A Rag Doll's Guide to Here and There

by Richard Roberts

  On the other side, things changed. Scraggly grey saplings grew beside the path, blossoming quickly into huge canopies that totally concealed the gloomy night sky. On the right, spiky, dead bushes grew between the already thickly clustered trees, choking off any possibility of even someone with Sandy’s strength pushing through. On the left it was worse, a giant hedge of thorn vines twisted into knots. They looked deadly, which was not a word I often needed to use over Here.

  As soon as the path was completely engulfed, impassible on either side, it branched. Or rather, the main path led forward into the dark forest, while another split off to the right, leading immediately to another gate in the pillow wall.

  A withered signpost stood at the intersection. The words “Even Farther Over There” had been carved onto an arrow pointing down the forest path. An arrow pointing into the fortress read “Trash.”

  A third arrow probably would have said “Here,” because it pointed back the way we’d come. I could only guess, because it had been broken off near the base. Oh, my.

  We stopped to look down the side passage. Beyond the gate, the interior of the fortress looked completely different, with a carpet, shelves, tables scattered around, that sort of thing. Inside the passageway, two large wooden marionettes stood at attention against the walls, each holding a spear.

  They had no heads.

  Their necks ended in the jagged edges of snapped wood.

  Instead of standing on their own power, strings attached to their shoulders and arms held their bodies up, tied to wooden planks laid across the walls above.

  I tugged on Sandy’s collar and pointed toward the forest. “That way! That way, please!”

  She had actually looked tempted by the side passage, but responded to my plea and got moving again, leaving that entrance to nightmare behind.

  Even farther behind, Pincushion shouted, “I will catch up with you.”

  Sandy smirked. It might even have been a sneer. “No, she won’t. I can outrun those tiny little doll legs even if she has magic.”

  “I can go fast, too!” said Tumbles. Pulling in his head, tail, arms, and legs, he curled his body into a single brightly colored ball, rolling along beside Sandy.

  She grinned wider. “Great. Let’s leave that mean little thief in our dust.”

  We certainly did that. Sticking close to the less thorny wall of the path, she started running. Her long legs ate up distance at an incredible pace, while Tumbles wobbled and bounced just as fast beside her. He truly was a talented little dargon.

  And most importantly, we were leaving that gate of horror behind us. Ugh.

  Very soon, the vines on the left side gave way to mere trees and dense bushes. It was just as much a wall, but a much less threatening one. Looking back, I saw that the path had been gently curving as well. I couldn’t even see the entrance to Here. Of course, everything was deeply shadowed and I couldn’t see much anyway.

  The light improved significantly when we got to the next crossroads. A lantern hung from another signpost, providing the light to read it. Unfortunately, only the arrow pointing back Here was still legible. The others had been worn down into a blur.

  Without asking for directions, Sandy chose the right-hand path. It swung around like a snake, and I had no idea which way we were facing when we reached the next intersection. The only reason I could be sure it wasn’t the same one was that none of the signs read Here. Two had fallen off and disappeared, in fact, leaving only jutting nails to show where they had been. One was illegibly worn. The last…

  I squinted through my glasses. I was pretty sure that read “Flops,” and then something else that was scratched out.

  Sandy stopped, and gave the bushes a kick. “This place is a maze disguised as a forest.”

  Spotting one of the missing signs lying on the path, I pointed at it. “Oh no, miss Sandy. The Maze is that way.” That was the word carved into it, “Maze.” Utilizing the power of my glasses, I guessed that the thorn vines we’d seen were maze walls.

  Not that I was dependent on logic alone. Since we’d stopped, I could pull my book out of its bag, and flip through it. Magnificent Mikey had not been big on There, but on one map a blocked-out portion stretching from the guardians to the capitol and branching out into There in weird shapes was labeled “Maze.” We’d entered just between it and “Trash.”

  This map completely lacked one important thing. “These paths aren’t charted at all!”

  Sandy set her jaw in grim satisfaction, and hoisted the food box a little more comfortably. “Fine by me. We’ll get completely lost far away from anywhere Pincushion can find us, then ask directions and circle around to the capitol.”

