Whimsy's Wonder

 

 

Chapter One: A Normal Unusual Day

 

 

The steering wheel was sticky under Sally’s left hand.

She moved her thumb. It stuck somewhere else.

Wonderful.

At the red light, she examined the offending patch without taking her hand entirely off the wheel. Something amber had dried along the seam. Coffee, probably. She didn’t drink soda in the car anymore, not since the incident with the cupholder, which she preferred to think of as an incident rather than an ongoing condition.

She rubbed at it with her sleeve.

The sleeve stuck too. 

“Great.”

The dashboard clock read 5:47.

Eight hours entering claim codes, forty-three minutes getting home, and tomorrow she would do it again. Somewhere in the Office, her mug was sitting beside the keyboard with half an inch of cold coffee in it. She had meant to wash it before leaving.

She had meant to do several things.

The light changed.

Sally drove.

Two streets later, the radio began playing a Song she knew well enough to anticipate the first guitar chord. She turned it up.

Then a little more.

The passenger-side speaker had developed a rattle. At certain volumes it sounded as though a small, industrious Insect was trying to escape from the door. She lowered the dial a fraction, found the narrow territory between Music and mechanical distress, and joined in.

Quietly at first.

By the second verse, she was Singing hard enough to hurt her throat.

The man in the next lane glanced over.

Sally looked straight ahead and kept Singing.

For three minutes and fifty-two seconds, she did not have to be pleasant. She did not have to read an email twice to make sure the words as previously discussed weren’t going to get her called into a Meeting. She could want something loudly, even if it was only the Chorus.

When the Song ended, an advertisement began.

She switched the radio off.

“No,” she told it.

Her apartment building came into view beyond a row of bins. Someone had left a broken umbrella beside them, its ribs turned outward, black fabric hanging in strips.

It looked like an enormous dead Spider.

Sally glanced at it again as she parked.

An enormous dead Spider wearing a very poor cape.

She almost Smiled.

Then she collected her bag, locked the car, and went upstairs.

Inside, the apartment was exactly as she had left it.

One shoe by the door. Its partner farther into the room, where she had kicked it the previous evening. A folded electricity bill on the counter. The couch with its permanent hollow in the cushion nearest the lamp.

She put her keys down and moved the bill beneath them.

There. Filed.

The kitchen light flickered when she switched it on.

“I know.”

It steadied.

Sally opened the cupboard.

Chicken ramen. Beef ramen. A tin of chickpeas she had bought during an optimistic period in March.

Chicken, then.

She broke the noodles into a bowl, added water, and put them in the microwave. While it hummed, she leaned against the counter and looked at her phone.

Nothing she needed to answer.

Nothing she wanted to open.

She put it facedown.

The room beyond the kitchen was quiet. No television, no conversation through the wall tonight, no footsteps in the corridor. Only the microwave and the faint electrical complaint of the light overhead.

Sally closed her eyes.

Tomorrow she needed to buy washing-up liquid.

And toothpaste.

And something that wasn’t noodles.

She was trying to remember whether there was enough money in her account for all three when someone hummed behind her.

Her eyes opened.

The sound stopped.

Sally stood very still.

A pipe, perhaps.

The building made noises. It clicked and knocked and occasionally produced a prolonged groan that suggested the entire structure regretted its career.

Then the humming began again.

A Tune this time. Uneven, wandering, interrupted by a small intake of Breath.

Someone was in her living room.

Sally turned.

A little Girl sat cross-legged on the couch, bending over something held between her hands.

For a moment, Sally could only look.

The Child had wild curls, a dress assembled from fabrics that had apparently never been introduced to one another, and one sock sliding off her heel. A yellow pocket had been sewn crookedly across her lap. Another, green and much smaller, sat near her shoulder.

She was trying to untie a knot in a piece of string.

“No,” she muttered at it. “That’s worse.”

Sally’s hand closed around the edge of the counter.

“Who are you?”

The Girl looked up.

Her expression Brightened, then changed when she saw Sally’s face.

“Oh.”

“What are you doing in my apartment?”

“I was Waiting.”

“For whom?”

“You.”

The microwave beeped.

Sally flinched.

The Girl looked toward it with Interest.

“Is that Dinner?”

“How did you get in?”

The Child pointed behind the couch.

Sally looked at the wall.

Beige paint. A scuff near the skirting board. No window. No door.

She looked back.

“That is a wall.”

“Yes,” the Girl said cautiously.

“You came through a wall.”

“Yes.”

Sally took a Breath.

There was a Child in her apartment. Whatever else was happening, that was the part she Needed to deal with first.

“Where are your Parents?”

The Girl lowered her eyes to the string.

“Not here.”

“Do they know where you are?”

No answer.

Sally reached for her phone.

“What’s your Name?”

“Whimsy.”

“Your Real Name.”

The Girl’s shoulders tightened.

“That is my Real Name.”

Sally stopped with the phone in her hand.

The Child was watching her now, no longer expectant. One small fist had closed around the knotted string.

“All right,” Sally said, more Gently. “Whimsy.”

The fist loosened a little.

“I’m Sally.”

“I Know.”

Of course she did.

Sally glanced toward the locked front door.

“Are you hungry?”

Whimsy considered this seriously.

“What have you got?”

“Chicken noodles.”

“Actual chicken?”

“No.”

“Then why are they called that?”

“That’s a question for someone considerably better paid than I am.”

Whimsy’s mouth twitched.

Sally set the phone on the counter, within reach.

“Stay there.”

“I was staying here.”

“Yes. Keep doing it.”

She took a second bowl from the cupboard.

Behind her, the couch creaked.

Then Whimsy said, very quietly, “You used to Like my Name.”

Sally turned with the bowl still in her hand.

“What?”

But the Child was looking past her.

At the beige wall behind the couch, where a narrow line of Sunlight had appeared.

There was no window on the other side.

Chapter Two: The Wall Behind the Couch

 

Sally put the bowl down.

The Light remained.

It ran vertically along the wall, narrow as a crack beneath a door, except that doors generally had the decency to be where you expected them.

She looked toward the kitchen window.

Evening light fell across the counter. Nothing bright enough to account for this, and nothing at the right angle.

“Is that something you brought?”

Whimsy glanced at her.

“What?”

“A light. A projector. Something.”

“No.”

Sally stepped closer.

The line reached from just above the skirting board to a little higher than her head. At its lower end, where it should have touched the couch, it seemed to disappear behind the fabric without illuminating it.

She held her hand in front of it.

Warmth rested against her fingers.

Not much. Enough to Notice.

Whimsy unfolded her legs.

“Don’t touch it yet.”

Sally withdrew her hand immediately.

The Child slid off the couch and pulled up her slipping sock. Its heel had worked its way around to the front of her ankle.

“Why not?”

“Because I haven’t Opened it.”

“Opened what?”

Whimsy pointed.

“That.”

“Yes, I can see that. I’m asking what it is.”

“A way Through.”

“To where?”

“The Meadow.”

Sally looked at the wall again.

On the other side was Mrs. Alvarez’s apartment. Sally knew this because Mrs. Alvarez watched television late at night and occasionally sneezed with enough force to make Sally consider checking on her.

There was no Meadow.

“There are People living behind that wall.”

“Not that far behind it.”

Sally pressed her fingers against her forehead.

“Alright.”

Whimsy looked Pleased.

“I don’t mean alright as in I understand. I mean we’re going to stop for a minute.”

The Pleased expression vanished.

“But you can See it now.”

“Yes.”

“That’s good.”

“I haven’t decided what it is yet.”

“Deciding what it is doesn’t make it something else," Whimsy said. "But you can Decide what to do with it.”

Sally lowered her hand.

For a Child who had apparently entered through solid plaster, she had an irritatingly reasonable tone.

"But–" Sally stopped, looking for the right words. "Its Impossible."

Whimsy shrugged.

"Impossible can be Possible."

The microwave beeped again.

Sally turned it off.

Dinner. There was still dinner to deal with. She could do that.

She carried the bowl to the counter, stirred in the seasoning, and divided the noodles between two bowls. Whimsy watched from the edge of the living room.

“Can you eat these?” Sally asked.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know. You came through a wall.”

Whimsy considered that.

“I can eat noodles.”

“Okay.”

Sally took both bowls to the small table beside the kitchen. One chair held a cardigan and a canvas bag. She moved them to the floor.

Whimsy climbed into the cleared chair.

“Careful," Sally said. "It’s hot.”

“I know.”

The Child took an enormous mouthful, froze, and leaned forward over her bowl with her lips parted.

Sally pushed a glass of water toward her without comment.

Whimsy drank.

Neither spoke for a moment.

Then Sally sat opposite her.

“Better?”

Whimsy nodded.

“Good.”

The Light on the wall remained at the edge of Sally’s vision.

She made herself look at the Child instead.

Up close, the dress was less like something assembled at random than something altered repeatedly. A blue panel had been let into one side. Several stitches along the yellow pocket were much larger than the others. One small button was shaped like a flower.

There was a faint ink mark along Whimsy’s thumb.

Sally looked at the string still wrapped around her wrist.

“What were you Making?”

“A ladder.”

“For what?”

“A Beetle.”

Sally waited.

Whimsy twisted a noodle around her fork.

“It fell into a jar.”

“Here?”

“No.”

“Did it get out?”

“I tipped the jar over.”

“Then what was the ladder for?”

“I hadn’t thought of tipping it over yet.”

Something in Sally’s face must have changed, because Whimsy Smiled a little.

“It was a good ladder,” she added.

“I’m sure.”

“It Needed another bit at the bottom.”

Sally ate a mouthful of noodles.

They were slightly overdone. She had left them sitting too long.

Across the table, Whimsy picked a short piece off her sleeve and put it back in the bowl.

“Don’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s been on your sleeve.”

“It was only there for a second.”

“It’s still been on your sleeve.”

Whimsy looked down at the noodle, apparently weighing its brief Journey against the seriousness of the objection.

Then she left it alone.

Sally took another Breath.

“Do you have a phone number I can call?”

“No.”

“An address?”

Whimsy’s fork slowed.

“Not one you could go to.”

“Try me.”

The Child shook her head.

“I’m not in trouble.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You sound like I am.”

Sally looked at her bowl.

She had been using her Office Voice. Calm, precise, each question placed where there ought to be an answer.

She Knew what that Voice did to a room.

“Alright,” she said. “Let’s try this differently.”

Whimsy looked up cautiously.

“Are you lost?” Sally asked.

“No.”

“Did someone hurt you?”

The fork stopped.

Sally waited.

“No,” Whimsy said at last. “Not Today.”

Sally’s stomach tightened.

“What does that mean?”

Whimsy pushed a noodle beneath the surface of the broth.

“It means not Today.”

Sally set down her fork.

Outside, a car door slammed. Somewhere in the building, water began running through a pipe.

The sounds were ordinary enough to make the little line of Sunlight seem worse.

“I can’t just let you leave,” Sally said.

Whimsy raised her head.

“I don’t want to leave.”

“You said there was a Meadow?”

Whimsy nodded.

“There is. I want you to come.”

“I have work tomorrow.”

The Child stared at her.

“What?”

“I have work. In the morning. I can’t go wandering off somewhere without knowing how to get back.”

“You get back through the same place.”

“Will it still be there?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“Because we won’t close it.”

Sally glanced at the wall.

The Light had widened a fraction.

Or perhaps she was looking at it differently now.

Whimsy followed her gaze.

“The noodles were nice,” she said.

Sally looked back.

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I Liked them.”

“Oh.”

“They’re very salty.”

“Yes. That’s most of the appeal.”

Whimsy Smiled into her bowl.

 

For a little while, they finished eating.

Sally found herself watching the Child’s hands. Small fingers, nails uneven, the dark streak of ink. Whimsy used the fork awkwardly but with Determination, refusing to abandon the last few slippery noodles.

She was Real.

Whatever else was happening, she was a Child sitting at Sally’s kitchen table, eating Dinner.

When the bowls were empty, Sally stood.

Whimsy stood too.

“Wait,” Sally said.

The Child stopped.

“I’m washing these.”

“We can do it later.”

“I’m doing it now.”

Whimsy sighed.

Sally carried the bowls to the sink.

There was enough washing-up liquid for one more wash. She squeezed the bottle twice, harder the second time, then ran the tap.

Behind her, a chair scraped.

By the time she turned around, Whimsy had carried both glasses over.

“Where?”

“Beside the sink.”

The Child set them down carefully.

“Thank you.”Whimsy leaned against the cupboard and watched.

“Do you always do things before other things?”

Sally paused with a bowl in her hand.

“Yes.”

“Even when you don’t want to?”

“Especially then.”

Whimsy Thought about this.

“That sounds tiring.”

“It is.”

The answer came out before Sally could make it less Honest.

Whimsy said nothing.

Sally rinsed the bowl.

When she looked up again, the Child was picking at the knot around her wrist.

“Here.”

Whimsy held out her hand reluctantly.

Sally loosened the tightest loop with her thumbnail, then eased the string free.

“You pulled this bit through the wrong way.”

“I know.”

“It happens.”

She handed it back.

Whimsy smoothed the string between her fingers.

“Thank you.”

Sally dried her hands.

“Alright. Show me.”

Whimsy went still.

“The wall,” Sally said. “Show me what you mean.”

The Child moved so quickly that Sally nearly stepped backward.

Then Whimsy stopped herself.

“Will you come?”

“I said show me.”

“That isn’t the same.”

“No.”

Whimsy’s mouth tightened, but she nodded.

She crossed the living room and stood beside the couch. For the first time since Sally had seen her, she seemed uncertain what to do with her hands.

Then she pressed her palm against the line of Light.

It widened.

Sally heard the faintest rustle.

The beige surface loosened around Whimsy’s fingers, folding softly where plaster should have resisted. The Child caught an edge and drew it aside.

Beyond the Opening stood Tall Grass.

Sally did not move.

The Grass bent in a Breeze.

Farther away, a low Hill rose beneath a Sky streaked with pale blue and gold. There were Flowers in the foreground, their Colors so Vivid she could distinguish individual Blossoms from across the room.

A small white one nodded.

Sally stared at it.

The stem was outlined by a raised ridge, delicate but unmistakable.

A Brushstroke.

“Is that a picture?”

“A Painting.”

“It’s moving.”

Whimsy nodded.

Warm Air entered the apartment.

It smelled of Grass and Sun-warmed Earth.

Sally gripped the back of the couch.

There was a Place she Remembered without Remembering being there: a Hill, perhaps, or the feeling of lying somewhere with her eyes closed while Insects moved through the Grass around her.

She tried to hold it.

It slipped away.

Whimsy was watching her face.

“Do you Like it?”

Sally swallowed.

“Yes.”

The Child’s shoulders dropped.

“But I don’t understand it.”

“You don’t have to understand all of it.”

“I’d like to understand some of it.”

Whimsy looked through the Opening.

“I can show you things better than I can tell you.”

Sally Believed that.

It was the first explanation the Child had given that felt entirely like a Child’s.

 

She walked to the front door and checked the lock.

Then she found her shoes.

Whimsy waited beside the Opening, gripping the folded edge with both hands now.

Sally put on the first shoe.

Then the second.

She took her phone from the counter and slipped it into her pocket.

“Are you coming?” Whimsy asked.

“For a look,” Sally said, “And we stay together.”

“Yes.”

“No running ahead.”

The Child hesitated.

“Whimsy.”

“I’ll try.”

Sally looked at her.

It was probably the most Dependable Promise she was going to get.

She picked up her bag from beside the kitchen chair and slipped the strap over her shoulder.

Then she approached the Opening.

At the edge of the carpet, the Air changed. A Breeze lifted a strand of hair from her cheek. Beyond it, the Grass stood high enough to brush her knees.

Whimsy held out one hand.

Sally took it.

Small fingers closed around hers, warm and a little damp.

“If I want to come back,” Sally said, “we come back.”

“Alright.”

She waited until the Child met her eyes.

“Together.”

Whimsy nodded.

Sally looked once more at the apartment. The lamp. The drying bowls. Her keys weighing down the electricity bill.

Then she lifted her foot over the edge.

The Ground beneath her shoe was soft.

Grass brushed her trousers.

She brought her other foot through.

Behind her, Whimsy released the Veil. It settled into place but remained Open, the apartment visible through it like a room glimpsed from a Garden.

Sally looked down.

A blue Flower Grew beside her shoe.

Along the curve of one petal, she could see where a brush had lifted away.

She crouched and touched it.

The petal yielded beneath her fingertip.

Whimsy crouched beside her.

For once, she didn’t say anything.

Chapter Three: A Meadow Made of Paint

 

The Flower was cool beneath Sally’s fingertip.

She had expected something else. Dry Paint, perhaps. A surface that looked soft but wasn’t. Instead, the petal bent gently under her touch and rose again when she withdrew her hand.

A pale streak crossed the blue, following the curve toward its edge.

She leaned closer.

There were other marks too. A tiny ridge near the center. A darker shade tucked beneath the next petal. Someone had put them there deliberately.

“Who Painted this?”

Whimsy plucked a blade of Grass and rolled it between her fingers.

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“Yes.”

“And you never asked?”

“Who would I ask?”

Sally looked around.

The Meadow rose toward a low Hill. Beyond it, Trees stood along the Horizon, their shapes softened by distance. No Houses. No Roads. No Person at an easel wondering why strangers were wandering through their work.

She glanced back at the Opening.

Her apartment was still there.

From this side, it looked smaller. A dim square containing a couch, a lamp, and the end of her kitchen counter. She could see one of the glasses she had washed.

Whimsy followed her gaze.

“It won’t go anywhere.”

“Just checking.”

“You checked already.”

“And it’s still there. Encouraging.”

Whimsy looked at her for a moment, trying to Decide whether this was a joke.

Then she stood and brushed her palms against her dress.

Sally rose more slowly.

The Air felt warm against her face, but there was no heat pressing down on her. She could hear Insects moving somewhere in the Grass. A Bird called from the distant Trees, Three clear notes followed by a fourth that sounded as though it had changed its mind.

She looked up.

Clouds rested across the Sky in broad sweeps of white. One had a lavender underside, another a narrow gold edge where the Sun caught it.

She could see the brushwork there too.

Not everywhere at once. Only when she looked closely enough.

“What happens if we step on something?”

Whimsy glanced down at her shoes.

“We are stepping on things.”

“I mean, will it damage it?”

“The Grass comes back up.”

“What about the Flowers?”

“We try not to step on those.”

“And if we do?”

Whimsy frowned.

“Then we stepped on a Flower.”

Sally looked at the blue Blossom beside her foot.

“Right.”

The Child tilted her head.

“Do you think Someone will be cross?”

“I don’t know.”

“There isn’t anyone here.”

“That doesn’t always help.”

Whimsy’s fingers stopped moving around the blade of Grass.

Sally Noticed, but before she could Decide what she had said, the Child pointed toward the Hill.

“You can see more from up there.”

Sally looked back at the Opening.

Then at the slope.

It wasn’t far.

“All right. Just the top.”

Whimsy started forward.

“Together.”

The Child slowed, though Sally could see that it cost her something.

They walked through the Grass side by side.

The Ground was uneven in a way Sally hadn’t expected.

Small hollows hid beneath the stems. Here and there, the Earth rose into a ridge that looked almost like a fold. She watched her footing until Whimsy stopped so abruptly that Sally nearly walked into her.

“What?”

“Look.”

A Grasshopper rested on a stalk in front of them.

Its body was green, with a thin gold line along its back. One hind leg stretched out behind it, Impossibly delicate.

Sally bent a little.

The Creature turned its head.

“Oh.”

Whimsy held out a finger.

“Don’t squash it,” said Sally.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“I know. Just be careful.”

Whimsy glanced at her, then brought her finger closer.

The Grasshopper sprang.

Sally stepped back.

Whimsy Laughed.

Not a bright, magical laugh that seemed to belong to the Meadow. An ordinary Child’s Laugh, sudden and Delighted because Sally had jumped.

“It didn’t touch you.”

“I’m aware.”

“You went like this.”

Whimsy jerked her shoulders upward and widened her eyes.

“I did not.”

“You did.”

Sally walked past her.

Behind her, Whimsy tried to suppress another Laugh and failed.

The slope grew steeper near the top. Sally felt the pull in her calves. Her shoes were meant for walking between the car and the Office, not Hills, though she supposed this was hardly an expedition.

Whimsy scrambled ahead a few steps, then Remembered and Waited.

Sally caught up.

At the crest, the Meadow opened around them.

Beyond the Hill lay a shallow Valley scattered with Flowers. A Stream curved through it, narrow and bright, disappearing beneath a little wooden bridge before continuing toward the Trees.

Farther away, the Land faded into overlapping bands of green and blue.

Sally stood still.

There was too much to take in at once.

The Stream caught the light in short, white strokes. Shadows lay beneath the Bridge in deep violet. The Flowers weren’t arranged in neat patches, but their Colors seemed to answer one another across the Grass.

A little yellow near her feet.

More yellow beside the Water.

A faint suggestion of it farther away, almost lost beneath the Trees.

She found herself following the Color.

Whimsy watched her.

“What?” Sally asked.

“Nothing,” Whimsy said.

“You’re looking at me.”

“I wanted to see if you Liked it.”

Sally turned back to the Valley.

“I do.”

“Which bit?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Whimsy accepted this and sat down.

Sally remained standing a Moment longer, then lowered herself onto the Grass beside her.

The Earth was warm.

A Breeze moved across the Hill, carrying the faint smell of water.

For a while, neither spoke.

Sally’s shoulders eased before she noticed them doing it.

There was no screen in front of her. No little box waiting for a number. Nothing she needed to complete before someone could complete something else.

She rested her hands on her knees.

Whimsy was watching a Beetle struggle over a flattened stem.

She moved the stem aside.

The Beetle continued without acknowledging the Assistance.

“Ungrateful,” Sally murmured.

Whimsy Smiled.

Then she lay back in the Grass.

“That one’s a Dog.”

Sally followed her pointing finger.

A Cloud stretched above them, long at one end, round at the other.

“It’s a boot.”

“It’s a Dog with its head down.”

“It’s quite clearly a boot.”

Whimsy considered it.

“Maybe somebody turned the Dog into a boot.”

“That seems unnecessary.”

“It could have bitten a Wizard.”

Sally looked again.

There was something like an ear near the rounded end.

She did not mention it.

Whimsy folded her hands on her stomach.

“The next one’s a Ship.”

Sally looked.

A broad white shape rose above the Trees. Pale lines crossed it where the Paint had thinned, dividing the Cloud into something like Sails.

“Yes,” she said.

Whimsy turned her head.

“You see that one?”

“Yes.”

The Child Smiled, but didn’t say anything else.

Sally was Grateful for that.

She didn’t know how long they sat there.

At some point, she took out her phone.

No signal.

The time read 6:23.

She looked back toward the apartment. The Opening was hidden below the curve of the Hill.

Whimsy sat up.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you making that face?”

“What face?”

“The one you made when you asked where my Parents were.”

Sally put the phone away.

“It’s getting late.”

The Sky looked no different.

Whimsy glanced at the Cloud-Ship.

“It isn’t dark.”

“It will be at home.”

“Oh.”

Sally stood and brushed Grass from her trousers.

Whimsy stayed where she was.

“We should go back,” Sally said.

“But you haven’t seen the Bridge.”

“I can see it from here.”

“That isn’t seeing it.”

“It’s fairly close.”

“Then we could go.”

Sally looked down into the Valley.

The Bridge was small, arched gently over the Stream. There was nothing threatening about it. Nothing especially distant either.

But going to the Bridge meant going farther from the Opening.

Then there would be something beyond the Bridge.

There was always another thing.

She Knew how easily an Evening could disappear. Usually it disappeared on the couch while she tried to summon enough Energy to stand up again.

This was Different.

Still.

“Another time,” she said.

Whimsy pulled a loose thread on her pocket.

“You always say that.”

Sally looked at her.

“I’ve known you for less than an hour.”

The Child’s fingers tightened around the thread.

“I meant Grown-Ups.”

“Right.”

Whimsy got to her feet.

She didn’t take Sally’s hand.

They started down the slope.

Sally was watching the Ground when a flicker of blue moved past her knee.

A Butterfly.

Its wings opened and closed in thick strokes of cobalt, with a white edge so fine it looked scratched into the Paint.

Whimsy saw it too.

“Oh.”

The Butterfly settled on a Flower.

Whimsy crouched.

Sally stopped beside her.

For a Moment, it stayed.

Then it lifted again, drifting toward a cluster of taller Flowers farther down the Hill.

Whimsy followed.

“Stay close,” Sally said.

“I am.”

She was still only a few steps away.

The Butterfly moved.

Whimsy moved with it.

Sally bent to pull a burr from the cuff of her trousers. It clung stubbornly, caught in the seam. She freed it, straightened, and looked up.

The blue wings were gone.

So was Whimsy.

“Whimsy?”

No answer.

Sally looked toward the bottom of the slope.

The apartment Opening shimmered in the distance.

Empty Grass lay between.

She turned toward the Valley.

“Whimsy.”

A Bird called from the Trees.

Sally walked toward the tall Flowers.

They reached above her waist. From up on the Hill, they had looked no taller than the rest.

“Whimsy!”

A small Voice answered.

“What?”

Relief arrived so sharply that it almost hurt.

Sally pushed through the stems.

Whimsy knelt on the other side, beside a hollow in the ground. The Butterfly sat on her sleeve.

“Look,” she whispered.

“What did I tell you?”

The Butterfly lifted away.

Whimsy stared after it.

Then she looked at Sally.

“I was right here.”

“I couldn’t see you.”

“I didn’t go far.”

“You went where I couldn’t see you.”

“I answered.”

“After I called Three times.”

The Child stood.

“I was trying not to frighten it.”

Sally opened her mouth.

Stopped.

Whimsy’s face had changed. Her chin was lifted, but her eyes had lowered to Sally’s shoulder rather than her face.

The look was familiar in a way Sally didn’t want to examine.

She could still feel her Heartbeat in her throat.

“I thought I’d lost you,” she said.

Whimsy picked at her pocket.

“You didn’t.”

“I Know that now.”

“You shouted.”

“Yes.”

The Breeze moved through the Flowers around them.

Sally let out a Breath.

“I was frightened. That doesn’t mean I needed to shout.”

Whimsy glanced up.

Sally held her gaze.

“I’m sorry.”

For a moment, the Child said nothing.

Then she rubbed her nose with the back of her hand.

“I should have told you.”

“Yes.”

“It was only a Butterfly.”

“I know.”

“It was a very good one.”

Sally looked toward the spot where it had vanished.

“It was.”

Whimsy’s mouth trembled toward a Smile, then settled.

Sally offered her hand.

The Child took it.

 

They walked more slowly after that.

Whimsy stayed beside her, though her Attention still wandered. She watched Insects, stones, the place where Wind bent one patch of Grass differently from another.

Sally found herself watching too.

Near the bottom of the slope, Whimsy stopped.

“This is the way.”

Sally could see the apartment ahead.

“I know.”

“No. I mean this.”

The Child pointed to a narrow Path beneath their feet.

Sally hadn’t noticed it when they Arrived. It curved through the Grass, little more than a line of bare Earth.

A stone stood beside it.

Flat on top. Pale gray. One corner darker than the others.

Sally stared.

There was a Painted mark on its side.

Three blue lines, crossed by a fourth.

Not a letter.

Not quite.

She crouched.

Whimsy loosened her hand.

Sally touched the mark.

The surface was rough beneath her fingers.

For an instant, she Knew there ought to be something beside it.

Something missing.

A yellow circle.

No.

A Sun.

With one ray longer than the others.

She drew her hand away.

“What is it?” Whimsy asked.

Sally looked at the Child.

“Have you seen this before?”

Whimsy looked at the stone.

“Yes.”

“What does it mean?”

The Child rubbed her thumb along the seam of her pocket.

“I don’t know what you called it.”

“What I called it?”

Whimsy went quiet.

Sally looked back at the blue lines.

An image rose and disappeared before she could hold it: a hand moving across paper, a yellow pencil pressed hard enough to leave an indentation.

She stood too quickly.

The Meadow shifted around her.

Whimsy caught her hand.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

It was an automatic answer.

Sally took a Breath and tried again.

“I don’t know.”

Whimsy stayed close.

The apartment Opening waited ahead of them. Sally could see the edge of the couch and the cardigan she had moved off the chair.

She had said she wanted to go home.

She still could.

Behind them, somewhere beyond the hill, a whistle sounded.

Low and clear.

Sally turned.

The sound lingered in the air, followed by a faint rhythm she couldn’t place at first.

Then she could.

Wheels.

Whimsy lifted her head.

“The Train.”

Sally looked down at the stone once more.

The blue mark meant nothing to her.

And yet she Knew, with an uncomfortable Certainty, that it had once been Hers.

“Does it stop here?” she asked.

Whimsy nodded.

“Can we look at it?”

The Child searched her face.

“Just look?”

Sally glanced toward the apartment.

Then back toward the Hill.

“We’ll start with that.”

Whimsy’s fingers tightened around hers.

This time, they walked Together.

Chapter Four: The Train That Changes

 

The whistle sounded again before they reached the top of the Hill.

Whimsy quickened her pace.

Sally felt the tug through their joined hands.

“Walk please.”

“I am walking.”

“You’re walking very Enthusiastically.”

Whimsy shortened her steps, though her upper half appeared to be trying to arrive before her feet.

At the crest, Sally stopped.

A Train stood beside the Meadow.

There had been nothing there before. She was Certain of it. From this same Hill, she had looked over the Valley, the Stream, the Bridge, and the distant Trees.

Now a Platform ran along the near side of the water.

It was paved in uneven squares of yellow stone, with a bench beneath a small Shelter and a lamp at either end. One of the lamps leaned slightly toward the Stream.

Beyond it waited the Train.

Sally had expected something old-fashioned. There had been a whistle, after all.

There was a smokestack, but the engine beneath it was sleek, its curved sides Painted deep blue. Gold lines swept along the carriages, narrowing and branching like stems. Here and there, silver caught the light.

She watched one of the gold lines move.

It curled around a window.

A Leaf opened at its end.

Sally blinked.

The Leaf remained.

“Is it Painted too?”

Whimsy nodded.

“Most of it.”

“Which parts aren’t?”

“The parts that aren’t.”

Sally looked down at her.

Whimsy gave a small, unapologetic shrug.

“I don’t know how it’s Made.”

They started toward the Platform.

As they descended, Sally heard the Engine Breathing. Steam rose in loose white curls, dissolving before it reached the height of the Shelter.

It smelled faintly sweet.

She took another Breath.

Cinnamon.

That seemed unreasonable even by the standards of the Evening.

A Woman stood beside the nearest Carriage, writing on a board held against her forearm.

She wore a dark green coat with brass buttons, trousers tucked into sturdy boots, and a cap tilted back from a broad forehead. A pencil was pushed through the knot of hair at the back of her head.

She looked up as they approached.

“Whimsy.”

“Hello, Nell.”

“No running on the Platform.”

“I’m not.”

“I’m getting it in early.”

Whimsy looked mildly offended.

The Woman’s attention moved to Sally.

“And you?”

“Sally.”

Nell nodded.

“Traveling or Meeting Someone?”

“Looking.”

“At the Train?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there it is.”

She returned to her board.

Sally waited.

Whimsy rocked forward onto her toes.

“Can we look inside?”

“You can look through the door. If you come Aboard, you’re Passengers.”

Sally glanced at the open doorway.

Three steps led to a narrow Platform. Beyond it, she could see a warm orange wall and the edge of a blue seat.

“Where does it go?”

Nell lowered the board.

“Next stop is the Coast.”

“And after that?”

“The Forest, if the North Branch is Open. City after the Forest.”

“Is there a Timetable?”

“Yes.”

Nell pointed toward the Shelter.

Sally Felt an immediate, disproportionate Relief.

The Timetable was fixed beneath a pane of glass.

Sally stepped closer.

COAST

FOREST

CITY

MARKET

WINTER

Beside each Destination was a small Painted Symbol.

A Wave. A Tree. A cluster of Windows. A Striped Awning. A Snowflake.

There were no numbers.

She looked along the bottom.

Nothing.

On the other side of the Platform, Nell was checking the latch on a Carriage door.

Sally turned.

“Where are the times?”

Nell gave the latch another pull.

“There aren’t any on that one.”

“Then it’s a List of Stops.”

“It is.”

“You called it a Timetable.”

“That’s what it says at the top.”

Sally looked again.

TIMETABLE

Of course it did.

Whimsy stood beside the bench, tracing a crack in the yellow stone with the toe of her shoe.

“How long does it take to reach the Coast?” Sally asked.

“From here? Not long.”

“Ten minutes? An hour?”

Nell considered.

“Usually nearer ten minutes.”

“Usually?”

“Depends what’s between Here and There.”

Sally rubbed her forehead.

Whimsy stopped tracing the crack.

“We don’t have to go,” she said.

Sally looked at her.

The Child was trying to sound indifferent. It wasn’t especially convincing.

Nell tucked the board beneath her arm.

“First Journey?”

“Yes,” Sally said.

“Alright. Ask what you Need to Ask.”

There was no impatience in it.

Sally lowered her hand.

“If we get on, can we get back Here?”

“Yes.”

“On this Train?”

“On the Return Service.”

“When does that come?”

Nell looked toward the far end of the Platform.

“I’m working this Route through the City. You can come back with me from the Coast, or Continue, and Return later.”

“That doesn’t tell me when.”

“No. I can tell you the order. I can’t promise you a minute.”

Sally glanced up at the Station lamp.

It was still Daylight here.

Her apartment, somewhere behind the Hill, would be growing dim.

“I have somewhere I need to be tomorrow.”

“Then don’t Travel farther than you’re comfortable Traveling.”

Whimsy looked at the Ground.

Nell Noticed, but continued Speaking to Sally.

“The Coast is a short Journey. We stop long enough for a Walk. If you want to Return, tell me before we Depart. I’ll show you where to Wait for the Homeward Carriage.”

“A different Train?”

“A different Carriage. Sometimes it’s attached to this one.”

“Sometimes?”

Nell’s mouth moved at one corner.

“I’m afraid it won’t become simpler if I pretend.”

Sally looked at the Train.

One of the blue seats visible through the door had become red.

She was almost Certain it had been blue.

“Do we need Tickets?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have any.”

“We issue them.”

“How much?”

“For this Journey, nothing.”

Sally hesitated.

Nell waited.

“Why?”

“Because this is a Free Route.”

A straightforward Answer.

Sally had almost forgotten what one sounded like.

Nell reached into her coat and took out two narrow cards.

“Coast, then?”

Sally looked at Whimsy.

The Child wasn’t bouncing now. She stood very still, leaving the Decision alone.

