A Rag Doll's Guide to Here and There

by Richard Roberts

  When she got in front of us, head and upper body lolling to one side, she raised an arm to point at Pincushion. “Not welcome! Not welcome!” It would have made a beautiful voice for singing, now piercing in its angry screech.

  Red and black paper chains leaped out of her arm, writhing toward Pincushion. Sitting up straight, my captor and questionable friend yanked a pin from her face and slashed it like a sword, slicing the chains apart several feet away.

  She wasn’t paying any attention to me at all.

  I tapped my guard’s shoulder, and pointed at the band. He sidled over, spoon held out in one hand to ward off potential attackers. When we reached the players, I stood up in the guard’s arm to tell the particularly stocky guitar player, “Tell Belle Tower Heartfelt is here, and I need help.”

  His playing didn’t pause for a moment, but he looked at me, and winked one empty socket closed.

  My guard shuffled back behind Pincushion as she stuck a pin in her own arm, and her masked opponent caught fire. The now flaming clothling didn’t seem to mind. She screamed, yes, and ran back through the crowd with her arms flailing, but those screams were of wild laughter.

  Pincushion kicked her escort. “Out! Out!”

  The two guards were only too happy to obey.

  When we were back in the sunlight, Pincushion tugged her little black dress into tidy evenness, and said in a sad sigh, “That was unpleasant, but you need to see what Sandy’s power does. There needs more order, not less.”

  I glared back at her. Staying quiet and obedient and biding my time was all very well, but bad-talking my heroine went past my limits. “She does quite well when her best friend isn’t trying to imprison her.”

  Pincushion suddenly smirked. “Well, I can tell Charity hasn’t caught up with Sandy and banished her, yet.”

  I stared. “I don’t understand.”

  She snickered. “That must feel familiar. When she returns to Elsewhere, you won’t be able to resist Charity’s power anymore. When that happens, you’ll see that I was right all along. Come on. I want to watch you sip tea.”

  Well, if I was held captive and leashed, at least the amenities would be provided. Our guards took us back inside, around behind the throne room, to one of the prettiest rooms I had ever seen. It was mostly white, with gold trimming, lots of windows that let in beautiful sunshine, and a table with a gold-edged white tablecloth. Our guards set us on opposite sides of the tabletop and hurried away quickly. Seconds later, a bundler in multiple pinstriped suits and droopy black jackets laid a silver tray and tea set between Pincushion and myself. He poured our silver cups full with precision, delicacy, and dignity.

  “So…?” asked Pincushion with an eager grin.

  “It does smell nice,” I admitted. It smelled like heaven. There was hardly any sugar in this tea, just a sharp, leafy smell that jabbed into my new nose with a promise of exquisite deliciousness.

  Pincushion just grinned wider, until the same bundler stepped up beside her and gave her a piece of paper. “Messenger bird, madame,” he intoned. He had a good, deep, echoey voice for intoning.

  She raised a thin black eyebrow, and unfolded the note. One second into reading it, she slapped a hand over her face, wincing as that not only poked her with a new pin, but rammed one already there farther through.

  Poor thing. As angry as I was with her, I shouldn’t forget she was also Charity’s victim.

  “How? HOW?” Pincushion yelled at the bundler, or maybe just past him at the whole world. Her hands shook with increasing anger, making the paper rattle. Stopping, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then looked back over at me. “Sorry, Heartfelt. Duty calls. There are fluff-heads in this kingdom bigger than you even before you got glasses.”

  She jumped off the table, shoes clacking loudly when she hit the floor, and stomped out of the room. At the door she paused only long enough to call back, “If the ribbon gets a little tight, don’t worry. I’m not going far.”

  She was gone. Gone! I could…

  Um…

  I couldn’t think of anything to do, so I drank this wonderful dark tea and tried to think.

  Before an idea came to me, something more physical arrived. Another Heartfelt walked in through the door.

  Not just another Heartfelt. Glasses, badly patched dress, little burn marks on her hair, plaid arm slightly thinner than the white one—an exact duplicate of me!

