A Rag Doll's Guide to Here and There

by Richard Roberts

  Bending way over them, the Pensive Pied Punkin Picker ran a finger across their surface. She stood up again with a nod. “Hungry child, I believe you are in luck. They finished growing with me. Give them a kick.”

  Sandy did. The crack of the first two kicks started out sharp, louder than anything since we’d arrived, but the mist sucked up the sound, gentling the edges of the bang. Changing position, Sandy whacked the first one again with the flat of her shoe.

  The lid crunched, folded, and snapped into pieces, exposing a sandwich in the wreckage. Ah, excellent!

  A rough stamp shattered the second box, revealing a bundle of leaves. Tea? Oh, please, let it—no, alas, that was definitely lettuce. The lack of color had tricked me for a moment. As the momentary rush of hope faded, it was replaced with an itchy sensation all along the inside of my fabric. I wasn’t sure if it was possible to die of tea deprivation, but I was surely on my way to finding out.

  However, Sandy’s hunger was more important. Humans didn’t seem into raw lettuce leaves, but she picked the sandwich up with great satisfaction. It had an extended, round shape, with the bread being more of a bun or cut in half loaf, and filled with red sauce and meatballs. Each had a letter printed on it in white cheese, H-O-A-G-I-E.

  Sandy gave the sandwich a cursory inspection, followed by an experimental bite. She made a little squeaky “mmm” noise, and set me down on the ground to devour the rest.

  On my feet for the first time in ages, I found the earth so soft to the touch you could sleep on it. Perfect for cradling dargons as they grew. I used the time while Sandy ate to pat myself round.

  The Pensive Pied Punkin Picker watched both of us, her pale, convincingly human face tight with concern. “Your hearts are still heavy, my children. Are you sure you do not wish to stay?”

  Drying her hands on her dress, Sandy sounded rather sad herself as she answered, “I’m sorry, we can’t. The sooner I talk to Charity, the sooner our hearts will be lighter.”

  Mine flickered pink with the joy of an idea striking. Patting her leg, I asked, “Miss Sandy? Why don’t we leave an item of your clothing here? If it’s not all together, the mirror spell doesn’t work and you can’t be forced Elsewhere.”

  My already tepid fluff went cold as her face scrunched up in pain, but it passed as she answered, “I can’t. I love it Here, Heartfelt, and I think I might like There, but someday soon I’ll want to go home. If something happened to my shoes, I’d be trapped. The Pensive Pied Punkin Picker and her garden are nice, but not all powerful. What if—what if someone burned my shoes?”

  Oh, my. Ugh. My mouth went zigzag, and I clutched my cheeks. The Punkin Picker grimaced with the kind of pain I’d only seen Sandy’s face able to display until now, and she looked uncomfortably at her ramshackle house and away from us.

  To Sandy’s worried stare, I explained, “The idea of destroying anything from Elsewhere… thinking about it makes my seams crawl. No one could be that evil.”

  Quiet, Sandy watched us squirm, then gave the Punkin Picker a pat on the shoulder, crouched down, and pulled me into her arms for a literally warm and slightly damp hug. Looking down at me with one of those mysterious human expressions, she said, “I can see how you might think that. It’s strange being in a world where humans are worshiped. The most evil people Anywhere are nicer than a truly kind human.”

  Not sure where to start thinking about a declaration like that, I looked around instead for something to say. Two roads left from the Punkin Patch. One walked in shadow, edged by fences and laid out with occasional paving stones. The other, in bright daylight, was made of mere packed dirt, but cheerfully light tan and stretching clearly across a long, green meadow. When you looked at one, the other disappeared into mist, but there definitely were two roads.

  Down the road from Here, I thought I saw…

  “Is that Flops?”

  Sandy shaded a hand over her eyes, which due to the abundance of shade where we stood must surely have been magic instead of glare reduction. “It must be. There’s a cart, and someone with a hat and big ears riding it, and… EEEE!”

  The sudden squeal shocked me, but it was nothing compared to how my upper and lower thirds flopped as Sandy took off down the road. We plunged into the bright sunshine and blue skies of Here, and warm wind whistled past me from the speed of Sandy’s run. Between heavy, deliberate breaths, she shouted, “Are those rocking goats?!”