“The Coast,” Sally said with a nod.

Nell handed her the Tickets.

“Keep those until you’re off the Train. No leaning out of windows. No opening exterior doors while we’re moving.”

She looked directly at Whimsy.

“No sitting on the steps.”

“I only did that once.”

“Once was sufficient.”

Nell stepped aside.

Sally put one foot on the lowest step.

The metal was solid beneath her shoe.

She held the rail and climbed.

The first thing Sally Noticed was the ceiling.

A Moon looked down from a Painted Night Sky.

It had a crooked mouth and one eye slightly larger than the other. Around it, Stars clustered in shapes she couldn’t identify. Some had Five points. Others looked like Flowers, or tiny open Hands.

There was no reason to expect a realistic Sky inside a Train that had Arrived in a Painting.

Still, the Moon seemed unnecessarily Pleased with Itself.

Whimsy brushed past her.

“This one.”

She stopped beside a seat patterned in orange spirals.

Across the aisle, another was upholstered in green fabric dotted with small white Birds.

Sally looked back toward the door.

Nell stood Outside, Talking to Someone Sally couldn’t see.

“Are we allowed to sit anywhere?”

“Except the little seats at the front,” Whimsy said. “Those are for People who Need them.” Whimsy paused then added, "And the steps."

She climbed into the orange seat and tucked one foot beneath her.

Sally sat opposite.

The cushion yielded Comfortably.

Too Comfortably. For a moment, she was aware of how long she had been standing, how hard she had held her shoulders throughout the Evening.

She set her bag on her lap.

Whimsy looked toward the ceiling.

“I Like it when the Moon’s here.”

“Is it not always?”

“No. Sometimes there are Branches.”

“On the ceiling?”

“Yes.”

“Real Branches?”

Whimsy considered.

“They have Leaves.”

Sally Decided to leave it there.

She touched the wall beside her.

Thick Paint rose beneath her fingers. Red swept into purple, then softened into blue. She could feel where one stroke had crossed another.

The Train gave a small shudder.

Sally caught the edge of her seat.

Outside, Nell lifted one hand.

The doors closed.

A Whistle sounded above them, deeper from inside the Carriage.

 

Then the Platform began to move.

No, the Train began to move.

Sally Knew the difference. Her Body Needed a moment to Agree.

The Station Shelter slipped past the window. Beyond it, the Meadow opened around them, Flowers becoming quick strokes of Color.

Whimsy pressed her palms against the glass.

“There’s the Bridge.”

Sally looked.

The small wooden arch passed beneath them.

Or beside them.

She leaned closer.

“Where are the tracks?”

Whimsy peered down.

“I don’t think there are any here.”

Sally sat back.

“Alright.”

Whimsy turned.

“Really?”

“No. But I’m running out of different ways to say it.”

The Child Laughed.

Sally found herself Smiling before she could prevent it.

 

Nell entered through the door at the end of the Carriage.

She moved easily with the sway of the Train, stopping to straighten a small Sign above the opposite doorway.

PLEASE KEEP YOUR FEET OFF THE SEATS.

Whimsy lowered her tucked foot.

Nell didn’t comment.

“Tickets.”

Sally handed over both Cards.

Nell punched them with a brass Tool.

The little pieces that fell out were shaped like Waves.

One landed on Sally’s knee.

She picked it up.

It was no larger than a fingernail.

Nell held out her palm.

Sally gave it to her.

“Thank you.”

Whimsy watched the Tool.

“Could mine have two?”

“One Stop, one punch.”

“But I like the Waves.”

“You can keep the Ticket.”

Whimsy accepted this, though not happily.

Nell returned the Cards.

“If you Need me, I’ll be in the next Carriage. There’s water at the far end. Cups underneath.”

She looked at Sally.

“Feeling alright?”

“Yes.”

Then, because Nell’s question sounded as though it could accommodate an Honest Answer, Sally added, “A little Strange.”

“Face forward if you feel sick. That usually Helps.”

Nell continued down the aisle.

Whimsy looked at Sally with interest.

“Are you going to be sick?”

“No.”

“You said strange.”

“There are several kinds of Strange.”

Whimsy nodded as though this was Worth Remembering.

They were not alone in the Carriage.

Sally had been so occupied with the walls and the Moon that she hadn’t properly looked.

A Man sat near the far door with a covered Basket between his boots. Beside him, a Woman was Knitting something long and yellow.

Neither seemed especially interested in the Train.

That Comforted Sally more than it should have.

Across the aisle and two rows behind, a Boy Slept against a bundled coat. His mouth was open. One hand rested on a wooden box.

Ordinary People.

Or People who could convincingly sit like ordinary People.

Sally Decided not to examine the distinction.

Whimsy had turned her punched Ticket over and was looking through the Wave-shaped hole.

“What can you see?”

“You.”

“Any Improvement?”

Whimsy lowered the Card.

“You’re smaller.”

“That’ll be the distance.”

“No, through this.”

She held it up again.

Sally glanced out of the window.

The Meadow had begun to change.

The Grass grew shorter. Flowers thinned into scattered clumps. In the distance, the soft green Hills gave way to pale slopes beneath a darker Sky.

She watched a white Cloud stretch across the Horizon.

Its edge thickened.

Gray gathered beneath it.

“Does the Painting ever change?”

“Which Painting?”

“The one we’re in.”

“We’re leaving that one.”

Sally looked toward the rear of the Carriage.

“How?”

Whimsy opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Then she pointed out of the window.

“Like that.”

A stand of Trees passed them, each Trunk a broad sweep of brown. For a few seconds, the windows filled with Leaves.

When the Trees fell behind, the Meadow was gone.

Sally stared at low dunes.

Long Grass bent beneath a steady Wind. Beyond it, the Sea rose dark blue against the Horizon.

She stood before thinking.

The Train swayed.

Her bag slipped from her lap and struck the floor.

Whimsy caught the strap.

“I’ve got it.”

Sally held the seat back.

She could see Waves.

White foam broke along their crests, not flat or frozen but lifting in thick, sculpted shapes.

The Sky above them was dark with a Storm that hadn’t reached the Land.

She sat down slowly.

Whimsy hauled the bag up between them.

“Thank you.”

The Child nodded, already looking toward the Water.

Sally settled the bag beside her foot.

 

Something pale lay beneath the opposite seat.

A piece of Paper.

It might have been there all along.

She bent and picked it up.

One edge was torn. The other had been folded back on itself. There was a smudge near the bottom, brown or gray, and Three lines of Writing across the center.

Not printed.

Written in pencil.

The Letters varied in size. One Word leaned upward, its final Letter nearly touching the Line above.

Sally smoothed the Paper against her knee.

Whimsy glanced down.

Her hands went still.

On the scrap, Someone had Written:

The door was too small for the dragon.

So she opened the sky instead.

Sally read it twice.

A pressure gathered behind her ribs.

Not pain.

Something closer to the Feeling of hearing her Name Spoken unexpectedly in a crowded room.

“Whimsy.”

The Child looked at her.

“Have you seen this?”

Whimsy glanced at the Paper, then out of the window.

“I don’t know.”

Sally waited.

“That isn’t quite what I asked.”

“I’ve seen lots of pieces of paper.”

“Yes.”

The Child rubbed a thumb over the punched Wave in her Ticket.

Sally looked back at the Writing.

The Word 'Dragon' was squeezed together at the end, as though the Writer had reached the edge sooner than expected.

She Knew that habit.

She didn’t know how she Knew it.

Nell returned through the Carriage door.

“Coast in a few minutes.”

Sally lifted the Scrap.

“Does Someone collect Lost Things?”

“Yes. What have you Found?”

Nell stopped beside them.

Sally handed her the Paper.

The Conductor read it without changing expression.

“Where was it?”

“Under that seat.”

Nell looked down.

Then she turned the Scrap over.

Nothing on the back.

“We’ll put it with the other papers.”

“Other papers?”

“People leave all sorts.”

Nell reached toward her coat pocket.

“Wait!”

The Word came out sharply enough that the Sleeping Boy stirred.

Sally lowered her Voice.

“Sorry. Could I look at it again?”

Nell handed it back.

Sally held the Paper by its edges.

There was no Name.

No Date.

Nothing that should have made it Hers.

“Do you Recognize it?” Nell asked.

“I’m not sure.”

Nell studied her for a moment.

“Bring it to me before you leave, then. Either you Remember whose it is, or it goes in the Lost-Property drawer.”

“Alright.”

The Conductor moved on.

Whimsy watched Sally fold the Scrap carefully along its existing crease.

“Are you keeping it?”

“For now.”

“It might Belong to Someone.”

“I Know.”

Sally placed it inside her bag, between her phone and the small packet of tissues she always carried.

Then she looked at Whimsy.

“Does it Belong to Someone you Know?”

The Child’s lips parted.

Before she answered, the Whistle sounded.

The Train began to slow.

Outside, a Platform emerged beside the dunes.

Whimsy turned toward it, but she didn’t spring from her seat.

Sally Noticed.

She put the bag strap over her shoulder.

“We can Talk after we stop.”

Whimsy nodded.

Beyond the window, the Sea lifted against the dark Horizon.

For the first time since leaving the apartment, Sally wanted to go farther.

Not because Whimsy was asking.

Because there was something she wanted to find out.

 

Chapter Five: The Storm That Never Breaks

 

The doors opened onto salt Air.

Sally could smell it before she stepped down. Not the faint suggestion of Sea Air in a candle or a bottle of bathroom cleaner. This had something sharp beneath it, something that caught at the back of her throat.

Whimsy waited beside her.

Beyond the Platform, a wooden walkway crossed the dunes. Sand had collected between the boards. Long Grass leaned away from the Water, its pale stems outlined against the dark Sky.

Nell stood beside the Carriage steps.

“Follow the boards to the Beach. Stay this side of the black rocks.”

Sally looked toward the Shore.

“Why?”

“The footing’s poor beyond them.”

“And the Storm?”

Nell glanced upward.

“It stays where it is.”

“You’re certain?”

“I’ve been coming here a long time.”

That was not quite an answer, but Sally Understood that it was the answer available.

Nell pointed to a brass bell hanging beneath the Platform Shelter.

“I’ll ring that before we leave. You’ll have time to Walk back. No need to run.”

Whimsy gave the bell a Thoughtful look.

“No,” Nell said.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Good.”

Sally adjusted the strap of her bag.

The Scrap of Paper was inside it. She had felt its folded edge while checking for her phone, and for a moment she had wanted to take it out again.

Not here.

Not with Nell waiting and Whimsy watching her too carefully.

She stepped onto the Walkway.

Whimsy followed.

The boards creaked beneath them, Ordinary and Reassuring. Someone had Replaced one recently. Its surface was paler than the rest, with no Sand caught in the grain.

Sally found herself Noticing the screws.

Four in each board.

Whatever else this Place was, Somebody Maintained it.

At the end of the Walkway, the Beach opened wide.

She stopped.

The Sand wasn’t smooth.

Broad ridges ran through it, gold and cream overlapping in thick sweeps. Small shadows gathered along their edges. Near the Water, the Color darkened to a deep ochre.

Beyond it, Waves rose beneath the Storm.

Their crests held white foam in curling peaks, each one shaped as though a knife had lifted through wet Paint.

Then a Wave folded over.

The white broke apart.

Sally watched it rush toward the Beach.

It stopped well short of her shoes, drawing back through the darker sand with a soft, dragging sound.

Whimsy stepped off the boards.

Her foot sank a little.

She looked back at Sally.

“You can come down.”

“I Know.”

Sally took the last step.

 

The Sand held her weight, then shifted.

She looked at the print left by her shoe.

A perfectly Ordinary shoe print in an Impossible Beach.

Whimsy crouched almost immediately.

“There are Shells.”

Sally stood beside her while she uncovered a small spiral Shell with two fingers.

It was pink inside, with a pale brown rim.

Whimsy turned it over.

“Broken.”

“One bit.”

“It’s the important bit.”

“What does it do?”

“It makes it not-broken.”

Sally looked down at her.

Whimsy held the Shell against her palm, considering.

Then she put it in her yellow pocket anyway.

Farther along the Beach, small stones lay in a curved line above the wet Sand. Some were smooth. Others looked as though they had been pressed into shape with a thumb.

Sally picked up a flat gray one.

Its underside was blue.

She rubbed it gently.

The Color stayed.

“Do you think we’re allowed to take things?”

Whimsy touched her pocket.

“Shells?”

“Anything.”

The Child’s expression tightened.

“I only took one.”

“I’m asking.”

Whimsy looked toward the Platform, mostly hidden behind the dunes.

“We could ask Nell.”

“Yes.”

Sally placed the stone back where she had Found it.

Whimsy watched, then took the Shell out of her pocket.

She held it for a moment.

“You can keep it until we ask,” Sally said.

“But you put yours back.”

“I didn’t want to carry it.”

“Oh.”

Whimsy returned the Shell to her pocket, visibly Relieved.

They walked beside the Water.

The Waves never quite reached them, though Sally suspected that had more to do with the line they were following than anything Magical. She wasn’t ready to test it.

Whimsy moved closer.

“Careful.”

“I’m not in it.”

“You’re near it.”

“I can see.”

Sally heard herself.

The Child had been hearing some version of that all Evening.

She pressed her lips together and let Whimsy take the next few steps without comment.

A Wave came farther up the Beach.

Whimsy hopped backward.

Sally did too.

They looked at one another.

“You went like this,” Whimsy said, lifting her shoulders.

“I Remember the Grasshopper.”

“This was different.”

“Apparently I have a Recognizable style.”

Whimsy Laughed.

Sally looked out at the Storm again.

The Clouds held their dark shapes, but the Water beneath them continued moving. Here and there, light caught a Swell and vanished when it fell.

It was Beautiful.

It was also a little frightening.

She Liked that it didn’t seem particularly concerned with whether she approved.

 

They reached the black rocks before Sally realized how far they had Walked.

The nearest rose out of the Sand in a low, rounded mass. Beyond it stood several taller formations, their dark surfaces cut with gray seams.

Nell had been clear.

Sally stopped.

Whimsy continued two more steps.

“This is as far as we go.”

The Child turned.

“I know.”

But she was looking beyond the rocks.

Sally followed her gaze.

A hollow lay between two of them, partly hidden from the Beach. Something inside caught the light.

Not much.

A brief flash of green.

Then nothing.

“What is that?”

“A Pool.”

Whimsy shifted her weight.

“There are things in it.”

“What things?”

“Little things.”

“That covers quite a lot.”

The Child took a step toward the nearest rock.

“Whimsy.”

She stopped.

“We were told to stay this side.”

“It’s just there.”

“I can see where it is.”

“You could come too.”

Sally looked at the dark surfaces.

One shone with moisture.

“No.”

Whimsy’s face closed.

“You haven’t even looked.”

“I’m looking now.”

“From here?”

“Yes.”

The Child folded her arms.

Sally felt the familiar impulse to end the conversation. A firm voice. A rule repeated. The comforting certainty that caution was the same thing as being right.

She looked again.

The Pool was close. Reaching it directly would mean climbing across the wet rocks, and she wasn’t doing that.

But a narrow strip of dry Sand ran beside the largest formation.

She couldn’t see where it ended.

“Stay here,” she said.

Whimsy’s arms tightened.

“I’m not going without you. I’m checking.”

Sally walked a few paces along the Sand.

The gap widened.

From here she could see the Pool without climbing anything.

She looked back.

Whimsy hadn’t moved.

“There’s a way to look from this side.”

The Child lowered her arms.

“Really?”

“Come slowly.”

Whimsy came slowly enough to make a point of it.

Sally Decided not to notice.

The Pool lay in a shallow bowl of dark stone.

Clear water filled it almost to the rim. Beneath the Surface, green fronds moved gently, though Sally couldn’t see what made them move.

Something orange clung to the bottom.

A Starfish.

Its arms were outlined in pale yellow, with tiny raised dots along the center.

Whimsy crouched.

“There.”

“I see it.”

“There’s another one under that bit.”

Sally bent closer.

At first she saw only shadow.

Then she found the shape: a smaller Starfish, purple, tucked beneath an overhang.

“Oh.”

Whimsy Smiled without looking up.

A little Crab moved across the bottom.

It Traveled sideways with such serious Purpose that Sally leaned nearer to follow it.

One claw was larger than the other. It stopped beside a pale stone, tested the edge, and continued.

“What’s it doing?”

“Crab things,” Whimsy said.

“Useful.”

“I don’t know what Crabs want.”

“Neither do I.”

The Child rested her hands on her knees.

For a while they watched.

Sally could hear the Sea beyond the rocks, louder here. Each Wave filled the gaps with a low rushing sound, followed by a soft rattle as the Water withdrew.

The Crab reached the green fronds and disappeared beneath them.

Whimsy leaned forward.

“Don’t put your hand in,” Sally said.

“I wasn’t.”

“You were Thinking about it.”

“I wanted to know what the green felt like.”

“I know.”

Sally looked at the Pool.

Then at the wet stone around it.

“We’ll leave it where it is.”

Whimsy sighed, but stayed beside her.

A tiny silver Fish flickered through the Water.

Sally almost missed it.

“There.”

Whimsy followed her pointing finger.

The Fish turned, scattering a brief green light along its side.

“That’s what you saw,” Sally said.

The Child nodded.

Sally watched it disappear beneath the stone lip.

“I’m Glad we looked.”

Whimsy glanced up.

The guarded expression she had worn beside the rocks softened.

“So am I.”

On the Walk back, Whimsy carried her Shell in her hand.

She kept turning it, putting her thumb into the broken curve, then taking it out again.

Sally walked with her shoes sinking into the softer patches of Sand.

Her bag bumped against her hip.

The Paper was still inside.

She could Feel the Question waiting.

“About what we Found on the Train.”

Whimsy slowed.

“The Story.”

“Yes.”

The Child looked toward the dunes.

“Did you Like it?”

Sally considered.

“I Liked the Idea.”

“Opening the Sky?”

“Yes.”

Whimsy rubbed the Shell against her palm.

“The Dragon couldn’t get through the little door.”

“I Understood that.”

“It wasn’t the Dragon’s fault.”

Sally looked at her.

Whimsy continued Walking.

After a few paces, Sally said, “No. I suppose it wasn’t.”

The Words on the Paper returned to her.

So she opened the sky instead.

She could almost Imagine the next Line.

Not its wording. Just the movement of it. Something large unfolding. Somewhere to go.

“Do you know what happens after that?”

Whimsy looked up.

For a moment she seemed ready to answer.

Then the bell rang.

A clear brass note traveled across the Beach.

Whimsy turned toward the Platform.

Sally held out her hand.

“We can Walk.”

“I Know.”

They climbed the wooden Walkway Together.

At the top, Nell stood beside the Carriage.

Whimsy stopped in front of her and opened her palm.

“Can I keep this?”

Nell examined the Shell.

“Is anything Living in it?”

“No.”

“Then yes, you may keep it.”

Whimsy tucked it into her pocket.

Sally stopped beside the steps.

“The Pool’s Lovely.”

Nell glanced toward the black rocks.

“You stayed on the Sand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She waited while Whimsy climbed Aboard.

Sally remained on the Platform.

“The Forest is next?”

“If you’re Continuing.”

Beyond the Shelter, the Walkway led back toward the Beach. Farther away lay the Meadow, the Open Veil, her apartment.

She could still Choose to return.

Instead, she touched the folded Paper through the side of her bag.

“I’d Like to.”

Nell stepped aside.

Sally climbed into the Train.

Chapter Six: Lanterns in the Forest

 

The orange spirals were gone.

Sally stopped beside the seat she had occupied on the Journey to the Coast.

Its fabric was now a deep green, crossed by small gold Branches. Above it, the wall had softened from red and purple to a pale blue streaked with white.

Whimsy leaned around her.

“Oh. I liked the orange.”

Sally looked toward the other end of the Carriage.

The Woman with the Knitting was still there. So was the Man with the covered Basket.

At least some things had stayed where she left them.

“Does it Change while we’re Outside?”

“Sometimes while we’re inside.”

Sally sat.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to witness that.

Whimsy climbed into the seat opposite and took out her Shell. She placed it on the little table beneath the window, broken edge facing the glass.

“Don’t forget it,” said Sally.

“I won’t,” Whimsy replied.

Sally put her bag beside her feet.

Nell came through the Carriage.

“Continuing?”

“The Forest,” Sally said.

Nell held out her hand for their Tickets.

This time, the punch made a tiny Tree.

Whimsy examined hers closely.

“Could you put the next one beside this one?”

“If there’s room.”

“There is.”

“Then probably.”

Nell returned the Tickets and looked at Sally.

“The Paper?”

Sally’s hand went to her bag.

“I haven’t worked out whose it is.”

“Would you like me to put it in the drawer?”

Whimsy turned her Shell over.

Sally Noticed.

“Could I keep it until the next Stop?”

Nell considered her, then nodded.

“Just don’t lose the Lost Property.”

“I’ll try not to.”

"Good. Lost Property twice Lost is harder to Find."

The Conductor moved on.

Outside, the Platform slipped away.

Whimsy watched until the Shelter disappeared behind the dunes. Then she put her Shell back in her pocket.

Sally waited.

The Child Knew she was waiting. Her Attention became very firmly attached to the window.

“About the Dragon,” Sally said.

Whimsy’s shoulders rose a little.

“What about it?”

“You seemed to Know the Story.”

“I Know that bit.”

“Have you heard it before?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

Whimsy rubbed at a mark on the window with the side of her thumb.

“A long time ago.”

Sally looked at the small hand.

The ink stain was still there.

She had nearly asked how long a time ago could be for Someone Whimsy’s Age.

Instead, she said, “Did Someone read it to you?”

Whimsy nodded.

“Who?”

The Child turned from the window.

“Can we look at the Forest first?”

Sally sat back.

Beyond the glass, the Sand had begun to darken. A line of Trees appeared, their lower Trunks hidden beneath a soft Mist.

“All right,” she said.

Whimsy looked Relieved.

It wasn’t an answer.

Sally Knew that.

For now, she let it stand.

The Forest Station was little more than a wooden Platform beneath the Trees.

A roof had been Built around a Living Branch rather than through it. Leaves pushed down through a gap above the bench, blue on one side and copper on the other.

A Notice beside the exit read:

PLEASE RETURN BORROWED LANTERNS.

Below it, in smaller lettering:

EVEN IF YOU HAVE GROWN FOND OF THEM.

Sally read it twice.

Nell followed her gaze.

“People do.”

“Of the lanterns?”

“They’re useful.”

Whimsy was already looking along the Path beyond the Platform.

Sally caught her eye.

The Child waited.

“The Path makes a loop,” Nell said. “Keep the Stream on your left until you reach the little House. From there, take the Path with the yellow stones. That brings you back here.”

“How long?”

“A Comfortable Walk.”

Sally gave her a look.

Nell Smiled faintly.

“About half an hour, if you don’t stop at every Mushroom.”

Whimsy’s expression suggested a serious flaw in this estimate.

“We’ll ring before Departure,” Nell added. “The sound carries.”

Sally stepped down.

The Ground was soft beneath a layer of Leaves. She could smell Damp Earth, Bark, and something Green she couldn’t name.

Above them, the Trees rose far higher than she had expected.

Their Trunks twisted as they climbed. Brown gave way to deep red, then green where light passed through the thinner Branches. The Canopy held Leaves of every Color, overlapping in broad Painted shapes.

Sally tipped her head back.

A dark blue Leaf drifted down.

It turned slowly, exposing a pale underside, and landed on her shoulder.

Whimsy took it off.

“Here.”

Sally held it by the stem.

Thin enough for light to pass through. Slightly rough along the edge.

She turned it over.

“You could keep that,” Whimsy said.

“We haven’t asked.”

“It fell off.”

Sally considered this distinction.

Then she put it carefully into the outer pocket of her bag.

Whimsy Smiled.

They followed the Path.

The Mushrooms began beside the Stream.

Small ones at first, no larger than Sally’s thumbnail. Their Caps glowed amber beneath the shade of a Root.

Farther along, a cluster of violet Mushrooms lit the underside of a fallen Branch.

Whimsy crouched.

Sally stopped beside her.

“These ones look like little umbrellas.”

“They are little umbrellas,” Whimsy said.

“For whom?”

The Child pointed.

A Beetle Sheltered beneath the nearest Cap.

A small brown Toad sat Comfortably beneath another.

Sally leaned closer.

“Alright.”

Whimsy looked Pleased.

The Stream moved over pale stones, silver gathering in its shallow bends. Sally knelt beside it and touched the water.

Cold.

A little colder than she expected.

She dried her finger on her trousers.

 

Ahead, something tapped against Wood.

A Bird stood on the side of a Tree Trunk.

Its Body was made of quick, dark strokes. A bright red mark formed its head. When it moved, Sally could see the shape of each wing without quite understanding how the marks held together.

It tapped again.

Whimsy looked up.

“Hello.”

The Bird paused.

Then it went back to work.

“He’s busy,” Sally said.

Whimsy nodded seriously.

They continued.

At a fork, Sally stopped to examine the Paths.

One followed the Stream.

The other climbed between two Trees whose Roots had Grown into steps.

Whimsy looked toward the steps.

“The Stream,” Sally said.

“I Know.”

“You looked.”

“I can look.”

“Yes. You can.”

They took the lower Path.

A little farther on, Whimsy found a Stick.

She dragged its tip through the Leaves, Drawing a narrow line beside them.

Sally listened to the sound.

After a minute, Whimsy began adding small circles to the line.

“What are those?”

“Doors.”

“To where?”

“I haven’t Decided.”

Sally looked down at the marks.

One circle was crooked. Whimsy bent and gave it a pointed roof.

“That one’s a House now.”

“Efficient.”

The Child glanced up.

Then she added a chimney.

 

The little House stood beside a bend in the Stream.

Its roof sloped low beneath the Branches. A narrow Porch ran along the front, crowded with lanterns.

Some were polished brass. Others were Painted tin, or glass enclosed in woven frames. One had a dent so deep it leaned to the left.

A Woman sat on a stool beside them, working a cloth around a green glass pane.

She had gray hair plaited over one shoulder and a pair of spectacles resting low on her nose. Her sleeves were rolled above her elbows.

She looked at Whimsy’s Stick.

“Leave that Outside.”

Whimsy stopped.

“I wasn’t coming in.”

“Good. Then we agree.”

Sally pressed her lips together.

The Woman’s gaze moved to her.

“Borrowing?”

“We saw the Sign.”

“That’s generally how it starts.”

She set down the lantern.

“I’m Mara.”

“Sally. This is Whimsy.”

“Hello, Whimsy.”

The Child gave a small wave.

Sally looked at the collection.

“Do People need them in the Daytime?”

“Some parts of the Path are dark. Some People like to see under things.”

Whimsy moved closer to the Porch.

Mara pointed to a small lantern with a red handle.

“That one’s light enough for you. Keep it upright.”

Whimsy set her stick beside the steps.

She took the lantern in both hands.

A warm glow filled the glass.

She looked inside.

“What’s burning?”

“Nothing.”

“Then how does it work?”

Mara resumed cleaning the green pane.

“Very Reliably, provided you don’t drop it.”

Whimsy frowned at the lantern.

Sally Recognized the expression.

It was the one she had been wearing since the wall Opened.

“Does it need to come back here?” Sally asked.

“There’s a hook at the Station.”

“Thank you.”

Mara nodded.

Whimsy carried the lantern to the edge of the Porch and held it near a fern.

The light passed through the fronds, turning their shadows into long, delicate shapes.

She lowered it farther.

“Oh.”

Sally joined her.

Beneath the Fern, a Snail moved over a small stone. Its shell shone green and gold.

Whimsy knelt to watch.

Mara looked after her.

“You’ll be here a while if she finds another one.”

“I’m beginning to Understand that.”

Sally shifted her bag.

The foldedPpaper pressed against her hand.

Mara had picked up a tiny brush and was applying yellow Paint to a chipped section of the lantern frame.

Sally watched the bristles move.

Then she opened her bag.

“Could I ask you something?”

“You can.”

“I found this on the Train.”

She unfolded the Scrap and held it out.

Mara put down the brush before taking it.

Her eyes moved across the Words.

Sally waited.

Behind her, Whimsy’s lantern made a small clicking sound against a stone.

“Careful,” Mara said without looking away from the Paper.

Then she read it again.

“The little door,” she murmured.

Sally leaned forward.

“You know it?”

“I Know a Story with a Dragon that couldn’t use the door.”

“What happened?”

Mara looked at the Scrap.

“In the one I heard, she found another way.”

“By Opening the Sky?”

“Yes.”

Sally felt her fingers close against her palm.

“Where did you hear it?”

“From a Traveler. He stopped here to have a lantern Repaired.”

“When?”

Mara glanced toward the shelves.

“A while ago. It was before I put up the second row.”

Sally looked at the rows of lanterns.

That didn’t help.

“Did he say who Wrote it?”

“No.”

“Was there more?”

“Yes.”

“Do you Remember it?”

“Not well enough to tell it properly.”

Mara handed back the Scrap.

“You might try a Library.”

“Which one?”

“Whichever one you can reach.”

She picked up her brush.

“If they don’t have it, they may know where to send you.”

Sally looked down at the Paper.

Someone had heard it.

Someone besides Whimsy.

Behind her, the Child stood.

“We should go.”

They took the Path marked with yellow stones.

Whimsy carried the lantern close to her chest.

The Trees stood nearer together here. Light sifted through the Leaves in narrow bands, but the little lamp revealed Roots Sally might otherwise have stepped on.

For several minutes, neither spoke.

Then Sally said, “You heard what Mara said.”

Whimsy nodded.

“Someone else Knew it.”

Another nod.

“Does that surprise you?”

Whimsy stepped around a Root.

“No.”

Sally waited until they reached a wider stretch of Path.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

The Child stopped.

“I didn’t know she Knew.”

“That isn’t what I mean.”

Whimsy looked down at the lantern.

Sally could see her own face faintly reflected in the glass, broken by the curve.

She sounded tired.

She was tired.

So was the Child, perhaps.

Sally lowered herself onto a fallen Trunk beside the Path.

Whimsy watched her.

“Are we stopping?”

“For a minute.”

The Child sat at the other end and placed the lantern between her shoes.

Sally rested her hands on her knees.

“I’m asking because it Feels familiar.”

Whimsy rubbed one thumb along the red handle.

“I Know.”

“And I don’t understand why.”

“I Know that too.”

The answer was quiet enough to make Sally turn.

Whimsy wasn’t looking at her.

“Does it bother you when I ask?”

“Sometimes.”

“Why?”

The Child drew her feet closer together.

“Because you look at me as if I’m hiding something bad.”

Sally sat still.

A Leaf turned slowly overhead.

At last she said, “I don’t think the Story is bad.”

“That isn’t what I said.”

“No.”

Sally looked along the Path.

She had wanted an answer so badly that she hadn’t noticed what asking for it had become.

“I don’t know what you can tell me,” she said. “And I don’t know what you can’t.”

Whimsy turned the handle down against the lantern.

“Neither do I, always.”

Sally let that answer stay.

After a while, she asked, “Would you like to show me something else?”

Whimsy looked up.

“Without asking about the Paper?”

“For a while.”

The Child considered.

Then she lifted the lantern.

“There was something back there.”

Sally stood.

“Something we can reach from the Path?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

They walked back a little way.

Beneath an overhanging Root, Whimsy lowered the lantern.

Small pale threads stretched through the Earth. Drops of water clung to them, each one holding a point of gold.

Sally crouched beside her.

From this close, she could see how the threads branched.

One became two.

Two divided again.

They vanished into the dark beneath the Tree.

Whimsy adjusted the lantern, and more appeared.

Sally stayed beside her until the Station bell sounded.

The hook stood beside the Notice.

Whimsy hung the lantern carefully, then turned it so the red handle faced outward.

Nell waited by the Train.

“Find your way around?”

“Yes,” Sally said.

“Stop at every Mushroom?”

“Not every Mushroom.”

Whimsy glanced at her.

There had been quite a few.

Sally took out the Scrap before Nell could ask.

“I showed it to Someone. She’d heard a Story like it.”

Nell looked at the Paper.

“Did she know whose it was?”

“No.”

“Then we’ll keep it safe.”

Sally held it a moment longer.

She didn’t want to hand it over.

The Feeling surprised her by its strength.

“Could I copy it?”

Nell took the pencil from her hair and passed Sally the back of an unused Ticket.

Sally leaned against the wall beside the door.

The first Words came easily.

The door was too small for the dragon.

She paused before the next line.

Then she wrote it.

So she opened the sky instead.

When she lifted the pencil, she saw that she had squeezed the last Word toward the edge.

Just as the other Writer had.

Whimsy stood beside her, very quiet.

Sally handed Nell the pencil and the original Scrap.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll put it in the drawer. If you Need it again, ask.”

Sally slipped the copy into her bag.

Then she and Whimsy climbed Aboard.

Inside, the seats were blue.

Neither of them commented.

Whimsy leaned against the window, holding the broken Shell in one hand.

Sally sat opposite.

The Forest began moving past them.

After a while, the Child’s eyes closed.

Sally reached across and gently took the Shell before it could fall.

She set it on the table between them.

Then she looked out at the Trees, watching until the last of the small golden lights disappeared.

 

Chapter Seven: A City After Dark

 

Whimsy Woke when the Train slowed.

She lifted her head from the window and looked around with the offended expression of Someone whose surroundings had changed without permission.

“Where’s my Shell?”

Sally pointed to the table.

“You nearly dropped it.”

“Oh.”

Whimsy took it, checked the broken edge, and put it in her pocket.

Outside, Windows glowed above a narrow Platform. A dark Roof stretched over the Tracks, its glass panels streaked with reflected light.

There were Tracks here.

Sally Noticed them with a small sense of Relief.

Beyond the Station, Buildings rose close together beneath a deep blue Sky. Their edges softened into one another, pale stone becoming lavender where the shadows gathered.

“It’s Nighttime,” she said.

“It’s Always like that here.”

“Always?”

Whimsy rubbed one eye.

“I’ve only seen it like that.”

A better answer.

Sally looked at her phone.

7:41.

She had been gone less than two hours.

Her Body felt as though the day had acquired a second day and attached it to the end.

Nell came down the aisle.

“City. This is where I finish.”

Sally straightened.

“What happens now?”

“The Train stays here until the next Conductor takes over.”

“How long?”

“You’ve time to eat something and have a look around.”

“And if we want to go back?”

Nell pointed through the window.

“Return Desk inside the Station. They’ll tell you which Carriage.”

Sally glanced toward it.

A Sign hung above a lit doorway. She could read the Word: RETURNS.

“Does the Paper stay with you?”

“It stays with the Train.”

Nell tapped the shallow drawer Built into the wall beside the Carriage door.

