” Roan asked, curiously.
“We mean they crossed them,” Misha said. “One’s lying over the other like ‘X marks the spot.’ ”
“The Alarm Clock’s perverting nature more and more as it goes,” Roan said. “I’ll get the others.”
But their companions at the end of the table had already seen the advance party return, and hurried to join them. Spar, too, had seen the scouts from his end of the high street, and led the steeds down to meet them. Roan took a deep breath and went back into the airfree zone around the princess.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, bowing deeply to the mayor and his councillors. “Your Highness, at your pleasure?”
Leonora telegraphed a question with her eyebrows, and Roan nodded, tilting his head back towards Misha and the others. She looked over at them, then turned to the Mayor and extended her fingers to him.
“My lord, it has been an honor to receive this gift of hospitality and kindness from you. The break to our journey was most welcome. I feel renewed. I do hope I may return someday soon.”
The mayor and the others scrambled to their feet as Leonora arose from her place. The rest of the townsfolk rose from their seats in an outward moving wave.
“Your Highness, we are the ones who are honored,” Georgeton said, beaming at her, but not before looking ruefully at Roan. He bowed over her hand. “Thank you for giving us this chance to show our appreciation of you and your most royal father. Are you sure you can’t stay longer? We have some more toasting we’d like to do.”
“No!” Leonora said, withdrawing her hand. “Thank you so much. Goodbye.”
“And may I say,” Roan said, shaking hands with the mayor, “it has been schmati gobbledigook binreeta.”
“What?” asked one of the councillors. “What did he say?”
With a regal smile, Leonora allowed Roan to escort her to Golden Schwinn and assist her in mounting to the saddle.
“Farewell!” Georgeton said, waving a handkerchief after them as they rode out of the square.
“Goodbye!” the townspeople called. “Sweet dreams!” “Be careful!” “Don’t let the bedbugs bite!”
“Would it was only bedbugs,” said Bergold.
“What was Misha so excited about?” Leonora asked Roan in a low voice, pedaling alongside him through the deserted streets. As soon as she was out of sight of the Harkians, she parted the irritating dress into long, light trousers of bright white silk, and dismissed the bustle. The tiara she kept as it was, and she added a wristband to Roan’s posy so she could wear it on her sleeve.
“You’ll see in a moment, Your Highness,” Misha said, behind them. “There, look!”
Flags and raised bars marked the place where the level crossing passed over the road that led out of town. The stationmaster, a thin, old man in a dark blue uniform tunic, stood amidst the weeds with his cap off, scratching his head as he stared at the tracks at his feet.
“I’ve put the red signal up,” he said, as Roan and the others braked to a stop near him. “This’ll make a terrible mess of the schedule. That will never do.”
Roan got off for a good look. As Misha had said, one enormous silver band lay over the other. The metal was smooth and bright and unmarked. Everything looked perfectly normal except that the tracks were crossed, without a clue to show how the trick had been done.
“The Alarm Clock,” Bergold said, in a whisper to Roan. “Incredible.”
“Is there another twist farther up the line?” Roan asked.
“Just the one, lad,” the stationmaster said. “I’ve walked a mile in either direction. Lucky thing it is only the one. My men can help fix it as soon as they stop lollygagging in town. They ran off to have tea with the others in honor o
f the princess— Oh, hello, Your Highness,” he said, offering her a half-bow. “Royalty and fancy meals are all very well, you know, but the trains have got to run on time.”
“Are the grapevines still intact?” Leonora asked, frowning at the tracks. “Please send a message to my father the king. He’ll dispatch engineers to help you.”
“We’ll do it ourselves, lass,” the man said. “We do cope with change. It’s the nature of things, after all.”
“So it is,” Colenna said, with an approving nod.
“So there’s nothing you need do, Your Highness,” the stationmaster said, smiling at her paternally. “But it’s nice of you to take an interest.”
“It is our duty,” Leonora said. “But if you require assistance, please do ask.”
“I’ve . . . already heard from Your Highness’s father,” the stationmaster said, with an inquiring look at Leonora. “We got a message with all sorts of details, last night already. Shall I tell him I saw you, Your Highness?”
