As they came out of the woods, the teddy bear shrank, and turned from golden to gray. Keir resumed his familiar appearance of a little, bearded man in a homespun tunic and sandals.
"Why did you look different back there?" Chuck asked.
Keir smiled. "You needed that shape far more than this one."
Chuck hugged the comfort of that moment to him. "Yes, I certainly did. Thank you." God, he thought, what would my wife have said if she could have seen me, crying like a baby.
Wife? He had a wife? Chuck stopped to think for a moment. Of course he did. He did his best to put a face to the concept of a marital partner, but he couldn't picture her at all. At least he had remembered he had one. That was good. It meant he was breaking through the mental blocks one by one. This had been a tremendously important one.
They had a long way to go back to the gate, but Chuck walked with a happy bounce that went well with the loden shorts and knee socks that he was now wearing. He felt lighter than he had since he'd arrived. "Catharsis" was what they called what had happened to him. He remembered the term from school. Usually catharsis didn't come with monsters sniffing around, but it had been a valuable and memorable experience just the same. Other people began to appear around him, seated on benches and in the grass and in the very midst of the sprawlingly gorgeous flower beds. He smiled at their contented expressions, and they, complete strangers, smiled up at him. Chuck felt he loved each and every one of them. He hoped they had experienced as significant an event as he had. He couldn't recommend the means, but the outcome was terrific. Keir stopped to glance around.
"Do you see any of the others?"
Chuck spun on his heel in a 360-degree circle. Out of the corner of his eye, Chuck saw Hiramus walking toward them. Chuck frowned. The dour, bearded man was coming from approximately the same direction as he and Keir had. If Hiramus had seen Chuck battling the monsters, why didn't he help? Immediately Chuck was ashamed of his thought. Hiramus had almost certainly been in the midst of his own meditations at the time. There was no reason he should take an interest in Chuck's problems; goodness knew Chuck had been oblivious to everyone else's needs. He hoped the man had seen things that made him happy, or helped him work out problems as satisfactorily as Chuck's had turned out.
"Good afternoon," the older man said, formally bowing slightly. He had a high hat that he doffed with a graceful turn of the wrist. "Did you have a good time?"
"It was amazing," Chuck said. "I feel like a new man. And you?"
Hiramus let a small smile touch the corners of his mouth under the graying mustache. He put his hat back on. "I enjoyed my experience very much. Thank you for asking."
They reached the steps of the train, now a handsome, sleek, steel cylinder, ahead of anyone else. The door slid open with a hydraulic hiss, and steps descended. Chuck started to swing aboard, full of energy.
"Hello, Master Chuck," Mrs. Flannel said, bustling along the platform in her full skirts. She led Spot by the hand, and carried her purse and carrier bag in the other. He was no longer a Capuchin monkey, but a full-grown silverback gorilla. "Did you have a lovely day?"
Chuck jumped down from the step.
"Hello, Mrs. Flannel. Hello, Spot. I really did have a good time. I hope you enjoyed yourself. May I help you with your bags?"
The old lady tittered as he took her belongings and swept her a gallant little bow as she preceded him up the steps. "Oh, thank you. Imagine, a Visitor being so courteous."
"I . . . we're just like everyone else, ma'am," he said. She sounded surprised. He had been a pig. He vowed that he would never behave like that again. Dutifully he shouldered her knitting bag and offered her an arm to help her into the train. "Wasn't that a beautiful gazebo, Mrs. Flannel? And that Japanese garden, wow! Hi, Persemid, can I help you with those?"
The redhaired woman staggering toward him with her monstrous tote bag and other luggage balanced on her head like a native villager gave him a suspicious look.
"No, thanks." She must have wondered what he was up to. He wanted to tell her his whole world had changed, but he doubted she'd believe him. Or, he thought wistfully, she'd tell him the experience was of no real importance. He didn't want to hear that.
"Did you have a nice time?" he persisted. Now she looked surprised as well.
