A Rag Doll's Guide to Here and There

by Richard Roberts

  “—the Queen of All Urchins,” filled in Ruffles, when Sandy didn’t. Sitting up a bit straighter, she asked, “Do you see Visigoth? She is in charge of Lucy the Queen of All Urchins’ army.”

  Apparently Sandy did, because she said, “Wow. She’s… wow. I’m amazed she holds together.”

  Ruffles lifted her chin. “She is diabolically cunning and without scruple, but an honorable victory is all the greater. My new formation will strike shame into her shameless heart and make her quake in all three of her boots, I have no doubt!”

  Sandy picked me up around my middle, and lifted me to the telescope. Her tone light and pleased, she said, “Take a look, Heartfelt. I hope you’re not easily shocked.”

  I tried, but… “I’m sorry, Miss Sandy. I can’t see anything. I believe the glasses and telescope are incompatible.” Indeed, there had been nothing but a grey smudge through the lens. Any details that might have been made out were obscured by a jagged crack when I used one eye, and the black X when I used the other.

  She tisked. “No harm done, I suppose, but I feel bad that you didn’t get to fully join in.”

  “Meeting Ruffles has been quite sufficient an experience,” I assured Sandy, giving her hand a pat.

  “It has. Thank you, Ruffles. I wish we could have stayed longer and watched you work, and I hope we get to return. You and Heartfelt could share stories, I’m sure.” Sandy finished by bowing stiffly to the beautiful general.

  Climbing to her feet, Ruffles curtseyed deeply and with exquisite grace again. “It was my pleasure. So rarely do I get to share my important work. I miss Becky the Queen of All Urchins, and the rockettes are obedient, but cannot talk.”

  “I’m sure Visigoth could. Why don’t you write signs to her, and the two of you can talk that way? Her language might be a little coarse, but no one could understand you better,” Sandy suggested, casually helpful.

  This was Ruffles’ first taste of Sandy’s power, and she sat very still for several seconds before treating Sandy to a beaming smile. “Thank you, Lady Sandy. I will try that immediately.”

  Or, perhaps, she was remembering her own heroine. Where was Theodosus Q. Flapwaddle now, and did he have that glassy smile?

  Someday, our human leaves us. That’s just how it is.

  Perhaps Sandy was having similar thoughts, because she wrapped me tighter in her arm, kissed Ruffles’ forehead, and hurried back to the cart. Once on board, she said nothing, just sat me in her lap and tore into the food baskets, jamming together a crude, fat, and from the gusto with which she ate it, delicious sandwich.

  I found the packet of tea, in wrapped up, unshredded leaves. We had nothing to boil it with, but I pressed it right up to my face and savored the rich, bitter smell of tea. Mmmmmmm…

  I may have done so for quite some time, because Sandy finished before me. The sun was going down, and stars peeked out in the sky. She wriggled into a propped up but not actually sitting position against her pile of soft foods, and folded her hands over her stomach.

  Well, if she was settling in for sleep, I knew my duty. Climbing up the food packets, I snuck myself in behind her head as she lowered it, giving her a pillow.

  She jerked her head up, and reached around with one hand to take hold of me, protesting, “You really don’t have to do this. I’m pretty comfortable.”

  “I want to,” I answered honestly.

  She hesitated, and continued in a halting, awkward tone, “Well… if you do… at least you should lie face-up. The plastic on your chest is soft. It’s almost a pillow by itself.”

  She flipped me over, and laid her heavy head in the middle of my stomach. This was an interestingly different experience from being laid lengthwise. Only my middle got compressed. Good thing I didn’t have an openable mouth, or some of my stuffing might come out! Physically, the pressure was deeply uncomfortable, but the warmth, the peculiarly, well, sandy smell of Sandy’s hair, hearing her breathe so close to me, that more than made up for it.

  I would know when she fell asleep, because she would start snoring. Besides, her eyes remained open. We still lay there in silence. What was she looking at? There was only one way to look, up, at the grinning moon and the stars on the inky background of the night sky.

  While in Belle Tower’s maze, I had tried to identify some of them. There was that same star pattern, confirming that while we might not share the sun, Here and There shared a night sky.

