Mrs. Gosford’s mouth all but fell open, but she collected herself and said mildly that perhaps Rage ought to read before passing the book on. Rage read badly because she was worried about what Logan would do. When she finished, she sat down and handed the book over without daring to look at him.
There was a long pause, and mentally Rage crossed her fingers.
Then Logan laid his fingers on the book and began to speak the lines without standing up. He was reading the part of a character called Bottom, who was playing the part of a donkey that had wandered into the forest and had got caught up in a magical competition between the king and queen of the fairies. It was meant to be funny, but it hadn’t been until Logan said the words. When kids in the class started laughing, he stopped and glared furiously about, but Rage hissed, “They’re laughing because you’re good!”
Logan’s tension faded and he looked about with dawning wonder, seeing that she was right. There was enough laughter that her comments and his hesitation went unnoticed, except by the teacher, who only nodded for him to go on. Logan read to the end of the speech, saying the lines perfectly except in one place, where Rage was able to prompt him softly. He finished to a storm of applause. Logan looked around, almost purple in the face with pride and scowling embarrassment. Rage had to laugh at his expression, and then at last he laughed, too, shaking his head.
“That was brilliant,” Mrs. Gosford said enthusiastically, waving her hands to quiet everyone down. “Logan, I had no idea you were hiding thespian talents.”
The class ended with students who normally steered clear of Logan slapping him fearlessly on the back and telling him how great he was. Mrs. Gosford kept Rage and Logan back, and when the others had gone, she wagged her finger at them.
“Don’t think I can’t guess what this is all about.”
Rage didn’t need to look at Logan to feel him tense up, but before he could react, Mrs. Gosford said, “You have been rehearsing the play together, haven’t you? I can’t tell you how impressed I am with both of you, and I shall say so in the end-of-term reports later in the month. I insist on seeing both of you next week at the play auditions.”
Rage muttered something noncommittal and hustled Logan out of the classroom. In the hall, students were milling around opening lockers, getting ready to go home. Several of them stopped Logan to tell him how they had liked his performance.
“I can’t go to that audition,” Logan said when they got to a passage that was relatively empty.
“Why not!” Rage protested. “Why shouldn’t you try out?”
“What are you talking about?” Logan demanded. There was an accusing note in his voice.
“You can learn the audition piece by heart,” she insisted warmly. “You’ve just shown what a great memory you have, and actors on stage don’t read lines. They learn them and then they say them from memory, just as you did in class.”
“I can’t remember a whole play!” Logan argued again.
“I bet you could if you tried, but you don’t have to. Try for the part of Bottom. It’s not that long. I can read the lines to you over and over, and you can learn them that way. We can start out by learning another of his speeches for our audition piece. There are even tapes of plays in the library, and I bet they have A Midsummer Night’s Dream. You can listen over and over. And there’s a film of it, too.”
Logan was staring at her, partly in hope and partly in apprehension. Rage decided not to press him to an actual agreement. Let him think it through and see how easy it would be. In a funny way, because of not being able to read, Logan had actually trained himself to learn just as real actors did.
Rage changed the subject, saying they ought to get to the library. Once there, she went to the shelves and got out The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, then she went into one of the little study rooms along the library wall. Logan followed her, closing the door, as she asked, with a puzzled frown. Rage sat down, opened the book, and began to read aloud. From the corner of her eye, she saw him pale then flush, then he looked around self-consciously. Finally, he sat stiffly, his arms crossed over his chest. Rage became engrossed in the story herself then and did not look up again until her voice was beginning to crack. Disappointment flitted across Logan’s face, but she pretended not to notice as she matter-of-factly closed the book, saying her uncle would arrive at any moment. Then she suggested checking out the audiotapes of both The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Logan’s eyes lit up before he shrugged and said casually, “Yeah, okay.”
A little while later they were outside in the icy air. Rage shivered, wondering again if the deadly winter in Valley was stealing into their world.
“Want my coat?” Logan offered.
Rage nodded, sensing that he was thanking her. But even the heavy jacket did not ease the cold. Fortunately, Uncle Samuel arrived and offered Logan a lift home. This time it was accepted at once. Billy sniffed Logan as he got in and wagged his tail in recognition.
“He remembers me,” Logan murmured, rubbing Billy between the eyes.
“Billy smells that Rage likes you,” Uncle Samuel said, surprisingly.
When Logan got out, he thanked them and ran lightly across the road, despite the fact that The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe audiotape and another of A Midsummer Night’s Dream were stuffed into his pockets, making the sides of his coat bulge. Rage wondered, smiling, what his foster family would make of him suddenly listening to Shakespeare.
Rage thought happily about what had happened in English that afternoon. But the good feelings faded as the car began to climb the hills above the town, for here the bleakness of the winter was evident on all sides. Rage thought of the creatures that had chased her and Logan.
Then a truly awful thought assailed her.
What if the beasts had come through the winter door? What if they were what the wizard had sent the firecat to warn her about? Rage tried to remember exactly what the firecat had said. It had said something about needing the wizard. Then it had offered to take her to him. It could only have made that offer if it had possessed the power to take her to the wizard.