“Any Conductor can find it.”

Sally nodded.

The copy was in her bag, tucked inside her phone case now so she wouldn’t crush it.

Nell looked at Whimsy.

“You Slept through the Best bit.”

Whimsy frowned.

“What Best bit?”

“The Journey.”

“I was only closing my eyes.”

“Of course.”

Nell stepped aside.

Sally stood and put on her bag.

Whimsy slid out of the seat, then stopped to pull up her sock.

Again.

Sally crouched before the Child could move away.

“Your heel’s turned around.”

“I Know.”

“Hold still.”

She straightened the sock and smoothed it beneath the edge of the shoe.

Whimsy rested one hand on her shoulder to balance.

For a moment, Sally forgot to feel strange about any of it.

Then she stood.

“Ready?”

Whimsy nodded.

They stepped onto the Platform.

 

The Station Clock had no second hand.

Sally watched it long enough to establish that the minute hand did move, though not while she was looking directly at it.

She Decided not to investigate.

Whimsy had found a Mosaic beneath their feet.

Tiny pieces of blue and white stone formed a Bird with one wing extended. A gold tile marked its eye.

She moved her shoe off its tail.

Sally waited beside her.

Across the Station, People sat on wooden benches beneath hanging lamps. A Man was reading a Newspaper. Two Women stood beside a luggage Trolley, arguing quietly about a hatbox.

Nothing in their manner suggested that the City was Remarkable.

The Return Desk was open.

Sally approached it.

A Young Man behind the Counter looked up from a Ledger.

“Where are you Heading?”

“The Meadow.”

“Tonight?”

Sally hesitated.

Behind her, Whimsy went still.

“I’m finding out.”

“Last Carriage on the Train you Arrived on. It’ll be attached before Departure. Watch the Board.”

He pointed above the Concourse.

The Destinations were Written in neat white Letters.

MEADOW appeared near the bottom.

No time beside it.

Sally looked at the Man.

“How will I know when it’s leaving?”

“The Board will say BOARDING. Then we ring.”

“Alright.”

He returned to his Ledger.

That was that.

No Ticket Office argument. No explanation she had to Defend.

She turned.

Whimsy was examining the Mosaic again.

“We’re not going yet,” Sally said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I Know.”

The Child traced the Bird’s wing with the toe of her shoe.

Sally let her finish.

Then they went out into the City.

The Streets shone as though it had recently rained.

Sally could see no puddles, only light spread across the cobblestones in soft yellow strokes. Windows glowed above them. A Balcony held a row of pots, their Flowers spilling over the rail.

Somewhere, a  Clock began to chime.

Four notes.

A pause.

Then the same four notes again, lower.

Sally stopped.

Whimsy looked back.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

The Tune had caught at her.

Not a Memory exactly. More like the beginning of a Song she ought to Know.

Whimsy listened until it ended.

“I Like that one.”

“Does it Play every Hour?”

“I don’t know.”

They walked on.

 

The Shops had narrow Fronts and Windows crowded with things Sally wanted to examine. A blue glass jug. A wooden box inlaid with tiny stars. A pair of boots with red stitching around the soles.

In another Window stood a row of miniature Houses.

One had a light burning inside.

Sally leaned nearer.

There was a tiny chair beside a tiny table.

On the table, a cup.

Whimsy pressed close beside her.

“Someone Lives in there.”

“It’s a model.”

“Models can be Houses.”

Sally studied the little Window.

Something moved beyond it.

She stepped back.

Whimsy looked Pleased.

“I didn’t say you were wrong,” Sally told her.

“You thought it.”

“Yes.”

They continued beneath the warm Streetlamps.

At first, Whimsy stopped at almost every Window. Then her stops became shorter. She dragged her feet between them, and once, when Sally slowed to look at a display of painted plates, the Child leaned against the wall.

“Hungry?”

“No.”

Sally looked at her.

Whimsy looked back.

A Delicious smell drifted from somewhere ahead.

Butter. Warm Bread. Something Sweet.

The Child’s eyes moved toward it.

Sally said nothing.

They reached a Corner Café with a green door and a striped Awning.

Through the Window, she could see small round tables, a counter, and a Woman lifting a tray from an oven.

Whimsy stopped walking.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted.

A bell rang when Sally opened the door.

The Café smelled even Better inside.

There was Bread beneath the Butter, and Coffee, and the warm sweetness of cooked Apples.

Sally’s stomach tightened.

She had shared her noodles.

She hadn’t thought about that until now.

“Sit wherever you like,” the Woman behind the counter said.

Whimsy Chose a table beside the Window.

She climbed onto the chair and immediately rested her elbows on the table.

Sally took the seat opposite.

A little card listed Soup, Bread, Sandwiches, and several things beneath the heading: FROM THE OVEN.

She looked for prices.

There weren’t any.

Of course.

The Woman approached carrying two glasses of water.

“What can I get you?”

Sally turned the card over.

“How much is the Soup?”

“A bowl?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what we serve it in.”

Sally looked up.

The woman waited.

“I mean what does it cost?”

“Oh.”

She glanced toward the Window, then back at Sally.

“Have you just come in on the Train?”

“Yes.”

“Your Tickets cover Supper here.”

Sally took hers from her pocket.

The Woman looked at the punched Tree and Wave.

“There you are.”

“Who pays for it?”

“The Station settles with us.”

It was the sort of answer Sally understood.

Somewhere, presumably, there was a claim code.

“Soup, then. Please.”

“And for you?”

Whimsy had turned the Menu sideways.

“Does the Apple thing have raisins?”

“No.”

“Then that.”

“Something before it?”

The Child’s mouth tightened.

Sally studied the card.

“Would you eat a Cheese Sandwich?”

“With no green bits.”

The Woman nodded.

“No green bits.”

She collected the Menus.

Whimsy took a long drink of water.

Then she looked toward the counter.

“I wasn’t being rude.”

"I didn’t say you were.”

“Sometimes they put them in even when you ask.”

“Raisins?”

“Green bits.”

Sally nodded.

“That would be disappointing.”

“It is.”

The Child settled back in her chair.

A moment later, she yawned so widely that her eyes watered.

Sally looked away before Whimsy caught her watching.

The Soup arrived in a white bowl with a chip beneath the handle.

It was thick and golden, with a little swirl of cream across the top.

Sally wrapped her fingers around the bowl.

Warmth moved into her hands.

Whimsy’s Sandwich came cut into triangles, with the crusts left on. She inspected the filling before taking a bite.

“Acceptable?” Sally asked.

Whimsy nodded, her mouth full.

Sally tasted the Soup.

She couldn’t immediately identify everything in it.

Carrot, perhaps. Something Peppery. A Sweetness that Belonged to Vegetables rather than Seasoning.

She took another spoonful.

Across the table, Whimsy ate steadily.

No humming. No explanation of Impossible things.

Just a hungry Child concentrating on Supper.

Sally found that Comforting.

For several minutes, the only Conversation came from the table behind them, where two Men were discussing a broken window.

One thought the Repair had been done badly.

The other thought he should have done it himself if he knew so much.

Sally’s mouth curved.

“What?” Whimsy asked.

“Nothing.”

“You keep saying that when it’s Something.”

Sally glanced toward the Men.

“They sound like people at work.”

Whimsy looked over her shoulder.

“Do you like the people at work?”

“Some of them.”

“Do you like the work?”

Sally moved her spoon through the Soup.

“Not especially.”

“Why do you do it?”

“Because I need to pay for things.”

“Like noodles?”

“And the apartment.”

Whimsy considered that.

“Do you like the apartment?”

Sally looked at her.

“Sometimes.”

“What part?”

“The lock works.”

The Child didn’t laugh.

Sally hadn’t meant it as a joke.

She set down the spoon.

“And there’s a good patch of Sunlight in the kitchen on Sunday Mornings.”

Whimsy’s expression changed.

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t know.”

“No.”

Sally looked at the reflected lamps in the Window.

“It doesn’t last long.”

“You could sit in it while it does.”

“I suppose I could.”

Whimsy finished the last corner of her Sandwich.

Then she said, “You ate less than me.”

“I had Soup.”

“At Home.”

Sally looked down at her bowl.

“It was enough.”

Whimsy gave her the doubtful expression Sally had been giving her all Evening.

The Woman returned with the Apple Pastry.

It sat on a small plate, warm enough for the scent to rise from it. Thin slices of Apple overlapped beneath a shining glaze.

She set down two forks.

Whimsy looked at them.

“I ordered one.”

“Yes,” the Woman said.

She left.

The Child studied the Pastry.

Then she pushed the plate toward the middle of the table.

Sally shook her head.

“That’s yours.”

“I can’t eat all of it.”

“You haven’t tried.”

Whimsy looked at her sharply.

Sally stopped.

Then she took the second fork.

“Alright.”

The Pastry broke beneath it with a soft crackle.

For once, she didn’t calculate whether she needed it before tasting it.

Outside, the City seemed quieter.

Or perhaps Sally was.

Whimsy walked beside her without pulling ahead. Her hand lay loosely in Sally’s, warm from the Café.

They turned down a narrow Street where the lamps hung from brackets shaped like leaves.

A Fountain stood in a small Square.

Water slipped from a stone bowl into a larger basin, making a steady, gentle sound.

Whimsy sat on the edge.

“Just a minute.”

Sally sat beside her.

On the opposite side of the Square, a Woman was closing the shutters of a Shop. She reached up, struggled with a latch, and finally pushed it into place with the heel of her hand.

Sally watched.

The shutters were painted dark red.

One had a blue patch where something had been Repaired.

Even here, things Needed Fixing.

Whimsy leaned against her arm.

Sally looked down.

The Child’s eyes were half closed.

“Would you like to go back to the Train?” Sally asked.

“In a minute.”

“Alright.”

They sat.

The Fountain continued.

Above them, a Window opened. Someone shook a cloth into the Street, sending a few crumbs down into the lamplight.

Whimsy tipped her face upward.

“Snow.”

“Toast, I think.”

The Child Smiled.

Then she leaned against Sally again.

Sally remained still.

She had spent most of her day wanting to be left alone.

Now Someone was Resting against her, and she didn’t want to move.

They reached the Station just as the Board changed.

MARKET — BOARDING.

Below it:

MEADOW — BOARDING.

Sally stopped beneath the Signs.

Whimsy looked up.

Two Choices.

Both available.

The Return Desk was still open. The Man behind it was drinking from a mug now, his Ledger closed.

Sally looked toward the Platform.

The Train waited beneath the glass roof.

At its far end, a pale Carriage had been attached. Its windows glowed with the soft gold of late Afternoon.

She could almost see her own kitchen through them.

Not literally.

She Knew that.

Whimsy’s hand tightened.

“We could stop,” Sally said.

The Child looked at her.

“For Tonight.”

Whimsy stared toward the pale Carriage.

Then toward the rest of the Train.

“I want to see the Market.”

“You’re tired.”

“A bit.”

It was the first time she had admitted it.

Sally crouched so they were nearer the same height.

“We don’t have to do everything just because it’s here.”

Whimsy looked down at their joined hands.

“Will you still want to later?”

Sally felt the question settle between them.

She couldn’t promise that she understood the Worlds, or the Train, or the piece of Writing waiting in a drawer.

But she Knew she wanted to see them again.

“Yes,” she said.

Whimsy searched her face.

Sally held her gaze.

“Yes.”

The Child nodded.

Then she looked at the Market Sign once more.

“Could we just ride there?”

“And Rest on the Train?”

Whimsy nodded again.

Sally stood.

Her own body was tired, but not in the familiar, flattened way it had been when she left work.

She could feel her feet.

She could feel the warmth of Supper.

She wanted something.

“We can ride,” she said. “Then we Decide again.”

They crossed the Platform.

A new Conductor stood beside the door, checking the Departing Passengers against a small board.

“Market?”

“Yes,” Sally said.

“Come Aboard.”

Inside, the ceiling was pale blue.

Small Clouds drifted across it, slow enough that Sally had to watch to be certain they were moving.

Whimsy climbed into a seat patterned with yellow Flowers.

Sally sat beside her this time.

Before the Train left, the Child’s head settled against her arm.

Sally looked through the window at the Station lamps.

Then she rested her bag securely beneath her feet, leaned back, and allowed herself to be carried.

 

Chapter Eight: The Winter Stop

 

Whimsy Woke to Bells.

Not the Station bell. These were smaller, several of them Ringing together in a quick, uneven rhythm.

She lifted her head from Sally’s arm.

“Market?”

Sally looked through the window.

Striped Awnings crowded the Platform. Beyond them, People moved between Stalls beneath strings of colored flags.

“I think so.”

Whimsy sat upright.

Her hair had flattened on one side and risen spectacularly on the other.

Sally resisted the urge to smooth it.

The Train stopped.

A Man in a burgundy coat opened the Carriage door.

“Market. Winter after this.”

“How long do we have?” Sally asked.

“Until the bell.”

“Yes, I’ve met that arrangement.”

The Conductor Smiled.

“Stay within the flagged Streets. You’ll hear it.”

Whimsy was already standing.

Sally looked at her.

“We Decide when we get there.”

“We’re there.”

“That was impressively quick.”

The Child held out her hand.

Sally took it.

The Market smelled of warm Bread, Spices, and Flowers.

Its Colors seemed louder than the City’s. Reds pressed against yellows. Green Fabric hung beside blue Glass. A stack of Oranges glowed beneath a purple Canopy, each Fruit carrying a little bright stroke where the light caught it.

Whimsy stopped at the first Stall.

Then the second.

By the Third, Sally had accepted that they weren’t going to cover much ground.

A Woman was folding Cloth across a table.

As she turned one Length over, the pattern changed from small white birds to silver fish.

Whimsy leaned closer.

“Do it again.”

The Woman lifted an eyebrow.

“Please?” Whimsy added.

She turned the Cloth.

Birds.

Again.

Fish.

Sally found herself leaning closer too.

“Is there a right side?”

“Depends whether you prefer Birds or Fish.”

“What happens when you wash it?”

“They get wet.”

Whimsy Laughed.

Sally looked at the Woman, who wore the Calm expression of Someone who had been asked that question many times and remained Pleased with her answer.

They moved on.

 

At a Stall of Glass Jars, Whimsy found one filled with tiny lights.

The lights rose when she lifted it, gathering near the lid.

“What are they?”

“Put it down gently,” Sally said.

The Child obeyed.

The lights settled.

A small card beneath the Jar read, EVENING WINDOWS.

Sally looked into it again.

Each light had a frame.

Tiny Windows, warm and yellow, floating in the dark.

She thought of the City.

Whimsy watched her face.

“You Like those.”

“Yes.”

“Better than the Cloth?”

“I don’t know.”

“You can Like both.”

Sally Smiled.

“I’m beginning to Notice.”

They found the Return Sign beside a Stall selling Wooden Buttons.

Sally might have walked past it, but MEADOW caught her eye.

An arrow pointed toward the Platform.

Beneath it, smaller letters directed Passengers to ask the Conductor.

She stopped.

Whimsy was looking at a Button shaped like a pear.

“Look at this one.”

“One moment.”

Sally leaned nearer to read the bottom line.

RETURN CARRIAGE AVAILABLE FROM WINTER.

“Look.”

“I’m looking at the Sign.”

Whimsy put the Button down.

Sally straightened.

“We can Return from the next Stop.”

The Child said nothing.

“It’s good to know.”

Whimsy moved away from the Stall.

Sally followed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Sally recognized the answer.

She had used it often enough.

A Cart rattled past, carrying Baskets of long green leaves. They stepped aside.

Whimsy folded her arms.

“We haven’t even seen this bit.”

“I’m not saying we have to leave now.”

“You’re always finding how to leave.”

Sally stopped beneath a yellow Awning.

“I need to know we can get home.”

“You know already.”

“I know we could from the City. Now I know we can from Winter.”

Whimsy stared at her.

Sally could hear the Bells again, somewhere deeper in the Market.

The Child’s Voice dropped.

“You could look at things first.”

Sally glanced toward the Button Stall.

The pear-shaped button lay beside a blue one that looked like a tiny door.

She hadn’t seen it.

She hadn’t really seen the pear either.

“Alright,” she said.

Whimsy looked up, wary.

“Show me.”

The Child hesitated.

Then she led Sally back.

Winter arrived quietly.

The Market’s Colors thinned beyond the windows, red fading into rose, blue softening toward gray.

The flags disappeared.

Bare Branches took their place.

Whimsy watched from her seat.

Sally sat opposite, rubbing her feet inside her shoes.

They had stayed until the bell.

She had looked at the Buttons, the Jars, a Stall of little Painted Animals, and a Basket of Fruit whose skins changed Color when touched.

She hadn’t checked another Sign.

Now Snow drifted past the glass.

Whimsy pressed a finger against the window.

“It’s falling.”

“Yes.”

“Sometimes it’s already on the ground.”

Sally looked at the Snowflakes.

Each one seemed briefly distinct before vanishing into the white below.

The Train stopped beside a low Platform.

Beyond it lay a Field bordered by bare Trees. Farther away, a Frozen Pond held a pale reflection of the Sky.

The Conductor opened the door.

“Keep off the Pond.”

Sally nodded.

“How Cold is it?”

“You’ll want your sleeves down.”

That sounded manageable.

She pulled hers over her wrists.

Whimsy was already beside the steps.

At the doorway, Sally paused.

A Woman farther along the Platform was sweeping Snow from a bench. Each stroke of her broom pushed a curl of white aside, exposing dark green boards.

Snow.

Or Paint.

Sally stepped down.

A Snowflake landed on the back of her hand.

It rested there, six tiny branches clear against her skin.

Then it softened into a cool white streak.

She rubbed it with her thumb.

The streak disappeared.

Whimsy looked back.

"Come on.”

The Snow gave beneath their shoes.

Not deeply. Enough to leave prints.

Sally watched Whimsy’s small tracks lead away from the Platform.

The Child stopped and bent.

She gathered a handful of Snow.

Sally Knew what was coming before Whimsy turned.

“Don’t.”

The Snowball struck her coat.

It burst in a soft white splash.

Whimsy stared.

Sally looked down.

A pale smear spread across the fabric.

Then it broke into little Flakes and fell away.

“Oh,” Whimsy said.

Sally bent.

The Child took one step backward.

“You said don’t.”

“Yes.”

Sally pressed Snow between her palms.

The surface felt cool and slightly creamy. It held together more readily than Snow ought to.

Whimsy backed away again.

“I didn’t throw it very hard.”

Sally tossed.

The ball caught Whimsy on the shoulder.

For a moment, they stood looking at one another.

Then the Child shrieked and crouched.

Sally barely had time to gather another handful.

The next Snowball missed her completely.

“Terrible aim.”

“I was warning you.”

“Consider me warned.”

Whimsy ran sideways through the Field, scooping as she went.

Sally stayed near their first tracks.

She didn’t intend to run.

Then a Snowball struck her sleeve.

She ran.

Not far. Not gracefully.

Enough to Surprise them both.

Whimsy Laughed so hard that her next attempt fell apart in her hands.

Sally caught her with a small Snowball at the waist.

The Child staggered theatrically.

“Cruel.”

“You began this.”

Whimsy tried to answer, but Laughter interrupted her.

Sally was Laughing too.

She felt it in her chest, a little painful, her Breath coming faster in the Cool Air.

A Snowball landed near her shoe.

She looked up.

Whimsy had gathered another.

Sally raised both hands.

“Truce.”

The Child considered her ammunition.

“Say, 'Please'.”

“Absolutely not.”

Whimsy dropped it.

“Fine.”

They stood catching their Breath.

Snow settled in the Child’s curls.

Sally reached out and brushed some away.

Whimsy ducked, still Smiling.

“You’ve got it too.”

“I’m sure.”

“No, on your nose.”

Sally wiped it.

The Child Laughed again.

Whimsy lowered herself into the Snow.

Sally looked down.

“What are you doing?”

“This.”

The Child lay back, spread her arms, and began sweeping them up and down.

Her feet moved outward and inward.

Sally watched the white surface gather in soft ridges beside her.

“A Snow Angel?”Whimsy nodded.

“You Know them.”

“Yes.”

“Make one.”

Sally looked at the ground.

Then at her coat.

“The Snow comes off,” Whimsy said.

“It did when you threw it.”

“It will.”

Sally wasn’t certain that counted as evidence.

But the Child lay there waiting, her arms spread, watching the falling Flakes.

Sally Chose a place beside her.

She lowered herself carefully.

The Snow was Cool through her coat, but not freezing. It supported her differently from the Meadow, firmer beneath her shoulders, soft around her hands.

She looked up.

White Flakes crossed the pale Sky.

For a Moment, she simply lay still.

Whimsy turned her head.

“You have to move.”

“I Remember.”

Sally swept her arms.

Something blue appeared beside her sleeve.

She stopped.

Whimsy kept moving.

A gold line emerged along the outer edge of the Child’s wing.

“Sally.”

“I see it.”

They moved again, more slowly.

The white Paint folded aside.

Beneath it lay Color.

Blue followed Sally’s arms, deepening near her shoulders. Green appeared where her feet had swept, edged with a fine yellow streak.

Whimsy’s Angel opened in gold and rose, one wing warmer than the other.

The Colors didn’t sit flat beneath the Snow.

They rose in thin, overlapping strokes, catching the light along their ridges.

Whimsy lifted her head.

“I can’t see mine.”

“Stay there.”

Sally sat up, then worked her feet beneath her.

Getting out without ruining the shape was harder than she remembered.

She stepped awkwardly over one blue wing and nearly fell.

Whimsy Laughed.

“Careful.”

“Thank you. Very helpful.”

Sally stood beside the Child’s head and held out both hands.

Whimsy took them.

“Don’t step in the middle.”

“I Know.”

Sally pulled.

The Child rose, wobbled, and landed beyond the edge.

They turned.

Two Angels lay side by side.

Whimsy’s was smaller and crooked, with one wing reaching farther than the other.

Sally’s had a narrow body and wide blue arms.

Between them, a little patch of untouched white remained.

Whimsy crouched.

“Did we Make the Colors?”

Sally looked closely.

“I don’t know.”

“Were they underneath?”

“Maybe.”

The Child ran a finger along the edge of her golden wing.

The Paint gave slightly beneath her touch.

She looked up.

“Yours looks like the Sea.”

Sally studied it.

Blue, green, the thin bright line.

The Coast beneath the Storm.

“And yours looks like the Market.”

Whimsy Smiled.

They stayed beside the shapes until fresh Snow began settling into them.

Sally’s phone vibrated in her bag.

The sound felt startlingly out of place.

She took it out.

A reminder.

BUY TOOTHPASTE.

Below it, another.

SET ALARM.

She dismissed them.

Whimsy watched.

“Is someone asking you to go?”

“No.”

“Work?”

“No. Just something I told myself to remember.”

Sally put the phone away.

The Child looked back at the Angels.

White had begun gathering in the blue wing.

Sally folded her hands beneath her arms for warmth.

“We should get back to the Platform soon.”

Whimsy’s shoulders tightened.

Sally saw it this time.

“To warm up,” she added. “We can ask what happens after Winter.”

“Dreams.”

Sally looked at her.

“The Train goes into Dreams?”

“Sometimes.”

“Have you done that?”

Whimsy nodded.

Sally glanced toward the Platform.

Her apartment remained available somewhere along that route.

So did tomorrow.

She would have to Decide.

Whimsy rubbed her cold fingers together.

“You said you’d still want to.”

“I do.”

“Then why do you keep looking back?”

Sally considered the question.

The Snow fell quietly around them.

“Because wanting to keep going doesn’t mean I know how to stop worrying.”

Whimsy looked at her.

“I have things waiting.”

“The noodles?”

“Among other things.”

The Child’s mouth moved, almost a Smile.

Sally crouched beside her.

“When I ask how to get back, I’m not asking how to get rid of you.”

Whimsy lowered her eyes.

Sally waited.

At last the Child said, “It feels like it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry for asking.”

Sally looked at her small, serious face.

“No,” she said. “I don’t. But I can tell you why.”

Whimsy nodded.

Then she offered Sally one cold hand.

They walked toward the Platform.

 

At the edge of the Field, Sally turned.

The Angels were still visible.

Snow softened their outlines, but the blue and gold remained beneath it.

Whimsy looked back too.

“They’ll get covered.”

“Yes.”

“Will they still be there?”

Sally thought of the Colors that had appeared beneath the white.

Perhaps Someone else would Make an Angel there.

Perhaps a different shape would uncover them.

“I Think so.”

The Child considered this.

Then she reached down and brushed a small mound of Snow from the Platform step.

A red stroke appeared beneath her fingers.

She Smiled.

The Conductor stood beside the Carriage door.

“Returning?”

Sally looked at Whimsy.

The Child waited.

“What’s next if we continue?”

“A Dream Stop. Departure isn’t immediate. You’ve time to Rest Aboard.”

Sally looked through the open door.

The seats were broad and upholstered in soft gray. Lamps glowed along the walls.

“I’d like to know more before we Choose.”

“Come in, then. I’ll explain the Route.”

It was enough for the next step.

Sally helped Whimsy onto the Carriage.

Before following, she looked once more across the Field.

Their two Angels lay beneath the falling Snow.

She could still distinguish the blue wing from the white.

Just then, the Clouds moved and the Sun came shining through. It hit the Snow and for a Moment, Sally forgot how to Breathe. It glittered and sparkled, like a billion tiny diamonds scattered across the ground.

The Clouds of swirling brushstrokes moved again, and the Landscape went back to its flat shades of white and light blue.

Sally looked at it for one more brief Moment. At the Snow on the ground and decorating the branches of the Pine Trees. The skeletal leafless Trees held the Snow on their branches, contrasting beautifully with the bark. The Frozen Pond.

She wanted to Memorize it, and Remember all of it.

She Hoped this wasn't a Dream.

She pushed the thought away.

Then she stepped inside the Train.

 

 

Chapter Nine: Beneath the Lighthouse

 

The Conductor waited until they were seated before bringing them two cups of Hot Chocolate, each topped with whipped cream and little bits of crushed Peppermint.

Whimsy took hers in both hands.

Sally wrapped her fingers around the warm cup. Whimsy was already trying to gather the Peppermint onto her fingertip without getting any cream.

“Use your spoon,” Sally said.

“I’m nearly there.”

The Conductor sat on the edge of the seat across the aisle. His burgundy coat was buttoned unevenly, one side hanging slightly lower than the other. He corrected it while he Spoke.

“I’m Orin. You wanted to know about the Dream Stop?”

“Yes.”

Whimsy sipped her Hot Chocolate.

Sally could see a melting flake caught in the cuff of her sleeve.

“Whose Dream?”

“A Lighthouse Keeper’s.”

“Does he know we’re coming?”

“He knows the Train visits. Whether he Remembers us when he Wakes is another matter.”

“Are we supposed to be there?”

Orin finished adjusting his coat.

“He keeps a Light for Visitors. If it’s burning, we may stop. If it isn’t, we go on.”

Sally considered that.

It sounded rather more Respectful than simply stepping into Someone’s Sleeping Mind.

“What happens if he Wakes while we’re there?”

“The light changes. We leave.”

“How quickly?”

“You’ll have time. Stay where you can see the Lighthouse.”

Whimsy lowered her cup.

“And if the Fish get in the way?”

“Move.”

She nodded, accepting this as Sound Advice.

Sally looked toward the window.

Snow gathered against the Platform lamp. Beyond it, the Field lay quiet beneath the pale Sky.

“Can we Return after the Dream?”

“Yes. Speak to me before we leave that stop.”

She took a sip.

The Hot Chocolate was Delicious. The Peppermint was a nice touch, and the Sweet liquid Helped Warm her to her toes.

“Alright,” she said.

Orin stood.

“Rest for a bit. We’re waiting on the Line ahead.”

Whimsy looked at Sally's face and started Laughing.

"What?" Sally asked.

"You've a whipped cream mustache."

Whimsy laughed harder as Sally's eyes widened and she hurried to wipe it away.

"Gee, Thanks for the heads up," Sally said, blushing slightly.

Then she started Laughing too.

When the Laughter subsided, Whimsy leaned against the seat back.

Sally settled beside her.

For several minutes, neither Spoke.

The Train left Winter so gently that Sally didn’t notice the first movement.

She had closed her eyes.

When she opened them, the Platform was gone.

Outside, white thinned into pearl. The Trees became long dark streaks, then dissolved into blue.

She sat forward.

Whimsy followed her gaze.

“We’re nearly there.”

The rhythm beneath the Carriage changed.

The Familiar clack of wheels softened until Sally could hear only a low, Steady hum.

Beyond the glass, something silver passed.

A Fish.

Then another.

Sally put down her cup.

The second Fish paused beside the window. Its eye was dark and round, its fins moving almost too quickly to see.

She looked upward.

Water.

Light moved through it in broad, wavering bands.

“We’re Underwater.”

Whimsy nodded.

Sally waited for the alarm in her chest to become something useful.

Nothing leaked.

The lamps remained lit.

The Fish outside turned and vanished.

Whimsy moved nearer the glass.

“That one was looking at you.”

“I Noticed.”

“Maybe it likes Trains.”

“Possibly.”

Sally checked the ceiling.

No water there either.

The Carriage slowed.

Ahead of them, a beam of light swept through the blue.

It passed over a stand of Coral, caught the pale side of a large Fish, and continued into the distance.

On its next turn, Sally saw the Lighthouse.

It rose from the Ocean Floor, white stone narrowing toward a glass room at the top. Dark windows marked its height. A low wall enclosed the ground around it, and beside the wall stood a bench.

A bench.

Underwater.

Sally stared at that longer than she stared at the Lighthouse.

Then the Train stopped.

Orin opened the door.

Water waited beyond it.

Sally remained in her seat.

Whimsy stood, but didn’t hurry toward the steps.

“It’s alright,” she said.

Sally looked at the open doorway.

The Water wasn’t coming in.

Outside, a small Fish crossed the entrance and continued past, apparently finding nothing unusual about an open Train Carriage on the Ocean Floor.

Orin stood beside the rail.

“You’ll be able to Breathe. The Keeper can’t Swim around his own Dream holding his Breath all Night.”

Sally looked at him.

“That’s the explanation?”

“It’s the one he gave me.”

Whimsy held out her hand.

Sally rose.

At the doorway, she stopped again.

Coolness touched her face.

She could smell something faintly mineral, like wet stone.

“Do I need to—”

She didn’t know how to finish.

Hold her Breath.

Close her eyes.

Prepare for something her Body had spent thirty years Understanding as dangerous.

“Take your time,” Orin said.

Sally put one foot on the step.

The Water surrounded her shoe.

Then her ankle.

Nothing pulled.

She descended slowly, holding the rail until both feet rested on the ground.

She was Submerged.

Entirely.

She could Breathe.

The first Breath came shallowly.

The second was easier.

Whimsy stepped down beside her, curls lifting around her face.

Sally looked at the Child.

Whimsy looked back.

Then she turned upside down.

“Please don’t.”

The Child righted herself, Grinning.

Sally released the rail.

Her coat shifted gently around her. Her hair lifted from her neck.

She took another Breath.

“Alright,” she whispered.

Her Voice carried clearly through the Water.

A small School of Fish passed above them, their scales bright, and shining as they moved.

For the first time, she looked away from the Train.

The Ocean Floor was soft beneath Sally’s shoes.

Fine pale Sand lay between rocks covered in delicate green fronds. Coral rose nearby in branching shapes, pink at its tips and deep orange where the Light touched it.

Whimsy walked with a peculiar bouncing step.

Each push lifted her a little higher than it should have.

Sally tried not to imitate her.

Then she did, accidentally.

Her foot left the ground. She drifted forward, came down lightly, and looked behind her as though the floor might explain itself.

Whimsy Smiled.

“You can jump.”

“I gathered.”

“You can go quite far.”

“We’re staying near the Lighthouse.”

“We can still jump near it.”

A fair point.

Sally pushed gently from the Sand.

She rose.

Not far.

Enough for the ground to loosen its claim on her.

For a moment, she hung in the Water with her hands spread.

Then she settled again.

Whimsy watched, waiting.

Sally looked up at the turning Light.

“It’s rather nice.”

The Child’s Smile widened.

They followed the low wall toward the Lighthouse door.

A Man stood beside it, trying to free a coil of rope from a metal hook.

He wore a thick knitted jumper with the sleeves pushed back. His hair was silver at the temples and flattened on one side. A pair of boots rested beside the doorway.

His feet were bare.

He looked up as they approached.

“Visitors.”

“Hello,” Whimsy said.

The Man returned his attention to the rope.

“Mind that loop. It’ll catch your ankle.”

Sally stepped around it.

“Are you the Keeper?”

“Yes. I’m Ellis.”

“Sally.”

“Whimsy.”

He nodded to each of them, then pulled at the rope again.

It tightened.

Ellis stopped.

“That’s not helping.”

Sally studied the coil.

A loose end had slipped beneath the part caught on the hook. Each tug was drawing it harder against the metal.

“I think you need to loosen that bit first.”

Ellis looked down.

“Which bit?”

She pointed.

He tried.

The rope shifted, then caught again.

Sally glanced at him.

“May I?”

“Please.”

She crouched beside the wall.

The fibers felt rough against her fingers, reassuringly ordinary. She eased the loose end backward, held it clear, and lifted the upper loop.

The rope came free.

Ellis caught the coil before it drifted upward.

“There.”

Sally stood.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ve been making that worse for some time.”

“I untangled a ladder earlier.”

“A ladder?”

“For a beetle,” Whimsy supplied.

Ellis looked at her.

“Did it work?”

“Tipping the jar over worked.”

“Usually worth trying the simpler thing first.”

He hung the rope on a different hook.

Then he opened the Lighthouse door.

“Come in. I’m checking the Light.”

The room at the bottom of the Lighthouse was round.

A table stood beneath one window. There were Charts on the wall, a shelf of mugs, and a chair with a folded blanket over its back.

Nothing floated away.

Sally had begun to appreciate that the Dream was selective about which difficulties it wished to include.

Whimsy stopped beside the table.

A little wooden Boat sat there.

Its Mast leaned slightly.

“Can I touch it?”

“Yes. Carefully.”

Ellis started toward the stairs.

Sally followed, then looked back.

Whimsy was turning the Boat between her hands.

“Coming?”

“In a minute.”

Sally waited.

The Child put it down and joined her.

The stairs curved tightly around the inside of the Tower. Sally could feel the stone beneath her hand as she climbed.

Through the narrow windows, Fish moved in and out of the turning Light.

“Do you Dream this often?” she asked.

“Most Nights.”

“Always the Lighthouse?”

Ellis glanced back.

“Usually.”

“Even though you work in one?”

“Yes.”

She considered the table, the charts, the mugs.

“Doesn’t it Feel like still being at work?”