"Yes. A very nice time. Thanks for asking." He got another strange look as she pushed past him. Sean Draper hurried into the car and dropped into his seat without saying a word to anyone. He looked more preoccupied than before. Chuck wanted to offer a friendly word, but decided the man wanted to be alone with his thoughts. What had he seen that troubled him so much? Chuck helped Mrs. Flannel and her ape settle, and put her bags up on the rack.
Chuck shucked his own baggage off his shoulders onto the carriage floor, and started to put them up on the shelf. Horrified, he did a quick count, and counted again. There was no doubt about it. The huge steamer trunk was missing. Chuck felt his stomach drop in panic. He must have forgotten the case in the Meditation Gardens.
"Keir!"
The dolphin speaking with Hiramus flicked its tail to spin about in midair, and metamorphosed into a man between one breath and another. He strode to Chuck's side.
"What's wrong?" the guide demanded. Chuck pointed at his pile of suitcases.
"I'm missing a piece of luggage! I'll have to go back for it."
Instead of being upset, Keir looked pleased. "It's begun, my young friend."
"What has?" Chuck asked, surprised. Keir poked him in the chest with a sharp forefinger.
"You are starting to shed your problems. That's very good. I would have bet it was going to take longer. Excellent progress. Excellent."
"But what about the trunk?" Chuck demanded, conscious of a sensation of loss. "I'm sure I can find it again. It's probably back near that forest." Keir fixed him with a narrowed, black eye.
"Oh, so you want to go on carrying it?"
"No! Not at all. But what about what was in it?"
"There's nothing you need any longer," Keir said, cheerfully waving a hand. "Insecurity, hurt feelings from long ago. Old baggage. I think you'll find those particular things won't color your personality the way they have in the past."
"So I'm not selfish any more?" Chuck asked, dubiously.
Keir chuckled. "No more than other people, my friend, but it won't weigh on you or control your life the way that it has. You just needed a chance to let out emotions you no longer required, and you got it."
"I certainly did," Chuck said. So that was why he felt so light coming out of the woods. The weight he had been carrying was literal, and he was rid of it. He shifted his shoulders, trying to get used to the freedom, fitting it around him like a waistcoat. He could learn to like that a lot. Now all he had to deal with were the document cases and the carryall. Whatever problems they represented looked much more manageable. As he popped the blue bags into the luggage racks he experienced a good deal of smug satisfaction. There was lots of room now. Persemid was struggling to arrange her many bags. Chuck pitched in, helping to fit them into the additional space. He suspected she, too, was carrying fewer burdens than before, but didn't want to say anything in case he was wrong.
The married couple from Elysia arrived next, trudging tiredly into the car. Chuck stayed on his feet, ready to lend a hand, but Blanda wasn't carrying her picnic basket, just a small shoulder bag out of which knitting needles poked. Chuck waved as the couple looked up. Morit gave him a startled glance as though surprised to see him.
"Hi," Chuck said. "Enjoy your day?"
"Oh, yes, Master Chuck!" Blanda tittered like a little girl, shyly handing Chuck her carryall to stow next to her seat. She babbled out a cheerful little narrative about their picnic and the beautiful fountains and a unicorn.
Morit couldn't stop looking at the Visitor. He had been ready to celebrate the beginning of the conspiracy's success and, as he was getting aboard the train, had just been thinking it was a pity he couldn't announce it to the world, because the victory ought to be on the lips of every Dreamlander—and here was the cursed man, as large as life, looking like he'd only walked out of a dark room. Chuck Meadows was blinking a lot, but not another thing seemed to have happened to him.
"I . . . hear you saw Bedtime Monsters," was all Morit could choke out.
"You know, I did," Chuck said bemusedly, tilting his long face to one side. He took off the feathered cap he was wearing to scratch his head. "How did you know that?" Morit just goggled at him, not answering. Chuck guessed perhaps there were no secrets in the Dreamland. Maybe he had seen them, too. "They were just as scary as I remember them as a kid."