  My world stopped bouncing around when I was deposited on the tightly padded back of a rocking goat, while Sandy crouched in front of them and caressed their faces.

  Hmmm. I rubbed a hand over its shoulder. Not leather, but a strong, durable fabric in a faded but pleasant purple paisley. Soft in texture. I felt broad, sturdy wood supports inside. They couldn’t turn their heads, but glass eyes with black horizontal bars painted on them bulged, jaws opened, and wooden tongues stuck straight out as they answered Sandy with, “AAAAA.”

  The flops tilted up his—no, her, from the shape, a bit unusual as I recalled—straw hat and rolled her pipe around to one side of her mouth so she could talk. “I take it Your Princessness likes goats?”

  “I love all kinds of little cute animals. I wish now I’d stopped to pet the beavers, but they were being so romantic, I got distracted. And I’m not Princess Charity. I’m the Witch, Sandy. Are you okay with that?” She hugged one of the goats, which yelled again in what was probably a pleased manner. It was hard to tell with goats.

  Flops blew two contemplative bubbles from her pipe, then clasped the corn cob bowl in her hand. She had a distinctly feminine voice, but low and with a gravely roughness that radiated honesty and friendliness. “I might be a bit less sure of what titles to use, Your Humanness, but I reckon you’ll be gracious about it, as long as I let you play with Emma and Farthingale, here. Feeding humans is all I’m qualified for, and I know it.”

  Pushing up a bit to look over the top of a rocking goat’s head at me, Sandy said, “You know what would be even cuter? If there were half a dozen of them, but they were all really small.”

  “We must get your hat back from Pincushion, Miss Sandy. Then you could make changes like that with a wave of your hand,” I said, waving my own stubby hand with a complete lack of magic.

  Leaving the goats with a few more pats between their folded cloth ears, Sandy walked around to the big wooden cart, peering over its baskets and bags and parcels wrapped in string. “This is a lot of food, Miss Flops.”

  Flops grinned, inflating her fuzzy grey chest and tugging one shoulder strap of her overalls. “Shoot, Miss Witchness, this is nothing. I already done most of my round. Lot of kind folks agreed to take stock off of my hands.”

  I held up my hands, and bent them as if I had fingers to make air quotes. “‘Agreed.’”

  Oh, my. That gesture had come straight from my glasses. Fifteen seconds ago, I’d have given a blank stare to anyone referring to air quotes at all.

  Flops pretended she didn’t hear me. So did Sandy, leaning forward with her hands on the wooden sides of the cart to ask, “Would you mind taking me to the capitol, then? I’m in a hurry and it’s a long way to walk.”

  “Weeeeell…” evaded the nearly human-sized grey rabbit, rubbing her chin, “I reckon it’d be polite to help a human and all, but I do got all this food left to find a home for.” Even female flops had scruffy chins, it seemed, and the rubbing made a faint squeaky noise.

  Ha ha! She thought she had us cornered, but knew nothing of a human’s appetite. Kicking my feet against the rocking goat’s flanks, I informed her gleefully, “I believe Miss Sandy would be willing to eat some of your food in exchange for transportation.”

  “Do you have any tea?” Miss Sandy asked, her tone noncommittal. She was so nice to me!

  Taking her pipe out of her mouth, Flops scratched her head right by a long, round ear, which made her straw hat wobble. “I spec there’s tea in there somewhere. Don’t got nothing to heat it, though.”

  “Then I’ll take a supply with
us when we leave,” Sandy answered unflappably.

  Aw. My heart glowed a little. She was so, so nice to me! I had hardly even mentioned my thirst along our journey, but she noticed and took care of me anyway.

  “Suppose I could let you do that,” conceded Flops, trying to hide her own smugness. She held out her hand, which squeaked and squished in Sandy’s grip.

  Scooping me up, Sandy jumped over the side of the cart and onto its bed. Checking packages for softness, she built up a bedding pile to lean against. I could hardly move a lot of these, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t help. Let’s see, that rounded, uneven package likely contained meat, and meat squished, right? I poked it, and felt softness through the stiff paper, or at least merely firmness. When I looked up at Sandy she grabbed the package and braced it under her lower back. I hadn’t even needed to explain.