  Very quietly, Sandy asked, “Do you think another child named Somewhere’s constellations already? Or even made them herself?”

  “I don’t know, Miss Sandy,” I answered, also quiet because it was hard to talk with my fluff squeezed into my shoulders and head. “I’ve been wondering about the stars, but there isn’t anything in my book about them that I’ve seen. I’m sure there was a book in the library somewhere. Presumably pages of it are being recovered even now.”

  Sandy started to snore. I smiled, and closed my eyes. I’d told the Punkin Picker that my thoughts didn’t stop now that I had glasses, but maybe I was wrong. Right now, with Sandy so close, I felt good. Maybe today had been tense and tomorrow would be tense, but this moment was the happiest I’d ever known.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I woke up unsmooshed. Sandy was already awake and sitting upright, and had been long enough for my fluff to settle back into shape.

  She was leaning over the side of the cart again, arms folded, watching the world go by. Taking advantage of a large ham next to her to give me height, I did the same thing.

  The road traveled straight through another garden, now. Did this count as a garden? It was a difficult question. Flowers interrupted the green blanket of grass in precise geometric lines. Precise, even intricate. A thick border of purple flowers lined the road, but off it sprouted a bar of red flowers here, and another down the way, and then a line of yellow flowers. Those lines split, sending new lines off at right angles, or met and merged at an angle with other flowers, or stopped suddenly with a gap between it and a crossing flower path ahead.

  They did look like paths, twisting around, didn’t they? Or… no, wait.

  “It’s a maze! It’s the Maze, Belle Tower’s maze, reflected on the opposite side of the capitol!” I declared. Tapping my glasses in concentration, I went on, “Do you see any gardeners? Perhaps the flowers were made able to arrange themselves. I see a rat and fairy over there, but they’re maintaining the turf, not touching the maze itself.”

  Sandy sighed, loudly but more dreamy than sad. She lifted a forearm to prop her chin on her hand, and smiled sweetly at the landscape. “This is what I like about Here, and even There. I have got to sort things out with Charity today, so we can go out and sight see. This could be a vacation from my troubles, a chance to learn how to make friends, and to see the beautiful side of other kids by seeing what they created. When it’s worked out, you and I will travel all over Everywhere together, and see everything, Heartfelt. Maybe Charity will even want to come along.”

  My feelings about Charity aside, that all sounded wonderful. I edged further along the ham, and wrapped an arm around Sandy’s elbow.

  She used the other arm to point, way off in the distance. “Like that. Why is there one mountain all by itself in the middle of nowhere?”

  I perked up excitedly. “I was just reading about that! The Wind Temple is on top of that mountain. The sylphs live there, and control the winds that move the clouds around. The mountain is extremely hard to climb, although I haven’t finished that story and it’s possible Magnificent Mikey made an easier path after he got there. It’s the kind of thing he liked to do. There used to be a whole series of puzzles and obstacles between the flops and the ruins, and he made their lives much easier by charting and disarming the place. That’s a bit of an oversimplification. He had to hypnotize a bunch of rather mad House Cuckoos, for example. Mad as in crazy, I mean.”

  Up at the front of the cart, Flops’ straw hat bobbed. “Yep. It were a mess. We used to have to make so many new fl
ops that folks made jokes about it. That was before my time, of course. The new thing is that the sylphs are blowing book pages all over Everywhere. I had one fall into my cart yesterday, and I heard from Flops who’d just come from home that one landed in his face right as he was setting out.”

  Smiling down at me, Sandy said, “I’m fine with that. The librarians should get to enjoy their quest for a good, long time.”

  Our driver said, “Don’t know about them, but our quest is nearly up. You can see the capitol clear ahead. Might be time to make up a bag of food you’d like to eat while you’re there.”

  “She’s just trying to trick you. The capitol is full of food. Theodosus said there were entire machines for making popcorn,” I whispered up to Sandy.

  Pulling me off the railing, Sandy curled her legs underneath her, sitting in the middle of the cart and watching the circular walls of the capitol approach. She said nothing, her nervousness obvious, so I stroked her forearm and reminded her, “You can overcome anything, Miss Sandy. I believe in you, although that takes no effort, due to how obvious our experiences together have been.”