"The Collective Unconscious," said a man-sized black spider, walking into their midst. Chuck was sure it had to be Bergold, since it made directly for the place across Chuck's aisle seat. "Undoubtedly they were exactly the same as you remembered. They have been here, among the wandering images, until you came along again. No memory is ever entirely lost. But you are here. You fought them off."
"I had a kind of a shield," Chuck said, a bit sheepishly. "I remembered from when I was a little boy my grandfather told me that if I hid under the covers they would go away."
"And so they did," Mr. Bolster said, nodding approvingly. "A blanket is an acceptable protection against certain kinds of nightmares. Night lights are also efficacious."
"You made your own reality," Bergold said, clicking his mouth parts at Chuck. "Well done." Chuck gave a little shrug.
"I admit I was afraid for a while, but it was nothing. I mean, I did nothing special."
Nothing special? Morit thought, on the verge of boiling over with rage. Certain death by the claws of wild beasts, and he called it nothing special? What had happened? It was the perfect moment, the perfect opportunity! If Chuck Meadows had been taken, the other Visitors would have lost heart! How did he do it?
"It was a beautiful place," Chuck said dreamily, to the others. "I'll never be able to think of it as blank again." Morit almost leaped for him right there to strangle him. With his luck, the train would lurch and he would end up on the man's lap, hugging him around the neck. Blanda would probably approve, curse her.
"Message for you, sir," said a uniformed porter, appearing at Morit's side and extending a silver tray in his white-gloved hands. Peevishly, Morit snatched the sealed envelope off the tray, keenly aware of the curiosity of his fellow travelers. He turned his back on them to open it.
The note, hastily scrawled on transparent leaves, offered abject apologies for failure. They had tried. They had mustered all the influence at their disposal, but their attack was blunted by the force of an overwhelmingly strong Childhood Fantasy with which the Visitor had surrounded himself. They couldn't break through it. Every blow had been muffled, every slash soft-edged. They vowed it wouldn't happen again. Next time, they would succeed. They had all signed the note, all three hundred thousand of them.
Morit could feel their indignation vibrating through the page. He shared it as he crumpled the letter in his fist. The Visitor had thwarted him by making up his own rules. His self-made reality had extended into the space around him, taking their perfectly good monsters and rendering them into fluffy toys. Such a surfeit of influence was abnormal. His comrades didn't stand a chance. Look at the horrible man! He didn't even have a scratch. They would have to concentrate more effort, and make certain that next time Chuck Meadows had no template to work from to stop the oncoming disaster. His stomach growled.
"When do we eat?" he demanded. The porter spread his hands with an apologetic smile.
"We cannot serve until the whole party has arrived, sir," the young man said.
"What? That's ridiculous!" Morit snapped. "I demand you serve me at once."
"Dear!" Blanda said, shock on her foolish face. "Manners!" He snarled at her.
"I am so sorry," the porter said, deferentially. "The food won't be here until everyone is seated."
"Who is missing!"
"The tall lady," said the porter.
"Pipistrella," Chuck said. "She must have lost track of the time."
"Time?" Morit exploded. "There is no time in there." He slammed back in his seat. The entire world was against him. First, he had not been able to kill the Visitor, and now, this!
Chuck looked around for Keir. The guide must have gone back to look for her. The last time Chuck had seen her, she was floating high in the air, but once his mind had furnished the Gardens with landscape, things got hidden. He settled down. It would only be a few minutes.
The conductor came through, dressed in splendid blue with red piping on his sleeves and cap. He held out his watch ahead of him as though it was a compass leading him north. Chuck couldn't help but notice how miserable he looked. His face was as blue as his uniform.
"What's wrong?"
The conductor glanced up, looking embarrassed. He looked about at the others in the compartment before bending over to whisper confidentially to Chuck. "We're running late, sir. The young lady has put us off schedule."
"Maybe the timetable's a little too tight?" Chuck suggested, trying not to sound judgmental. "You want people to have enough time to enjoy the destination. I just barely got back here myself."