  I opened my mouth—the tiny fraction it does open, since it’s really just stitches—and closed it again. While long term it was not likely to be so easy, in an immediate sense that sounded like an excellent plan.

  We executed it, and every time I saw a sign that pointed to Flops, I pointed Sandy that way. They were way down South on the other side of There from the capitol, the worst you could say about them is that they would try to persuade us to eat a lot of food, and that perfectly fit Sandy’s plan of going in a direction Pincushion wouldn’t know to follow.

  Sandy certainly wasn’t running all out, but when she started breathing heavily, we stopped at another signpost so she could lean against it and recover. I read the moldy old signs. One pointed to “Trash.” Good, that ran down the border with Here. We were headed in the right direction.

  Down the path we’d just came from, I heard Pincushion’s distant voice yelling, “Frammasham! No! Arise! Woodsapalooza! Shamble forth!” She paused while wood creaked and cracked. “Yes, finally!”

  Sandy and I looked at each other, with similar expressions of aghast disbelief.

  “Seriously?” she said.

  “Oh my,” I answered.

  Tumbles uncurled his head enough to join in. “Yay?”

  “Not yay. Come on. Fast!” barked Sandy. She took off much faster than before down the road to—

  “Not the Trash! Please, not the Trash!” I whimpered, hugging Sandy’s neck tight.

  The path wasn’t even long. Moonlight at the end showed another gate into the fortress, not far ahead. It was much like the one we’d avoided an hour or two ago.

  Between gasping breaths, Sandy said, “That’s why—we’re going there. If you’re—this afraid—Pincushion—won’t dare. I’ll protect you.”

  Without stopping, she grabbed the back of my dress and shoved me down the front of her sweater. In the dark warmth I clung to her shirt, trembling but also deeply, deeply grateful I had a heroine to trust.

  I didn’t look out again until Sandy stopped running, and even then I merely pulled down the collar of her sweater and peeked over it.

  We were inside. This definitely was a fortress, with huge cushion walls marking a giant, rambling courtyard. We were even near the keep, although this place was so big, there was room for several.

  It was not even close to empty. Bookshelves with glass doors stood against the walls, or sometimes back to back. They weren’t that different from the multi-layered tables scattered randomly around the open space, or even the occasional pedestal with little ledges sticking out from the sides.

  All of the furniture was beautiful. Wood so shiny and rich that Jack must have grown it specially for this purpose. Sparkling glass, the kind you could call crystal. Gold trimming. Elegant metal supports. White marble for the pedestals.

  Oh, my. Oh my oh my oh my.

  The items on display were not pretty.

  The different kinds of shelves held clothlings. Clothlings, a few marionettes, and I saw a pile of metal hung up that must have been an unfixable tinker. Every one was hideously mutilated. They lacked eyes, or had eyes in the wrong places. Big gashes bulged fluff, or had been sewn up lopsided, or dimpled in because there hadn’t been enough material to sew things up neatly. Many of them were missing limbs. The marionettes had deep scars, chunks broken
off, and most were at least in half. I even saw a few bodiless heads. Ew.

  One of the clothlings had to have been repaired by a human, because there was no way she’d survived the accident that hurt her. She looked a little like the freak I’d almost convinced Sandy to make. Her upper half was a slender doll in a tight dress, with a round face. Black spot eyes and a tiny, smiling mouth almost disappeared in the mottled brown stains that covered her, and all her fabric was fuzzy from wear. Below her waist, a poofy dress and bloomers connected to a much newer red and white striped leg, and another that was plastic. Oh, and her left arm below the elbow was also plastic. Yarn hair faded into grey brown was tied in a bun on the right side, and ripped close to her head on the left.

  Pincushion yelped, “Stop stop stop stop oh Charity STOP!” and I squeezed around to see. She was being carried by spiky, awkward things like broken off branches who had split their base into legs. They obviously weren’t bright, and bumped together and staggered to a halt, right before the tunnel opened up into the courtyard itself.