  She didn’t respond, but her arms did feel less tense.

  We arrived at one of the gates. They were truly grand, arches of white stone several times the height of a human. The towering walls made it clear that the Dotted Line was merely a weak extension of this colossal magnificence.

  A line of guards blocked the gate, near-identical suits of armor holding heavy spoons in front of them at the ready. They had definitely not been mentioned in Theodosus’s journal.

  I looked up at Sandy, but as my mouth started to move she put fingers over it to silence me. Without a word of her own, she draped me over her shoulder, jumped off the cart, and walked right up to the guards. “Strode,” even. She took every step with deliberate weight, but also speed. She reminded me of one of the falling branches of the burning library tree—unstoppable, a cataclysm that would crush anything that it hit.

  Waving an arm at the guards in front of us, she ordered, “Take me to Princess Charity immediately.”

  Several pointed their spoons at her, and chorused, “Human Sandy, we are under orders to take you to Princess Charity.” They did not sound entirely confident.

  “I command you to take me to Princess Charity!” Sandy snarled, taking a step closer and poking her finger right against the face-plate of a guard.

  He stumbled backward a step, and the others wobbled in place. “We are under orders to take you to Princess Charity,” they repeated, but all at different tempos rather than together. The guard Sandy had poked was several words behind the others, and sounded like he was begging.

  “Do it immediately. Take me to Princess Charity now!” Sandy shouted. She sounded furious, but laying belly-first over her shoulder, I could see her cheeks clenched as she fought back a smile.

  “You can’t escape,” tried a particularly brave guard.

  The poor fool. Sandy whirled to face him, shoving his spoon out of the way to step right up to him, so he had to lean backward as she leaned forward and glowered. “Are you refusing to bring me to Princess Charity?”

  “It’s fine, soldiers. There is no conflict here. She wants what you want. Just form a circle around her and take her to the throne room, and it will all work out,” said a horribly familiar voice.

  A human child stepped between the guards. Lustrous, wavy brown hair. Sleek brown blouse and dress. A poised, back arched posture even Sandy couldn’t match, and brown eyes that I’d last seen glaring at me with angry satisfaction as she ripped me open—

  Sandy gasped. “Charity?”

  “What?” asked the human, holding up her fingers and waggling them. She rippled and shrank. Skin sunk in to form obvious joints between the segments of her fingers, she dropped at least three inches below Sandy’s height, and while like the Punkin Picker her face looked convincingly human, it also now looked less specific, only resembling the actual Charity’s. Her posture and clothes both grew stiff, parodies of the original.

  “My, my,” she observed in a warm, friendly, and no longer at all familiar voice, “You must very much want to see Her Highness, if I looked like her without realizing.”

  The guards milled around, bumping into each other with loud clanks as they tried to get over their confusion and form a circle like they’d been told. Now that they were no threat, Sandy ignored them. In fact, she suddenly blushed, the tightness of a smile turning into strained guilt. Her hand reached up to touch her hair, and I caught it, giving it a hug as she told the newcomer, “Are you in charge? I’m sorry for doing that to the guards. I probably didn’t need to. I’m not used to feeling powerful. Sometimes it paralyzes me, and sometimes it runs away with me.”

  The brown-haired doll started to walk, Sandy took up the pace next to her, and the guards clumsily found their places as our escort. Another magnificent creation, the doll walked with such elegance she almost floated, and turned at an angle at that, so she could keep talking to Sandy. “I believe that it’s impossible for you to use your powers wrong, Lady Sandy, although you understand I am personally loyal to Princess Charity.”

  “I’m Sandy the Witch, apparently, and this is my sidekick Heartfelt. You seem very important. What’s your name?”

  I added onto the end of that, “You have to be important, to have such an impressive power. You were hand-made by a human, right?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know which one. I’m not allowed to know. As the regent of Here, my creator wanted me to serve our land, not just herself, and told me to be whatever children want me to be. My name is Barbie, unless you prefer another. If you did, I would know.” She winked playfully.

  That made Sandy grin. “Of course you are.”

  Something other than her name caught my attention. “Regent of Here? So, you rule when there isn’t a human around?”