"It was perfectly adequate for the rest of us," Hiramus said, his voice very low but crisp, leaning toward Chuck.
"Sir, the trains must run on time," the conductor said, plaintively.
"There's always one," Persemid said, to no one in particular. She hadn't been listening. She was sitting with her arms folded, tapping her foot irritably. Sean didn't say anything, probably unwilling to be disrespectful to a lady who had been kind to him. He stared at the door. Tension rose in the room like floodwater.
Chuck sat back and tried to be patient. This was an example of why he would have preferred going on his vision quest alone. He was getting hungry, too. If it took much longer, he'd open up his suitcase and share all those snacks. He counted the number of people in the car, and wondered if there would be enough to go around. He nodded to himself. It should be okay. He needed only a small stopgap until the conductor began serving that overwhelmingly huge dinner.
The whole train seemed to be on hold. No one was talking. People sat frozen, breathless, conversations interrupted mid-word, waiting. They couldn't get going until the train began to move. Nothing was going anywhere until Pip arrived. Where was she? Had something happened to her? Under his feet, Chuck could feel the engine straining forward, held back by some invisible force. Instead of clickety-tat, the tense rhythm said "I'm-late-I'm-late-I'm-late-I'm-late." His whole body itched. It got to be so irritating that Chuck sprang out of his seat to pace up and down the aisle. Bergold was knitting silk from his spinnerets with a tapping rhythm that was driving Chuck mad. If he wasn't a giant spider, the people in the car might have risen up and tied the hapless Historian with his own yarn.
Just when Chuck thought he couldn't stand it another minute, the door at the end of the corridor opened up, and Pipistrella sailed in, gypsy skirts and silk bags flying gaily in her wake. Keir floated behind her, his beautiful face stern as a church effigy.
"Good evening, madam," the conductor said, a trifle stiffly. His face was red with near apoplexy. "I regret to inform you that our time of departure is delayed this evening." Under their feet, the train jerked forward, as if released from a leash. Pipistrella smiled at him.
"Oh, did I make us late? I am sorry. I was in such a marvelous state of relaxation, I didn't want to come down too soon."
The conductor blew his top. His head turned into a red balloon and shot out of his collar toward the ceiling. His hands reached up and grabbed the string tethering it to his collar and reeled it back in.
"Young woman, timeliness is the function of the railroad! You could upset not just this train, but the whole system of the Dreamland."
Pipistrella seemed to become aware for the first time of all the faces turned her way. She offered each a beautiful smile.
"I'm so sorry. I will try to be more careful."
Chuck swallowed the indignant protest he'd been saving for when she got there. Once wasn't a problem. He wasn't going to replace selfishness with impatience, but he saw he wasn't the only person who'd be carrying that one around. Bags popped into existence all over the car. Even the conductor's breast pocket bulged ever so slightly. He turned to face the passengers.
"Dinner will be served at once."
There was a sigh of relief, but it didn't drain the tension from the room. All the passengers who had been intent on Pipistrella's arrival now eagerly anticipated the first course. They did not have a long wait.
Salivating with hunger, Chuck watched the metal lid being lifted off his plate, and frowned at the small rice savory flecked with herbs and decorated with a marigold. The rice was dry all around the edges, and the flower's petals were beginning to fall off. He poked the delicacy with a finger. Cold. He picked up a forkful. Inedible. He put the fork down. The next course was no better. All of the food was cold, overdone, or both, thanks to Pip, who was still smiling affably. A soft haze filled the air around her, softening the glares others were shooting her way. She really must be completely unaware of her surroundings. Chuck was ready to give up all the credit he'd given her for being so nice to Sean. A shadow started to form over his head. With an effort of will, Chuck forced the forming suitcase out of existence. He was not going to add to his luggage again, no matter how irritating that woman was!
| Title: | The Grand Tour |
| Author: | Jody Lynn Nye |
| ISBN: | 0-671-57883-9 |
| Copyright: | © 2000 by Jody Lynn Nye |
| Publisher: | Baen Books |