  Shoved as far back in the wooden servant’s hands as she could, she squeezed a glass ball half her size, huddled behind it. Alert, driven plastic eyes watched Sandy, however, and with a scratchy, trembling voice, she ordered, “Inside.”

  The branch thing stepped into the courtyard. Immediately, the clothling nearest the door turned her face—a tic-tac-toe board of stitches and said in a mouth that now split in thirds, “A new sister!”

  “Who did that to you?” asked a doll with a blackened, charred dress.

  A bald, unpainted doll pulled herself up over the edge of her box to comment, “Like, seriously. You are gorgeous, new sister, and now your fabric is ruined. I bet the shriveners blew their stack.”

  The ancient, patchwork doll on the pedestal near me said in a particularly melodious voice, “You remain magnificent. Please, come in. We’ll find you a display spot right up front.”

  I cringed, hands tight on Sandy’s collar and trying to resist shrinking back in so far I couldn’t see. Yes, I’d strongly suspected they were still alive, but… ugh. This was horrifying. I didn’t know if I was more scared or sad.

  And I’d almost been sent here. If Sandy didn’t need me, this would be where I belonged.

  Pincushion didn’t have her human with her, and was now scooting her legs, trying to push herself back into the branch monster holding her. “What?! No! I’m not one of you!”

  “You look one us,” said a poor thing with only half a head.

  The patchwork doll waved a hand graciously. “We can fetch a mirror, if you like. Be relieved. So few of us are ruined in such a beautiful way.”

  Shaking her head rapidly, golden hood flopping around, Pincushion stammered, “No—no! I’m here on the authority of Princess Charity!” Standing up, one arm still around the glass sphere, she pointed a finger at Sandy. “And your princess orders you to seize that human!”

  Sandy did nothing. A second later, the fire-damaged doll started to snicker. Then the plastic doll laughed out loud. After that, the whole courtyard erupted in laughing dolls, although many of them devolved into coughing or had gurgly, barely intelligible voices.

  When she recovered enough, the fire-damaged doll choked out, “We’ve been thrown away. We don’t take orders anymore.”

  The patchwork nodded. “We have been ejected from Here’s society and its rules.”

  “I wish we hadn’t been,” sighed the tic-tac-toe face.

  “But we are, and there is no returning,” said a detached marionette head. Yikes! He’d lived through that?! Maybe his body was one of the ones guarding up front.

  “Unless you’re going to take us back Here?” asked the plastic doll, her voice squeaky with excitement and hope.

  “Absolutely not!” shouted Pincushion, visibly shaking.

  “Awwww…” complained most of the dolls. The old patchwork merely nodded.

  Pincushion thumped her elbow against the trunk of the branch monster holding her, and it shuffled a step backward. Out of the courtyard now, she relaxed enough to point her wobbly finger at Sandy again. “You may think you’re safe in there, but you’re trapped. If you leave, I’ll know. Maybe no one else is, but I’m loyal to Charity, and I have the power to enforce her wishes!”

  Unimpressed, Sandy leaned forward, squinting accusingly. “That’s a crystal ball! You’re using my powers to track me! That hat isn’t meant for you, it’s meant for a human. It’s meant for me!”

  For a moment, Pincushion hunched awkwardly over the ball, which drove her pins so far back into her body that they pressed the hat against the wood behind them. “No. Princess Charity is a human, and gave it to me, and I will use it in her service!”

  “Or you could stay here with us where you belong,” suggested tic-tac-toe face.

  “I promise, we’ll arrange a whole display around you,” said the patchwork.

  “Eeeyeeeeyeeee! Back back back! We’re leaving!” whimpered Pincushion. Her apparently mindless servitors obeyed without comment, shuffling back up the path and out of sight.

  Sandy grumbled under her breath. “What kind of witch is too scared to walk into a graveyard?” Her hand angled around to reach into her sweater collar, fastening around me.

  At the pull, I squeaked, “I’d—I’d—I’d really rather not.”

  The pull didn’t stop, and it wasn’t like hands as soft as mine could maintain a grip against her strength, or my fear could maintain its edge against her casually gentle tone. “I don’t think they’re dangerous.” As she lifted me out, she switched to a sudden smirk and an unusually sharp, sarcastic tone. “It’s not like I can cast an invisibility spell on you, anyway.”