Ellis stopped at a landing.

Beyond the window, a long ribbon of silver Fish crossed the blue.

“Not to me.”

He waited until they had passed.

“Up there, I watch the Water from outside it. Here, I get to see where the Light goes.”

Then he continued climbing.

Sally stayed at the window a Moment longer.

Work that didn't Feel like being at work...

Whimsy touched her sleeve.

“Look down.”

A Sea Turtle moved beneath them, its shell broad and dark, speckled with pale marks.

It passed slowly beyond the Tower.

Sally watched until it disappeared.

Then they climbed after Ellis.

The Lantern Room held more Light than Sally expected.

Glass enclosed it on every side. At the center, the Lamp turned within a framework of brass, sending its Beam through the Ocean.

There was no dazzling flame.

Just a Bright, Steady source she couldn’t look at directly for long.

Ellis examined a small gauge.

Then he frowned at the glass.

A frond of weed had caught against the outside of one pane.

Each time the Beam passed through it, a narrow shadow reached into the Water.

“That’s been bothering me.”

He went to a small door beside the framework.

Sally looked through the glass.

The weed was trapped beneath the edge of an outer bracket.

“Can you get to it?”

“Yes. Though it generally takes both hands, and the latch has opinions.”

He opened the door.

It swung back toward him.

Sally caught it.

“I can hold that.”

Ellis looked at her.

“That would Help.”

She braced it carefully while he moved outside.

Whimsy came to stand beside her.

Beyond the glass, Ellis worked the weed free in small movements. He didn’t wrench it away. He loosened the strands where they had wrapped around the bracket, gathering them into one hand.

A Fish approached to inspect him.

He waved it gently aside.

Whimsy Giggled.

Sally held the door.

It was a small Task.

No one watched the clock while she did it. No one measured how many doors she could hold in an hour.

Someone Needed a hand, and she had one available.

Ellis returned with the weed.

Sally let the door close.

The Beam turned again.

This time, it crossed the Ocean uninterrupted.

Ellis watched it pass through the Coral.

“Better.”

Whimsy moved to the glass.

Several Fish turned into the Light, following its path.

“Do they know where they’re going?”

“Some of them,” Ellis said.

Sally looked out.

The Beam reached farther than she could see.

They left the Lighthouse with Ellis a little later.

He carried the weed down to a patch of Sand beyond the wall, where it drifted away in loose green ribbons.

Whimsy had begun bouncing again.

A little push.

A slow rise.

A soft landing.

Sally tried it beside her.

This time, she rose higher.

Her feet moved beneath her without finding the ground.

She reached instinctively toward the wall, missed it, and spread her hands.

The Water held her.

Whimsy looked up.

“Don’t kick so much.”

“I’m not doing it deliberately.”

“Just little ones.”

Sally tried.

Her body turned slightly.

She moved forward.

Not walking.

Not falling.

She Laughed once, in Surprise.

Ellis stood beside the wall, watching the Light.

Whimsy pushed up to meet her.

“You’re doing it.”

“I appear to be.”

They Drifted Together above the pale Sand.

Sally could still see the Train beyond the Coral. She could still see the Lighthouse.

For once, Knowing how to Return made it easier to go a little Farther.

Something called from the Blue.

High and clear, followed by a rapid series of clicks.

Whimsy turned.

Sally followed her gaze.

At first, she saw only movement.

Then a silver shape emerged, smooth and quick, with light trailing along the edge of its fin.

Another followed.

Then three more.

Dolphins.

They curved around the Beam from the Lighthouse, passing through it in bright flashes.

Whimsy caught Sally’s hand.

“Wait here,” she whispered.

The smallest Dolphin turned toward them.

It approached slowly, its dark eye fixed on Sally.

She stayed still.

The Dolphin came nearer.

Then it touched her open palm with its nose.

Chapter Ten: Dolphins

 

The Dolphin’s nose was cool against Sally’s palm.

She held still.

Its eye watched her from the side of its head, dark and bright beneath the shifting Water. Along its back, silver deepened to blue. A pale line followed the edge of one fin, trailing light when it moved.

Sally curled her fingers slightly.

The Dolphin withdrew, turned, and came back.

This time, it nudged her hand.

A Laugh escaped her.

Whimsy drifted closer.

“It wants you to do it again.”

“Do what?”

“Whatever you did.”

“I stood here.”

“You aren’t standing.”

Sally looked down.

Her shoes hung a little way above the Sand.

“No,” she said. “Apparently not.”

She held out her hand.

The Dolphin approached, touched it, then rolled onto its side.

Its pale underside caught the Lighthouse Beam.

Whimsy reached toward it.

The Dolphin turned away from her, circled Sally once, and returned to the same open palm.

Whimsy lowered her hand.

“That one Likes you.”

Sally looked at her.

“It can Like both of us.”

“I Know.”

The Child’s voice suggested that Knowing had not improved the situation.

A larger Dolphin emerged behind her and gave the hem of her dress a gentle push.

Whimsy turned.

“Oh.”

The Dolphin clicked.

She clicked back, badly.

It answered.

Sally watched the Child try again, shaping the sound with her tongue.

The Dolphin made a much longer noise.

Whimsy frowned.

“I can’t do that one.”

Her smaller Companion swept past Sally’s shoulder.

She felt the movement of Water, cool against her cheek.

Then it returned and waited.

Whimsy’s Dolphin moved first.

It dipped toward the Sand, then rose in a long curve.

The Child followed with several determined kicks.

“Wait for me.”

The Dolphin slowed.

Sally watched Whimsy reach its side, one hand extended near the fin. When the Creature turned, she turned with it.

Her curls streamed behind her.

The smaller Dolphin beside Sally gave a short whistle.

“I’m rather new at this,” she told it.

It moved forward.

Stopped.

Looked back.

Sally pushed with her feet.

She Traveled farther than she expected, and had to spread her hands to keep from bumping into it.

The Dolphin slipped beneath her.

She felt its back brush her palm.

It rose again, placing its fin close to her hand.

Beyond them, Whimsy Laughed.

Sally glanced toward the Lighthouse.

The Tower stood clearly visible above the Coral. Its Light turned Steadily through the Blue.

She could still see Ellis beside the wall.

He lifted a hand.

Sally lifted hers.

Then she turned back to the Dolphin.

“Alright.”

She rested her hand lightly near its fin.

The Dolphin moved.

Sally moved with it.

For a moment, she was certain she would lose her grip, her shoes, or possibly the entire sensible arrangement of her limbs.

Then her Body found the movement.

The Water passed around her instead of holding her in place.

They rose above a low bed of Coral.

Sally’s feet trailed behind.

The Dolphin turned gently, bringing the Lighthouse into view again.

She Laughed.

Not because anything was funny.

Because she was going somewhere, quickly and easily, and none of the effort she expected was required.

Ahead, Whimsy looked back.

“You’re coming!”

“So it would seem.”

The Child Grinned and turned forward again.

The Pod gathered around them.

Sally couldn’t count them reliably. One passed overhead while another crossed beneath her, then the first reappeared on the other side.

Six, perhaps.

Or seven.

Their fins drew pale ribbons through the Water.

Whimsy released her Dolphin and spun once, arms spread.

“Did you see?”

“I did.”

“Can you do it?”

“Probably badly.”

“Try.”

Sally let go.

The Dolphin slipped away but remained close.

She drew one knee upward and turned her shoulders.

Nothing much happened.

Whimsy demonstrated again.

Sally copied her.

This time, she rolled halfway over and stopped with her feet above her head.

Whimsy dissolved into Laughter.

“Don’t leave me like this.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“That doesn’t make you less responsible.”

Sally reached out.

The Child took her hand and tugged.

They both turned.

For a few seconds, neither knew which way was up.

Then the Sand appeared beneath them again.

Sally steadied herself.

Whimsy was still Laughing.

“I think that counts.”

“As what?”

“A turn.”

“It was several turns. I’m advanced.”

A Dolphin passed between them.

Whimsy reached after it, missed, and pushed through the water with renewed determination.

Sally followed.

Ahead, Coral rose in narrow towers, orange at their bases and pink at their tips. Between them, small Fish gathered in bright, shifting clouds.

The Dolphins slowed.

Sally did too.

They entered a wide passage between two formations. Nothing brushed her shoulders, though she drew her arms closer Instinctively.

A School of silver Fish streamed across the opening.

She stopped.

Hundreds of tiny Bodies moved Together.

The Whole School bent around the Dolphins, separated into two flowing strands, and Joined again beyond them.

Sally lifted one hand.

A Fish passed close enough for her to see a pale blue mark above its eye.

Then it was gone.

Another took its place.

She forgot to hurry.

Whimsy waited at the far end.

“Sally.”

“I’m looking.”

“I Know. Come and look at this.”

The Child pointed beneath a Coral Arch.

A small orange Fish hovered there, facing a Dolphin several times its size.

The Dolphin moved left.

The Fish moved left.

It moved right.

The Fish followed.

Whimsy whispered, “It’s Guarding something.”

Sally watched.

The orange Fish advanced.

The Dolphin retreated.

“Successfully,” she said.

 

They Raced beside the Lighthouse.

The Dolphins appeared to Understand the Game before Sally did.

Whimsy Chose a pale rock near the wall as the finish.

“From here to there.”

Sally looked at the distance.

“That’s quite far.”

“You’ve got a Dolphin.”

“So have you.”

“Yes.”

The Child’s Dolphin rolled slightly beneath her hand, as though Ready.

Sally’s smaller Companion waited beside her.

“No going through the Coral,” Sally said.

“We’re going beside it.”

“And no changing where the Finish is because you’re losing.”

Whimsy looked offended.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Good.”

The Child raised Three fingers.

“Three. Two. One.”

She left before finishing the last word.

Sally’s Dolphin surged forward.

The Lighthouse wall swept past.

Water pressed coolly against her face. She couldn’t hear Whimsy’s Laughter clearly now, but she could see it in the Child’s open mouth and lifted cheeks.

They Traveled side by side.

Then Sally’s Dolphin dipped.

She thought they were slowing.

Instead, it rose in a smooth curve and brought her past Whimsy just before the pale rock.

Sally released her hand and drifted to a stop.

Whimsy arrived a moment later.

“That doesn’t count.”

Sally brushed hair out of her eyes.

“Why?”

“Yours went underneath.”

“There wasn’t a rule about underneath.”

“There should be.”

“We can make one for the next Race.”

Whimsy folded her arms.

Her Dolphin circled her, then nudged one elbow.

She ignored it.

Sally waited.

The smaller Dolphin beside her clicked.

Whimsy looked at it.

Then at Sally.

“You didn’t even know how to Swim here.”

“I’m a quick Learner.”

“That’s annoying.”

“Yes.”

The Child tried not to smile.

It lasted almost Three seconds.

“Again,” she said.

 

This time, Whimsy won.

Sally had been ahead until her Dolphin became Interested in something beneath a rock.

Apparently the Race was not its only commitment.

Whimsy touched the Finish first and threw up both hands.

Sally arrived slowly.

“I Believe mine stopped for Lunch.”

“That still counts.”

“Of course it does.”

Whimsy Grinned.

They Raced once more.

Neither reached the Finish.

A Turtle crossed their path, and both Dolphins turned to follow it.

The Turtle continued at its own pace, entirely unimpressed.

Afterward, they drifted above the Sand while the Pod circled nearby.

Whimsy’s dress moved softly around her knees.

Sally felt pleasantly tired.

Not worn down.

Used.

She looked at her hands. Fine Bubbles clung briefly to her fingertips before lifting away.

“Do you think Ellis remembers them?”

“Who?”

“The Dolphins. When he Wakes.”

Whimsy watched the smallest one turn beneath them.

“Maybe he Remembers being Happy.”

Sally considered that.

She Hoped he did.

The Lighthouse Beam crossed them.

It lit Whimsy’s face, then passed on.

Sally looked toward the Tower.

From this side, she could see a small upstairs window below the Lantern Room. Something pale rested on its sill.

A mug, perhaps.

Even here, he had somewhere to put his tea.

Her Dolphin rose beside her.

She touched its smooth back.

“Thank you.”

It made a short, questioning sound.

“I Know. You probably weren’t doing it for my benefit.”

The Dolphin stayed long enough for her hand to travel gently along its side.

Then it turned away.

Whimsy watched the Pod begin moving toward the Deeper Blue.

“Can we follow?”

Sally looked at the Lighthouse.

Then at the Dolphins.

They were already becoming indistinct.

“No. We stay where we can see the Light.”

The Child sighed.

But she didn’t argue.

Instead, she waved.

“Bye.”

One dolphin turned.

A pale fin flashed in the distance.

Then the Blue closed around them.

Sally Felt their absence more sharply than she expected.

Whimsy slipped her hand into hers.

They floated Together for a moment before starting back.

Ellis was sitting on the bench beside the wall.

He had put on his boots.

Sally came down onto the Sand, landing less awkwardly than before.

“Enjoy yourselves?”

“Yes,” Whimsy said.

At exactly the same time, Sally said, “Very much.”

Ellis Smiled.

“The little one’s curious.”

“It stopped during the Race,” Sally told him.

“Something under the rocks?”

“Yes.”

“He does that.”

Whimsy looked Pleased to have her Victory independently supported.

Ellis stood.

The Light above them turned.

For a moment, its color warmed from white to pale gold.

He looked up.

Sally Noticed.

“Is that the change?”

“Not yet. But I’ll be Waking soon.”

She turned toward the Train.

It remained beyond the Coral, lamps glowing through its windows.

“We should go.”

“There’s time to walk.”

Ellis accompanied them to the edge of the wall.

Whimsy bent to look at a small Shell in the Sand, then straightened without taking it.

Sally Remembered the broken one in her pocket.

Somewhere behind them, the Lighthouse Beam turned again.

Gold reached through the Water.

“Will you be here another time?” Sally asked.

“Probably.”

He said it without making a promise that the Dream might not keep.

She Liked that.

“Thank you for letting us Visit.”

“Thank you for holding the door.”

Sally Smiled.

It had seemed such a small thing.

They left him beside the wall and crossed the Sand toward the train.

Inside the Carriage, the Water vanished from Sally’s clothes.

She stopped at the doorway and touched her sleeve.

Dry.

Her hair settled around her neck.

Whimsy shook her head anyway, scattering nothing.

Orin waited beside the seats.

“All Aboard?”

Sally looked out.

Ellis had returned to the bench.

The Lighthouse glowed pale gold above him.

“Yes.”

Orin closed the door.

Whimsy climbed into a seat and pulled out her Shell.

She examined it as though concerned that Meeting Dolphins might somehow have altered it.

Sally put her bag on her lap.

Inside her phone case, the copied passage remained dry.

She unfolded it.

The pencil marks looked ordinary beneath the carriage lamps.

 

The door was too small for the dragon.

So she opened the sky instead.

Outside, the Lighthouse began to recede.

Sally watched it through the window.

A Place Somebody Dreamed.

A Keeper who had Needed Help with a rope.

Dolphins who had better things to do than finish her Race.

She looked back at the Words.

Orin came down the aisle.

“Returning from here?”

Sally shook her head.

“Not yet.”

Whimsy looked up.

Orin waited.

“Someone in the Forest said a Library might Help me find a Story.”

“There are Libraries at several Stops.”

“This one has a Dragon.”

“That won’t narrow it much.”

“No,” Sally said. “I suppose it won’t.”

Whimsy leaned forward.

“I Know one.”

Sally turned to her.

“A Library?”

The Child nodded.

“Can we get there?”

“Yes. Not straight from here.”

Orin glanced at Whimsy.

“Between Stories?”

“Yes.”

He nodded as though that settled the matter.

“You’ll Need to leave the Train farther on. Ask again before the Fair.”

“The Fair?” Sally said.

Whimsy’s face brightened.

Orin continued toward the next Carriage.

Sally looked at the Child.

“You Know how to reach this Library?”

“I’ve been before.”

“Will you show me?”

Whimsy held the Shell still in her palm.

For once, she didn’t answer immediately.

Then she nodded.

“Yes.”

Sally folded the paper and returned it to her bag.

Outside, the last gold thread of the Lighthouse disappeared.

The Water began changing color.

Blue deepened into violet.

Far ahead, something bright flickered.

Whimsy moved closer to the window.

Sally watched beside her.

This time, she wasn’t waiting to be persuaded.

 

Chapter Eleven: The Fair That Goes On Forever

 

The first light became a Wheel.

Sally watched it grow beyond the window, a vast circle turning slowly against a violet sky. Its rim glowed gold. The little Carriages suspended from it shone in different Colors, rising blue and descending green, passing through rose at the top.

Whimsy pressed close to the glass.

“The Fair.”

Music reached them before the Train stopped.

Sally could hear bells, a quick burst of Laughter, then something that sounded like a whistle trying to become a Tune.

Beyond the Platform, a Roller Coaster climbed into pale pink Clouds.

She followed the Track upward.

It ended.

A Car swept off the final Rail and continued through the Sky.

Sally leaned back.

“Alright.”

Whimsy turned.

“You said that at the Meadow.”

“And I’ve been trying to mean it ever since.”

The Child Smiled.

Orin entered from the next Carriage.

“Fair. If you’re heading for the Library, this is where you leave us.”

Sally stood.

“How do we get there?”

“Transport Court at the far side. Ask for the Between.”

Whimsy looked toward the window.

“Can we see things first?”

Sally adjusted her bag.

“We can see some things.”

“How many?”

“I don’t think we need to establish a number.”

“More than one?”

“Yes.”

Orin waited beside the door while they gathered themselves.

Sally paused.

“The Paper in the lost-property drawer. Nell said I could ask for it again.”

He opened the drawer and looked through several items: a glove, a small red notebook, a spoon wrapped in cloth.

Then he found the Scrap.

“Still no Owner?”

Sally shook her head.

“Could I take it to the Library? The copy might not be enough.”

Orin read the two lines.

Then he held it out.

“If they find whose it is, they can send word.”

“How?”

“They’ll Know.”

Sally accepted that she was not going to obtain a postal address.

She placed the original beside her copy.

Whimsy watched her close the bag.

Then they stepped off the Train.

The Entrance Gates were striped red and white.

Whimsy touched one.

“Is that Candy?”

Sally caught her wrist gently before she could investigate with her mouth.

“Let’s not eat the Gate.”

“I was only wondering.”

“You were wondering very closely.”

A woman beneath a small Awning glanced up.

“Those aren’t Candy, Love. There’s a Stall inside.”

Whimsy gave Sally a look.

Sally let go of her wrist.

“An important distinction.”

The Woman Smiled and waved them through.

 

Inside, the Paths curved between Booths and Rides. Flags hung overhead. Somewhere nearby, Popcorn crackled in a pan.

A Carousel turned to their left.

Its Horses had no poles.

They rose and fell through the air, manes lifting as Children leaned forward in the saddles.

One Horse shook its head.

A little Girl on its back Laughed and stroked its neck.

Sally stopped to watch.

Whimsy waited beside her for approximately four seconds.

“The Roller Coaster’s this way.”

“I can see it from here.”

“That isn’t riding it.”

“No. It is considerably less alarming.”

Whimsy caught her hand.

“Come and look.”

Sally allowed herself to be led.

The Roller Coaster stood beyond a row of Game Booths. Its Rails looped above them, crossed twice, and disappeared into the Clouds.

At the Platform, an empty Car waited.

Purple paint curved along its side. Gold stars clustered near the front.

Sally looked at the Seats.

Then at the Rails.

Then at the place where there were no Rails.

“Does it always come back?”

Whimsy glanced toward the Operator.

A Man in a bright blue waistcoat stood beside the Controls.

He had clearly heard.

“Every time.”

Whimsy bounced once on her toes. She looked at Sally with a Hopeful expression.

“Can we Ride it? Please?”

Sally took a Breath.

She had floated through an Ocean.

This did not mean she had agreed to fall through a Sky.

The Operator opened the little gate.

“You can Decide from the Seat. It won’t move until you say.”

Sally stepped forward.

The Seat was softer than she expected.

Whimsy settled beside her and immediately gripped the bar.

Sally looked at the Operator.

“Not too fast.”

He considered the Track.

“It is a Roller Coaster.”

“Yes. I’ve identified the difficulty.”

Whimsy Giggled.

The Operator waited.

Sally looked up at the first Hill.

It wasn’t the missing Track that troubled her most now.

It was the climb. That slow approach to something she would no longer be able to stop.

She put both hands on the bar.

“Alright.”

The Operator lowered it carefully.

“Ready?”

Whimsy nodded.

Sally made herself say it.

“Yes.”

The Car moved.

It climbed beneath an arch hung with little brass bells. They rang softly as it passed.

Then the incline steepened.

Whimsy leaned forward.

Sally leaned back.

The Fair grew smaller beneath them.

She could see the Ferris Wheel, the Carousel, the bright tops of Stalls. Farther away stood a line of tethered Balloons.

The Library lay somewhere beyond this.

She Remembered that just as they reached the Crest.

The Car tipped.

Sally’s stomach seemed to remain at the Top.

The rest of her went Down.

She screamed.

Whimsy screamed too, but hers had Laughter inside of it.

They swept through the first Turn, Climbed a shorter Hill, then Curved sharply into the Clouds.

Cool pink mist touched Sally’s face.

She closed her mouth.

Whimsy opened hers.

“It tastes sweet.”

“I’m occupied.”

The Rails rose ahead.

Ended.

Sally saw the gap coming.

There was a brief, terrible moment in which she Understood exactly what she had agreed to.

Then the Car left the Track.

Nothing dropped.

They Flew.

The bar rested securely across her lap. Wind moved through her hair. Below them, the Fair spread in bright circles and winding Paths.

Sally loosened her grip one finger at a time.

Whimsy lifted one hand.

Then the other.

Sally kept hers where they were.

But she Laughed.

By the time the Car Curved toward the next stretch of Rail, she was Laughing hard enough that she barely noticed the Wheels settle.

Afterward, Sally sat on a bench.

Whimsy stood in front of her.

“Again?”

“No.”

“Later?”

“Ask me when my legs Belong to Me again.”

The Child looked down at Sally’s knees.

“They’re still there.”

“I’m pleased you’ve checked.”

Whimsy sat beside her.

For a moment, they watched the Car climb away with new Passengers.

Sally heard a scream rise above the Music.

She Understood it intimately.

Whimsy swung her feet.

“You liked the Flying bit.”

“Yes.”

“Would you do that bit again?”

“Without the Falling bit?”

The Child nodded.

Sally looked toward the distant Balloons.

“Possibly.”

Whimsy followed her gaze.

“Those go Between Dreams.”

“Toward the Library?”

“They can.”

Sally stood.

“Then we should Find Out.”

Whimsy rose too.

But halfway along the next Path, she stopped beside a Ring-Toss Booth.

Sally Recognized the look before the Child Spoke.

“One Game.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“You were preparing.”

Whimsy Grinned.

The Rings were made of pale Light, stacked beside Bottles shaped like Stars.

A Woman behind the Counter gave them Three each.

Sally weighed one in her palm.

It was lighter than it looked.

Whimsy threw first.

Her Ring sailed past the Bottles.

She frowned.

The second hit a point and bounced away.

Sally aimed.

Missed.

Whimsy tried her last Ring.

It caught, settled, then slipped from the edge.

The Child stared at it.

“That nearly stayed.”

“Very nearly,” the Woman said.

Sally threw again.

Her second Ring landed nowhere useful.

She held the last one.

Adjusted her arm.

Threw.

The Ring settled around the neck of a blue Star.

Whimsy looked at Sally.

“How did you do that?”

“I Wish I could tell you.”

The woman reached beneath the Counter.

She brought out a Snow Globe.

Inside, pale Sand lay beneath a miniature Lighthouse.

Tiny Dolphins moved through blue Water.

Sally went still.

Whimsy leaned close.

“It’s them.”

The smallest Dolphin circled the Tower.

A gold Beam turned through the glass.

Sally accepted the Globe with both hands.

“How did you know about the Dolphins?”

The Woman nodded toward the Ring.

“That’s what you won.”

It was not an explanation.

Sally didn’t ask again.

 

They carried the Globe between them for a while.

Whimsy held it first, walking slowly so she could watch the Dolphins.

Then Sally took it when the Child wanted to Investigate a Booth of Balloons.

These were much smaller than the ones near the Transport Court.

They hummed when their strings moved.

Whimsy listened to a yellow one.

Then a blue one.

“Which do you Like?” Sally asked.

“The blue.”

Its Tune wandered Pleasantly, never quite repeating.

The Stallholder lowered it for her.

Whimsy held the string.

The Balloon tilted toward Sally.

A few notes sounded.

She Recognized them.

The Clock in the City.

Whimsy looked up.

“That Song again.”

“Yes.”

Sally waited until the little Tune ended.

Then she looked along the Path.

A Sign pointed toward TRANSPORT.

Beyond it, the large Balloons lifted against their tethers.

“I’d like to go there now.”

Whimsy’s fingers closed around the string.

“We haven’t seen the Mirrors.”

“We’ve seen quite a lot.”

“There might be something Good in them.”

“There probably is.”

The Child looked down.

Sally shifted the Globe into one hand.

“Do you want to stay at the Fair?”

Whimsy didn’t answer immediately.

Music drifted from the Carousel.

A Horse swept above the roof of a nearby Booth, carrying a Boy who waved at Someone below.

Finally, Whimsy said, “The Library’s different.”

“How?”

The Child rubbed the string between her fingers.

“Quieter.”

“I Think I can manage quieter.”

Whimsy shook her head.

“That isn’t all.”

Sally waited.

“It has things you haven’t looked at for a long time.”

Sally felt the Papers inside her bag without touching them.

“That’s why I want to go.”

“I Know.”

The Child’s Voice was small.

Sally tucked the Globe carefully in her bag, and held out her free hand.

“We don’t have to hurry through it.”

Whimsy looked at her.

“And you don’t have to answer every question before we get there.”

The Child nodded.

She returned the Singing Balloon to its hook.

Then she took Sally’s hand.

The Transport Court lay beyond the busiest part of the Fair.

Here the Paths widened. Music softened behind them.

Several Hot-Air Balloons waited inside a low enclosure, their Baskets resting on the ground. Some were plain. Others carried patterns so intricate Sally couldn’t follow them from a distance.

One was covered in tiny dark windows.

Another resembled a pale blue Flower, its panels overlapping toward the top.

Near the Entrance, a small Booth stood between a Food Stall and the Hall of Mirrors.

GRAND PRIZE was painted above it.

Behind the Counter sat an old Woman with silver rings on her fingers.

She was arranging Milk Bottles into a Pyramid.

Whimsy slowed.

The Woman looked up.

“Travelers?”

Sally nodded.

“We’re looking for a way to the Library Between Stories.”

The Woman glanced toward the enclosure.

Then she pointed to a Balloon tethered beside her Booth.

Its fabric was patchwork.

Deep blue beside warm yellow. Green beside rose. Gold stitching joined the panels, catching the light whenever the Balloon shifted.

The Basket beneath it looked large enough for two.

“That one Knows the Way.”

Sally approached the Counter.

“What does it cost?”

“One Throw.”

The Woman placed a Ball before her.

Sally looked at the Bottles.

Then at the Balloon.

“And if I miss?”

“You can try the Transport Office. They’ll see what’s available.”

There was no demand hidden in it.

No warning that this was her only chance.

Sally appreciated that.

Whimsy stood beside her, watching the patchwork lift gently against its rope.

The old Woman rolled the Ball closer.

It stopped beneath Sally’s hand.

Soft.

Light.

Sally looked once more toward the Balloon.

Then she picked it up.

Chapter Twelve: The Grand Prize

 

The Ball fitted Comfortably in Sally’s hand.

She turned it once.

Its surface gave beneath her fingers, soft as tightly packed cloth. It weighed almost nothing.

Across the Counter, the old Woman finished straightening the Bottles.

Three at the bottom. Two above. One at the top.

Sally had seen Games like this before.

Usually, from a sensible distance.

“Where do I stand?”

The Woman pointed to a blue line beneath her feet.

“Behind that.”

Sally moved back half a step.

Whimsy stood beside her, looking from the Bottles to the Balloon.

“Not at the top,” she whispered.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“I was Helping.”

“I Know.”

Sally shifted her bag farther around her shoulder.

The Snow Globe was inside now, wrapped in the cardigan she had brought without Remembering doing so. She could feel its weight against her hip.

She looked at the Bottles.

The middle one on the bottom row leaned slightly to the left.

She aimed there.

Then lowered her hand.

The old Woman waited.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.”

Sally looked toward the Balloon again.

The patchwork fabric rose in a gentle curve. Gold seams crossed it, joining Colors she would never have thought to place together.

It tugged once against its tether.

She had asked for a way to the Library.

Here was a possible one.

Whimsy touched her sleeve.

“You don’t have to get it.”

Sally looked down.

The Child’s face was serious.

“We could ask at the Office,” Whimsy added.

“Yes.”

Sally drew back her arm.

Then she Threw.

The Ball struck the bottom row.

There was a sharp clatter.

Two Bottles fell sideways. The upper Bottles dropped into the gap, knocking the last one from its place.

For a moment, Sally heard nothing but glass rolling across wood.

Then Whimsy caught her hand.

“You did it!”

The old Woman inspected the empty stand.

“So she did.”

Sally looked at her own fingers.

The throw hadn’t felt especially good.

Perhaps that wasn’t always necessary.

The Woman came around the Counter carrying a small leather pouch.

She handed it to Sally.

“What’s this?”

“Instructions.”

Sally opened it.

Inside lay a folded card and a little brass object shaped like a Compass.

She took out the card first.

The writing was clear.

KEEP THE GATE CLOSED WHILE TRAVELING.

DO NOT LEAN OVER THE EDGE.

TO STOP, PULL THE RED CORD.

Below those lines, in smaller letters:

The balloon will descend at the nearest suitable landing place. This may not be the place directly beneath you.

Sally read that twice.

Whimsy leaned against her arm to look.

“There’s a red cord?”

The Woman pointed to the Basket.

“Inside.”

Sally took out the brass object.

A glass face covered a single needle. Around its edge were no directions she recognized.

Instead, there were little marks.

A Cloud.

An open Book.

A window.

A circle crossed by a line.

“Is this how we steer?”

“It Helps you keep your Destination.”

“How?”

“Hold it and say where you intend to go.”

Sally studied it.

“The Library Between Stories.”

The needle moved.

It swung past the Cloud, hesitated near the Window, then settled toward the open Book.

Whimsy Smiled.

The Woman nodded.

“There.”

“Does it take us straight there?”

“Not always straight. It takes a Route it can Travel.”

“Through other Dreams?”

“Possibly. Through Memories too.”

Sally looked up.

“Memories?”

The Woman folded her hands.

“You’ll see where you are when you arrive.”

That was not as reassuring as Sally would have liked.

But the instructions in her hand were specific. The Basket had a gate. There was a way to stop.

She could work with that.

“What if we want to come back?”

“Give it the new Destination.”

“To the Fair?”

“Yes.”

“To the Meadow?”

“If it can reach it.”

Sally looked at the little needle.

It remained steady.

The Woman followed her gaze.

“It will tell you if it can’t.”

“How?”

“The needle won’t settle.”

Sally closed her fingers around the Compass.

Beside them, the Balloon shifted in the Breeze.

The Basket was sturdier than it looked from the Booth.

Its woven sides rose almost to Sally’s waist. Inside, a narrow bench followed one wall. A red cord hung beside the frame, its end tied into a thick knot.

Sally touched the gate latch.

It lifted easily.

She opened it and peered inside.

No burner.

No fuel.

Nothing above them except the patchwork and a circle of ropes.

She glanced back at the Woman.

“How does it stay up?”

“Very well.”

Sally waited.

The Woman’s mouth curved.

“I don’t know what answer you need.”

“A mechanical one would be comforting.”

“You won’t find one in this Basket.”

Whimsy stepped closer.

“We can still go.”

“Yes,” Sally said. “We can.”

The Child climbed inside.

Sally passed her the bag.

“Put that on the bench. Carefully.”

Whimsy set it down, supporting the bottom with both hands.

Then Sally entered.

The Basket moved beneath her weight.

She caught the rim.

Whimsy looked at her quickly.

“It’s alright.”

“I’m Discovering that.”

Sally closed the gate.

Tested the latch.

Then tested it again.

The old Woman stood outside holding the tether.

“Destination?”

Sally opened her hand.

The needle still pointed toward the Book.

“The Library Between Stories.”

Whimsy looked up at the patchwork.

The Woman loosened the rope.

For a few seconds, nothing happened.

Then the Basket lifted.

Sally felt the ground leave before she saw it.

The Woman’s head dropped below the rim.

Whimsy grasped the edge with both hands.

Sally put one hand beside hers and watched the Booth grow smaller.

The Milk Bottles lay neatly Stacked again.

The old Woman raised her hand.

Sally waved back.

Then they rose above the Awnings.

From the Roller Coaster, the Fair had passed too quickly to examine.

Now it opened beneath them.

The Ferris Wheel turned slowly beside the Carousel. Flags stretched between roofs. People followed the winding Paths, stopping, separating, Gathering again.

Sally could see the Ring-Toss Stall.

The little Bottles looked like a scatter of Stars.

Farther away, the Train waited beside the Platform.

Someone stood at an open door.

Orin, perhaps.

She couldn’t be certain.

The Balloon rose higher.

Whimsy’s knuckles had gone pale.

Sally looked down at her.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

The answer came too quickly.

Sally waited.

The Child kept looking at the Fair.

“You don’t have to stand,” Sally said.

“I want to see,” Whimsy replied.

“You can sit and still see some of it.”

Whimsy shook her head.

The Basket swayed.

Her grip tightened.

Sally moved her bag to the floor and sat on the bench.

“There’s room beside me.”

Whimsy looked at her.

“I’m not frightened.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

Another small sway.

The Child sat.

Immediately.

Sally made room.

They looked through the woven side of the Basket, where strips of violet Sky showed between the strands.

Above them, a rope creaked softly.

Whimsy listened.

“What was that?”

“A rope.”

“Is it supposed to do that?”

Sally looked up.

Nothing had loosened. The Lines remained taut.

“I think so.”

The Child leaned into her.

Sally put an arm around her shoulders.

 

For a while, they sat without speaking.

The Music faded.

Sally Noticed its absence before she Noticed how far away the Fair had become.

There was no sudden silence.

The sounds simply grew thinner, until only one distant bell remained.

Then that too disappeared.

Whimsy lifted her head.

“Have we left it?”

Sally stood carefully, keeping one hand on the rim.

The Fair lay far below, a Bright patch surrounded by softer Colors.

Beyond it, the Sky was changing.

Rose folded into gold. Pale blue crossed both, translucent enough that Sally could see one Color through another.