  She closed her eyes, smiling blissfully. “And it was my honor to be the first to kneel and welcome Princess Charity to her throne room, and offer her the throne that is hers by right. With a true ruler in charge, I have left the palace and taken up my post of organizing the capitol’s celebrations.” Leaning a bit closer to Sandy, which didn’t make her miss a step, she whispered, “Even when I supposedly sit the throne, that is most of my actual duties anyway.”

  “You’re in charge of this? I love it!” squealed Sandy. Scooping me off of her shoulder, she held me up to a gap between guards. “Look, Heartfelt. Clowns made of balloons. That’s so clever!”

  Walking backward now, Barbie grinned and looked down at her spread fingertips. “You flatter me, Lady Sandy. Having them made was my first act upon giving up the throne. They’re still learning their trade.”

  A chorus of squeaks sounded as several of the clowns bumped into each other, and went down in a heap. Sandy snickered. “I can tell.”

  A powerful, salty smell penetrated my admittedly poor senses, and I pointed at a booth up ahead. “See, Miss Sandy? Popcorn! I told you!”

  My view whirled around as she rushed to the opposite side of the circle of guards. “And there’s a corn dog stand! And I smell something… fishy? But spicy at the same time? I want to find that.”

  Bowing a few inches, arms held out in supplication, Barbie asked, “After we meet with the princess, Lady Sandy?”

  “Oh, of course. Sure. The sooner, the better,” Sandy agreed. We kept bouncing around the edges of the circle of guards to gawk, but did it while making progress. The throng of fairgoers parted smoothly around us, and oh my, wouldn’t it be wonderful if your purpose in life was just to attend this party? Many were huge, portly clothlings shaped like animals, as well. Impressive.

  It was downright a shame that we had to pass by a marionette juggler without stopping to talk. He was as skinny as the Punkin Picker, and as tall, but carved in subtle curves and rich dark wood grain. Supremely long arms kept a handful of cheering clothlings flying in complicated circles through the air, and he winked at me as we went by.

  Duty was
hard for a heroine and her sidekick. We left the many intriguing distractions behind, and soon were climbing the stairs into the palace. I’d expected them to be on the South end, looking down the Dotted Line. Instead, these faced West, out into Here. The guards, who had gotten their confidence back, mounted the red-carpeted steps with precisely aligned clonking footsteps.

  Doors opened. More doors opened. The palace had a lot of big, grand rooms, lots of pretty marble and painted walls and frescoes, a couple of which turned to watch us as we went. A dargon in a purple suit that had almost as many ruffles as Ruffles’ skirt hurried out of a side hall, fixing buttons and smoothing pleated cloth into its appropriate spots.

  He ran ahead of us, but dolls of all descriptions scurried in and out of corridors, carrying food, piles of fabric, chairs, mops, and each other. The regent saw us looking, and remarked, “A building this large requires a great deal of cleaning staff.”

  “And any important building should have people running around looking busy,” I speculated.

  Speculated correctly. Barbie gave me a wide-eyed look, and nodded. “You are even smarter than you look. Lady Sandy is lucky to have you.”

  When we entered the final room, the richly dressed dargon grabbed a trumpet from a waiting guard, and blew a fanfare.

  Thumping the butt of the trumpet into the floor loudly, he announced, “The human rebel Sandy, delivered by order of—”

  “Yeah, yeah, can it, candle breath,” snapped Charity from the throne.

  Our guards stepped aside. Barbie dropped back into the previous room, first to direct some of the guards into a line to block our exit, and then to hold a whispered conversation with the trumpet blower. The dargon appeared worried and upset. The words “didn’t mean an actual can,” but no more.

  The throne room was not the biggest room in the palace, but it did have just the right look. A stretch of red carpet up to the throne, which stood on a dais five steps high. Simple flag tapestries, unmarked. Guards lining the walls, holding not spoons, but vicious looking axes with long poles. A couple of servant exits lurked behind pillars in the opalescent brown walls, but the major entrances stood across from each other at the far end from the throne—ours from Here, and another from There. Right down the middle of the room, a subtle line shaded There’s half just a bit more.