  Was that… at me? No, as nervous as her anger made me, it must have been a reference to Charity stealing her hat.

  Suddenly, one of the mutilated clothlings shrieked, “AAAA! Where did she come from?!”

  “She appeared out of nowhere!” gasped the burned doll, her hand over her mouth. Okay, that definitely did not sound sincere.

  “Where where where where?” asked the one with the dented head, who unfortunately did sound sincere.

  Sounding as pleased and playful as her tiny painted smile, the patchwork greeted, “Another new sister, and you brought your box.”

  I looked around automatically. Yes, the plastic doll’s wasn’t the only box. Hers didn’t have a label, but the others…

  Oh my, there was another Heartfelt box. At least the occupant wasn’t looking out. I couldn’t bear it. I wasn’t ruggedly made, and it would be reasonable to expect many Heartfelts were already…

  No no no no no! Do not go that way, glasses!

  Sandy, all bravery, did not share my fear. She carried me around as she examined the nearby displays. Most of the occupants waved as she passed. The ones that still could.

  Finally, she asked, “What is this place?”

  My voice still shaking, I answered, “It’s the trash heap, where they send clothlings who are so damaged they can’t be allowed Here anymore. The shriveners have an official name for it, but I can’t remember.”

  She frowned. “I don’t like them. People should be treated better than that.”

  The patchwork, now the closest doll, reached out and gingerly touched Sandy’s forearm. Before her accident, the doll had been high quality. She had pretend fingers sewn into her hands, although the stitches between a couple had come loose. “Their work is important. If we were left over Here, it would soon turn into There.”

  I nodded. Despite my personal experiences, this was important. “They do a lot of good work, Miss Sandy. They make sure the sheep don’t get knocked over, and check if everyone has been visited by a flops, and if one of us is damaged they call a tinker or a bundlish hoping we can be repaired rather than thrown away. Oh, and roads. They make sure the roads are okay. I must assume that is only the beginning of their responsibilities.”

  “Here gets too big to cross if it isn’t regularly measured,” said the patchwork clot
hling. Sandy’s not quite matching eyebrows went up, but she didn’t say anything. As old as she was, this clothling would know.

  Sandy’s surprise wore off quickly, replaced by a grimace. “Still, exiling people to this place just because they’re ugly is awful.”

  The patchwork shook her head. That made me worry about her neck seams, but they held up just fine. “Lilith the Black gave us these displays to rest in, so it’s not so bad. Before her, we were left on the floor to rot.”

  Automatically, I looked down, and immediately grabbed Sandy’s lapels, whimpering, “Don’t put me down until we leave this place!”

  She looked down too, and admitted, “Okay, that is creepy.”

  Yes, it was. The soft carpeting on the ground wasn’t really carpet. It was carefully spread out stretches of mismatched fabric, some of whose shapes were still identifiable as unbound arms. On a couple of the circular patches, I could make out the nearly faded through patterns of eyes and a mouth.

  Wait.

  “Lilith the Black? I don’t remember hearing that name in the library tree.” I asked, frowning. I reached for my book, but it wouldn’t be there. Magnificent Mikey hadn’t been much for history. On the other hand, Theodosus Q. Flapwaddle had, so maybe I should check it.

  The patchwork stopped me with another head shake. “I doubt Lilith the Black would be recorded. She spent all her time over There rather than Here.”

  We had clearly found a wise authority in this unfortunately damaged old doll, and Sandy laid her hands on the edge of the marble pedestal, giving her a thoughtful frown. “Okay, so this side of Somewhere is called There, and princesses aren’t in charge over There?”

  “Technically, the princess of Anywhere, Somewhere, and Everywhere rules both Here and There,” I tried to explain.

  The patchwork picked up where I left off. “But we have been thrown away, and are outside the rules. Princess Charity rules the rest of There, but it won’t do her much good. The rest of There is full of monsters and thieves and non-law-abiding sorts, or so I’ve heard.”