She sat again.

“Yes. Nearly.”

Whimsy looked at the Compass in Sally’s hand.

“Is it still pointing?”

Sally showed her.

The needle trembled once, then settled.

The open Book.

“Yes.”

The Child rubbed a finger along the edge of the bench.

“I Liked the Fair.”

“So did I.”

“We could have stayed longer.”

“We could.”

Whimsy glanced up.

Sally looked at the patchwork overhead.

A yellow panel glowed where light passed through it. Beside it, a deep blue square carried a tiny Repair, stitched in green.

“But I want to Find the Story.”

The Child nodded.

After a moment, Sally added, “You Helped me do that.”

“What?”

“Get this far.”

Whimsy looked down at her shoes.

“I didn’t Throw the Ball.”

“No.”

“I didn’t win the Globe either.”

“You showed me the Fair.”

The Child considered this.

Then she leaned against Sally again.

This time, her shoulders were less rigid.

They passed through a Veil of pale gold.

Sally felt it brush her face, light as a strand of hair.

The Fair disappeared.

She stood before she could stop herself.

Whimsy rose beside her.

Below them lay no ground.

Only layers of Color, moving slowly across one another.

The Basket continued Forward.

Sally looked at the Compass.

Still the Book.

She held it firmly, though she Knew gripping it harder would not improve its Judgment.

Whimsy reached for her hand.

“Can we stop?”

Sally looked at the red cord.

“Yes.”

The Child looked at it too.

Neither moved.

“Do you want to?” Sally asked.

Whimsy Thought.

The Balloon drifted through another soft band of Light.

“I don’t know.”

Sally Understood that answer.

“We can sit for a moment before Deciding.”

They sat.

The Basket remained beneath them. The gate remained closed. The ropes held.

Sally counted those things without meaning to.

Beside her, Whimsy rubbed the yellow pocket of her dress.

“The Roller Coaster was different.”

“It was.”

“You Knew where it went.”

“More or less.”

“It came back to the same place.”

Sally looked at her.

“That mattered?”

Whimsy nodded.

Sally kept the Compass where they could both see it.

“We have a Place we’re going.”

“I Know.”

“And we can ask it to take us somewhere else.”

The Child looked at the red cord again.

After a while, she let go of her pocket.

“I want to Keep Going.”

“Alright.”

Sally stayed beside her.

Neither stood until the Colors began to thin.

The first Cloud looked like a Whale.

It moved across the open blue beyond the Basket, vast and pale, its tail lifting slightly as though it had somewhere to be.

Whimsy saw it first.

“Sally.”

Sally turned.

The Whale drifted past.

Behind it came a Cloud with Towers.

Not a vague suggestion of Towers.

A Castle, complete with narrow windows and a bridge joining two high turrets.

Whimsy stood.

Slowly this time.

She kept one hand on the bench until she reached the rim.

Sally stood beside her.

A Sailing Ship emerged beyond the Castle.

Its Cloud Sails billowed.

Fine Ropes stretched between its Masts.

“I saw one like that in the Meadow,” Sally said.

Whimsy nodded.

“This one’s better.”

“It has considerably more equipment.”

A flash of green crossed the Basket.

Then red.

A Parrot landed on the rim.

It tilted its head and examined Sally.

Another settled beside Whimsy, blue feathers shining beneath a yellow crest.

The Child held very still.

“Hello.”

The Bird whistled.

Whimsy Smiled.

More Parrots moved between the Clouds, their Colors bright against the white.

Sally looked upward.

Something smaller followed them, flapping with determined, uneven strokes.

She narrowed her eyes.

A round body.

A red comb.

Two feet tucked beneath it.

“Is that a Chicken?”

Whimsy followed her gaze.

The Chicken passed above the Basket and clucked.

Sally Laughed.

It sounded deeply serious.

The Bird turned toward a Cloud shaped like a Barn and continued on its way.

Whimsy leaned against the rim, watching it.

Her hands were no longer clenched.

Sally glanced at the Compass.

The needle still pointed toward the Book.

Then she looked back at the sky.

For a little while, the Library could wait.

 

Chapter Thirteen: A Chicken in the Sky

 

The Parrot on the rim leaned toward Sally’s sleeve.

“No.”

It paused.

Then leaned farther.

Sally moved her arm.

The Bird looked at her with one bright eye and made a sound remarkably like a creaking door.

Whimsy Laughed.

“It wants the button.”

“It can’t have the button.”

“Tell it.”

“I thought I had.”

The Parrot stepped sideways along the woven edge, considering a new approach.

Beside Whimsy, the blue Bird lifted its crest. It whistled three clear notes, paused, and whistled them again.

Whimsy answered.

Her first attempt was mostly air.

The Bird waited.

She tried again.

This time, one note emerged.

The Parrot tipped its head.

“That was Better,” Sally said.

Whimsy glanced at her.

“Not much.”

“No. But Better.”

The Child tried a Third time.

Two notes.

The Bird responded with a long, elaborate phrase.

Whimsy lowered her chin.

“Show-off.”

Sally Smiled.

Above them, the Cloud Ship passed across the Sun. Its shadow softened the Basket for a moment, then moved on.

Sally watched its pale Sails.

They seemed to fill from a Breeze that never reached her face.

“Whose Dream is this?”

“A Pilot’s.”

Whimsy held out one finger. The blue Parrot stepped onto it, carefully placing one foot and then the other.

“She Flies Planes.”

“I gathered that.”

“But she likes Birds too.”

“And Chickens?”

The Child nodded.

Sally looked toward the Cloud Barn.

The Chicken stood on its roof now.

Or on the place where a roof appeared to be.

Its claws gripped nothing Sally could understand, yet it seemed secure.

It shook itself.

A little white feather drifted down.

“She has ambitious Chickens.”

“They can’t Fly like that when she’s Awake.”

“No.”

Whimsy lifted the Parrot closer to her face.

“Maybe that’s why she Dreams it.”

A narrow Cloud Road emerged beyond the Barn.

It curved through the Sky between Fields of pale green and white. Above it, more Cloud shapes drifted: a Windmill, a row of Trees, a great rounded Hill.

For a moment, Sally thought the Balloon was descending toward them.

Then she saw the Road rise.

Or perhaps their Route was simply bringing them alongside it.

A Woman walked there.

She wore a brown Flying Jacket over a blue shirt, her sleeves pushed back. Her hair was tied behind her head. A Parrot clung to one shoulder.

The Chicken left the Barn roof and Flew toward her.

She held out an arm.

It landed badly.

One wing struck her cheek.

"Pff!"

The Woman closed her eyes.

“Graceful as ever.”

Sally Laughed before she could stop herself.

The Woman looked toward the Basket.

Then she Smiled.

“Visitors?”

“Apparently,” Sally said.

The Balloon slowed beside the Road.

Not quite stopping.

The Woman matched its pace without seeming to hurry.

“I’m June.”

“Sally. This is Whimsy.”

Whimsy held up her blue Parrot.

June examined it.

“That one’s a menace.”

The Bird whistled.

“Beautifully disguised,” Sally said.

“It Knows.”

The Chicken shifted on June’s arm, settling its feet.

Sally glanced at the Cloud Road beneath her boots.

“Does that hold you?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

June looked down.

“I try not to ask while I’m standing on it.”

Sally considered the Basket beneath her.

“Fair enough.”

June Smiled, then looked toward the Balloon.

“Where are you heading?”

“The Library Between Stories.”

“Lovely. You should pass out of here beyond the Windmill.”

Sally checked the Compass.

The needle rested toward the open Book.

“Do you know the Library?”

“Only by reputation.”

“Is it far?”

June looked toward the pale Sails turning above the Clouds.

“From here? Not especially. Depends what you stop for.”

Whimsy watched the Chicken.

It watched her back.

“Can I touch it?”

“If it comes to you.”

June brought her arm beside the Basket.

The Chicken stretched its neck.

Whimsy offered an empty hand.

It pecked gently at one finger.

The Child pulled back.

June nodded.

“That’s about as affectionate as she gets.”

The Balloon continued slowly along the Cloud Road.

June walked beside it.

The chicken had transferred to the Basket rim. Its feet made a small scratching sound as it found its balance.

Sally watched the claws.

“Will it damage this?”

“Not much.”

“That wasn’t quite the answer I wanted.”

June gave the Basket an appraising look.

“It seems sturdier than my fence.”

Whimsy was examining the Chicken’s feathers.

The little Bird had a russet back, pale markings around its neck, and a Determined red face.

“What’s her Name?”

“Marmalade.”

Whimsy looked Delighted.

Sally studied the Chicken.

“That suits her.”

“She disagrees with most things. The Name included.”

Marmalade clucked.

June inclined her head.

“There.”

Ahead, the Cloud Road divided around a tall white Tree.

Its Branches held Parrots in almost every Color Sally could name.

Some groomed themselves.

Others leaned toward their Neighbors, apparently sharing Important information.

A yellow Bird hung upside down from one Branch.

Sally stopped counting.

June lifted her arm, and the Parrot from her shoulder moved onto the Tree.

“Does this happen every time you Dream?” Sally asked.

“Variations.”

“The Birds?”

“Usually.”

“The Flying?”

“Always, when I’m Lucky.”

Sally looked at her jacket.

“You Fly when you’re Awake.”

“Inside a machine.”

June watched a scarlet Parrot leave the Tree.

“I like the machine. I Know how it works. I’ve spent years Learning what to do when something goes wrong.”

She followed the Bird with her eyes.

“But sometimes I’d like to feel the Air without a windshield between us.”

Sally rested her palm against the Balloon’s rim.

She Remembered the Dolphin’s movement beneath her hand.

The easy turn.

The Water carrying her.

“Yes,” she said. “I Think I Understand.”

At the white Tree, June stopped.

The Road curved away beneath the Balloon, leaving a widening strip of Open Sky between them.

Marmalade flapped onto June’s arm.

This landing was marginally better.

“I should go this way,” June said.

She pointed toward a small Flock moving beyond the Cloud Fields.

Whimsy lifted the Parrot from her finger.

It stepped onto the rim.

“Will we see you again?”

June looked up.

“Perhaps.”

The answer disappointed the Child. Sally could see it in the way her hand lowered.

June Noticed too.

“If not, you’ve met Marmalade. That’s more than many People can claim.”

Whimsy Smiled.

Marmalade clucked Importantly.

Then June took one step from the Cloud Road.

Sally’s hand closed around the Basket.

The Woman did not fall.

She spread her arms.

Her jacket lifted at the shoulders. She rose gently, then turned, feet leaving the Cloud beneath her.

The Chicken took Flight beside her.

For a Moment, they moved Together: June, the Chicken, the Parrots.

Then the Woman waved.

Sally raised her hand.

Whimsy waved with both.

They watched until June became a small dark shape among the bright Birds.

The Balloon drifted on.

Whimsy stood quietly for a while.

The blue Parrot remained on the rim, preening a feather beneath one wing.

Sally checked the Compass.

Then she put it back in the pouch.

“You don’t have to keep looking,” Whimsy said.

“I Know.”

“The Balloon’s going.”

“Yes.”

Sally settled onto the bench.

Her feet were Grateful.

Whimsy stayed standing, watching the Birds.

After a moment, she said, “I Thought I’d Know more.”

Sally looked up.

“About what?”

“All of it.”

The Child rubbed at a loose stitch on her pocket.

“I Knew the Meadow. And the Train. And the Fair.”

“You Knew quite a lot.”

“But not everything.”

“No.”

Whimsy turned.

“Does that bother you?”

Sally considered the question before answering.

“It bothered me when I thought you Knew things and wouldn’t tell me.”

The Child lowered her eyes.

“But not-knowing is different,” Sally added.

Whimsy sat beside her.

The Basket creaked softly.

Sally looked at the patchwork overhead.

“I keep wanting Someone to tell me exactly what happens next.”

“Why?”

“So I can be Ready.”

“For what?”

“That’s the difficulty.”

Whimsy waited.

Sally rested her hands on her knees.

“At work, if I put something in the wrong place, it comes back. Sometimes with a very long explanation of why I should have known better.”

“Do you always know better?”

“No.”

“Then why do they say it?”

Sally smiled without much pleasure.

“I don’t know.”

The Child thought about this.

Sally watched a small Cloud drift past, shaped like a cup with its handle broken.

“Sometimes I Feel as though I’ve already done something wrong,” she said, “before I’ve even started.”

Whimsy looked at her.

“Because you don’t know?”

“Yes.”

The Child drew one foot onto the bench, then glanced at Sally.

Sally let it stay.

“I don’t know where the Balloon puts us down,” Whimsy admitted.

“Near the Library?”

“I Think so.”

“Then we’ll Find Out.”

Whimsy studied her face.

“You're getting better at that.”

Sally leaned back.

“I’m Practicing.”

The Parrot gave one last whistle and left the rim.

Whimsy watched it catch up with two green Birds.

Then they all disappeared behind a Cloud shaped like an enormous open Hand.

Sally lifted the Compass again.

The needle still pointed toward the Book.

Below it, near the edge of the brass face, the Window mark caught the light.

She tipped it.

The needle trembled.

Whimsy leaned closer.

“Is it changing?”

“No. I moved it.”

They watched until it settled.

Beyond the Basket, the Clouds began thinning.

The Windmill stood ahead.

Its Sails turned slowly, scattering tiny white wisps from their edges. Behind it lay a band of soft gold.

Sally Recognized the appearance of a Threshold now.

Not exactly the same as the wall in her apartment.

But something in the way the Air Folded.

She put the Compass away.

“We’re leaving the Dream.”

Whimsy nodded.

This time, neither sat down in fear.

They stood Together, hands resting on the rim.

The Balloon passed the Windmill.

Gold brushed across the Basket.

For a moment, Sally could see nothing beyond it.

Then the Light cleared.

Below them lay Trees.

Not cloud trees.

These had dark Trunks and broad Green Crowns. A Clearing opened between them, warm with lantern light.

Three painted Wagons stood around its edge.

Sally leaned forward a little.

People moved beside them.

Someone was carrying a chair. Someone else shook out a length of Bright Fabric.

A clear Musical Note rose through the Evening Air.

Whimsy looked down.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“The Traveling Troupe.”

The Balloon began descending.

Sally touched the Compass through its pouch.

The Library was still their Destination.

But below them, a tiny Dragon darted above a Wagon roof with something white clutched in its claws.

A Man in a dark blue coat looked up.

“Bring that back.”

The Dragon continued.

Sally Laughed.

The Basket drifted lower.

 

Chapter Fourteen: What People Keep

 

The Dragon landed on the highest Wagon.

It folded its wings, placed the stolen Card beneath one claw, and looked down.

Felix stood below it.

His long coat was a blue so deep that the shadows made it almost black. Rhinestones edged the collar and cuffs, catching the lantern light whenever he moved.

He held the rest of the Deck in one hand.

“That is not yours.”

The Dragon lowered its head and examined the Card.

“Yes,” Felix said. “Very Interesting. Bring it here.”

It shifted the Card farther beneath its foot.

Whimsy leaned against the Basket’s rim.

“It’s keeping it.”

“I Noticed.”

The Balloon descended toward the edge of the Clearing.

Sally looked for somewhere to land.

A patch of grass lay beyond the chairs, clear of the Wagons and the People gathering between them.

The Basket drifted toward it.

She kept one hand on Whimsy’s shoulder.

“Wait until we’re down.”

“I am.”

The bottom touched the grass.

Lifted slightly.

Settled.

Sally stood still until she was Certain the movement had stopped.

Nearby, a Man carrying two folded chairs paused.

He looked at the Balloon, then at them.

“Evening.”

“Hello,” Sally said.

He shifted the chairs beneath his arm.

“Keep that clear of the Path, would you?”

Sally looked at the Basket.

“I’m not entirely sure how.”

He studied the patchwork overhead.

“It seems to have managed.”

Then he carried the chairs toward the Audience.

Whimsy Smiled.

Sally opened the gate.

Up close, the Wagons were even more Beautiful.

Painted vines curved around their doors. Gold trim followed the windows. One wheel had been Repaired with a paler piece of wood, and Someone had painted a small Flower across the join.

Lanterns hung from hooks beneath the eaves.

A Woman with red hair stood beside a table, tossing three small balls into the air. A compass swung on a chain around her neck.

She caught all three when she saw them.

“Found yerselves a seat?”

“Not yet,” Sally said.

“There’s room near the front.”

Whimsy looked immediately Interested.

Sally glanced toward Felix.

He had moved beneath another section of roof.

The Dragon walked along the ridge to remain directly above him.

The woman followed her gaze.

“He’ll get it back.”

“Does this happen often?”

“Of'n enough.”

She tucked the balls into a pocket.

“Come on. Yer just in time.”

They followed her between the Wagons.

A Young Man with blond hair sat tuning an Instrument, listening closely after each adjustment. Beside him, a Woman with moonlight-colored hair lifted one hand.

A little Light gathered above her palm.

Whimsy stopped.

The Woman let it rise, where it opened into several pale points.

Then she closed her fingers.

The Lights vanished.

Whimsy drew in a Breath.

Sally touched her elbow gently.

The Child moved on, still looking back.

Near the far Wagon, Food steamed above a cooking pot. A Woman stirred it, then bent to check something beneath a folded cloth.

The smell reached Sally.

Warm Bread.

Herbs.

Something else.

For an instant, she wanted to go closer without knowing why.

A gruff Voice interrupted.

“Not there. Move it left.”

The Man with the chairs obeyed.

“No. Your other left.”

Sally looked toward Whimsy.

The Child had heard it too.

They exchanged a small Smile.

They sat in the second row.

Whimsy wanted the first, but two small Children occupied the remaining spaces there, and she accepted the distinction reluctantly.

Sally put her bag beneath the chair.

Then she looked around.

The Audience was small.

A Woman held a Sleeping Child against her chest. An older Man sat with his hands folded over a walking stick. Several Children occupied a patch of grass beside the chairs.

Beyond the Wagons, massive horned Creatures rested beneath the Trees.

One lifted its head.

A Figure beside it Spoke quietly, resting a hand against its neck.

“Trotters,” Whimsy whispered.

Sally watched the Creature lower its head again.

“Are they friendly?”

“If you’re sensible.”

“An excellent arrangement.”

Whimsy settled into her chair.

Above them, the Dragon took flight.

Felix looked up.

It circled once, Card still clutched beneath it, then landed on the back of an empty chair.

Two Children began Laughing.

Felix approached slowly.

His expression remained Dignified, though Sally suspected the Dignity was requiring considerable Effort.

He held out his hand.

The Dragon looked at it.

Then at the Deck.

Felix sighed.

He drew out another Card and turned it toward the Audience.

Nothing was painted on its face.

He passed his hand across it.

A tiny Dragon appeared.

Whimsy leaned forward.

The Real Dragon did too.

Felix offered the new Card.

A moment later, the stolen one dropped into his palm.

The Audience applauded.

Felix tucked it back into the Deck.

“An exchange,” he said, “conducted under unreasonable conditions.”

Sally Laughed.

The Dragon climbed onto the chair back with its new possession and looked thoroughly Satisfied.

The Performance began without anyone declaring that it had Begun.

The young Musician Played a few clear Notes.

Conversation softened.

The moonlight-haired Woman stepped into the open space between the Wagons.

Light gathered around her hands.

As she moved, it followed.

Thin ribbons at first, then broader shapes, rising and folding above the grass.

Whimsy sat so still that Sally glanced at her.

The Child’s lips were parted.

A strand of Light curved close to the Audience, turning gently before it reached the first row.

One of the small Children lifted a hand.

The Light paused above it.

Then opened like a Flower.

Sally forgot to think about how it worked.

 

The Music changed.

The red-haired Woman entered with her Juggling Balls, tossing one into the Light.

It emerged Shining.

Another followed.

Soon Three Bright shapes moved between her hands.

She dropped one.

A Child gasped.

The Ball stopped just above the ground.

The Woman looked down at it.

“Well,” she said, her Southern drawl warm with mock reproach. “Ya coulda done that sooner.”

Laughter spread through the chairs.

Sally joined in.

Whimsy nudged her.

“That was on purpose.”

“Probably.”

“I Think so.”

“I do too.”

The Woman caught the hovering Ball and continued.

 

Mender came forward after the Juggling.

He did not arrive in a burst of light or announce himself with a flourish.

He moved a chair into the open space, sat, and waited until the last few whispers had settled.

“I’ve been asked,” he said, “whether a Memory improves with Telling.”

The older Man with the walking stick gave a small chuckle.

“That depends who’s Telling it.”

“It does.”

Mender looked toward him.

“And whether they’ve Decided to make themselves taller.”

A few People Laughed.

Sally watched his hands rest loosely against his knees.

“I’m a Mender of Memories,” he continued. “Not an Improver of Weather, though People frequently request both.”

Whimsy Smiled.

Mender began a Story about a Journey delayed by Rain.

There was nothing especially grand about it at first.

A Wagon.

A washed-out Road.

People who had been Traveling Together long enough to become irritated by the sound of one another’s Breathing.

Sally Recognized that sort of irritation.

Then someone Discovered that the Place they had stopped was full of Frogs.

One Frog became several.

Several became an Audience.

By the time Mender described a Man attempting to Rescue his boot from the mud while arguing with a Creature no larger than his thumb, Sally was leaning forward.

She could see it.

Not literally.

Not as she had seen the Meadow.

But clearly enough that she forgot the lanterns behind him for a moment.

When the Story ended, the Clearing seemed to return around her.

Whimsy’s shoulder touched hers.

Sally sat back.

Mender let the Laughter settle.

“Does anyone have a Moment they’d like to lend us?”

A Boy raised his hand.

He Told them about his Sister falling into a basin while trying to climb through a window.

The Sister, apparently Present, objected vigorously.

Mender listened to both accounts.

Then he looked toward Sally.

“Something occurred to you?”

She straightened.

“No.”

The answer came immediately.

Too immediately.

He waited a moment.

“No obligation.”

Then he turned toward another raised hand.

Sally looked down.

Whimsy said nothing.

That made it worse, somehow.

Food was served after the Performance.

Sally accepted a small bowl and a piece of Bread.

Whimsy inspected hers for green bits, found several, and Decided she was hungry enough not to object.

They sat near the edge of the Clearing.

The Hot-Air Balloon waited beyond the Wagons, its patchwork dimmed beneath the Trees.

Sally ate slowly.

Mender’s Story remained with her.

So did the question.

Something had occurred to her.

The Chicken.

June stepping off the Cloud Road.

Marmalade striking her cheek with one wing and settling as though the landing had been faultless.

She could have Told that.

It would have been a small thing.

It would also have been Hers to Tell.

Whimsy looked at her bowl.

“You Thought of something.”

Sally nodded.

“Why didn’t you say it?”

“I wasn’t ready.”

The Child picked up a piece of Bread.

“Could you be ready later?”

“Perhaps.”

Whimsy accepted that and ate.

Nearby, Felix was counting his Cards.

The Dragon sat on the table, watching closely.

Every time his hand moved toward its Card, it placed one foot over it.

Sally Smiled.

Mender approached carrying a cup.

“May I?”

She moved her bag from the empty place beside her.

He sat.

For a while, they watched the Dragon Defend its property.

Then Sally said, “I did Think of something.”

Mender looked at her.

“A Flying Chicken.”

Whimsy Brightened.

“Marmalade.”

Sally nodded.

“She landed on someone’s arm. Badly.”

Mender’s mouth curved.

“Was the Person expecting her?”

“Yes. Which somehow made it Funnier.”

“Tell me.”

Sally looked at the small Audience still Gathered nearby.

No one was paying attention to her.

Mender waited.

She took a Breath.

Then she Began.

The Balloon rose from the Clearing after the last lantern had been lowered.

Whimsy stood beside Sally, one hand resting on the rim.

Below them, the Troupe continued its Evening.

Chairs were folded.

A cloth was shaken out.

Someone carried bowls toward a Wagon.

Felix finally put away his Deck.

The Dragon still had its Card.

Sally watched until the lanterns became small points among the Trees.

“Whose Memory was that?” she asked.

Whimsy looked down.

“Someone who Loved the Show.”

“They weren’t all standing still.”

“No.”

“And I told Mender something.”

“Yes.”

Sally considered that.

“What happens to the Memory now?”

Whimsy rubbed the edge of her pocket.

“I don’t know.”

Sally looked at the darkening Clearing.

She didn’t know either.

But somewhere, a Remembered Evening had made room for a Flying Chicken.

She Liked the Thought.

The Trees thinned into soft green bands.

Below them, a Road appeared.

An old Car moved along it with its windows open.

Inside sat two People.

The Woman rested a hand on the Man’s shoulder.

He said something.

She turned toward him, Smiling, and answered.

They continued beneath Trees whose Leaves scattered Sunlight across the windscreen.

Sally watched the Car follow a long curve.

Nothing remarkable happened.

They did not discover a hidden kingdom.

No dragon opened the sky.

The Woman simply left her hand where it was.

Whimsy leaned beside Sally.

“A Sunday Drive.”

“Whose?”

“His.”

Sally looked at the Man.

“He Remembers this one?”

Whimsy nodded.

“Maybe lots of them. They went every Week.”

The Car passed beneath a Canopy of Green.

For a few Moments, Sally could see only flashes of it.

Then it emerged again.

She Thought of Sunday light in her kitchen.

How she usually Noticed it while doing something else.

The Balloon moved on.

Sally kept watching until the Road disappeared.

Later, the Compass needle began to shift.

Sally took it from its pouch.

The Book remained at the edge of the face.

But the needle moved toward the little Window, paused, then settled between them.

“Is something wrong?”

Whimsy leaned close.

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s still pointing.”

Sally looked beyond the Basket.

Green gathered beneath them.

A Garden.

Rows of Vegetables crossed the Soil. Flowers crowded the edges. Herbs spilled over the sides of Raised Beds.

In the center, a dark-haired Woman Laughed.

A Man beside her had Dirt on one sleeve. He reached toward her face and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

She caught his hand.

Held it against her cheek.

Sally’s fingers loosened around the Compass.

Whimsy lowered her Voice.

“Maraina and Hárvald.”

The Balloon drifted nearer.

For a little while, Sally watched them work.

The Woman handed him something.

He examined it with exaggerated seriousness.

She Laughed again.

It was an Ordinary Day to them.

That was what caught at Sally.

Not a celebration.

Not a moment arranged to be remembered.

Just a Garden, unfinished work, and Someone who was Pleased to Be There with Someone else.

She stepped back from the rim.

Whimsy looked up.

Sally shook her head gently.

“I’m alright.”

This time, she meant it.

Ahead, through the soft gold light, rooftops began to appear.

A narrow Street.

Window boxes.

A Bookshop.

And beside it, a small Tea Shop with warm windows.

The Balloon started down.

Chapter Fifteen: Arden’s

 

The Balloon settled beside the Tea Shop without disturbing the Flowers.

Sally watched a trailing stem brush the Basket, then spring back against the wall.

Above the door, a Sign read: Arden’s.

The lettering was dark green, slightly uneven at the edges. A small painted leaf curled beneath the final letter.

Whimsy stood beside the gate.

She wasn’t reaching for the latch.

Sally put the Compass into its pouch.

“Is this somewhere you know?”

The Child nodded.

“Have you been inside?”

“Yes.”

Sally gathered her bag.

The Snow Globe was still wrapped safely in the cardigan. She checked the folded Papers with her fingertips, then closed the flap.

Whimsy watched.

“We don’t need those in there.”

“I’m keeping them with me.”

“I know. I meant you don’t need to show anyone.”

Sally looked at her.

“Alright.”

She opened the gate.

Whimsy stepped onto the cobblestones.

For a moment, they stood outside the window.

Inside, an old Woman in a lavender cardigan sat beside a little table with a book open before her. One finger rested against the page. Her Tea waited near her other hand.

Behind the Counter, a Young Man arranged several cups on a shelf.

He moved one aside to make room for another, considered the arrangement, then moved it back.

Sally Smiled faintly.

The old Woman looked up.

He said something to her.

She Laughed.

“Whose Memory?” Sally asked.

“Hers.”

Whimsy nodded toward the table.

“She came every Week.”

Sally watched the Woman turn a page.

No performance.

No cloud ships.

Just Somewhere she had Liked to sit.

Whimsy put her hand against the door.

The bell rang when she opened it.

Warmth met Sally immediately.

Not the sudden heat of a kitchen with the oven on. This was gentler, held in the wood and the rugs and the small lamps beside the windows.

The air smelled of Tea, Honey, and something Floral.

Arden looked up.

“Welcome.”

Whimsy gave him a small wave.

He returned it, then looked at Sally.

“There’s a table beside the window. Or one farther back, if you’d prefer.”

Sally glanced around.

The room was small but not crowded. Shelves held Tins and Jars, each Labeled in careful handwriting. A narrow staircase rose behind the Counter.

The table farther back stood beneath a Painting of an Orchard.

“Here?” she asked Whimsy.

The Child nodded.

They took the table beneath the Orchard.

Sally set her bag beside her chair.

Whimsy’s feet didn’t quite reach the floor.

She hooked them behind the lower rung and looked toward the Counter.

Arden approached with two Menus.

“Tea?”

“Yes,” Sally said.

Whimsy folded her hands on the table.

“Could you Choose?”

“For Both of You?”

She nodded.

Arden looked at Sally.

“I can describe it first.”

Sally appreciated that.

“What would you suggest?”

“Something gentle. It sometimes brings Familiar things closer.”

“Memories?”

“Sometimes.”

Sally glanced at Whimsy.

The Child was looking down at her hands.

“Does it make you Remember?”

Arden shook his head.

“It may Help. It doesn’t decide what you do with anything that Comes.”

Sally considered the warm room.

The old Woman near the window lifted her Cup and turned another page.

“Alright,” she said.

Arden collected the Menus.

“And something to eat?”

Whimsy looked up.

“What have you got?”

His Smile widened.

“Let me bring a plate.”

 

While he prepared the Tea, Sally looked at the Painting above them.

An Orchard in late Summer.

The Branches carried Fruit, some gold, some red. Grass stood high around the Trunks. A ladder rested against one Tree.

She studied the ladder.

It was missing a rung.

Whimsy followed her gaze.

“Do you want to go in?”

Sally looked down.

“Can you?”

“I haven’t tried that one.”

“Then perhaps we should leave it until after Tea.”

Whimsy nodded.

Sally rested her hands on the table.

The surface was worn smooth where other hands had rested. Near the edge, a little crescent had been pressed into the wood.

She ran her thumb across it.

At the Counter, Arden poured water into a Pot.

He waited.

Not looking at a clock.

Simply allowing the Tea its Time.

Sally’s shoulders lowered.

She had been carried through an Ocean, and lifted above Dreams. Yet sitting in a chair while Someone prepared something for her Felt unexpectedly difficult.

There was nothing to do.

No bowl to wash before they could begin.

No route she needed to check.

Whimsy rubbed the yellow pocket of her dress.

Sally Noticed the motion.

“Have you lost something?”

The Child shook her head.

“You keep doing that.”

“I Know.”

“What’s in there?”

Whimsy hesitated.

Then she reached inside.

The broken Shell.

The knotted String.

A small round Button.

She placed them in a row.

Sally looked at the Button.

Brown, with four holes and a pale chip near its edge.

“Where did that come from?”

“I’ve had it.”

“May I?”

Whimsy pushed it toward her.

Sally picked it up.

An ordinary Button.

Warm from the pocket.

She turned it over.

For an instant, she could feel thick wool against her fingers.

Not the Button.

Something it had once been attached to.

The impression vanished.

Sally set it down carefully.

Whimsy put the Shell beside it.

“I don’t want to lose these.”

“Then we’ll keep them Safe.”

The Child nodded, but she didn’t put them away.

Arden brought the Tray himself.

Two Cups.

A small Pot.

A Plate of thin Biscuits and little squares of Cake.

He set everything down without disturbing Whimsy’s collection.

Sally watched the Tea enter her Cup.

Amber.

A little gold where it caught the light.

“What’s in it?”

“A Blend I keep for People who have Traveled a long way.”

Sally almost said that they hadn’t traveled very far.

Her phone still insisted it was the same evening.

Then she looked at Whimsy, at the Shell from the Painted Coast, at the Ink along the Child’s thumb.

“Thank you.”

Arden set the Pot between them.

“Let it cool a little.”

Whimsy had already lifted her Cup.

She lowered it.

He pretended not to notice.

Sally held hers with both hands.

Steam rose against her face.

The scent was Familiar without being identifiable.

Grass.

Something Sweet.

A trace of warm paper.

She closed her eyes, trying to separate it.

“Is it alright?” Arden asked.

“Yes.”

She opened them.

“Just Familiar.”

He nodded.

“I’ll be nearby.”

Then he returned to the Counter.

Whimsy took a Biscuit.

She broke it in half, examined the inside, and ate one piece.

Sally lifted the Tea.

The first sip was warmer than she expected.

She held it in her mouth a Moment before swallowing.

Then she heard a Pencil.

Not in the Shop.

Somewhere close enough that she could feel its movement.

A faint scratch.

A pause.

Another line.

Sally lowered the Cup.

Across the table, Whimsy brushed crumbs from her fingers.

The Ink mark along her thumb seemed darker.

Sally looked at it.

She Knew that Mark.

Blue Ink from a Pen that leaked when she pressed too hard.

She had been trying to fill in the Sea.

No.

Not she.

A Child.

A Notebook open on her knees.

Sally’s grip tightened around the handle.

The Room remained where it was.

Arden stood beside the old Woman’s table, listening while she showed him something in her book.

A Spoon touched a Saucer.

Whimsy looked up.

“Sally?”

Sally stared at her eyes.

Brown near the center.

Green where the light reached them.

She had looked into those eyes in a mirror above a sink, standing on her toes because the mirror was too high.

A little Girl with tangled curls.

A front tooth loose enough to move with her tongue.

A Name Spoken Proudly.

'Whimsy.'

Sally put the Cup down.

It struck the saucer harder than she intended.

Whimsy’s hand moved toward it, then stopped.

Sally looked at the crooked yellow pocket.

The large stitches.

She Knew why they were large.

Small fingers.

Impatience.

A needle that kept slipping.

She drew in a Breath.

“You’re—”

The Word would not come.

Whimsy waited.

Sally looked at the Button.

She Remembered sewing it onto something it didn’t match.

Because it was the one she had.

Because matching had not seemed important.

“You’re Me.”

Whimsy lowered her eyes.

Then nodded.

Sally pushed her chair back.

The sound scraped across the quiet Room.

She stood.

Whimsy stayed seated.

For a moment, Sally wanted distance.

From the Table.

From the Child.

From the terrible familiarity of those small hands.

She took two steps toward the Orchard Painting, then stopped.

There was nowhere in the Room she could stand without still Being Herself.