  The table did have chairs. We hadn’t been using them, because everything in the palace tended to be sized for humans. I used it to climb down to the floor and meet my doppleganger.

  “Belle Tower?” I asked. That was my only guess. Well, strictly speaking I had another guess, that this was a trick by Pincushion, but I couldn’t see what the point would be. No pun intended.

  The clothling gasped. “Oh, my, no! I’m just a magic copy of you. Maybe someday in the future you’ll have to relive this from my perspective? Wouldn’t that be interesting? My memories are a bit muddled, so I might just be your shadow, or something like that.”

  We both looked at the floor. I very clearly still had a shadow.

  Hmmm. In fact, I should say that. “Hmmm. Do you have further instructions, or do I need to think of a way to exploit this opportunity very quickly?”

  She rocked forward and back on the round ends of her legs, arms tucked behind her back in satisfaction. “There is one more part! After that you are literally on your own, because I need to devote my own intellect to deceiving Pincushion.”

  If she was going to be with Pincushion…

  Oh, my. My growing suspicion became fact as the other Heartfelt reached over to my neck, took hold of the ribbon, and worked it up over my head. It had tightened a little, proof that Pincushion’s threats were very real, but together we managed to ease it off of my glasses.

  When we did, I froze, again rendered unable to move. My duplicate showed no signs of surprise or disconcerted mien. She wriggled the ribbon onto her own head instead.

  It reached her neck, and suddenly I could move again.

  I beamed in delighted understanding. “Of course! After all, I am technically wearing it. Belle Tower would understand how to get around witchcraft.”

  “Whatever you’re going to do, I suggest you hurry. I believe my existence is temporary. Personally, I see nothing stopping you from simply running away. I’m almost positive that if you do, you won’t be paralyzed again when I disappear. Why go to all this trouble, if you were?”

  First, I helped her tug the ribbon nicely even along the back of her neck. I did, indeed, look absolutely adorable in a big pink bow. Only then did I scurry as fast as I could out the door, calling back over my shoulder, “An excellent plan, but I have one even better!”

  So. Back into the hall that ran behind the throne room. I didn’t want to be here. Pincushion might stumble upon me. I ran down the way toward There, and ducked into a side hall, and then a side side hall. I passed several guards and palace workers along the way, but they only gave me sad, curious glances because of my injuries. The guard tipped the visor of his helmet in a friendly salute.

  What I needed was another bundlish, and… actually, perhaps I could get both of my needs solved at once. I asked the guard, “Where is the laundry room, please?”

  He pointed. “Down that way, Miss. And then you turn, um… left? The way that’s this hand.”

  “That is left. You were absolutely right the first time!” I assured him.

  He rattled happily. “After that, I’m not quite sure.”

  “That’s a wonderful start, thank you! I’ll ask someone else when I get there.”

  Which is what I did, and in hardly any time at all I was standing, not at the laundry room, but outside somewhere even more perfect—the palace wardrobe. A simply gigantic room lined with shelves and full of racks that held linens, tapestries, and clothing in all colors, sizes, and designs. It even had side rooms for specialties.

  That much stock required careful management, and a clothling s
haped like an owl with little yellow plastic legs and beak stood on a tall chair in front of a writing desk. Writing is exactly what he was doing, with a frown of ferocious wisdom. No one does that better than an owl.

  Knocking on his chair to get his attention, I said, “I’ll take a pile of brown girl’s clothing please, the biggest you have and as much as I can carry.”

  He nodded. “Certainly. Just a moment. Planchette? Did you hear the hideously mauled usurper’s assistant’s request?”

  “Ah, but I sink ze usurper’s assistant ees most cute and stylish with her patches!” contradicted a plump clothling almost as big as the ones at the fair, wearing a fetching white and black maid outfit. She trotted up an aisle carrying a pile of brown cloth, and poured it into my arms.

  “Exactly what items are being withdrawn, Planchette?” asked the owl, his pen hovering over a ledger.