“Just tell him I’m all right,” she said, turning away hastily, and sent a meaningful look to Spar. The guard captain took his place as head of the party. “Thank you for your service.” The stationmaster bowed deeply to her back.
“You didn’t tell your father you were going, did you?” Roan asked, as they rode over the tracks.
“He knows now,” Leonora said, rather flatly. “What’s important is that I’m helping to bring a menace to justice and saving our homeland.”
And that’s that, Roan thought.
The moment marked a decision for him, too. If he was going to send her home, this would have been the time. He could have made her wait safely here in Hark for the next train, whenever that would be. All the train lines led back to Mnemosyne. But he knew he couldn’t force her to go. Yet, he still worried he was risking her unnecessarily. His conscience troubled him. If he had any sense he should have begged her to wait here for the next train home. Georgeton would have been delighted to take care of her in the grandest style of which his little town was capable. And yet, Roan agreed that Leonora had as much at stake as anyone else. His dilemma remained unresolved.
She rode quietly on the tall, awkward bicycle, staring straight ahead of her as Spar led them out of town. She didn’t blink for so long Roan finally interrupted her reverie.
“Did you have a nice time in Hark?” he asked.
She blinked and started. “Oh, yes. Yes, I did. They were kind, weren’t they?”
“They were thrilled to meet you,” Roan said. She turned wide, worried eyes to him.
“We must protect them, Roan. I was just thinking how awful it would be if they all . . . went away. We have to stop Brom.”
“We’re trying,” Roan assured her. “We are doing all we can.”
Chapter 14
Just outside of Hark, the road was a generous two lanes wide. After the narrow forest paths and lanes in town, Roan and the others were glad to spread out across it and give one another space. Within a hundred paces, the pennyfarthings changed again. Roan stopped pedaling mid-push when Cruiser manifested as a fine horse and protested having his sides scraped by Roan’s boots.
“Ah!” Bergold said, settling himself happily on his pink and gray palomino. “Now we can make up some speed!”
The horses were eager to stretch their legs after the constricted ride through town. Misha’s playful beast let its legs go very long, propelling itself far out in front of the others with two spiderlike jumps. Its strange gait spooked Colenna’s mare, which broke into a wild canter and ran off with her, past the young continuitor, and away.
“Whoa-aa!” she cried, hauling back on the reins.
“Wait! Stop!” Misha shouted. He turned his beast to follow her, but it evidently decided it had stretched its legs enough, and turned into a wooden sawhorse. Misha grabbed for a handhold, but pure momentum took hold and propelled him forward over the horse’s head onto the road. The horse laughed a long, braying whinny. As Spar and Roan passed him, Misha stood up and dusted off his rump with a look that boded no good for his steed.
The two men hurried their mounts to catch up with Colenna, who was disappearing ahead of them in a cloud of dust. Beyond her, Roan could see a bend in the road. Trees blocked the view of the terrain ahead. It could be stones, or mire, or a cliff where no one was dreaming anything beyond it.
The older woman lost her flat straw hat, and her long hair flew out behind her, bouncing at every gallop. With a burst of speed, Roan urged Cruiser into the race, running until he was a neck ahead of Colenna, and reached for the mare’s reins. He pulled back, slowing Cruiser at the same time. The runaway trotted to a walk, blowing through its lips. The older woman was crouching over the mane and laughing, her face now decades younger than her silvering hair.
“My dreams, but that felt good!” Colenna said, sitting up as the mare checked her pace.
“You could have broken your neck,” Spar growled, and Roan realized he seemed personally concerned for Colenna’s safety. “Oh, I’m fine,” she said, playfully slapping the guard captain’s arm. He grunted, and looked away hastily. Colenna shook her head, and patted her hair back into its plait.
Roan, relieved that she wasn’t in danger, surveyed the highway. It was well made, with a bed of stones covered by a layer of screened gravel, and went on for miles through an arcade of widely spaced trees. Ahead, another similar avenue intersected their road at right angles. The other riders caught up with them. Misha had retrieved Colenna’s hat, and restored it to her with a flourish.