She turned.

“How?”

Whimsy’s feet had slipped from the rung.

They hung above the floor.

“I came Through.”

“I don’t mean the wall.”

“I Know.”

The Child’s Voice shook.

Sally pressed one hand against the back of an empty chair.

“You Knew.”

Whimsy nodded.

“All this time.”

Another nod.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Whimsy rubbed her thumb against the edge of the table.

“I didn’t know if you’d let me stay.”

Sally looked at her.

The anger didn’t disappear.

But something beneath it shifted.

“I asked where your Parents were.”

“I Know.”

“I was going to call someone.”

“I Know.”

Whimsy’s eyes filled.

Sally let go of the chair.

She Remembered the Child looking at the phone.

The way her shoulders had tightened when Sally asked for her Real Name.

'You used to Like my Name.'

Sally put a hand over her mouth.

Arden approached, stopping a little way from them.

“Would you like some space?”

Sally looked at him.

“Did you know?”

He glanced toward Whimsy.

“I suspected you Belonged Together.”

“That isn’t the same.”

“No.”

His answer held no attempt to soften the distinction.

Sally looked back at the Table.

Whimsy had gathered the Button into her fist.

Arden waited.

“I don’t know what I need,” Sally said.

“That’s alright.”

He moved an empty chair away from the Table, making more room, then returned to the Counter.

He did not watch them.

Sally sat again.

Not because she had finished being angry.

Because Whimsy was crying quietly and trying not to.

The Child wiped one cheek with her sleeve.

Sally took a tissue from her bag and placed it beside her hand.

Whimsy used it.

For a while, neither spoke.

Then Sally said, “You’re a Child.”

Whimsy looked at her.

“I Know.”

“You shouldn’t have had to work out how to make me Believe you.”

The Child twisted the tissue.

“I wanted you to come.”

“Yes.”

“I Thought if you saw it—”

Whimsy stopped.

Sally waited.

“I Thought you might Remember before I had to say.”

Sally looked at her Tea.

A thin amber circle had formed near the edge.

“I Remembered the Button.”

Whimsy opened her hand.

“It fell off.”

“I sewed it back on.”

“Crooked.”

Sally gave a small, unsteady Laugh.

“Yes.”

The Child Smiled through her tears.

Then the Smile vanished.

“Were you happy?”

Sally looked up.

“When?”

“After.”

The question reached farther than Sally wanted it to.

After the Notebook.

After the Park.

After she stopped speaking about things nobody else seemed able to see.

She looked toward the window.

The old Woman had closed her book and was holding her Cup between both hands.

“Sometimes,” Sally said.

Whimsy watched her closely.

“Not enough.”

The Child nodded.

Sally Breathed in.

“I got us somewhere with a lock.”

Whimsy looked down.

“I Know.”

“I fed us.”

“Yes.”

“I Kept Going.”

The Words sounded small in the warm Room.

Sally had not realized how badly she needed them to count.

Whimsy reached across the Table.

Her fingers stopped near Sally’s.

“Thank you.”

Sally closed her eyes.

When she opened them, Whimsy’s hand was still there.

Sally took it.

Small fingers.

Warm.

The same hand she had Guided onto a Train, pulled out of a Snow Angel, held beneath the Lighthouse.

Her own, and not simply her own.

There was too much here to understand in one sitting.

“I’m sorry,” Sally said.

Whimsy shook her head.

Sally held her hand gently.

“Not for Surviving.”

The Child went still.

“For the things I started saying to myself.”

Whimsy looked at her.

Sally could Remember them now.

'Don’t be ridiculous.'

'Nobody wants to hear that.'

'Grow up.'

Each phrase delivered in her own voice, until she no longer noticed whose words they had been first.

Whimsy’s fingers tightened.

“I didn’t stop hearing you.”

Sally swallowed.

“I Know that now.”

Across the room, Arden set a fresh Pot on the Counter.

He waited until Sally looked toward him.

“More Tea?”

She considered the Cup before her.

Then she shook her head.

“Water, please.”

“Of course.”

Whimsy looked at the Plate.

“Can I still have the Cake?”

Sally Laughed.

It broke unexpectedly through the tears.

“Yes.”

The Child Chose a square with a little sugar on top.

She pushed the Plate toward Sally.

“Both.”

Sally took one.

They stayed.

Arden brought water.

The old Woman put on her coat, Thanked him, and left with her book tucked beneath one arm.

The bell rang softly behind her.

Sally watched the empty Table by the window.

Then she looked back at Whimsy.

“Are you going to disappear?”

The Child stopped chewing.

“No.”

The answer was immediate.

Sally waited.

Whimsy swallowed.

“Not because you Know.”

“Alright.”

“I don’t know everything that happens.”

“I Know.”

The Child looked Relieved to hear it.

Sally folded the used tissue and placed it beside her Saucer.

“I’m still upset that you didn’t tell me.”

Whimsy nodded.

“And I’m Glad you Came.”

Another nod, smaller.

“Those can both be True.”

The Child considered that.

Then she reached for the Button, the Shell, and the String.

Sally Helped her return them to the yellow pocket.

Outside, the Balloon waited beside the Flowers.

The Library was still somewhere ahead.

For now, Sally stayed in her chair.

Whimsy sat beside her instead of across from her.

Neither asked to leave.

 

Chapter Sixteen: The Things Neither Remembered

 

Arden did not clear the Cups immediately.

Sally was Grateful.

There was something uncomfortable about the idea of their Table being returned to its original state, as though nothing had happened there.

Whimsy sat beside her, tracing the seam of the chair cushion with one finger.

The Cake was gone.

The water remained.

Across the Room, Arden folded a cloth and set it beside the sink.

Sally looked at the Child’s hair.

The flattened patch from Sleeping on the Train had never entirely recovered. One curl stood out near her ear, bent at an improbable angle.

She Remembered trying to make her hair lie flat.

Water from the bathroom tap.

Both palms pressed against her head.

The result lasting until she reached the front door.

Whimsy looked up.

“What?”

“Your hair.”

The Child touched it.

“What about it?”

“Nothing.”

Whimsy gave her a look.

Sally Smiled faintly.

“I Remember being annoyed with it.”

“I Like it.”

“You do?”

“Mostly.”

The child found the bent curl and pulled it straight.

It sprang back.

“Not that bit.”

Sally Laughed softly.

Whimsy watched her for a moment.

Then she leaned against her arm.

Sally let her.

After a while, Arden approached.

“Would you like to use the little Sitting Room? There’s more space.”

Sally glanced toward the staircase.

“Up there?”

“Just behind the Counter. No stairs.”

Whimsy lifted her head.

“Is the green chair still there?”

“Yes.”

“Can we?”

Sally looked at Arden.

“We aren’t keeping you from anything?”

“No.”

The answer came without qualification.

She almost asked again.

Instead, she gathered her bag.

Arden led them through a doorway behind the Counter.

The Room beyond held two armchairs, a low table, and a narrow couch beneath a window. One chair was green, with a cushion that had been repaired in blue thread.

Whimsy went straight to it.

Then she stopped.

“Do you want this one?”

Sally looked at the other chair.

Brown fabric.

A broad seat.

“That one looks quite Comfortable.”

Whimsy climbed into the green chair.

Arden set their water on the table.

“There’s a blanket on the couch.”

“Thank you,” Sally said.

He nodded and left the door partly open.

Sally sat.

Her feet rested properly on the floor. The chair supported her back in a way that made her realize how long she had been holding herself upright.

She put her bag beside her.

For the first time in hours, she took off her shoes.

Whimsy looked at Sally's sock feet.

“Do they hurt?”

“A little.”

“You could have said.”

Sally rested one heel against the rug.

“I Know.”

The Child tucked her legs beneath her, then untucked them.

There was something else she wanted to ask.

Sally waited.

At last, Whimsy said, “What are we called now?”

Sally looked at her.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you Sally still?”

“Yes.”

“And I’m Whimsy?”

“Yes.”

The Child thought about that.

“Even though you were Whimsy?”

Sally picked up her glass.

“I don’t think we have to settle it this evening.”

Whimsy’s mouth tightened.

“I wasn’t trying to make you.”

“I Know.”

Sally set the glass down.

“I’m trying not to answer before I understand.”

That seemed to satisfy the Child more than the first answer had.

She rubbed a finger over the blue stitches in the cushion.

“Did you stop liking it?”

“My Name?”

Whimsy nodded.

Sally looked toward the window.

A Flower stem moved against the glass.

“I stopped using it.”

“That isn’t the same.”

“No.”

She turned back.

“It started to Feel like something I wasn’t allowed to be.”

Whimsy stared at the cushion.

After a moment, she said, “I still Liked it.”

Sally felt that small sentence settle painfully in her chest.

“I’m Glad.”

The Child’s finger stopped moving.

“I didn’t know if you would be.”

They were quiet again.

This silence was different from the one at the Table.

Less startled.

Not easier, exactly, but large enough to move around in.

Whimsy took out the String.

She began loosening one loop and drawing another through it.

Sally watched.

“What are you Making now?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Another ladder?”

“Maybe.”

The Child considered the String.

“Or a net.”

“For what?”

“I haven’t got that far.”

Sally rested her head against the chair.

Once, she would have needed the object to justify itself before Making it.

Useful for something.

Worth the Material.

Worth the Time.

Whimsy turned the String over and started again.

“Maybe for the Moon,” she said. “I’ve heard of nets for catching Moons. Not sure what we would do with it though."

Sally watched her hands.

“I don’t Remember all the Places we’ve been.”

Whimsy looked up.

“I Know.”

“Did we go there when we were little?”

“To the Moon?”

“The Meadow,” Sally clarified.

“Yes,” Whimsy answered.

“The Lighthouse?”

The Child shook her head.

“Not that one.”

“The Fair?”

“Sometimes.”

Sally considered the changing Train.

“So you weren’t taking me through everything exactly as it happened.”

“No.”

Whimsy pulled at a loop.

“I wanted you to Like it.”

“I do.”

“I Know that now.”

Sally looked at her.

“How?”

“You Laughed.”

The Child said it simply.

Not as evidence in an argument.

As something she had been waiting to hear.

Sally reached for the blanket.

She unfolded it over her lap, then held one end toward Whimsy.

The Child shook her head.

“I’m not cold.”

Sally left the end within reach.

Whimsy returned to the String.

“Do you remember the apartment before that one?”

Sally’s hand stopped against the blanket.

“Yes.”

“Was it nicer?”

“No.”

Whimsy waited.

Sally looked down.

“The heating didn’t work very well. The window near the bed wouldn’t close properly.”

“Why did you stay?”

“Because it was what I could afford.”

The Child frowned.

“Were we alone?”

“Yes.”

“All the time?”

“Not all the time.”

Sally thought of people she had worked with, people she had briefly known, conversations that had never quite become friendships.

“But enough.”

Whimsy set the String in her lap.

“I didn’t know that.”

“No.”

“Did you have a blanket?”

Sally almost Smiled.

“Yes.”

“A good one?”

“Eventually.”

The Child considered this with grave attention.

Then she took the offered corner and drew it across her knees.

Sally looked away for a moment.

There were things the Child had not witnessed.

Forms completed.

Rooms rented.

Bills paid late, then paid.

Nights when getting into bed had been the only decision she could manage without difficulty.

Whimsy Knew the Park.

She Knew the Notebook.

But she did not know every year that followed.

Sally was Relieved by that.

And unexpectedly lonely.

“I thought you knew everything,” she said.

Whimsy shook her head.

“I Know some things.”

“So do I.”

They looked at one another.

It was the first resemblance Sally had been able to bear without looking away.

A soft knock came at the door.

Arden held a small Plate.

“Something plain, if you want it.”

Two pieces of Toast.

Butter melting into the surface.

Sally looked at the Plate, then at him.

“We’ve already eaten quite a lot.”

“You don’t have to finish it.”

Whimsy reached for one piece.

Arden set the Plate on the Table.

“Would you like the door closed?”

Sally glanced at Whimsy.

The Child was chewing.

“Partway,” Sally said.

“Of course.”

He left it open by a few inches.

Whimsy looked toward the gap.

“He doesn’t mind.”

“What?”

“Us being here.”

“No.”

The Child took another bite.

Sally watched the butter shine along the crust.

“Does that feel unusual?”

Whimsy nodded.

Sally picked up the other piece.

“Yes,” she said. “It does.”

They ate without hurrying.

When Whimsy finished, she set the crust on the Plate.

Sally nearly told her to eat it.

The words came so readily that she felt their shape before she chose them.

She stopped.

Whimsy Noticed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

The Child waited.

Sally sighed.

“I was going to tell you to finish that.”

“I don’t like the very hard bit.”

“Alright.”

Whimsy looked down at the crust.

“Are you cross?”

“No.”

“You looked like it.”

“I was Thinking.”

“About the crust?”

“About how quickly I Decide something has to be done.”

Whimsy considered the Plate.

“You don’t have to eat mine.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

The Child Smiled.

Then she picked up the String again.

Sally watched her try to pass one end through a loop that had become too tight.

“Would you like Help?”

Whimsy shook her head.

A minute later, she held it out.

“Now I would, please.”

Sally took it.

They Talked about small things after that.

Which were actually big things if they Thought about it.

The blue Parrot.

The Grasshopper.

Whether the tiny House in the City Window had a Bathroom.

Whimsy Thought it must.

Sally wondered where the pipes went.

The Child Decided that was a question for the Person who Lived there.

Sally agreed.

Then Whimsy asked, “Did you Write any more Stories?”

The Room seemed to grow quieter.

Sally rested the String across her fingers.

“After?”

Whimsy nodded.

“Not properly.”

“What does that mean?”

“Sometimes I Thought of things.”

“Did you put them anywhere?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Sally looked at the thin strands.

Because she had been tired.

Because Writing required a Part of Herself she had learned to distrust.

Because an empty page could still Feel like something someone might take from her.

“I kept Deciding they weren’t worth writing down.”

Whimsy stared at her.

“But you hadn’t written them.”

“I Know.”

“How could you tell?”

Sally gave a small, helpless laugh.

“I couldn’t.”

The Child reached for the String.

Sally Returned it.

Whimsy made a loose loop and held it up.

“This might not be a very good net.”

“What will you do?”

“Try it.”

Sally nodded.

“Yes,” she said. “That would be one way.”

Later, Whimsy’s head began to tilt.

She corrected it once.

Then again.

Sally stood and moved her bag away from the couch.

“Come and lie down.”

“I’m not Asleep.”

“No. But you can lie down while you’re Awake.”

The Child considered this loophole.

Then she climbed onto the couch.

Sally spread the blanket over her.

Whimsy caught her sleeve.

“You’ll still be here?”

“Yes.”

“When I Wake Up?”

“Yes.”

The Child loosened her grip.

Sally sat in the brown chair where Whimsy could see her.

For a while, the little Girl watched.

Then her eyes closed.

Sally listened to her Breathing.

A chair creaked in the Shop beyond the door.

Water ran briefly at the sink.

The Room remained warm.

She took the two pieces of Paper from her bag.

The original Scrap.

Her copy.

She placed them side by side on the table.

The Handwriting was not identical.

One hand had Belonged to a Child. The other had filled in forms for years.

But both had run out of space in the same place.

Sally touched the final Word.

Instead.

On the couch, Whimsy shifted beneath the blanket.

Sally looked at her.

Then she leaned back in the chair.

The Library would still be there when they were ready.

 

Whimsy Woke when the light at the window had softened.

She blinked at the room.

Then at Sally.

“You Stayed.”

Sally closed her phone.

“Yes.”

“Were you waiting?”

“A little. I Rested too.”

The Child sat up, rubbing her face.

Sally folded the Papers and returned them to her bag.

For a moment, Whimsy watched her.

Then she asked, “Do you still want to Find it?”

“The Dragon Story?”

A nod.

“Yes.”

Whimsy pushed the blanket aside.

“Alright.”

Sally put on her shoes.

Her feet complained less this time.

Together, they folded the blanket and returned it to the couch. Whimsy checked the chair cushion for the Button before Remembering it was already in her pocket.

At the doorway, she paused.

Sally waited.

“I might not be able to tell you everything,” the child said.

“You can tell me when you don’t know.”

Whimsy looked up.

“And when I don’t want to?”

Sally considered that carefully.

“You can tell me that too.”

The Child nodded.

Sally held out her hand.

Whimsy took it.

They returned to the Tea Shop.

Arden was arranging clean Cups on the Shelf.

He looked toward them.

“Ready?”

Sally glanced at Whimsy.

Not certain.

Not finished.

But Rested enough to Keep Going.

“Yes,” she said.

Arden came around the Counter.

“Safe Travels.”

“Thank you for letting us stay,” Sally said.

“You were Welcome.”

Outside, the Balloon waited beside the Flowers.

Sally opened its gate and Helped Whimsy climb in.

Then she took out the Compass.

“The Library Between Stories.”

The needle moved toward the open Book.

Whimsy stood beside her, one hand resting lightly on the rim.

Sally closed the gate.

The Basket lifted.

Below them, Arden remained in the doorway until the Tea Shop disappeared beneath the roofs.

 

Chapter Seventeen: The Library Between Stories

 

The Library appeared one window at a time.

First, a square of Warm light beyond the Balloon.

Then another above it.

Then a long row stretching into the distance, some narrow, some round, one tilted at an angle Sally couldn’t explain.

Stone gathered around them.

Towers rose through the soft gray Sky. Bridges connected parts of the Building that seemed too far apart to Belong to the same structure. A staircase curved around one tower, passed behind another, and emerged much higher than Sally thought it should.

She lowered the Compass.

The needle pointed firmly toward the open Book.

“Yes,” she said. “I can see.”

Whimsy leaned against the rim.

“That’s the wrong landing place.”

Sally looked down.

A Platform extended from the wall beneath them.

“How do you know?”

“The door’s too small.”

It was.

A narrow doorway stood at the back of the Platform, barely wide enough for a Person.

Sally glanced at the Papers in her bag.

Whimsy caught the movement.

“Not that kind of small door.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You looked.”

The Balloon drifted past.

Another Platform appeared beyond a stone arch.

This one was broad, with a low railing and several brass rings fixed to the floor. A large wooden door stood open beneath a hanging lamp.

The Basket descended.

Sally rested a hand on the gate.

Below them, Words had been carved into the stone.

LAND HERE.

She Smiled.

At last.

An instruction she could follow without asking a question.

Whimsy Knew how to Secure the Balloon.

She pointed to a loose rope coiled beside the gate.

“That goes through the ring.”

 

Sally stepped out first and held the Basket steady.

Together, they passed the rope through the nearest brass ring.

Whimsy began tying a knot.

Sally watched her fingers.

“Will that hold?”

The Child looked up.

“It’s one I Know.”

“Alright.”

Whimsy finished, pulled it tight, then tested it.

The Balloon lifted gently.

The rope held.

Sally gave it a second test.

Whimsy said nothing.

They Entered through the wooden door.

Inside, the air smelled of paper, dust, and polished wood.

Sally stopped just beyond the threshold.

Shelves rose around them.

Not simply high Shelves.

Shelves continued beyond balconies, crossed beneath staircases, and stood in distant rooms visible through wide arches. Books moved along a narrow overhead rail, sliding slowly past in small wooden carriers.

Somewhere above, a ladder rolled.

A soft thump followed.

Then a Voice.

“Not that Shelf.”

Whimsy tilted her head.

Another thump.

A Book descended through the open space and landed neatly on a table.

Sally stared.

The Voice Spoke again.

“Thank you.”

Whimsy walked forward.

Sally caught up.

“Who was he talking to?”

“The Book.”

“Does it listen?”

“Sometimes.”

That explained the tone.

They passed a doorway Built from dark stone.

It looked older than the walls around it.

One side had been Repaired with pale mortar. Along the top, a carved line broke off where a piece of the stone was missing.

Sally slowed.

Beyond it stood a room of narrow shelves.

Several Books lay flat beneath weighted cloths. One rested open on a cradle, its damaged spine held together by fine strips of material.

Whimsy stopped beside her.

“Not that way.”

“Why?”

“Things are being Fixed.”

Sally looked at the broken carving.

“Was this part of the Library before?”

Before what, she wasn’t sure.

The question had arrived with the sight of the old stone.

“Yes,” said a Voice behind them.

Sally turned.

A man stood at the end of the passage with a Book in one hand.

He looked first at Whimsy.

Then at Sally.

His expression changed very little.

“You again.”

Whimsy folded her arms.

“You sound surprised.”

“I was Hoping for a little warning.”

Sally glanced down at the Child.

“I haven’t had much of that either.”

Whimsy gave her a wounded look.

The man closed the Book around one finger.

Sally looked back at him.

“Have we met?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a Name?”

“Maerath.”

Something stirred.

Not an image.

An impression of standing at a table and arguing upward.

A hand reaching past hers to move a Book she had been about to open.

Sally’s fingers tightened on her bag strap.

Whimsy watched her.

Maerath waited.

Sally looked toward the Repaired doorway.

“You said that was part of the Library before.”

“It was.”

“This Library?”

“The previous one.”

“What happened to it?”

His expression sharpened slightly.

“It ceased to be useful as a Building.”

Whimsy made a small sound.

Sally looked down.

The Child was studying the floor with exaggerated care.

Maerath Noticed too.

“It fell apart,” he said.

“That is clearer,” Sally replied.

“Yes. It is also less pleasant to repeat.”

He led them to a broad table beneath a tall window.

Sally followed without knowing whether he had invited them or simply expected obedience.

Whimsy seemed to understand the arrangement.

She pulled out a chair.

Maerath looked at it.

“Feet on the floor.”

“I haven’t sat down yet.”

“I Remember you.”

The Child climbed into the chair and placed both feet carefully on the lowest rung instead.

Sally sat beside her.

Maerath remained standing.

“What are you looking for?”

“A Story.”

“You have come to a Building full of them.”

“Yes. That seemed promising.”

Whimsy Smiled into her shoulder.

Maerath looked at Sally for a moment.

Then he put down his Book.

“Which Story?”

She opened her bag.

The original Scrap had softened along its fold. Her copy lay beside it, cleaner and larger.

Sally placed both on the table.

“This.”

Maerath did not touch them immediately.

His eyes moved across the Writing.

Then he looked at the torn edge.

“Where did you get it?”

“On the Train.”

“Under a seat,” Whimsy added.

Maerath lifted the Original by its corners.

Sally nearly told him to be careful.

Then she Noticed how he held it.

No thumb pressed into the Words. No attempt to flatten the crease by force.

He turned it over.

Nothing on the back.

Then he Read the two Lines again.

“The Dragon.”

Sally leaned forward.

“You know it?”

“I Know where to look.”

“Someone in the Forest said they had heard it.”

“That is generally what happens to Stories.”

She sat back.

Whimsy’s mouth twitched.

Maerath placed the Paper on a clean sheet from the far end of the table.

“Leave it there.”

“Are you taking it?”

“I am Finding a Book.”

He turned toward the Shelves.

Sally watched him go.

Then she looked at Whimsy.

“You could have warned me.”

The Child whispered, “You’d only have asked more questions.”

Maerath returned with Three Books.

He placed two on the table and kept the Third in his hand.

One had no title on its spine.

Another was bound in deep green, with a little brass clasp holding it shut.

The Third looked ordinary.

Brown cloth.

Worn corners.

A pale mark where something had once rested against the cover.

Sally looked at that one longest.

Maerath Noticed.

He set it down.

“Did you Write this?”

She looked at the Scrap.

“Yes.”

The answer Surprised her by Arriving without hesitation.

Whimsy’s hand moved beneath the table and rested lightly against her wrist.

Maerath looked from the older Paper to Sally’s copy.

“You weren’t certain when you Arrived.”

“No.”

“Are you now?”

Sally studied the crowded final Word.

The Memory was still incomplete.

A Page.

A Pencil.

The fierce Satisfaction of finding a way through when the first way wouldn’t work.

“Yes.”

Maerath opened the brown Book.

He turned several Pages, stopped, then turned one back.

Sally waited.

Outside the window, something bright moved across the gray.

A Wish, perhaps.

A Bird.

She could not tell.

Maerath placed one finger beside a Passage.

“There.”

Sally leaned closer.

The Words were printed.

But she Knew them.

The door was too small for the dragon.

So she opened the sky instead.

Below them, the Passage continued.

Sally’s Breath caught.

She put one hand on the edge of the table.

Whimsy did not move hers.

For a Moment, Sally couldn’t Read farther.

Seeing the Words in a Book was different from seeing them on the torn Scrap.

The Scrap could have been lost.

Misplaced.

Carried from one Place to another.

And it had been.

But this had a Spine.

Pages before and after.

A place among other Books.

“What is this?”

“A Book,” Maerath said dryly.

Sally looked up.

“I Know it’s a Book.”

“Then ask the question you mean.”

She held his gaze.

“How did my Writing get into it?”

“I don’t know.”

The answer stopped her.

Maerath did not look embarrassed by it.

He looked faintly irritated that the Truth was not more useful.

“Did I Invent it?”

“If I knew, I would have answered that question.”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

Whimsy looked between them.

Sally turned back to the Page.

“Then how do you know where to Find it?”

“Because I Know the Library.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

“No,” he said. “It isn’t.”

She looked around.

The Shelves stretched beyond the archways.

Somewhere nearby, a Book whispered.

Another answered in a Language Sally couldn’t recognize.

“What else is here?”

“Dreams. Wishes. Stories. Prophecies.”

“All together?”

“Not without distinctions.”

Maerath moved the green Book farther from Whimsy’s elbow.

She had not touched it.

She looked offended anyway.

Sally glanced toward the Repaired doorway.

“Was that what broke the old Library?”

Maerath’s hand paused.

Then he closed the green Book’s clasp more firmly.

“The old Foundations depended too much on what happened elsewhere.”

“And these don’t?”

“Not on one World.”

He looked toward the distant Shelves.

“A Prophecy may fail. Its Book can change. That need not bring down the Room.”

Sally thought of the pale mortar holding the old doorway.

“You kept parts of it.”

“I kept what could be kept.”

He said it flatly.

She did not mistake that for indifference.

Whimsy leaned toward the brown Book.

“Can we go?”

Sally looked at her.

“Into this?”

The Child nodded.

Maerath placed one hand beside the open Page.

“Not while you are sitting on the edge of that chair.”

Whimsy settled back immediately.

Sally looked at the Words again.

Below the Familiar Lines lay a description of Light.

She began Reading.

The Dragon had reached a place where the wall of the World thinned.

Not a door made for someone else.

Not a passage she had to make herself smaller to use.

Something she could touch.

Something she could draw aside.

Sally stopped.

She Remembered Writing quickly.

Not because she knew what happened next.

Because she wanted to.

Her eyes filled.

Whimsy pressed gently against her wrist.

Maerath waited.

Sally wiped one cheek with the back of her hand.

“This is Mine.”

“The Writing?”

“Yes.”

He inclined his head.

She looked at him.

“Does that make what’s Beyond it Mine too?”

“No.”

The answer was immediate.

Sally considered it.

Then she nodded slowly.

A window did not own the Street.

A Story might show her something without making every Life within it Hers to direct.

“Can we Meet Her?”

Maerath looked at the Page.

“The Dragon?”

“Yes.”

“You can Enter.”

“Will she be there?”

“Not necessarily where you expect.”

Whimsy stood.

Sally rose more slowly.

Maerath moved the loose Papers well away from the Book.

“Bags closed. Nothing left on the floor. If you bring something out, tell me.”

Sally fastened her bag.

“What happens if we can’t find the way back?”

“Keep the place where you Entered in Mind.”

“That sounds imprecise.”

“It is not the only way. It is the one you can manage now.”

She did not like the tone.

She also suspected he was right.

Whimsy held out her hand.

Sally took it.

Maerath turned the Book toward them.

Light gathered between the Pages.

At first, Sally thought the Paper was reflecting something overhead.

Then the Brightness Deepened.

A narrow line Opened above the Binding.

Whimsy leaned close.

Sally kept hold of her hand.

The line widened.

Beyond it, she could see stone.

A Path curved upward between dark rocks. Farther away, a pale Sky held a long bright Cloud.

Warm air crossed the table.

The Pages remained beneath the Opening.

Sally looked at them once more.

Her Words.

Still there.

She glanced at Maerath.

He stood on the other side of the table, one hand resting against the Book’s edge.

“Will it stay Open?”

“While you are Crossing.”

“And after?”

“You will have a Threshold.”

Whimsy gave Sally’s hand a gentle squeeze.

Sally stepped closer.

The Opening rose until its lower edge met the floor.

Beyond it, dust moved across the stone Path.

She could smell sun-warmed rock.

Somewhere in the Distance, something Vast shifted.

A low sound Traveled through the Air.

Whimsy lifted her chin.

Sally Felt it in her chest.

Not fear alone.

Recognition without Memory.

She looked back once.

Maerath’s gaze moved to the torn Scrap, resting Safely on its clean Sheet.

Then he looked at her.

“Go on, then.”

Sally stepped through.

Whimsy came with her.

Behind them, the Library quietened.

Ahead, the Path climbed toward the Sky.

Chapter Eighteen: The Sky Beyond the Door

 

The Path was warm beneath Sally’s shoes.

Dust lay in its shallow Hollows. Here and there, small Plants Grew between the Stones, their Leaves close to the Ground.

Behind them, the Threshold stood between two dark Rocks.

Through it, Sally could see the edge of Maerath’s table.

Then the view softened.

The Library became a pale Shimmer.

She turned fully toward it.

Whimsy waited beside her.

“It’s still there.”

“I’m looking at where it is.”

The Child glanced at the Rocks.

One had a white seam running down its face. The other leaned slightly toward the Path.

Whimsy picked up a loose Stone and placed it beside the leaning one.

Sally looked down.

“Will that Help?”

“It might.”

“Alright.”

They started upward.

The sound they had heard from the Library did not come again.

Instead, Sally heard Wind moving across the Rocks and the faint scrape of her own footsteps.

The Sky was clear except for the long bright Cloud above the Ridge.

Something flashed beside the Path.

She stopped.

A small patch of blue shone on a flat Stone.

Then green.

Sally leaned closer.

“Is that a Mineral?”

Whimsy crouched.

The patch opened.

Two Wings lifted from the Rock.

Blue deepened along their edges. Green spread across their centers, then turned gold as the Creature shifted toward the Sun.

“A Butterfly,” Whimsy whispered.

Sally looked around.

The Rock beside it glittered.

So did the one beyond.

Not stone.

Wings.

Dozens rested along the warm surfaces, folded so closely that she could barely distinguish them from the flecks of light.

The first Butterfly lifted.

Another followed.

Then the whole Gathering rose.

Sally stood still.

They came up around her shoes, beside her hands, past her face.

A Hundred small Wings caught the Sun.

Perhaps more.

She couldn’t count them.

Every turn changed their Color. Blue flashed into green. Gold ran along a narrow edge and vanished as the Wing tilted away. A Butterfly passing close to her cheek shone violet for an instant, then became almost silver.

Whimsy rose slowly from her crouch.

Her mouth was open.

For once, she had no explanation ready.

The Butterflies lifted Together above the Path.

Not in a neat formation. Some climbed quickly. Others wandered between the Rocks, settling briefly before taking Flight again.

Their shadows moved across Sally’s sleeves.

She lifted one hand.

A Butterfly landed on her finger.

Its feet were so light that she might not have noticed them, if she hadn’t been looking.

The Wings opened.

A soft green spread across them.

Then gold.

Sally hardly Breathed.

Whimsy came close enough to look.

“It’s got little white marks.”

“I see them.”

Near the body, two pale spots stood clear against the shifting Color.

The Butterfly closed its Wings.

Brown underneath.

An ordinary, quiet brown.

Sally Smiled.

Then it opened again, and the Sunlight turned it Brilliant.

It left her hand.

She watched it Join the Others.

The Gathering moved uphill, spreading into the warm Air above the Ridge.

Whimsy followed a few steps.

Then stopped and looked back.

Sally came beside her.

Neither hurried.

Beyond the Ridge, the Land opened.

A broad shelf of Rock stretched beneath the Sky. Farther away, Clouds gathered around Towers of pale Stone.

Sally looked twice.

A Castle stood across the Valley.

Its lower walls disappeared into white Cloud, leaving the Towers visible above it. A Bridge extended from one side, ending at a dark opening in the Cliff.

Whimsy shaded her eyes.

“There.”

Sally followed her pointing finger.

At first, she mistook the shape beneath the Cliff for another fold of Rock.

Then it moved.

A wing lifted.

The Dragon rose slowly, unfolding herself from the Ledge.

She was larger than Sally had Imagined.

Much Larger.

Dark bronze covered her back. Along her neck, the scales caught the Sun in green and gold, dulling where she turned into shadow.

One wing stretched outward.

Its edge passed above the Path.

Sally stopped walking.

Whimsy’s hand found hers.

The Dragon lowered her head toward something near the Cliff.

A Man stood there in Armor.

He was so small beside her that Sally hadn’t noticed him.

He looked toward the Path.

Then he raised a hand.

“Stay where you are a moment.”

Sally had no objection.

The Dragon turned.

One eye settled on them.

Amber.

Clear.

Sally could see her own movement reflected in it when she shifted her weight.

The Dragon Breathed out.

Warm Air moved over the Stones.

Whimsy pressed closer to Sally.

The Man approached.

His Armor was scratched at the knees. A strap crossed one shoulder, and a folded cloth had been tucked beneath it to stop the metal rubbing his neck.

“Visitors?”

“Yes,” Sally said.

“From the Library?”

“Yes.”

He nodded.

“I Thought so. You looked less annoyed than People who’ve climbed the Lower Path.”

Whimsy glanced downhill.

“How far is it?”

“Far enough to become annoyed.”

Sally Smiled despite herself.

The Man looked toward the Dragon.

“She’s working something out. Best not to interrupt from behind.”

“What is she working out?” Sally asked.

He pointed across the shelf.

Near the Cliff stood an arch.

Beyond it, light moved faintly in a narrow Passage.

The opening was tall enough for a Person.

Perhaps a Horse.

Nowhere near tall enough for the Dragon.

Sally Felt the Words before she heard them in her Mind.

The door was too small.

They moved closer with the Armored Man.

He gave his Name as, Rowan.

Whimsy told him hers immediately.

Sally took a little longer.

She was watching the arch.

There were carvings around its edge, weathered almost smooth. Beneath it, a shallow groove crossed the stone floor.

A place worn by feet.

Many feet.

The Dragon lowered her head again.

One horn nearly touched the top of the opening.

Then she drew back.

Whimsy looked at Rowan.

“Could she turn sideways?”

The Dragon’s eye moved toward her.

The Child went still.

Rowan rubbed his mouth.

“I expect she’s considered it.”

