Ch. 6: The Three Elders

Back to Arheled

             The   days   were   warm   and   soft   as   September   drew   to   a   close,   humid   and   pleasant. It   rained   a   few   times,   but   even   the   rain   was   warm,   as   Bell   twitted   Forest. She   went   swimming   every   day. Sometimes   he   joined   her,   but   since   the   dreadful   night   in   the   cemetery   he   seemed   to   have   become   more   withdrawn   than   ever. The   trees   weren’t   changing   colors:   they   simply   rusted,   their   leaves   crinkling   and   shrivelling,   sometimes   achieving   a   browny   yellow   before   dropping. The   ash   were   long   since   bare. The   woods   in   consequence   were   a   somber   mix   of   mottled   greens   and   sad   yellows   rusted   with   brown   and   faded   bronze.

             Forest   sometimes   caught   Hunter   Light   staring   at   him   and   Bell   in   an   odd,   pained   way,   as   if   they   were   innocents   caught   up   in   some   immeasureable   secret   he   was   burdened   to   carry. The   week   after   the   cemetery   episode—it   was   the   last   day   of   September,   pleasant   and   hot-ish   despite   the   chill   morning—Forest   saw   him   give   Bell   that   odd   look   as   he   walked   out   to   his   car.

             “You   have   talked   to   someone,   who   is   not   Arheled.”   Forest   said.

             Hunter   Light   stopped   as   if   his   feet   had   suddenly   become   too   heavy   to   move. He   turned   around   and   stared   at   Forest. “How   can   you   tell?”

             “I   can   See   it.”   he   answered.

             Hunter   Light   leaned   toward   him. His   eyes   were   hard   and   glittery. “Then   perhaps   you   can   tell   me   what   the   stars   used   to   be.”

             Slowly   Forest   turned   and   walked   up   to   this   room,   and   as   if   under   a   spell   his   father   followed. A   square   of   cardboard   was   fastened   to   the   wall,   hinged   with   tape   at   the   top. Professor   Light   stopped   in   the   door. Behind   that   simple   sheet   of   cardboard,   he   felt,   lay   the   end   of   his   world. He   did   not   shake   off   the   thought   as   he   once   would   have,   but   instead   watched,   almost   holding   his   breath,   as   Forest   stepped   toward   it. The   boy   was   still   shorter   than   him,   small   for   his   age,   and   yet   somehow   his   father   felt   as   if   he   was   unutterably   old.

             “This   picture   was   what   made   my   mother   call   you   back.”   he   said,   laying   hold   of   the   cover. His   small   face   was   composed,   agelessly   serene. “It   is   time   for   you   to   see   the   Tree,   my   father.”   He   drew   back   the   cover.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Behold   the   Stars   as   they   were   wont   to   dance.”