  The odds of Charity or Pincushion ever seeing this book were remote, but just in case I called over the top of my laundry pile, “I’m sorry to be difficult, but these are permanent withdrawals and the transaction is not to be recorded.”

  He scowled doubtfully. “Well, that’s… highly irregular.”

  I bobbed my knees, as a curtsy was the only gesture I had available with my arms this full. “I know it is. Again, I’m very sorry.” I was, at least a bit. Proper record keeping is important.

  He shrugged his wings. “Well, all right. I’ll figure something out at the next scheduled inventory.”

  “I have faith een you, mon chere. You are ze soul of wisdom,” purred the maid, leaning over his desk. That’s how tall she was!

  No time to waste with long goodbyes! Climbing the first stairway I could—with the help of a very nice wooden tiger with black and white stripes—I hurried down a mostly remembered path to the most shadowed, There portion of the palace.

  Specifically, to Pincushion’s room.

  First, I climbed onto her chair and shove Charity’s clothing onto the floor. Then I pulled up the pile I’d brought, folding them haphazardly to resemble what I’d just removed. The likeness was hardly perfect, but with even a little luck no one would ever have reason to check!

  Sandy’s glasses were gone. I’d failed that half of my mission. Well, if Sandy’s ace in the hole was neutralized, I would do the same for Charity’s, and she wouldn’t find out until she fell through a mirror into Elsewhere.

  Arms loaded down with clothing that, in my face, did indeed smell like human, I bounced down the stairs farthest from the throne room. Two rooms down, and I saw the door to the There side of the capitol! It had extra guards, but even the hulking super guard gave me no more than a curious glance.

  This was Charity and Pincushion’s biggest failure. They didn’t ask for help, or just talk to their servants. They gave orders. All of the princess’s servants knew their jobs, but they didn’t know what she actually wanted. They had no reason to stop me, or even pay attention.

  As bad as the border I’d visited earlier was, right here at the palace steps There was worse. More masked clothlings whooped as they threw white and blue glowing ghosts at each other. The tents themselves hobbled around, some twisted into bundles, some spread out on many post legs. If they stepped wrong, firecrackers hidden on the ground went off, sending them tumbling.

  That would be intimidating to pass through, but I would make a run for it anyway.

  Or, I could take a rocking horse. The horse with no name stood right at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for me.

  Since I couldn’t shout his name with joy, I greeted him with, “It’s so good to see you! Quick, we have to store these! Now I wish Sandy hadn’t taken your bags with her.”

  “I’m ready for our exciting escape!” he promised me, rocking forward and back, quick and eager.

  He stopped when I grabbed his stirrup and started to climb up. I promised him, “Soon. Very soon. As soon as I… put… these… away.” Piece by piece, I stuffed Charity’s folded clothes under the rocking horse’s saddle, where they looked rather like a blanket and cushion.

  When I tucked away the last piece, I climbed up to the saddle myself. Just before I sat down, pink flashed, something gripped me around the neck, and yanked me off. I couldn’t even shout a complaint or instructions, and my nameless steed watched me with curiosity and concern as I landed on the steps with a painful thump, then was dragged up them one by one. And what could he do? Fast as he was, rocking horses can’t climb stairs.

  I twisted around, to see that it was Pincushion’s magic pink ribbon that was choking me and dragging me back into the palace. I fought, of course. I clawed at it around my throat. I clung to the stairs. Neither had any effect worth mentioning.

  The ribbon yanked me in through the doorway, and I landed in a circle of guards—and at Pincushion’s feet.

  She bent down, and touched her elaborately sewn fingers to my cheek. With a gentle, sad smile, she explained, “I’m not mad. This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I should have known Sandy would never send you out on a quest without magical assistance. As long as you want to get away, someone will show up to save you.”

  I tried to yell something, but the ribbon had reduced me to gurgling.

  Shaking her head, she sighed, still sad and with the smile not quite disappearing. It lurked, a resigned, exasperated, and affectionate crescent of black ink. “I didn’t want to do things this way. I wanted to keep you close until you figured out for yourself that we belong together. But maybe it’s best like this anyway.”