A picture came into Rage’s mind of the tiny hourglass. What if it had contained dream-traveling magic? Perhaps the spell had been designed to activate as soon as it was near her. Then she might have been meant to dream-travel to the wizard, who would have told her how to block the gap between her world and Valley to keep out the winter. Or maybe she would have been told how to close the winter door, thereby saving both worlds.
Rage began to smooth Billy’s fur with her fingers. It soothed her as much as it did him. She focused on the world outside the car again. The snowy world of hillocks and trees flew past, shadowy and as full of jumps as the old Charlie Chaplin movies that Mam loved so much. It was only when they were coming up the hill road to the farm that Rage glanced at her uncle and noticed a little nerve jumping crazily in the side of his neck.
Rage told herself that her uncle was no different than usual. His coolness might only be because he was irritated at having to ferry her to and from school. Worrying about her uncle on top of worrying about Valley made her feel strangely hollow, as if fear had claws and were burrowing into her.
Dinner was a frozen pizza to which they added fresh toppings. Rage had extra cheese and slices of tomato. Uncle Samuel put butter beans and feta cheese on his, then he drizzled on olive oil, saying it was better that way. While the pizzas heated, he unwrapped some bones he had gotten for Billy and put out a bowl of water. The news came on and Rage listened to it, half hoping that some expert would come on and talk about mutated boars.
The first half hour was world news. Unusually, Leary got a mention because of its weather. The attention of the world was beginning to focus on the phenomenal weather pattern around their part of the globe. The announcer said that the freakish weather was spreading and continued to baffle experts. Rather than being the result of high-or low-pressure fronts, or hurricanes out at sea, or even of
volcanic activity, this weather seemed to be spontaneously roiling out of the skies above Leary.
Rage stiffened. If the weather was flowing from an opening in Valley, it would probably be near Leary.
The announcer went on to say that experts from all over the world were coming to Leary for an emergency weather summit. Then a local news announcer came on and repeated pretty much all that had been said, only adding that the weather had immobilized all transport outside Leary. Snowplows were facing a struggle to keep open the main roads to smaller towns such as Hopeton and Cally to the north and south.
Rage knew this would affect the possibility of visiting Mam in Leary. It was even possible that the hospital authorities would decide the journey was too dangerous for Mam and change their minds. But Rage could not really hope for that because maybe Mam did need more specialized care. The broadcast dissolved into loud crackling, and Rage didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry.
She glanced over at her uncle and was alarmed to notice that he was staring curiously at Billy, who looked exactly as if he was trying to hear the faint words under the static. Rage coughed loudly and Billy dropped his muzzle to his bowl.
Dessert was a tin of peaches, then Uncle Samuel made himself a coffee and said he would do some work in his room. Rage was surprised because he had not touched the piles of notebooks and boxes of specimens in his room, let alone the battered typewriter he’d spent such care in cleaning and oiling. Then she realized that it was probably just an excuse not to stay in the kitchen with her. As he went out, her uncle looked back and reminded her to finish her homework and not to stay up too late.
Later Rage snuggled into her blankets and yawned widely, forcing her tired mind to imagine Goaty. Not Goaty, she reminded herself dreamily. Gilbert. She mustn’t forget to use the name Elle had given him.
Rage was standing in the middle of a narrow street paved in smooth, pale flagstones running between a row of lovely pale stone buildings on one side and a narrow, slow-moving stream of aqua water on the other, with banks paved in the same pale stone. There was another paved path on the other side of the stream, and more lovely buildings. They were only one, two, and occasionally three stories high, but the facades were so delicately formed that there was no sense of heaviness about them, despite being side by side without a single break. It was too misty to see the detail in the facades across the stream, but on her side the plants and flowers carved into the stone were so perfectly shaped that they might have been real.
She began to walk and discovered that she was barefoot and in her pajamas! Now she knew she was dreaming. She drifted closer to the exquisite carvings. They were impossibly perfect, with tiny stone stamens rising up out of the minutest stone blossoms, each one with its own unique configuration. Rage came to a series of columns supporting a balcony and gasped to see a fall of lush marble blossoms with petals so thin as to be translucent. Reaching out to touch one of the flowers, Rage was disconcerted to discover that the marble was faintly warm.
She continued along the path. The warmth in the carved flowers extended to the flagstones under her bare feet, but Rage was distracted from wondering about it because the stream suddenly curved out of sight. Then, around the bend, the pale stone altered slightly in hue. It had a delicate greenish tinge, and here and there were streaks of dull purple that looked oddly bruiselike. Touching one of these streaks, Rage discovered that unlike the surrounding stone, it was quite cold. On impulse, she went to the bank and knelt down to dip her fingers in the water. She half expected it to be hot, for a slight mist lay over it, but it was so cold that her fingers hurt. She frowned at the water, trying to think what the milky aqua color reminded her of. Both the water and the misty air had a luminous quality that suggested that the sun was somewhere above, shining brightly.
It was growing colder, or perhaps the chilly mist was beginning to make Rage cold, so she started walking again, wishing that she were wearing something warmer. She couldn’t remember feeling so cold in her dreams before. But she had been cold in the playground dream, too.
Only that had not exactly been a dream.