  “Hyah, little goaties!” shouted Flops, flapping her reins. The goats rocked forward and back, dragging the cart into motion. It pulled a much tighter circle than I would have expected, and we rolled along the road away from the Punkin Patch, and presumably toward the capitol.

  Sandy leaned over me, the bumpy wool of her sweater momentarily filling my face as she removed her shoes once more. Wiggling those deft pink human toes, she sighed, “This is good. Plus, I’m hungry. That sandwich was pretty big, but I’ve worked up an appetite.” Rummaging around in nearby bags, she pulled out a carrot and crunched away with determination.

  It was nice for me, too. Seating myself on Sandy’s rather stiff and sharp shins, I pulled out my book and indulged in some relaxed study time.

  Quite how I would use this book to study, I wasn’t sure. Magnificent Mikey had wandered all over Here performing feats of magic to amaze the inhabitants, and delved a few times into There as well for adventures. What he hadn’t done was travel in any particular order, and I wasn’t even sure Theodosus Q. Flapwaddle had recorded chronologically. Pages were covered in seemingly random drawings and anecdotes.

  On the other hand, that matched the progress of Sandy’s adventure perfectly. Random descriptions of random locations might be just what I needed. I settled in to read about the mountain I could see in the distance.

  Halfway through an apple, Sandy stroked her fingers over my cap and said wistfully, “I wish I’d brought a book.”

  Closing the journal, I held it up immediately. “What’s mine is yours, Miss Sandy.”

  She shook her head and scowled. “Absolutely not. Don’t even argue with me on this. That book is all for you, and no one else.”

  Well, she’d cut off my options. I had no choice but to return to blissful contemplation of the written word.

  I had just reached the part where Magnificent Mikey expanded his hat to shield himself and Theodosus as he climbed the windy stairs when Sandy patted my cap again. She pointed over the edge of the cart, and I climbed up the wooden planks, the ends of my legs wedged into the gaps, to look.

  “Oh, my. How interesting! This isn’t on my maps at all.”

  Off to the left of the path, statues filled what should have been miles of pristine meadow. “Filled” might not be the proper word. “Thronged?” There were a lot of statues, but still much more space than statue.

  All of the statues were made of the same grey stone, human height, and looked like the exact same human girl. She wore a baggy shirt and trousers, no shoes, and a cap even poofier than mine. They all had similar and peculiar poses. The nearest pulled at her face under one eye. The second nearest leaned far forward, sticking her tongue out.

  A distant voice shouted. The statue nearest to us moved into the same bent-forward pose as the other. In a rippling second, all of the visible statues adopted that stance.

  The meadow didn’t just contain statues. Up ahead of us, we approached building-sized, flat-topped rocks, arrayed in a line. A few of the statues headed toward that wall, gliding through the grass with their legs not moving. Other statues could be seen over the rim, on top of the rocks themselves.

  Cupping her hands to her mouth, Sandy shouted, “Hey! Can we talk? Come here a second!”

  The nearer statues remained motionless. The traveling statues did not divert from their course. I patted Sandy’s arm, and gestured to a circle of pale brown slithering across the meadow. It lifted a statue onto its back, and headed for the wall.

  “Rolling rocks. Same stuff as the platform,” observed Sandy.

  Indeed, the rocks kept coming back, picking up new statues, and carrying them away. That made sense. Despite having moved, they couldn’t possibly be alive. Even Charity’s closest servants would at least have reacted to a request by Sandy. And yet, they possessed some limited animation.

  The cart carried us further down the path. We soon found out that the tall stone pedestals were arranged not in a wall, but in bleachers. When the little rocks brought back one of the statues, they hoisted it up to one of the platforms, and arranged it in a row with others all alike.

  They did not act alone. A clothling sat on a rock pedestal that might just have come up to Sandy’s shoulders, shouting orders through a megaphone. “Over there, please. Level five, statues six and seven are placed unevenly. No, we’ve been over this. Up from the bottom, then in from the left!”

  Well, this doll was clearly alive. Acknowledging the same thing, Sandy leaned farther over the rail of the cart, and raised her voice. “Excuse me! Excuse me! Can we ask you some questions?”