The Dragon settled one forefoot beside the arch.

Each claw was longer than Sally’s hand.

Whimsy looked from the opening to the broad shoulders behind that immense head.

“Oh.”

The Dragon Spoke.

Her Voice was low, but not loud in the way Sally expected. It seemed to reach her through the Stone as well as the Air.

“I can turn sideways. The door cannot.”

Sally Laughed once.

She hadn’t meant to.

The Dragon looked at her.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“I wasn’t laughing at you.”

“Good.”

Rowan stepped aside as the Dragon drew away from the Cliff.

Sally watched her shoulders shift beneath the Scales.

“What’s through there?”

“Another Place,” the Dragon said.

“Somewhere you want to go?”

“Yes.”

Sally looked toward the Castle.

“Did someone make this door for you?”

“No.”

That Answer Mattered.

She could Feel it without knowing precisely why.

The Dragon studied the Sky.

Rowan followed her gaze.

Whimsy leaned toward Sally.

“She’s going to Open it.”

The Words were quiet.

The Dragon heard them.

“Perhaps.”

Sally looked up.

The long Cloud crossed the pale blue above the shelf.

For a Moment, everything resembled what she Remembered.

A Dragon.

An Impossible Doorway.

Another Way, Waiting overhead.

She nearly said what happened next.

Then she stopped.

The Dragon was not standing here for Sally to finish her sentence.

She was Looking for Something.

Sally could see the Attention in the way her head moved, slowly, following an invisible line.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

The Dragon turned one eye toward her.

“A Place where it gives.”

“The Sky?”

“What lies against it.”

Sally Remembered the wall behind her couch.

The narrow Sunlight.

Whimsy taking Hold of something Sally had thought was solid.

“A Veil.”

The Dragon’s head inclined slightly.

Rowan looked at Sally with new Interest.

“You’ve Crossed before?”

“Yes.”

Whimsy nodded too.

The Dragon returned her Attention to the Cloud.

Sally could see it now.

Not the Veil itself.

A small Irregularity in the Light.

The Cloud’s edge passed across it, but did not quite meet.

Something in between remained still.

She lifted her hand.

“There.”

The Dragon looked.

A Breath moved through her nostrils.

“Yes.”

Whimsy stood on her toes.

“I can’t see.”

Sally crouched beside her.

“Look above the Highest Tower. Then a little left.”

The Child narrowed her eyes.

A Butterfly passed between them and the Sky.

Then another.

The bright Gathering had followed the Ridge.

Whimsy’s face changed.

“Oh.”

Sally nodded.

The Dragon moved toward the edge of the shelf.

Rowan guided them back.

“Behind this Rock.”

Sally took Whimsy with her.

From there, they could still see.

The Dragon spread her wings.

Air rushed across the shelf.

Dust lifted.

Sally turned her face away and held the Child close until it settled.

When she looked again, the Dragon had Risen.

One wingbeat carried her above the Ledge.

Another brought her level with the long Cloud.

For a Moment, her great bronze Body seemed suspended against the Sky.

Then she reached forward.

Not toward the Cloud.

Toward the place beside it.

Her claws caught something.

Sally saw the Light crease.

A line ran downward through the blue.

The Dragon drew it aside.

Brilliant Light poured through.

Whimsy gripped Sally’s hand.

The Opening widened.

Gold spread over the Cliff, over the Castle Towers, over Rowan’s scratched Armor. The Stones around Sally’s feet shone as though they had stored Sunlight for years and were releasing it all at once.

Beyond the Opening lay something she could not fully see.

Distance.

Moving Air.

A vast pale Landscape beneath another Sky.

The Dragon held the Veil apart.

Her wings shifted, balancing her against the current rushing through.

The Butterflies rose.

They caught the Light as they climbed, their wings flashing green, silver, violet.

Some turned back.

Others passed into the Brightness.

Sally watched one small blue shape vanish.

Then the Dragon moved forward.

She did not fold herself small.

She drew the Opening wider.

Her head entered first.

Then her shoulders.

Light ran across every Scale.

One great wing lifted against the gold, its thin membrane lit from within.

The other followed.

For an instant, Sally could see the whole span.

Then the Dragon Passed Through.

Her tail curved behind her.

The Veil slipped from her claws.

The Opening narrowed.

Gold became a bright line.

Then nothing.

The Cloud continued across the Sky.

 

Nobody spoke.

Sally remained beside the Rock with Whimsy’s hand in hers.

Dust settled around their shoes.

The Castle stood across the Valley.

The little arch waited beneath the Cliff.

Too small.

Still too small.

It hadn’t changed.

Whimsy let out a long Breath.

“She did it.”

“Yes.”

Sally’s Voice sounded strange to her.

Rowan stepped from behind the Rock.

He looked at the Sky for a while.

Then he sat on a low Stone.

“I shall have to explain that.”

“To whom?” Sally asked.

“Several People who will ask whether she used the door.”

Whimsy looked toward the arch.

“Tell them it wasn’t big enough.”

“I will.”

The Child’s mouth curved.

Sally Laughed.

Then, unexpectedly, she began to cry.

She turned aside, wiping her face with her sleeve.

Whimsy stayed close.

Rowan did not ask what was wrong.

He simply waited.

Sally looked up again.

She had Written a Dragon Opening the Sky.

She Remembered wanting the Crossing.

Wanting Somewhere Large Enough.

But the warmth on her face, the sound of those wings, the small joke about turning sideways—

Those Belonged to the Dragon.

To this Place.

To a Life Sally had only glimpsed through her Words.

Whimsy leaned against her.

“I didn’t remember it being that Bright.”

Sally drew the Child closer.

“Neither did I.”

They Returned along the Path after Rowan showed them the Beginning of the Lower Road.

It was long.

Sally was Pleased not to need it.

Near the Ridge, a few Butterflies had settled back onto the Rocks.

One opened its Wings as they passed.

Gold.

Then green.

Whimsy stopped.

Sally stopped with her.

They watched until it lifted away.

At the Threshold, the little Stone still stood where Whimsy had placed it.

Sally touched the leaning Rock.

The Air beside it Shimmered.

Beyond, she could see the Library table.

Maerath stood at its far end, Reading another Book.

Whimsy went through first.

Sally followed.

The scent of warm Stone gave way to Paper.

Maerath looked up.

“Well?”

Sally stood with one hand still resting on her bag.

“She Opened the Sky.”

He glanced toward the brown Book.

“Yes.”

“No. I mean she Really did.”

“I Understood you.”

Sally looked at him.

Then she laughed, still a little unsteady.

Whimsy climbed into the chair.

“There were Butterflies too.”

“That is not a complaint, I assume.”

“No.”

Sally sat beside her.

The original Scrap lay on its clean sheet.

Two Lines.

A torn edge.

Not nearly enough Paper to contain what she had just seen.

She touched it gently.

“I Wrote that.”

Maerath closed the Book in his hands.

He looked at her for a Moment before he Spoke.

“Yes.”

For once, Sally didn’t ask him to explain.

She looked toward the Shelves.

Somewhere among them, other windows waited.

Chapter Nineteen: The Vanishing Portrait

 

Whimsy found the Book while Sally was still looking at the Scrap.

She had left her chair to examine a nearby Shelf. Her fingers moved along the Spines until they reached a dark Volume with silver Lettering.

“This one.”

Maerath looked up.

“That is not a sufficient description.”

Whimsy pulled it free and brought it to the table.

'The Case of the Vanishing Portrait.'

Sally Read the Title.

“A Mystery?”

The Child nodded.

“There’s a House and Secret Passages.”

“And a Portrait, presumably.”

“There was.”

Sally Smiled.

Maerath moved the brown Book away from the edge of the table.

Whimsy placed the Mystery in the space it left.

Sally glanced toward him.

“Are we allowed to Choose another?”

“You have already Chosen.”

“I’m asking whether we may Enter it.”

“Yes.”

She looked at the dark Cover.

After the Dragon, a House sounded manageable.

Then she Remembered the tiny House in the City Window and Decided not to establish expectations too firmly.

Whimsy Opened the Book.

A Page shifted beneath her hand.

Maerath caught the corner before it folded.

“Carefully.”

“I was.”

“Continue.”

The Child gave him a look.

He returned it without apparent effort.

Sally lowered her head to hide a Smile.

Rain struck tall windows beyond the Opening.

Sally could hear it before the Threshold reached the floor.

A Chandelier hung above a wide Entrance Hall. Beneath it, dark wooden panels lined the walls. A staircase divided at a landing, each branch curving away into shadow.

Whimsy took Sally’s hand.

They stepped through.

The Air smelled of wax, damp wool, and old wood.

Behind them, the Threshold settled beside a tall Mirror.

Sally Noted its position.

Whimsy did too.

Neither commented.

From somewhere beyond the Hall came a Woman’s Voice.

“It was here yesterday?”

“Yes, Madam.”

“And you are Certain it has not been moved?”

A pause.

“As you can see, it is no longer here.”

“That wasn’t my Question.”

Sally glanced down at Whimsy.

The Child Grinned.

They followed the Voices along a Corridor hung with Portraits.

A Man with a severe expression watched them from above a narrow table. Farther on, a Woman held a white Dog whose expression was almost identical to hers.

Whimsy stopped beneath them.

“Do you think the Dog liked sitting still?”

“No.”

“It looks cross.”

“So does she.”

They continued.

A door stood partly open at the end of the Corridor.

Warm light fell across the carpet.

Sally knocked.

The Voices stopped.

“Come in.”

The Woman beside the Fireplace wore a long coat over a plain dark dress.

Her hair was pinned back. A Magnifying Glass hung from a chain at her waist, beside a small Notebook.

She looked at Sally, then Whimsy.

“Visitors?”

“From the Library,” Sally said.

The Woman nodded.

“I’m Vale. This is Mr. Graves.”

The Butler stood near a table holding a tray with one untouched cup.

His coat fitted neatly. His hands were clasped behind his back.

Sally thought he looked tired.

Vale turned toward the wall.

“We have a Missing Portrait.”

Above the Fireplace hung an Ornate Frame.

Inside it, was a Landscape.

A pale Hill.

Several Trees.

A strip of Cloudy Sky.

Sally looked at the Picture, then at Vale.

“I thought it had vanished.”

“The Portrait has. Something else occupies its place.”

Whimsy leaned toward Sally.

“That wasn’t in the Title.”

“Titles leave things out.”

Vale heard.

“Frequently the useful things.”

She approached the Fireplace.

“The Portrait was of the Late Owner of this House. His Family wished to have it inventoried before the Estate is divided.”

Mr. Graves shifted his weight.

Vale glanced at him.

Sally looked at the Landscape again.

Something about its lower edge seemed wrong.

She couldn’t identify it from where she stood.

“May I come closer?”

Vale stepped aside.

“Yes.”

Sally approached carefully.

Whimsy remained beside the table.

For a moment.

Then she came too.

The Frame was Beautiful.

Leaves and small Flowers had been Carved into the Wood, their raised edges worn smooth by Cleaning.

Along the bottom, several pale flakes rested in the grooves.

Sally bent closer.

Vale watched her.

“What do you see?”

“Paint.”

She looked at the Landscape.

Its lower edge carried a thick cream stroke, brighter than the rest.

“That looks new.”

Vale took out the Magnifying Glass.

Mr. Graves moved toward the Fireplace.

“The Room was Cleaned this Morning.”

Sally stepped back to let Vale Examine the flakes.

The Butler reached into his pocket for a cloth.

Vale lifted one hand.

“Leave them.”

He stopped.

The cloth remained folded between his fingers.

Whimsy peered at the Picture.

“The Hill’s crooked.”

Sally looked.

The Painted slope met the frame at an Odd angle.

Vale straightened.

“It may have been fitted badly.”

“Or, it’s the wrong shape,” Sally said.

Mr. Graves looked at her.

She turned toward him.

“Was there already a Landscape in this room?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

The Butler hesitated.

“Over the table.”

Sally looked at the pale rectangle above it.

The Wallpaper was darker around the edges, where something had hung for a long time.

Vale followed her gaze.

“The Landscape has been moved.”

Mr. Graves drew a Breath.

“It appears so.”

Sally returned her Attention to the Fireplace.

The Picture didn’t look like the same sort of Painting she had seen in the Meadow.

There, the marks had Belonged to what they Made.

Here, something beneath the Sky seemed to resist it.

A slight curve.

A Ridge where no Ridge was needed.

She lifted her hand, then stopped.

“May I point to something?”

“Please,” Vale said.

Sally kept her finger clear of the Canvas.

“That mark. It looks like a shoulder.”

Vale examined the place Sally indicated.

Then she looked at the upper corner.

The light from the window reached it Differently.

A small patch of dark Paint showed beside the Frame.

Mr. Graves stood very still.

Vale lowered the Magnifying Glass.

“The Portrait hasn’t left this Frame.”

Whimsy looked up.

“It’s underneath?”

“So it seems.”

Sally stepped away from the Fireplace.

Mr. Graves closed his eyes briefly.

When he opened them, he looked not at Vale but at the Painting.

“He hated it.”

Vale waited.

“The Master,” he added. “He Commissioned it. Sat for it. Complained about every sitting. Then, when it Arrived, he said the Painter had made him look weak.”

Sally studied the Canvas.

A Person hidden beneath a pale Hill.

“Did he?”

Mr. Graves shook his head.

“No.”

“What did it look like?”

The Butler’s grip loosened on the cloth.

“Like Him.”

Thunder moved beyond the windows.

Nobody spoke until it passed.

Then Mr. Graves said, “Not as he wished People to see him. As he sometimes Was.”

Vale put away the Magnifying Glass.

“He ordered it destroyed?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.”

Sally looked toward the empty place above the table.

“The Landscape?”

“In the Attic.”

“And this is a Copy?”

“A poor one.”

Mr. Graves gave the Picture a tired glance.

“I am aware.”

Whimsy leaned close to Sally.

“I still think the Hill’s crooked.”

Sally touched her shoulder gently.

The Child stayed quiet.

Vale asked Mr. Graves to bring down the Original Landscape.

He left the room with the cloth still in his hand.

Sally watched the door close.

Then she looked at the Painting.

“Can the Portrait be Recovered?”

“A Restorer will have to tell us.”

Vale made a Note.

“It may be Possible. The Important thing is to stop anyone from trying to Clean it without knowing what lies beneath.”

Whimsy looked at the pale Hill.

“Why didn’t he hide it somewhere else?”

Vale rested the Notebook against her palm.

“People searching for a Painting tend to look Behind things. In Cupboards. In Attics.”

“But not at another Painting,” Sally said.

“Not always.”

She thought of the blue Leaf tucked into her bag.

The Shell in Whimsy’s pocket.

Things kept because Someone had wanted them.

Not because their value had been established.

Mr. Graves had done something wrong.

She Understood that.

She also Understood why he had not been able to carry the Portrait away and destroy it.

Vale looked at her.

“You Noticed the shape before I did.”

Sally’s first impulse was to explain it away.

The light.

The angle.

Being nearer the wall.

She could almost hear the words forming.

Instead, she said, “I’ve been looking at Paint quite a lot Today.”

Vale Smiled faintly.

“That seems to have Helped.”

Mr. Graves returned carrying the Landscape wrapped in a clean sheet.

He set it on the table and folded the cloth away.

The Real Hill was gentler.

Its Trees stood farther apart.

Light rested beneath the Clouds in a narrow pale band.

Sally looked from one Painting to the other.

The Copy had been made quickly.

Not carelessly, perhaps.

Anxiously.

Mr. Graves stood beside the table.

“What will happen now?”

Vale closed her Notebook.

“I will Report what we Found. I will also Explain why you did it.”

He lowered his eyes.

“It was not mine to Decide.”

“No,” Vale said.

She allowed that answer to remain.

Then she added, “But I’m Glad you didn’t destroy it.”

Mr. Graves looked up.

Across the Room, Whimsy had found a small Carved Bird on the Mantelpiece.

She kept her hands behind her back while Examining it.

Sally Noticed.

“Thank you,” she said to Vale.

“For what?”

“For letting us Help.”

“You did Help.”

The distinction was small.

Sally Felt it anyway.

Vale moved the wrapped Landscape farther from the edge of the table.

Mr. Graves went to fetch another sheet for the Painting above the Fireplace.

 

The Room continued around them.

There was work to do.

People who Knew how to do it.

Sally did not need to remain until every part was finished.

They left through the Corridor of Portraits.

Whimsy stopped beneath the Woman and her Dog again.

“It’s still cross.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe it didn’t want to be Painted.”

“Possibly.”

The Child considered that.

“Or maybe it wanted Dinner.”

“A strong Possibility.”

They walked toward the Entrance Hall.

Rain ran down the windows.

The Threshold Shimmered beside the Mirror.

Before they reached it, Whimsy looked up at Sally.

“You Found it.”

“We Found it.”

“You saw the shoulder.”

“Yes.”

The Child Smiled.

Sally Smiled back.

She had not opened a sky.

She had Looked at something Carefully and Asked a Question.

It Felt Good.

Maerath sat at the table when they Returned.

A different Book lay open before him.

He did not look up immediately.

“Anything brought back?”

“No,” Sally said.

Whimsy came around the chair.

“We Found the Portrait.”

“Was it lost?”

“Hidden.”

“Then you found the hiding place.”

The Child frowned.

“That’s what I meant.”

Maerath turned a Page.

Sally put her bag beside the chair.

“It was Painted over.”

That made him look up.

“Badly?”

“Yes.”

“How Fortunate for the Investigation.”

Whimsy Laughed.

Sally sat.

The brown Book lay closed beside the clean sheet holding her Scrap.

The Dragon’s Story remained there.

So did the Possibility of Returning.

For now, she let it rest.

Whimsy moved toward another Shelf.

Sally watched her run a finger along several Spines.

“What are you looking for?”

Whimsy pulled out a Bright Yellow Book and pressed her lips together, trying not to Laugh.

On its cover, a Knight stood beside a Dragon.

Neither looked pleased with the arrangement.

Whimsy brought it to the table.

“This.”

Sally Read the Title.

'The Misadventures of Sir Bumble and His Extremely Reluctant Dragon.'

She looked at Maerath.

He had already Noticed Whimsy’s Grin.

“Quiet Laughter, please,” he said.

“Of course.”

Sally suspected that promise would not last long.

 

 

Chapter Twenty: Sir Bumble’s Different Quest

 

“Sneeze,” Whimsy said.

Sally looked up from the Yellow Book.

“What?”

“The Dragon. That’s his Name.”

Maerath moved a stack of Papers out of reach.

“An accurate one.”

Whimsy Opened the Cover.

Sally looked at the Illustration again.

The Knight’s Armor was dented. His Helmet had slipped over one eye. Beside him, the little Dragon sat with a hind foot raised toward his ear.

Sally Liked him already.

“Have you been into this one?”

Whimsy nodded.

“Bumble’s Always trying to Rescue Someone.”

“Successfully?”

“Not usually.”

Light gathered between the Pages.

Maerath looked at Whimsy.

“Wait until it has Opened.”

“I Know.”

“Then demonstrate.”

She took a small step back.

Sally watched the Opening widen.

Beyond it lay Grass, a pale stone Tower, and a Man waving both arms.

“No! At the Tower!”

A small puff of Flame crossed the view.

The Man ducked.

Whimsy began Laughing.

Sally took her hand.

They stepped through.

Sir Bumble stood in a Meadow scattered with Daisies.

His Armor looked no better in Person.

One shoulder plate was fastened higher than the other, and a strip of blue cloth had been tied around his elbow. His Helmet sat on the ground beside a Shield.

Sneeze faced him.

He was no larger than a substantial dog, with red scales catching gold along his back, a rounded stomach, and two small horns above his eyes.

A thin curl of smoke rose from his nose.

Bumble brushed at one eyebrow.

“Now look what you’ve done.”

Sneeze blinked.

“You’re supposed to Help.”

The Dragon sat.

Then he began cleaning one claw.

Bumble looked toward the Tower.

“We are very nearly ready!”

A Woman appeared at the window.

She held a book open with one finger between the pages.

“You said that an hour ago.”

“These things take preparation.”

“So does Lunch. I’m going to have mine.”

She disappeared.

Bumble stared at the empty window.

Whimsy Giggled.

He turned.

“Ah. Witnesses.”

“Visitors,” Sally said.

“Excellent. You can observe the Rescue.”

Sally looked at the Tower.

A broad wooden door stood at its base.

It was open.

Sneeze lifted his head.

Then he sneezed.

A tiny Flame caught the edge of Bumble’s blue elbow cloth.

Sally stepped forward and patted it out with the loose end.

Bumble froze.

She drew her hand away.

“There.”

He examined the dark mark.

“Thank you.”

Sneeze looked briefly Interested.

Then he returned to his claw.

“Is she trapped?” Sally asked.

Bumble retrieved his Helmet.

“She is in a Tower.”

“Yes. Is she trapped in it?”

He looked toward the open door.

“The arrangement is more complicated than it appears.”

“How?”

He put on the Helmet.

It slipped over one eyebrow.

Sally waited.

Bumble adjusted it.

“It’s a Quest.”

Whimsy Grinned.

She had clearly been waiting for that answer.

Sally looked at Sneeze.

The Dragon stretched both forelegs, lowered his head between them, then rolled onto one side.

“What is his part?”

“He frightens the Princess. I confront him. He withdraws with appropriate Dignity.”

Sneeze scratched his stomach against the grass.

“And then?”

“I escort her to Safety.”

“Where?”

Bumble hesitated.

“A Safer Place.”

From the window came the sound of a chair moving.

The Woman returned with a plate.

“I am already in a Safer Place. He keeps setting your sleeves on fire out there.”

Sally looked up.

“Would you like Rescuing?”

“No, thank you.”

Bumble raised one hand.

“You needn’t answer so quickly.”

“I’ve had an hour to consider it.”

Whimsy Laughed aloud.

Sally tried not to.

Bumble heard both.

His shoulders dropped.

“Well,” he said, “it sounded considerably better when I planned it.”

 

They sat beneath a Tree.

Bumble removed his Helmet and placed it carefully beside him.

Sneeze settled in the patch of Sunlight nearest Sally’s feet.

Whimsy crouched beside him.

“Hello.”

The Dragon looked at her hand.

She waited.

After a moment, he leaned forward and sniffed it.

No Flame.

Whimsy stroked the smooth scales above his eyes.

His lids lowered.

Bumble watched.

"He doesn’t do that for me.”

“Do you ask?” Sally said.

“I generally need him elsewhere.”

“That may be part of it.”

Bumble picked a piece of grass from his knee.

Across the Meadow, the Woman descended the Tower stairs.

She emerged carrying a small Basket.

“Clara,” she said when she reached them.

“Sally.”

“Whimsy.”

Clara sat on a flat stone.

She offered the Basket.

Inside were Rolls, Cheese, and several small red Apples.

Bumble looked at her.

“You could have told me there was Food.”

“I did. You said Knights eat after Victory.”

He took a Roll.

Sally accepted an Apple.

Whimsy Chose one too.

Sneeze lifted his head.

Clara broke off a little Cheese and held it out.

The Dragon rose immediately.

Bumble stared.

"I have been asking him to approach that Tower all Morning.”

Clara watched Sneeze take the Cheese.

“Did the Tower have Cheese?”

After they had eaten, Bumble opened a small book.

He had kept it tucked beneath the breastplate of his Armor.

Its pages were full of lists.

Sally could see several lines crossed out.

Rescue Princess.

Defeat dragon.

Recover—

Bumble moved his hand over the page.

“I have other Possibilities.”

Whimsy leaned closer.

“What’s that one?”

“A lost Crown.”

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know. That’s why it’s lost.”

Sally looked toward Clara.

Clara shook her head.

“Last time, it was on the King.”

“He hadn’t told anyone he was wearing it.”

“He was standing in the Courtyard.”

Bumble turned the page.

Sneeze put his nose beneath the book.

Bumble lifted it.

“No. You ate the corner of the last one.”

The Dragon sneezed.

A small hole appeared in the lower margin.

Bumble shut his eyes.

Whimsy Laughed.

Sally looked at the little book.

Its cover was worn at the edges. A loose page had been stitched back in.

He had put Effort into this.

Considerable Effort.

“Why do you want a Quest?” she asked.

Bumble opened his eyes.

“I’m a Knight.”

“What do you like about it?”

“The Armor is quite good.”

Clara looked at the scorched cloth.

Bumble followed her gaze.

“Usually.”

Sally waited.

He rested the book against his knee.

“I’d like to be useful.”

That was quieter.

Whimsy stopped stroking Sneeze.

Bumble looked toward the Tower.

“I Thought Helping Someone would be a reasonable Beginning.”

“It is,” Sally said.

“But she won’t be Helped.”

Clara placed her Apple core in the Basket.

“I won’t be Rescued. Those are different things.”

Bumble frowned.

Sally Smiled.

“I Think she’s right.”

Clara’s Wheelbarrow stood beside the Tower.

One wheel.

Two handles.

A substantial crack where one handle joined the wooden frame.

Bumble examined it.

“That’s not a Quest.”

“It’s broken,” Clara said.

“Yes, but—”

“And I Need to move those Pots.”

She pointed toward the Sunny side of the Meadow.

Several clay Pots sat on a bench, each holding a young Plant.

Sally walked over.

The bench was beginning to lean.

One leg had sunk into the soft ground.

“Where do they need to go?”

“Beside the Tower. They’re drying out too quickly here.”

Bumble looked between the Pots and the Wheelbarrow.

Sally could almost see him searching for a more impressive description.

Whimsy came beside her.

“This isn’t the funny bit.”

Sally looked down.

“What do you mean?”

“Usually he tries something else, and Sneeze makes it go wrong.”

“Something else might still go wrong.”

The Child folded her arms.

“But it’s only Pots.”

Sally considered the Plants.

Their Leaves drooped slightly.

“To us, perhaps.”

Whimsy looked toward Clara.

The Woman had already begun clearing a space beside the Tower wall.

Sally crouched.

“We can let him try this.”

The Child glanced at Bumble.

He had taken off one gauntlet and was examining the damaged handle more closely.

After a moment, she unfolded her arms.

“Alright.”

Repairing the Wheelbarrow took longer than Bumble expected.

First, he tried tying the handle with cord.

It slipped.

Then he suggested fastening it with his belt.

Clara pointed out that he was using the belt to hold up several Important pieces of Armor.

Sally found a length of wood beneath the bench.

Together, they held it against the cracked joint while Bumble wrapped the cord around both.

His first knot loosened.

Whimsy stepped forward.

“I Know one.”

Bumble moved aside.

The Child worked slowly.

Sneeze approached.

He placed his nose close to the cord.

“Not yet,” Sally said.

He sniffed.

Then sneezed.

Everybody moved.

A thin Flame crossed the handle.

Bumble stared.

Whimsy checked her knot.

The cord was intact.

Sally looked at the wooden support.

A dark mark ran along one side.

Clara folded her arms.

“Well. Now it matches his sleeve.”

Bumble Laughed.

It Surprised Sally.

A Genuine Laugh, rather than an attempt to make the mishap seem deliberate.

Sneeze sat down and looked Pleased.

They tested the handle.

It held.

Bumble lifted the wheelbarrow.

One wheel turned.

Nothing detached.

Whimsy Smiled.

“Good knot.”

“Excellent knot,” Bumble said.

The Child tried to look modest.

She did not succeed.

Moving the Pots was its own Adventure.

Bumble loaded too many on the first trip.

Sally asked him to remove two.

He explained that a Knight ought to be capable of carrying a substantial burden.

Then the Wheelbarrow tilted, and he removed Three.

Whimsy walked beside it with one hand ready near the smallest Pot.

Sneeze followed.

Occasionally, he stopped to Inspect a Daisy.

Clara received the Pots beside the wall and arranged them where the shade would reach first.

 

On the second trip, Bumble’s shoulder plate slipped.

Sally held the Wheelbarrow while he corrected it.

On the Third, Sneeze climbed into the empty space between two Pots.

Bumble looked down.

“No.”

The Dragon settled.

“You are not a Plant.”

Sneeze closed his eyes.

Whimsy began Laughing.

Bumble looked at Sally.

She lifted both hands.

“This part may be yours to Solve.”

He considered the Dragon.

Then he sighed and pushed.

Sneeze rode all the way to the Tower.

When they finished, the bench stood empty.

Clara Watered the Plants.

Bumble leaned against the Wheelbarrow, Breathing hard.

“That,” he said, “was unexpectedly strenuous.”

“Successful, though,” Sally said.

He looked at the shaded Pots.

“Yes.”

Sneeze climbed out, walked beneath the bench, and lay down.

Clara handed Bumble a cup of water.

“Thank you.”

He accepted it.

For once, he had no speech prepared.

Before they left, Bumble opened his little book again.

He crossed out Rescue Princess.

Sally watched him hesitate over the next line.

Defeat dragon.

Sneeze snored beneath the bench.

Bumble crossed that out too.

Whimsy stood beside his elbow.

“What will you Write instead?”

He considered.

Then he Wrote carefully.

Ask what needs doing.

Clara leaned over his shoulder.

“That will keep you occupied.”

“I expect so.”

Bumble shut the book.

Then he looked at Sally.

“I may still undertake something Magnificent.”

“I Hope you do.”

He seemed Relieved.

“But I suppose it needn’t always begin with a sword.”

Sally glanced at the Wheelbarrow.

“No.”

Whimsy crouched beside Sneeze.

She waited until one eye opened.

“Bye.”

The Dragon extended his head.

She scratched gently above his horns.

Then he sneezed.

A little puff of Flame lit the underside of the bench.

Bumble hurried forward.

Clara caught his arm before he could tip the entire thing over.

Sally found the water jug.

Whimsy moved back.

A moment later, the Flame was out.

Everyone stood looking at the wet grass.

Then Bumble rubbed his face.

“I shall Write, put out fires, on the list.”

They returned to the Library Laughing.

Whimsy reached the Threshold first, still imitating Bumble’s final expression.

Sally followed.

Maerath looked up.

“I Believe we discussed noise.”

Whimsy pressed both hands over her mouth.

Sally set her bag beside the chair.

“We Repaired a Wheelbarrow.”

Maerath looked at the Yellow Book.

“Did you.”

“Bumble Helped Clara move her Plants.”

“More useful than his usual occupation.”

Whimsy lowered her hands.

“Sneeze set the bench on fire.”

“There it is.”

The Child Laughed again, more quietly.

Sally sat.

Across the table, the Scrap lay beside the brown Book.

Her eyes rested on its torn edge.

After the Dragon’s Light and the Portrait Hidden beneath Paint, the little Meadow had offered something she Understood.

A Person trying very hard to fit a role.

Other People waiting for him to Notice what they actually Needed.

She touched the corner of the Scrap.

Whimsy watched her.

Then the Child pulled out a chair and sat beside her rather than opposite.

Sally looked at her.

“You were right.”

“About what?”

“Something still went wrong.”

Whimsy smiled.

“It was Funny.”

“Yes.”

She leaned against Sally’s arm.

“But the Pots got moved.”

Sally nodded.

“They did.”

For a while, they sat Together at Maerath’s table.

Then Sally looked at the torn Page again.

This time, she wanted to know what had been on the rest of it.

 

 

Chapter Twenty-One: The Story She Put Down

 

Sally turned the Scrap over.

Nothing had appeared on the back.

She Knew it wouldn’t.

Still, she looked.

Whimsy sat beside her, one elbow on the table and her chin resting in her hand.

Maerath continued Reading.

Sally examined the torn edge.

Small fibers lifted from it. Near one corner, the tear curved inward, taking part of a Pencil mark with it.

“This came from a Notebook.”

Maerath looked up.

“Yes.”

“Do you have the rest?”

“Of the Notebook?”

Sally nodded.

He closed his Book around one finger.

“Not necessarily.”

She looked toward the Shelves.

“But you had the Story.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“No.”

Sally laid the Scrap flat.

“I’d like to see more of what I Wrote.”

Whimsy’s chin lifted from her hand.

Maerath studied Sally for a moment.

“More of that Story, or other Work?”

“Both.”

He rose.

“Then we will Begin with what we have.”

He placed the brown Book before her.

This time, he did not open it for them.

Sally rested her hand on the Cover.

The cloth was worn along the Spine. Someone had Repaired one corner with a neat square of darker material.

Whimsy moved her chair closer.

Sally opened to the first Page.

There was a Drawing of a Dragon.

Not the Illustration she would have expected after Meeting Her.

The Body was too short. One wing was much larger than the other. All four feet seemed to have been placed wherever space remained.

Sally stared.

Whimsy reached toward the Page.

“That isn’t finished.”

Sally looked at her.

“The wing?”

“All of it.”

“I Like the feet.”

The Child’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re Laughing.”

“A little.”

Whimsy began to close the Book.

Sally stopped her gently.

“Not because it’s bad.”

“It doesn’t look like Her.”

“No.”

“She was meant to be bigger.”

“I Think we Understood that part.”

Sally studied the Drawing.

The Dragon occupied almost the whole Page. Her tail curled around the bottom because there had been nowhere else to put it.

A small Person stood beside one foot.

No larger than a pencil stub.

“She’s Enormous,” Sally said.

Whimsy looked again.

Then her mouth softened.

“Yes.”

Sally turned the Page.

The first Paragraph described a Castle.

It had Seven Towers.

Then Eight.

A Ninth had been squeezed above the line with a little arrow showing where it Belonged.

Sally Smiled.

“You kept adding them.”

“There was room.”

“Apparently.”

The Castle also had a Room full of Cushions, a Kitchen where Bread was Always warm, and a Window Seat large enough to Sleep in.

Sally Read more slowly.

There were no guards at the gate.

Anyone who was cold could come inside.

The Words were simple.

Some repeated.

She didn’t correct them in her head.

Beside her, Whimsy traced the edge of the table.

“I Liked the Kitchen.”

“I can see that.”

“And nobody had to ask before they ate.”

Sally looked at her.

The Child kept watching the Page.

Sally returned to the Paragraph.

She Remembered Imagining that Room.

Not the exact words.

The Warmth.

The Certainty that there would be Enough.

She let her hand rest beside the Book.

“I still Like it.”

Whimsy looked up.

“The Kitchen?”

“Yes.”

The Child Smiled.

They Read on.

The Dragon had not begun with the small door.

Before that, she had crossed a Valley, Helped a Traveler retrieve a dropped bag, and become irritated with a Bridge.

Sally paused.

“Irritated?”

Whimsy leaned over.

“It kept charging People.”

“For Crossing?”

“Yes.”

“But not her?”

“It couldn’t work out how much Dragon there was.”

Sally Laughed.

The Bridge’s argument occupied nearly a Page.

The Dragon had tried to explain that she was one Traveler.

The Bridge insisted that she was a substantial amount of Traveler.