She drew in a slow breath, for this was not just a dream. She had obviously dream-traveled again. She turned slowly, trying again to figure out what it was that bothered her about this place. She noticed the way the mist coiled and swirled in her wake, while elsewhere it hung motionless. It was as if she were the only thing in the whole city that moved. Wishing she had willed Billy along in his human form, she went on uneasily. The canal path curved again, and when it straightened out this time, Rage saw a small wooden bridge spanning the stream a little way ahead. She stopped abruptly, realizing where she was.
“This is Fork!” she whispered.
“Are you sure?” Billy asked doubtfully.
Rage whirled to find him standing behind her in his human form!
“The smell of places doesn’t change and this doesn’t smell like Fork,” he said.
Rage’s delight faded as she turned to look around. “But it is Fork, Billy. Look at the canal streams and the paved banks and the way the houses don’t have any spaces between them.”
“Fork was black.”
“It was, but remember, that was only because of the High Keeper and the conservatorium.” A shadow crossed Billy’s face. “Remember the wizard said he was going to go back to Valley and fix Fork up so that it would be the way it was before the High Keeper took over?”
“Where are the people and animals?” Billy asked.
“People didn’t live in this part of the city before,” Rage reminded him. “Maybe they still don’t.”
Billy sniffed again. Then he looked at Rage. “Why did you bring us here? I thought you wanted to see if the firecat would contact you.”
“I didn’t bring us here. At least, I didn’t mean to if I did. Maybe this dream-traveling doesn’t work the way the witch Mother said it does.”
“Should we try to go to the castle?” Billy asked.
“I don’t see how we could get all the way there before we wake up,” Rage said. “We had better try to see if we can find someone to take a message for us. And maybe we can get some idea of how much time has passed since I was at the heart lake.” She glanced down at her pajamas ruefully. “If only I had dreamed myself here in something more sensible!”
Billy had moved away from her a little and was examining the carvings on the building facades with an expression of puzzled wonder. “These leaves look real. I wonder what made Fork create them.”
Rage gave a little gasp. “Oh, Billy, I’ve just remembered! Rue told me that Elle is here in Fork trying to help the city to resist the winter. Maybe she’s the reason it’s not frozen here like the heart lake was.”
“You think we’re here because of Elle being here?” Billy asked.
“I don’t…oh, of course! It must be that!” Rage clutched at Billy’s hand. “Just as I was falling asleep, I was thinking about the way Elle named Goaty—I mean Gilbert—so maybe I dreamed myself to her instead of to him.”
“Let’s go and find her,” Billy cried eagerly.
“But how?” Rage muttered. “Fork could help if we knew where she would be, but I can’t imagine she’d be at the Willow Seat Tower or the conservatorium or any of those places we know. The best thing would be to find someone to ask where the Valley council sits. Elle might even be there now, since she is a councillor.”
Billy nodded absently. “If this dream-traveling works the same as when you went to the heart lake, shouldn’t Elle be somewhere near?”
“Maybe she just went somewhere else.”
Billy shook his head. “I would have smelled it if she had been here.”
“Maybe we can get the city to help us find her. After all, she’s helping Fork, so it must know where she is. Let’s try to do it together now.”
“Do what?” Billy asked.
“Imagine Elle,” Rage said impatiently.
“I can think about the smell of her,” Billy offered hesitantly, and
Rage remembered that it was unnatural for animals to imagine things. Billy might be a wonderful thinker, but he was still too much of a dog to be able to imagine things.
It was up to her, then.
A cold breeze began to blow. The mist shifted and coiled about them as Rage closed her eyes to concentrate. She thought of Elle as she had been before they had parted on the shore of the Endless Sea: a lithe, gold-haired, tan-suited woman with almond-shaped eyes, pointed ears, and white teeth that flashed when she smiled. With the picture fixed firmly in her mind, Rage started to walk, hoping that the city would see fit to guide her steps.
Billy came along behind her.
Rage had no idea how long they walked, but when she stopped to rest, it had grown darker and her head was pounding from the effort of trying to keep thinking the same thing over and over. It was colder, too. Her feet were the only part of her that was not freezing, because of the warm stone underfoot, but they felt sore and grazed. She would not be able to walk too much longer without finding shoes or at least something to bind her feet.
Through the mist she saw some sort of crossroad ahead. At the center was a large monument, but it was impossible to make out what it was. Rage walked faster, certain there would be some sign or clue to indicate which direction they ought to take next, since thinking about Elle wasn’t getting them anywhere.
Rage was more troubled than she wanted to admit that they had not seen a single sign of life so far. Maybe everyone in Valley had died and Fork was all that lived. If that were so, maybe the city held enough of a memory of Elle to have called them here.
She stumbled over a tuft of the whiskery stuff between the flagstones and, on impulse, bent to feel the wiry threads. It was a dead, mossy sort of grass and had obviously been alive once. Probably the cold had killed it off, but she could imagine how this street must have looked when the mossy grass growing between the pale flagstones had been bright green in the sunlight. There would have been other colors as well, for the many niches built into the facades of the buildings held wispy sticks that might once have been blossom-laden creepers or flowers.