  The pedestal swiveled, wobbled, and the clothling let out a squeal, grabbing at the edge behind her. When it straightened up again, she patted the side and instructed, “Hup hup.” It wobbled more as it carried her over to the road, and slid along to keep up with the cart.

  Up close, it became clear that the pedestal itself didn’t move, but a small pile of those rolling rocks carried it along. Or perhaps it did move, but they helped it move better? The clothling—well. A bit aged and faded, perhaps, but she was tall, maybe up to Sandy’s thighs if she’d stood on the ground. She wore an elegant pink dress with bows and laces and white petticoats, which I suddenly knew were the extra skirts hidden underneath which gave the main skirt bounce. Her feet had black slippers fitted on, and she wore a bonnet—a separate item merely tied into place under her chin, even—atop a mass of golden hair.

  She placed a plastic hand with individual fingers over her beautifully painted mouth. “Another human. It’s been such a very long time. Welcome, My Lady, to the Stalwart Defiance of Becky the Queen of All Urchins!” Despite the unsteady surface, she climbed to her feet and curtseyed. She did it perfectly, with those full skirts to spread.

  Sandy giggled, then bowed her head for a few seconds. “Thank you. My name is Sandy, and this is my sidekick Heartfelt.”

  Her eyes widened, drawing attention to their deep blue color, the highlights and pupils both painted into them, and even black lashes around the edge. All faded until the cream of the fabric itself showed through. “Sidekick. What an honor! I am merely Ruffles.”

  Beaming in pride, I flapped an arm to try and at least look humble. “You must have been Becky’s sidekick yourself.”

  She waved her megaphone, echoing my dismissive gesture. “Oh no, her servant at most. Not that it isn’t a privilege to have been left in charge of her eternal war against the dishonest, perfidious, deranged, devious, and unattractively scruffy Lucy the Queen of All Urchins.”

  “And these statues are your army?” guessed Sandy.

  Ruffles bobbed an almost-curtsey, then sat back down, carefully arranging her skirts and dangling her legs over the edge of the pedestal. “Indeed. Lucy the Queen of All Urchins’ army is over There, where they belong, the horrid things. My opposite number and I keep track of the battle with telescopes. Do you see mine over there?”

  I didn’t, but Sandy seemed to. She called over to our driver, “Pardon me, but Miss Flops? Can we stop for a minute? I want to take a look at this.”

  “Ain’t a thing, Miss Witchness,” the flops called back. “You get some exercise and work up
an appetite.” Her statement could have been either an agreement or a refusal, but the cart ground to a halt and that answered that.

  Sandy slid off the back of the wooden bed, and Ruffles held out her hand to me in a quite flattering invitation. I took her hand and stepped over onto the pedestal with a sudden feeling of tightness in my fabric. Yes, she was old and worn, but Ruffles still might be the most lovely clothling I’d ever met. How could I be anything but awkward next to that?

  She accepted me with perfect graciousness, pulling me down to sit right next to her. The pedestal tottered along next to Sandy as my heroine walked out into the field. It merely came up to her elbow, and Ruffles’ height made it look taller. The top of my own head merely came up to Ruffles’ shoulder.

  Her silk skirt and the dense cotton surface of her forearm must have been smooth to begin with, but now she felt like a cloud where we touched.

  When there were clothlings like this to pick, what could Sandy possibly see in me? And yet, whenever Ruffles peeked at me, it was with a shy and awed expression.

  It had to be the glasses. They had tremendous dignity.

  We reached the telescope, and I had to admit, I was impressed. The brass segmented tube was not only longer than Sandy and mounted on a tripod, it twisted in a crazy knot of directions that all together reared it up and bowed forward like a snake.

  I offered my assessment. “Do you see the shape, Miss Sandy? And how it’s pointed the way we’re going? Perfect for seeing over the capitol, There’s forest, and all the other obstacles in our way.”

  “May I?” Sandy asked, bending over the telescope but with her face still a foot away from the eyepiece.

  Bending forward, arms directed towards the device, Ruffles answered graciously, “Of course.”

  I could see “grace”, “graciously,” and all variations of that word would be on my mind constantly while we remained in Ruffles’ presence.

  Sandy pressed her eye to the eyepiece, and a second later her brows lifted in surprise. “They’re a bit more… rude than your statues. I guess they all look like Lucy.”