Eventually, she Flew over it.

Whimsy looked Pleased.

Sally turned the Page.

 

Several Lines had been crossed out so heavily that the Paper was almost hidden.

“What happened here?”

“I didn’t like that bit.”

“Do you Remember it?”

The Child shook her head.

Sally held the Page toward the light.

She could make out a few Words beneath the dark Pencil.

Someone had shouted.

The Dragon had left.

Then nothing she could read.

Sally lowered the Page.

She did not try to force the rest into view.

Beyond it, the Story continued.

The Dragon reached the small door.

Sally Knew what followed.

This time, she Read the Passage all the way through.

When she finished, the Room felt very quiet.

Maerath stood at a nearby Shelf, examining the Spine of a narrow Volume.

Whimsy waited beside Sally.

“I didn’t know where she went,” the Child said.

“After the Crossing?”

A nod.

Sally looked at the final Paragraph.

It ended with Light.

No explanation of the Landscape Beyond.

No account of the Dragon’s Life afterward.

“I thought I should have finished it.”

Whimsy rubbed at a pale mark on the table.

Sally Remembered the Dragon’s face.

The dry answer about turning sideways.

The way she had studied the Veil.

“She went Somewhere,” Sally said.

“But I didn’t Write where.”

“No.”

“Does that make it unfinished?”

Sally considered.

“It makes that part unwritten.”

Whimsy looked dissatisfied.

Sally Smiled faintly.

“I don’t Think we have to Decide whether it was Enough before we’re Allowed to Like it.”

The Child sat back.

Across the Room, Maerath slid a Book from the Shelf.

“An unusually sensible conclusion.”

Sally turned toward him.

“Try not to sound so surprised.”

Whimsy covered her mouth.

Maerath brought the Book to the table.

It was thin, with a blue Cover and no Title.

A small label had been attached to the Spine.

FRAGMENTS.

Sally looked at Maerath.

“Mine?”

“Some appear related.”

“You aren’t certain?”

“Handwriting is evidence. It is not a Complete History.”

He opened the Cover.

Inside, loose sheets had been held in place with narrow paper corners.

Different sizes.

Different colors.

One had a shopping list on the back.

Sally Recognized that first.

Flour.

Milk.

Something beneath them she couldn’t read because it had been folded.

On the other side, a tiny House stood beneath an enormous Tree.

A ladder led to a window.

She leaned closer.

Whimsy made a little sound.

“That one.”

“You Remember?”

“Yes.”

The Child pointed to the Tree.

“There was a Room inside.”

Sally studied the Trunk.

A crooked doorway had been added near its base.

Above it, the Branches carried circles that might have been Fruit or Lamps.

She touched the edge of the Page.

“Was it a Story?”

“Not yet.”

Sally looked at her.

Whimsy shrugged.

“I was going to go in first.”

There were other things.

A list of Names for a Bird.

None selected.

A Poem about Rain that stopped halfway through a Line.

A Drawing of a Woman wearing an elaborate Hat, surrounded by smaller Drawings of increasingly elaborate Hats.

Sally Laughed.

Whimsy leaned closer.

“She kept changing it.”

“The Woman?”

“The Hat.”

“Was that inconvenient?”

“It got stuck in doors.”

Sally Laughed again.

Maerath moved a pile of Books farther from her elbow.

She lowered her Voice.

“Sorry.”

He gave her a look.

She turned another Page.

This one held only a few sentences.

A girl finds a gate in a hedge.

On the other side, everyone Knows her Name.

Nobody asks why she has come.

Sally stopped Reading Aloud.

Whimsy’s foot ceased moving beneath the chair.

The Writing was large.

A Word had been spelled differently each time it appeared.

One sentence had no ending at all.

Sally looked at it for a long time.

Then she said, “This Mattered.”

Whimsy nodded.

No explanation followed.

None was needed.

Sally closed the blue Book gently.

Maerath remained standing beside the table.

“Are these all?”

“No.”

The answer brought her head up.

“I don’t know how many there are,” he continued. “Or how many can be found here.”

Sally looked at the Shelves.

For a moment, she Imagined Searching every one.

Gathering every Lost Word.

Restoring every torn edge.

The Desire was sharp.

Then she looked at Whimsy.

The Child sat beside her with one hand pressed against the yellow pocket.

There were things no Shelf could give back.

An afternoon.

A place that had stopped feeling safe.

Someone who should have intervened.

Sally drew in a slow Breath.

“Can these stay Together?”

Maerath looked at the blue Book.

“Yes.”

“And could I come back to them?”

“Yes.”

She waited for a condition.

There wasn’t one.

“Thank you.”

He inclined his head.

Then he took the Book and added the Scrap to an empty page near the back, securing its corners without pressing down on the Writing.

Sally watched.

He placed her newer copy beside it.

Two Versions.

Two Hands.

He left the Book open between them.

Whimsy reached toward the original Scrap.

She stopped short of touching it.

Sally saw the movement.

“Do you Remember when it tore?”

The Child’s hand withdrew.

“Yes.”

Sally waited.

Whimsy looked down.

“It wasn’t an accident.”

“I Know.”

The answer came quietly.

She did Know.

Not all of it at once.

But the Notebook in her lap.

The quick movement of someone reaching.

Her own hand trying to hold on.

Sally felt her stomach tighten.

Whimsy’s Voice was very small.

“I tried to get it back.”

Sally turned toward her.

“I Know.”

This time, she moved her chair until their knees touched.

Whimsy kept looking at the floor.

“There was mud.”

“Yes.”

“And I couldn’t get all the Pages.”

Sally rested one hand on the table beside hers.

The Child moved closer.

For a while, neither spoke.

Maerath turned away and carried the Yellow Book back to its Shelf.

He did not interrupt.

Sally looked toward the tall window.

Beyond it, gray light moved softly across an Impossible Distance.

The Park had waited behind other Memories all day.

She had Felt it near the Ink stain.

Near the Button.

Near the Words she used to stop herself from Writing.

Now she could see the beginning clearly enough.

The swings.

The Notebook.

Her feet not touching the ground.

She looked at Whimsy.

“I want to go there.”

The Child lifted her head.

“To the Park?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Sally thought carefully.

Not to watch until she could bear it.

Not to prove she had been stronger than the people who hurt her.

Not to make the Pages whole by Wishing hard enough.

“Because I keep Remembering what they said,” she answered. “And I want to Remember us too.”

Whimsy’s eyes filled.

Sally took her hand.

“We don’t have to go this minute.”

The Child shook her head.

“I can.”

“That isn’t quite what I asked.”

Whimsy looked at her.

Sally waited.

After a while, the Child nodded.

“I want you there.”

Maerath returned to the table.

Sally looked up.

“We’re going to leave.”

“I gathered.”

“Can we come back?”

He glanced at the open Books.

“You have asked that.”

“I’m asking about the Library this time.”

“Yes.”

Whimsy stood.

She checked beneath the chair for the String, then patted her pocket.

Everything remained where she had put it.

Sally gathered her bag.

The Snow Globe was still safely wrapped.

The blue Leaf lay inside the outer pocket, its stem intact.

She looked at the Fragments one last time.

They were not all beautiful.

They were not all complete.

They did not have to be.

“Keep that Page open a moment,” she said.

Maerath waited.

Sally leaned over the table.

The little Girl at the Hedge had wanted to Enter somewhere without having to explain why she Deserved it.

Sally read the sentences again.

Then she straightened.

“Alright.”

Maerath closed the Book.

At the Landing Platform, the Balloon shifted gently against its tether.

Sally began loosening the knot.

Whimsy stopped beside her.

“We don’t need it.”

Sally looked up.

“For the Park?”

The Child shook her head.

She moved toward the sheltered wall beside the Library door.

Sally followed.

Whimsy lifted one hand.

The Air Shimmered.

For a moment, Sally saw only the stone beyond it.

Then a narrow Opening appeared.

Grass.

A chain-link fence.

The edge of a swing.

She went still.

Whimsy lowered her hand.

“We can leave it here.”

“The Balloon?”

“Yes.”

Sally looked back at the patchwork.

It waited securely beside the brass ring.

A Way Onward.

A Way Back.

She turned toward the Opening.

Beyond it, the swing moved slightly in the Breeze.

Whimsy stood beside her, no longer trying to pull her forward.

Sally held out her hand.

The Child took it.

Together, they approached the Threshold.

 

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Park

 

The first thing Sally Noticed was the Fence.

One section leaned inward near the Gate. A length of wire had been twisted around the post to keep it attached.

She Remembered that.

Not because it mattered.

Because she had looked at it so often.

Beyond it stood the Slide, the little Climbing frame, and the Merry-Go-Round with its chipped blue handles.

The Swings were farther back.

Whimsy stopped beside her.

Sally held her hand.

For a moment, they remained just inside the Threshold.

Behind them waited the Library wall.

Ahead lay a Place small enough to walk across in less than a minute.

It had felt much larger once.

“Do you want to stop?” Sally asked.

Whimsy shook her head.

Sally did not move immediately.

She let the answer settle.

Then they stepped onto the Grass.

The Air smelled of warm Metal and dry Earth.

A patch beneath the Swings had been worn bare. Grass grew around it in uneven tufts, long where nobody’s shoes reached.

One Swing moved gently.

The other held a Child.

Sally stopped.

The little Girl sat with a Notebook balanced on her knees.

Her head was bent.

Curls fell forward as she Wrote, hiding part of her face. One shoe scraped the Earth whenever she shifted the Book to reach the bottom of a Page.

Beside Sally, Whimsy’s fingers tightened.

“That day.”

“Yes.”

The word came out almost without sound.

Sally looked at the Child.

At Herself.

She had expected to recognize the fear.

Instead, she saw Concentration.

The Girl paused, Read what she had Written, and Smiled.

Then she turned the Page.

Sally’s throat tightened.

There had been Happiness before the hurt.

She had forgotten that part.

Whimsy stepped nearer.

The Girl on the Swing did not look up.

“Can she see us?” Sally asked.

Whimsy shook her head.

“Not like this.”

Sally studied the Notebook.

Its Cover was bent at one corner. A piece of Paper protruded near the middle, folded several times.

She Knew what was on it now.

A House.

A Tree.

A Way Inside.

The other children entered through the Gate.

Sally heard their voices before she turned.

Three of them.

Old enough to seem large to the Girl on the Swing.

Not large to Sally now.

One carried a half-empty drink. Another kicked at the ground as he walked, sending small stones ahead of him.

The girl with the drink noticed the Notebook.

“What are you doing?”

The Child on the Swing looked up.

“Writing.”

“Writing what?”

“A Story.”

“Let me see.”

She reached.

The little Girl drew the Notebook closer.

Sally felt the movement in her own arms.

That small Protective curl.

The Hope that Holding something firmly would be Enough.

The boy nearest the Swing laughed.

“What’s in it?”

“Nothing.”

“You just said it was a story.”

Sally looked down at Whimsy.

The Child was staring.

Sally moved beside her rather than in front.

The girl with the drink caught the Notebook by its upper edge.

The little Girl held on.

For a moment, neither let go.

Then the boy pulled at one corner.

The Notebook twisted.

A page tore.

Whimsy flinched.

Sally felt the sound pass through her.

They read pieces aloud.

Not properly.

Not with any interest in what the words meant.

They Chose the parts they could make sound foolish.

Dragons.

The House inside the Tree.

The Girl at the Gate.

Each became something to laugh at.

The Child reached for the Notebook.

One of them held it above her head.

She stood on the Swing’s bare patch, arms lifted.

Sally could see how hard she was trying not to cry.

How quickly she Understood that crying would give them something else.

“Please.”

The word hurt more than the tearing.

The girl pulled out another page.

Dropped it.

The boy pushed the Child when she tried to retrieve it.

She fell to one knee.

Her hand struck the ground.

Sally moved.

One step.

Then another.

She reached toward the nearest child.

Her hand passed through the Remembered sleeve.

Nothing changed.

The boy laughed.

The Notebook fell into the mud near the Fence, where yesterday’s Rain had collected in a shallow hollow.

The children left.

Still talking.

One glanced back.

Then they were gone.

Sally stood with her hand extended.

Beside the Swings, the little Girl remained on the ground.

The Park was quiet again.

Sally lowered her hand.

For a moment, she could not turn.

She wanted the Gate to open.

Someone to enter.

Someone old enough to make the children stop before they left.

Someone who had Seen.

Nothing happened.

Behind her, Whimsy whispered, “I didn’t get that one.”

Sally turned.

A Page lay partly submerged in the mud.

The little Girl gathered others, pressing them against her chest. She wiped one with her sleeve, making the stain spread.

Sally looked at the Lost Page.

Then at Whimsy.

“You Tried.”

The Child shook her head.

“There were too many.”

“Yes.”

“The Paper tore more when I picked it up.”

Sally crouched beside her.

“I Know.”

Whimsy’s face crumpled.

“I couldn’t fix it.”

Sally took both her hands.

“You shouldn’t have had to.”

The Child looked at her.

Sally felt her own eyes fill.

“You shouldn’t have had to make them stop. Or save every page. Or know what to say.”

Whimsy began crying.

Not quietly this time.

Sally drew her close.

The Child’s forehead pressed against her shoulder.

Across the bare patch, the Remembered little Girl sat beside the Swing with the ruined Notebook in her lap.

Sally held Whimsy while they both cried.

After a while, they sat on the low edge of the Climbing frame.

The Memory continued around them, but Sally no longer tried to follow every movement.

The little Girl had left the Swings.

The Notebook was clutched beneath one arm.

Sally watched her walk toward the Gate.

She looked very small.

Not foolish.

Not embarrassing.

Small, and hurt, and carrying something that Mattered.

“I stopped coming here,” Sally said.

Whimsy wiped her nose with the tissue Sally gave her.

“Yes.”

“I thought if I stayed away, I wouldn’t have to feel it again.”

The Child nodded.

Sally rested her elbows on her knees.

“It wasn’t just the Park.”

“No.”

 

The Air shifted.

Not into another full scene.

Only a smell.

A Familiar Room.

The scrape of a chair.

Sally closed her eyes.

Home had not given her somewhere to put the hurt down.

She Remembered her stepfather looking at the Notebook.

The annoyance on his face.

"Stop daydreaming and do something useful."

The words arrived with the voice.

She had carried that voice so long that hearing it outside her own thoughts felt strange.

"You’re too quiet. What’s wrong with you?"

Sally opened her eyes.

The Park remained.

Whimsy sat beside her.

“There wasn’t an answer that worked,” Sally said.

The Child looked up.

“If I spoke, it was nonsense. If I didn’t, I was wrong for being quiet.”

Whimsy pressed the tissue between her palms.

Sally looked toward the Gate.

“I kept trying to find the version of me nobody would object to.”

Her Mother had been there.

That Memory was harder to hold.

A Woman moving between work and home, tired, distracted, doing what Needed doing.

Sally Remembered watching her face while the words were spoken.

Waiting for it to change.

Waiting for her to say 'enough'.

Sometimes she left the room.

Sometimes she asked Sally to help with something.

The moment passed.

The words remained.

“She was tired,” Sally said.

Whimsy stared at the ground.

Sally let out a slow Breath.

“She was.”

The Child did not answer.

“But we still Needed her.”

Whimsy looked up.

Sally met her eyes.

“Both things are True.”

The Child’s mouth trembled.

“I thought maybe if I was easier—”

“No.”

Sally said it gently, but immediately.

Whimsy stopped.

Sally shifted closer.

“You were a Child.”

“I Know.”

“You weren’t supposed to earn someone standing up for you.”

The Child looked down at her hands.

Sally waited.

A Bird moved along the Fence, landing briefly on the twisted wire.

The small, ordinary sound of its feet against Metal reached them.

After a while, Whimsy leaned against her.

Sally put an arm around her shoulders.

They returned to the Swings.

The Remembered Child was gone now.

So were the scattered Pages.

The mud remained beneath the Fence.

Sally stood beside the bare patch and looked at the chains.

One link near the seat had rust along its edge.

She Remembered rubbing it with her thumb while Thinking.

She did that now.

A faint stain touched her skin.

“I believed them.”

Whimsy stood beside her.

“I Know.”

“Not all at once.”

“No.”

Sally let go of the chain.

“It happened in little pieces.”

'Don’t talk about that.'

'Don’t draw attention.'

'Don’t show anyone until it’s good enough.'

Then, eventually, 'don’t begin'.

She looked toward the Slide.

For years, she had thought she had become practical.

And she had.

She could keep records, make payments, stretch groceries, find a room she could afford.

Those things were Real.

But so was the way she had learned to make herself disappear.

“I don’t want to keep saying their words to us.”

Whimsy watched her.

“What will you say instead?”

Sally considered.

Nothing polished came.

Nothing that could erase the morning, or the years.

“I don’t know yet.”

The Child nodded.

Sally looked down.

“But I can Notice when I’m doing it.”

Whimsy’s hand moved toward hers.

Sally took it.

“And stop,” she added.

A Shimmer appeared near the Slide.

Sally saw it before Whimsy pointed.

A narrow Brightness between the metal ladder and the Fence.

It had been there.

Perhaps all along.

She stared.

The Air around it looked no different from the rest of the Park.

Yet she could Feel something giving.

The same slight Looseness she had seen above the Dragon.

Whimsy followed her gaze.

“Yes.”

Sally did not move toward it.

Not yet.

Instead, she sat on the Swing.

The seat was smaller than she Remembered. The chains pressed coolly against her palms.

Whimsy took the other one.

For a while, they sat side by side.

Sally pushed gently with one foot.

The Swing moved.

Forward.

Back.

Its chain gave a little complaint.

Whimsy copied her.

They did not go high.

They did not need to.

Beyond them, the Gate stood Open.

The Path continued past the Fence.

Near the Slide, the Veil waited.

Sally looked at the Child beside her.

There was still mud on the toe of one small shoe.

Still Ink along her thumb.

Still the crooked pocket that had held a Shell, a Button, and a piece of String across Worlds.

She was not a lesson.

Not a test Sally had finally passed.

She was a Child who had Needed Someone to Stay.

Sally brought her Swing to a stop.

Then she held out her hand.

 

Chapter Twenty-Three: Coming Home to Herself

 

Whimsy put her hand in Sally’s.

Neither stood immediately.

The Swings rested beneath them. A Breeze moved through the Trees beyond the Fence, lifting a few Leaves and letting them fall.

Sally looked down at their joined hands.

One Small.

One Grown.

Both with a faint trace of rust from the chains.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said.

Whimsy looked at her.

“Which bit?”

“Keep you.”

The Child’s fingers tightened.

Sally turned toward her.

“Not here. Not on a swing. I mean Afterward.”

Whimsy watched her face.

“When I’m tired. Or frightened. Or thinking about something else.”

Sally glanced toward the Gate.

“It was easy to hear you when you were sitting on my couch.”

“I could sit there again.”

Sally Smiled, but it hurt.

“Yes.”

Whimsy looked down at their hands.

Then she said, “You could listen before I have to.”

They left the Swings and sat beneath a Tree near the Fence.

The Grass was thinner there, but the Ground was dry.

Sally set her bag beside her.

Whimsy leaned against the Trunk, one knee drawn up.

For a while, they watched the empty Playground.

Then the Child said, “I was angry with you.”

Sally turned.

“When?”

“At the apartment.”

“Before I knew?”

Whimsy nodded.

“You didn’t like my Name.”

“I thought you were making it up.”

“I Know.”

The Child pulled at a blade of Grass.

“I was still angry.”

Sally let the Words remain.

Whimsy glanced at her, perhaps expecting an explanation.

There was one.

Fear. Confusion. A Child where no Child ought to be.

But the explanation did not make Whimsy’s Feeling disappear.

“Alright,” Sally said.

The Child looked uncertain.

“You aren’t cross?”

“No.”

“Because I was?”

“No.”

Whimsy considered that.

Then she looked toward the Swings.

“I was angry before that too.”

Sally waited.

“For a long time.”

A Leaf moved against the Fence.

Sally reached over and rested her hand beside Whimsy’s.

“I Think I was too.”

“Who with?”

Sally looked at the bare patch beneath the Swings.

“Them.”

She did not need to say which them.

“And sometimes myself.”

Whimsy frowned.

“Why?”

“Because being angry with myself felt like something I could do.”

The Child watched her.

Sally shook her head gently.

“It didn’t help much.”

Whimsy opened her yellow pocket.

She took out the Shell first.

Then the Button.

Then the String.

She placed them on the Grass between them.

Sally looked at the small Collection.

The Coast.

The old Dress.

The Beetle that had not needed a ladder after all.

Whimsy lifted the Shell.

Its broken edge lay against her palm.

“I wanted a whole one.”

“I Remember.”

“But I Liked this one.”

"Me too," Sally said.

The Child turned it over.

The pink inside caught the light.

Sally opened her bag.

She took out the blue Leaf and laid it beside the Shell.

Then she unwrapped the Snow Globe.

Inside, the little Lighthouse turned its Beam through the Water.

A Dolphin passed close to the glass.

Whimsy Smiled.

“You kept everything.”

“Not everything.”

Sally thought of the Scraps resting in Maerath’s Library.

Of Pages still missing.

Places she might never remember.

“But some things.”

The Child ran one finger around the Globe’s wooden base.

“We could Find more.”

“Yes.”

Sally looked at her.

“We can also Make more.”

Whimsy lifted her head.

“Stories?”

“Stories. Other things.”

“What other things?”

Sally Smiled.

“I haven’t Decided.”

The Child seemed Pleased by that answer.

Sally picked up the Button.

She held it against her palm, then closed her fingers around it.

“I can’t promise I won’t forget for a while.”

Whimsy’s expression changed.

Sally went on before the Child could withdraw.

“I don’t mean forget you exist. I mean get caught in things. Start saying something before I’ve thought about it.”

“Like the crust?”

“Yes. Like the crust.”

Whimsy looked down.

“What happens then?”

“I Notice.”

“And if you don’t?”

Sally considered the question.

The Child deserved more than a promise made because the moment was tender.

“Then I try again when I do.”

Whimsy rubbed her thumb along the seam of her pocket.

Sally leaned nearer.

“I don’t want to make you responsible for reminding me.”

The Child looked up.

“You’ve done enough of that.”

For a moment, Whimsy’s face seemed younger.

Not wiser.

Not magical.

Only tired.

Sally opened her hand and returned the Button.

“You can be angry,” she said. “You can be frightened. You can want another ride when I need to sit down.”

Whimsy’s mouth curved slightly.

“And I can say no without meaning I don’t want you.”

The Child nodded.

Sally felt tears gathering again.

“You don’t have to be cheerful so I’ll keep listening.”

Whimsy looked at her for a long time.

Then she moved into Sally’s arms.

The Embrace was awkward at first.

A knee against Sally’s leg.

The edge of the Shell pressing between them.

Whimsy shifted, tucked her face beneath Sally’s chin, and Held On.

Sally rested one hand against the Child’s back.

She could feel the little stitches beneath her palm.

The places where the dress had been altered.

Made larger.

Kept.

“I’m not going to make you smaller,” Sally whispered.

Whimsy’s fingers tightened in her sleeve.

Sally closed her eyes.

The Notebook had Mattered.

The Stories had Mattered.

But so had the little Girl who sometimes lost patience with a knot. Who wanted the blue balloon and disliked raisins. Who became jealous when a dolphin chose someone else, then Laughed until she couldn’t hold herself upright.

She was Ordinary.

She was also Extraordinary.

But neither was the reason why she deserved Protecting.

She didn't need one.

Sally drew back enough to see her face.

Whimsy wiped her cheek.

“You don’t have to become me,” the Child said.

Sally looked at her.

“You Know more things.”

“Some.”

“You can buy toothpaste.”

A Laugh escaped Sally.

“Yes. That particular skill is mine.”

“And you made the noodles.”

“Not a great achievement.”

“I Liked them.”

Sally stopped Smiling quite so hard.

“I Know.”

Whimsy leaned against her again.

“I want those things too.”

“The noodles?”

“The things you Know.”

Sally Held her.

For the first time, coming Together did not feel like Choosing which of them to leave behind.

Light appeared along Whimsy’s sleeve.

Sally saw it when the Child lifted her hand.

A fine warmth beneath the fabric.

Not reflected sunlight.

Something from Within.

She went still.

“Whimsy.”

The Child looked at her arm.

Then at Sally.

“Oh.”

The Light spread gently toward her fingers.

Sally’s hand closed around them.

“What’s happening?”

Whimsy studied their joined hands.

“I think I can come Home.”

Sally shook her head before she meant to.

“You are Here.”

“I Know.”

The Child’s Voice was soft.

Sally looked at the Light.

It did not pull Whimsy away.

It gathered where they touched.

“Are you leaving?”

Whimsy shook her head.

The answer Steadied Sally enough to Breathe.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“I don’t want to be lost.”

The Child glanced toward the Small Objects on the Grass.

Then she looked back.

“Can we take those?”

Sally nodded.

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

Whimsy Smiled.

Sally gathered the Button, the String, and the Shell.

She placed them carefully in the outer pocket of her bag.

The blue Leaf went beside them.

Then she wrapped the Globe again.

When she turned back, the Light had reached Whimsy’s curls.

Sally knelt in front of her.

The Child stood beneath the Tree, outlined in gold.

Her face remained her own.

The uncertain Smile.

The damp lashes.

The small crease between her eyebrows.

Sally touched her cheek.

Warm.

Still warm.

“I’m Here,” she said.

Whimsy nodded.

“I Know.”

Sally drew her close.

The Child’s arms went around her neck.

For a Moment, the World narrowed to that small weight.

Then it changed.

Not abruptly.

Whimsy became lighter in her arms.

Gold spread through the folds of the mismatched dress, through the crooked pocket, through the curls Sally had Remembered trying to flatten.

Sally Held On.

The Light moved toward her chest.

She felt warmth beneath her ribs.

Not an impact.

An Arrival.

She closed her eyes.

 

A Hill beneath a Cloud Ship.

 

A Beetle, Rescued by tipping over a jar.

 

The perfect, ridiculous seriousness of a Flying Chicken.

But there were other things too.

Anger.

Fear.

The ache of wanting Someone to Look.

None had to remain outside.

Sally drew in a Breath.

The Light settled.

When she opened her eyes, her arms were empty.

She stayed kneeling.

For a while, she could not move.

The Tree cast the same shadow across the Grass.

The Fence remained crooked.

A Car passed beyond it, tires humming against the Road.

Sally put one hand against her chest.

She waited for a voice.

A sentence that would tell her what had happened.

Nothing came.

Instead, she Noticed a tiny green Caterpillar on a blade of Grass beside her knee.

It had been there long enough to reach the bent tip.

Now it was attempting to continue into empty air.

Sally watched.

Then she moved another blade close enough for it to reach.

The Caterpillar found it.

She Smiled.

The Smile did not stop her crying.

Both happened together.

Eventually, Sally sat back against the Tree.

Her Body felt tired.

Her knee hurt where she had pressed it into the Ground.

The Park had not become beautiful simply because she had faced it.

She looked toward the Swings.

What happened there had happened.

She could not retrieve that afternoon.

She could not make the adults answer differently.

And she did not feel healed of every word she had learned to repeat.

But when one of those words began to form, she Recognized it.

'Ridiculous.'

Sally looked at the Grass beside her.

At the place where Whimsy had arranged her Treasures.

“No,” she said quietly.

Not a declaration to the whole World.

Just an answer.

She reached into her bag and took out the Shell.

Its broken edge remained.

Its pink center shone.

She Held it for a Moment, then put it Safely away.

When Sally stood, she checked beneath the Tree.

No Button left behind.

No String.

No small hand waiting for hers.

That last absence hurt.

She let it.

Then she lifted her bag onto her shoulder.

Near the Slide, the Air Shimmered.

Sally walked toward it.

Each step felt ordinary.

Her shoes pressed into the Grass.

A loose strand of hair moved across her cheek.

She tucked it behind her ear.

At the Veil, she stopped.

She could see where the Air Folded.

The narrow place where Light did not quite meet itself.

Sally lifted her hand.

Her fingertips touched something soft.

Like fine fabric.

She let her palm rest against it.

For years, she had Imagined Choosing would feel like Certainty.

A clean line.

No fear left on the other side.

She was still frightened.

She still wanted to Know where she would Land.

She also wanted to See.

Sally caught the edge of the Veil.

It yielded.

Warm Light crossed the Grass.

She drew it aside.

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Beginning

 

Beyond the Veil lay a Road.

It curved along the Hillside, pale beneath the Sun, with Grass growing between the Stones at its edges.

Farther down, the Ocean opened blue against the Horizon.

Sally stood in the Park with one hand holding the Threshold aside.

She could smell salt.

Not the sharp, Painted air of the Storm Beach.

This came with Wind, warm Dirt, and Flowers.

She looked back once.

The Swings stood beneath the Trees.

The Gate remained open.

There was nothing more she needed to do there Today.

Sally stepped through.

The Road was quiet.

Wind moved across the Hills, bending the Grass in long, uneven waves. Wildflowers grew along the verge, white and yellow among little clusters of blue.

Sally let go of the Veil.

It settled behind her.

For a moment, a thin Shimmer remained between two bushes.

Then the Leaves moved, and she could no longer distinguish it from the light.

She adjusted her bag.

The Ocean lay below the slope, broad enough that she had to turn her head to take it all in. Sunlight broke across the Water in scattered bright pieces.

Somewhere farther along the Coast stood a few pale Buildings.

A Road led toward them.

She looked the other way.

Hills.

A distant line of Trees.

More Road.

Sally Smiled.

She had no timetable.

No one waiting for a code.

For the first time, that Felt less like something missing than Something Possible.

She began walking.

She saw the little Cloud beside a patch of yellow Flowers.

At first, she thought it was mist.

A small piece caught against the Hill, too low to join the Clouds overhead.

Then it moved against the Wind.

Sally stopped.

The little shape drifted between two stems.

Fluffy.

Faintly glowing.

She crouched beside the verge.

It turned toward her.

Not with a face she could see.

With a movement that seemed too deliberate to belong to weather.

“Hello.”

The Cloud Puff rose.

It bumped gently against her cheek.

Sally Laughed.

Warmth touched her skin.

She held out both hands.

The Creature settled into them.

It weighed almost nothing.

For a moment, she could feel only warmth and a fine softness, like mist gathering around her fingers.

Then its glow brightened.

Sally stayed crouched beside the Road.

“Oh,” she whispered.

Another Puff appeared beyond the Flowers.

Then a Third.

They drifted close, one brushing her wrist, another hovering near her shoulder.

She did not look for someone to explain.

She turned her hands slightly and watched the light move through the little Creature resting there.

A Voice came from farther up the Road.

“They’ve taken to you.”

Sally looked up.

A Woman approached carrying a basket against her hip. A folded shawl rested over its contents.

She stopped a little way away.

Sally glanced down at the warm Cloud in her hands.

“What are they?”

“Cloud Puffs.”

“That makes sense.”

The Woman Smiled.

One drifted toward her basket, hovered, then returned to the Flowers.

“Do they Live here?”

“Along this stretch, usually. You’ll find more where the Grass grows thick.”

Sally rose carefully.

The Puff remained nestled between her palms.

“Where am I?”

“Caerwyn.”

The Name rested easily in the Woman’s Voice.

A Place, not an explanation.

Sally looked toward the pale Buildings.

“Is that a Village?”

“Yes. Keep to the Road.”

The Woman shifted her basket.

“Are you visiting someone?”

Sally considered.

“No.”

The answer felt unfamiliar.

Then she added, “Not yet.”

“Well, there’s an Inn. And somewhere to eat, if that’s what you need.”

“Thank you.”

“Mable Evolette,” the Woman said. “In case we Meet again.”

“Sally.”

The Name came easily. It had been Hers for a long time.

Then she paused.

“Whimsy,” she said. “I’d like to be called, Whimsy.”

Mable Smiled.

“Whimsy, then.”

She nodded and continued on her way.

Whimsy watched her pass the next bend.

Then she looked back at the Cloud Puff.

It rose from her hands, lingered near her face, and drifted toward the others.

She let it go.

Farther along the Road, a low stone wall offered somewhere to sit.

Whimsy set her bag beside her and looked out at the Sea.

A few Cloud Puffs had followed.

They wandered among the Flowers below her feet, glowing softly in the shade of the wall.

She took out her phone.

The screen lit.

Reminders waited.

A message she would need to answer.

Things she could not make disappear simply by Crossing into another World.

Whimsy looked at them.

Then she put the phone away.

She would deal with what Needed dealing with.

But not before she had eaten.

Not before she had found somewhere to Sleep.

And not by Deciding that everything that she had just Lived Through belonged to a foolish part of herself she must shut away.

She opened the outer pocket of her bag.

The Shell lay beside the Button and the String.

The blue Leaf remained intact.

Whimsy touched each one.

Then she found the folded Ticket on which she had copied the Dragon’s Story.

She opened it across her knee.

Two Lines.

Still there.

Beneath them lay a little space.

There was no Pencil in her bag.

Whimsy searched anyway.

A receipt.

A tissue.

Her keys.

No pencil.

She Laughed quietly.

“Well. That was poor preparation.”

A Cloud Puff drifted near her knee.

She looked at it.

“Yes,” she said. “I Know.”

It glowed.

That settled nothing, but she liked its company.

Whimsy folded the Paper and put it Safely away.

She could Find a Pencil.

And a Notebook.

An Ordinary Notebook would do.

It did not need to hold every Story she would ever Write. It did not need to prove that the next Idea was worth beginning.

It needed a first Page.

She sat a little longer.

The Sea moved beneath the Sun.

A Bird passed along the Hillside, low over the Grass.

Below the wall, the Cloud Puffs gathered around a blue Flower.

Whimsy watched one nudge its petals.

Then she lifted her bag.

At the bend, she looked back.

The Road crossed the Hill behind her, empty except for the moving light.

She could not see the Threshold.

She could not see the Park.

But she Knew what she had Brought through.

Not only the Shell.

Not only the Stories.

She rested one hand against her chest.

Then she continued toward the Village.

There would be doors to knock on.

Names to Learn.

Some things would be difficult.

Some would be ordinary.

She might spend an Afternoon Helping Someone move Pots, and have nothing grand to show for it except Pots in the Right Place.

She might Write a Story badly.

She might Begin it Again.

Whimsy walked on.

A little Cloud Puff followed beside her shoulder for several steps, then drifted back toward the Wildflowers.

She Smiled and let it Choose.

Ahead, the first roofs rose above the Hill.

She could see a window standing open.

Flowers beneath it.

A Person leaning out to Speak to Someone in the Street.

Life Continuing, with Room she had not yet Explored.

Whimsy had Found her Wonder.

 She walked toward it.

THE END

(THE BEGINNING)