  Slowly, she withdrew one of the longest pins from her midsection, then slammed it into my arm, nailing it to the floor.

  OW!

  Another pin on my other arm, and both legs. OW! OW! OW! At least once they were in place, they stopped hurting.

  “Shears,” she ordered, holding up a hand. Her heavy scissors were placed in it by a trembling pink-and-orange-swirled dargon.

  My glasses. She was going to make me stupid again? I tried to ask the question, but just croaked.

  But when she reached for me with those blades, it wasn’t for my face. She guided them to my chest, and the sharpened lower point dug into the cloth and stitching at the edge of my pink plastic heart.

  With a snip, she cut a little hole along that edge.

  Snip snip snip snip snip. All around that rim, she cut my heart free, leaving white stuffing bulging up out of my opened chest. It didn’t hurt. My body felt increasingly cold and numb, and the colors drained out of the world into grayness, but I felt no pain.

  My heart came free entirely. Pincushion handed it to the dargon, and did the last thing I would ever have expected.

  She cut a hole in the center of her own chest.

  Her own stuffing bulged, and she reached inside to pull out her own heart, small and charcoal colored, not quite black, but a perfect round cloth heart shape.

  Pincushion pushed her heart deeply into the white fluff protruding from my chest. The world didn’t get any less cold, but colors seeped back in.

  The dargon handed her my heart back. He had folded it up into a much smaller, rounded heart shape rather than flat. It was still bigger than hers, but she fit it through the hole in her chest, settling it snugly inside her.

  “Patch,” she ordered. The dargon gave her a blue cloth, cut in the size and shape of my heart, and the exact color of my original dress.

  The little doll in the black dress laid it over the hole she’d cut, curled her hand so that only one finger extended, waved that in a circle, and then drew it around the rim of the hole. The blue heart sewed into place as perfectly as the best seamstress could manage, and much faster. Lifting my head weakly, I could barely spot the seam even knowing where to look.

  She had to be handed a needle and thread to sew her own chest shut the hard way, but at least black string didn’t show up on black cloth very well. I still winced along with her at every puncture. It looked even less fun than sewing my glasses on.

  Pain roughened her voice, but didn’t stop her from talking
. “There. I told you it wasn’t much of a heart, and you owned it already. Now we can’t be apart.”

  The ribbon let go, dropping limply to the floor. Rubbing my neck, I said, “My chest hurts.”

  The seams were painless. Inside, I ached. She clutched a hand over her own chest, and I could tell she understood. “We both lost everything but each other. I guess…”

  “What?” I asked softly. A bit of anger lurked in my core, but the heaviness of this situation lay over it. How could I even honestly fault her? She did the same to herself that she did to me.

  She sighed. My heart must be heavy. I’d have been astonished if it wasn’t. But it was my heart, so she forced a smile, looking on the bright side. “I have a surprise for you. I was going to save it until Sandy was safely Elsewhere, but maybe it’s best not to wait. Come on.”

  Pincushion turned away from the door, and gave the swirl-marked dargon a kick in the ankle. “Do you even have a matchstick in there? Fungus blight? You heard me. Go get the coach loaded! Everyone back to work! She can’t run away now.”

  She offered me her hand, and pulled me upright. Hand in mitten, then, we walked across the palace to the Here entrance. Pincushion gave a few more orders, but I didn’t hear them. I still felt so heavy.

  It took what waited for us at the Western gate to shock me back into paying attention. A pumpkin stood in the middle of the road. An enormous pumpkin, and “stood” was the correct description. It had dozens of green vine legs growing out of the bottom. Doors had been carved into the orange shell, and windows showed a hollowed out and upholstered interior.

  How very curious. I had to ask. “Did the witch hat make this?”

  “Princess Charity made it with the witch hat. It is a specifically human magic. I couldn’t have imagined it.”

  Despite myself, I nodded and smiled. Well, grimaced, at least. “I certainly am familiar with that. Sandy frequently comes up with things that are obviously correct, but I would never have imagined—especially where magic is concerned.”