“Thank you, my dear,” Colenna said, putting it on again. “I’m sorry to frighten you all, but you must admit this is an excellent road for a run.”
“I thought you’d be killed,” Leonora said.
“Not her,” Felan said, darkly. “She’d rather have us die of fright.”
“It’s nice that you care,” Colenna said, without a trace of sarcasm.
Felan looked startled, then hastily turned his mount to the back of the file. Colenna smiled after him and trotted placidly alongside Spar to the crossroads.
“Corporal! Which way?” Spar bellowed.
Cautiously, Lum spurred his horse to the front of the line, and swung off to examine the road. Roan admired his orienteering skills; there wasn’t a hope of footprints or tire prints on the stony surface. Lum’s bay horse danced nervously at the end of his reins. The guard corporal squinted in both directions down the intersecting road, and shook his head.
“I still say it’s the same way, sir,” he said. “The weirding only goes ahead.”
“The weirding is all over the place, if you ask me,” Felan said, under his breath.
“They didn’t go off on a path to one side?” Roan asked, peering down the avenue.
“No, sir! We’ve got a nice clear trail to follow,” Lum insisted. “They’re on this, sir. They need a good road, what with that heavy load of theirs.”
“On we go, then,” Roan said. Spar clicked his tongue, and his horse led the way.
More confidently, they pressed on, admiring the pleasant grassy downs and hillsides. The avenue opened outward and began to wind, until they could no longer see very far ahead of them. The trees became shorter and more scanty.
“Hooonnnk!”
The horses danced and shied as a huge black automobile swung around the bend ahead and bore down on them. Roan grabbed for Golden Schwinn’s reins and pulled Leonora off the road just as the car hurtled past, spewing black smoke.
“Someone’s in a hurry,” Alette said, sourly. She had resumed female form as soon as they had left Hark though she had retained her uniform. The double-breasted wool coat with its silver buttons was rather becoming to her. “If there’s too many of those about, we should get off, Captain.”
“Let’s go on,” Bergold said, guiding his horse back onto the road surface, now paved with black asphalt, “or we haven’t a chance of catching up with Brom before dark.”
“Don’t worry,” Lum said. “This should be ea
sy going.”
The clop-clop-clopping of the horses’ hooves was a peaceful sound under the clear, bird-filled sky. The road not only remained paved, but widened out still more. A white stripe dashed down the center of each side, dividing the two lanes into four. Instead of riding two abreast, the party was able to move freely up and back. When Misha thought of a joke to tell the princess, he’d urge his steed into a trot beside her without edging Roan into the ditch. Only Spar and Colenna continued to trot along side by side at the head of the party, not paying much attention to anyone else. Roan felt no need to disturb them. They were making good time.
“Hooonnnk!”
At the sound of another car behind them, Roan signaled to everyone to move onto the shoulder of the road. A small gray automobile shot past them, and vanished over the hill.
“Aayyyrrrruuunnnggg,” its horn whined as it went by.
Just as Roan was about to gesture them back onto the tarmac, a red car zoomed by in the gray’s wake, beeping a shrill, staccato protest. Then three vehicles, a blue, a red, and a green, roared towards them side by side on the opposite half of the road, which obligingly opened out to six lanes. Cars began to come from both directions, at first a few at a time, then in tens, then in hundreds, filling the lanes, crowding Roan and his party off the road. The horses huddled together, twitching, on the graveled shoulder as thousands of cars and trucks sped by in both directions.
A sharp honk startled Roan. Cruiser bucked under him, and Roan controlled the steed with difficulty. Golden Schwinn had fled off the road entirely, and had to be coaxed back up from the shallow ditch beside the shoulder. Roan made Leonora ride on the outer edge, and put himself and his mount between her and the speeding steel boxes. Spar and his guards spread out to protect the others.
“Is it a nuisance?” Roan shouted over the roar of the engines to Bergold.
“No,” the historian shouted back. He lifted the protective goggles that now covered his eyes. His coat had changed to a long, white duster, and he had a cap with a wide bill on the front and a veil on the back. “This is a vision from the Waking World. It’s real. It’s called traffic. It appears to be a growing phenomenon everywhere!”
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