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Hunter   Light   left   the   world   behind.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             It   was   no   picture,   he   knew. It   was   a   window. As   his   world   ended   around   him,   he   gazed,   intent,   a   scientist   desiring   to   know. He   saw the   forms   of   beauty   beyond   bearing   swirl   as   they   danced   upon   the   lake,   and   he   did   not   look   away. The   voice   of   his   son   fell   like   drops   of   water   from   behind   him,   as   if   his   words   were   somehow   part   of   the   picture   and   part   of   some   vast   thing   beyond   the   picture   as   well.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             And   as   his   son   spoke,   the   window   changed;   he   saw   other   things   moving   in   the   darkness   behind   the   Stars,   amid   the   hostile   trees   in   the   ancient   darkness. He   saw   on   the   hill   far   above,   a   shining   Tower   like   a   crystal   tree. He   saw   the   tree   grow,   until   there   were   Two   of   them,   great   towers   of   wood   that   gave   forth   light   and   dripped   out   light,   and   light   condensed   upon   them   and   rayed   out   from   them,   a   hybrid thing,   at   once   fluid   and   ethereal,   a   liquid   energy. Then   a   spear   of   darkness   entered   the   picture,   and   horror   gripped   him,   a   stab   of   misery   beyond   bearing,   as   at   a   tale   gone   horribly   wrong:   the   Trees   were   dying,   all   light   fading. One   last   bubble   burst   from   them,   sailing   into   the   heavens,   wrought   into   ships   of   living   flame   that   shed   light   upon    the   entire   world;   and   the   world   was   a   field,   it   was   not   round,   and   the   surface   of   it   flickered   with   the   power   of   the   Road   that   held   it   together. Then   he   saw   the   Gods   upon   the   mountains,   and   they   were   throwing   aloft   their   arms;   for   the   earth   underneath   them   was   acrawl   with   the   armies   of   the   engines   of   Men.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “They   were   worse   than   any   bombs   we   ever   made;   for   we   can   only   work   on   the   material   principle,   but   they   knew   other   principles   that   transcended   matter,   that   could   with   impunity   work   even   upon   spirits. And   they   made   war   upon   the   very   Gods   themselves. And   when   they   saw   the   King   of   the   Earth   set   foot   upon   the   deathless   shores,   they   threw   down   their   scepter   and   cast   down   their   rule   over   Arda,   and   called   upon   the   One   Himself. And   He   answered.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             With   a   tremendous   effort   Hunter   Light’s   eyes   left   the   picture,   left   that   unbearable   beauty   that   danced   and   swam   before   him. Strange   movings   in   his   chest   made   him   wonder   if   his   heart   had   snapped;   as,   perhaps,   it   would   have   had   he   gazed   longer;   yet   overpowering   all   this   was   his   ravenous   thirst   to   know,   his   drinking   in   of   what   had   happened,   whether   mysterious   or   not,   that   would   keep   him   alive   long   after   lesser   men   had   perished,   insulating   him,   maybe,   from   even   the   cold   singing   of   the   Stars. He   fixed   his   eyes   on   Forest. Though   the   boy’s   face   was   sixteen   years   old,   the   look   upon   it   and   in   the   sad   deep   eyes   was   far   older,   graven   by   uncounted   years   of   sorrow   and   long   gazing.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Who   are   you?”   he   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   am   the   Wood   of   the   Road.”   the   ancient   boy   said. “I   am   one   of   those   who   truly   see.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What   did   I   just   see?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   told   you   already   that   the   Sun   and   Moon   were   ships. You   saw   them   as   I   spoke   of   them. You   saw   the   Moon   passing   through   the   Undersea,   and   the   Sun   breaching   the   Doors   of   Night. You   saw   the   Road   upon   the   surface   of   the   World   that   was   Flat.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Cold   reality   rose   up   like   despair   into   the   mind   of   Hunter   Light. “The   Earth   is round.”   he   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   know   it   is.”   Forest   nodded. “But   it   was   not   always. You   see   things   happening   today,   and   you   assume   it   always   worked   that   way. It   didn’t. The   world   Bent.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Into   Hunter’s   mind   the   terrible   image   he   had   last   seen,   those   impercievable   Hands   moving   with   tremendous   slow   majesty   and   immeasurable   power,   the   very   earth   itself   bending   like   a   sponge   between   them,   rock   squeezing   out   the   seam   as   the   world   bent   into   a   ball. Still   through   the   black   voids   the   thin   line   of   the   Road   had   remained.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “But   the   Stars,”   he   said,   “what   happened   to   the   Stars? What   took   the   Moon   and   the   Sun,   and   made   them   what   they   are? If   this   is   true,   what   transformed   the   heavens?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Forest   looked   at   him,   that   strange   ancient   look   still   on   his   face. “Don’t   you   know?”   he   said   softly. “Didn’t   she   tell   you?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   know   who   she   is?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Forest   shook   his   head. “I   see   what,   but   I   do   not   see   whom.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Hunter   Light   gazed   at   the   ground   for   a   long   while. The   painting   of   the   Stars   glowed   unheeded   in   the   background. Slowly   at   last   he   lifted   his   eyes   and   looked   Forest   in   the   face.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “She   is   Sophia.”   he   said. “And   she   is   the   last   living   Star.”

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   day   previous   had   been   gloomy,   with   a   steady   warm   rain. Peter   Midwinter   listened   to   it   dreamily   as   he   lay   prone   in   his   old   tent—old,   but   the   tarp   over   it   was new,   for   how   else   could   he   hope   to   keep   out   the   rain?—pitched   in   a   recess   part   way   up   one   side   of   the   steep   rocky   bank   above   Mad   River’s   Valley   of   Voices. He   had   broke   camp   from   his   previous   site   in   July—against   his   custom;   he   preferred   to   stay   in   one   place   as   long   as   possible,   to   keep   up   the   feel   of   a   home—and   come   here,   not   long   after   the   disappearance   of   the   Dike   and   the   inundation   of   the   area. Campers   had   been   in   the   Valley   at   the   time;   he   found   their   tents   washed   up   against   trees   as   well   as   pots   and   pans   and   clothes   all   over   Creation;   but   whether   they   survived,   or   were   washed   downstream    to   be   added   to   the   body   count,   he   had   no   idea. But   he   needed   their   stuff,   so   he   made   use   of   it   even   as   he   prayed   for   their   souls.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   fire   popped   and   sent   out   a   sharp   puff   of   grey-blue   smoke   coiling   against   the   lean-to   tarp   roof,   before   finding   its’   way   out   at   the   highest   end. Wet   or   not,   if   the   fire   was   hot   enough   it   burned   anything. He   looked   at   the   ancient   watch   he   carried. The   type   that   hung   from   a   chain,   with   a   flip-open   cover,   it   had   gears   of   actual   clockwork   instead   of   those   nickel-cadmium   batteries,   and   needed   to   be   wound   once   a   day. Heden   his   father   had   handed   it   to   him   on   his   deathbed. The   old   tramp’s   strange   face   grew   sombre   as   he   remembered   that   scene,   and   the   eerie   words   of   Heden   never   to   sell   it,   nor   to   part   his   hand   from   it,   till   handing   he   handed   it   on,   or   it   was   called   for. Odd   words   indeed,   from   a   man   dead   a   hundred   years. It’s   owner   must   be   long   dead   too,   and   no   heirs   were   likely   to   guess   at   old   Peter   the   tramp   having   an   antique   clock   watch. But   the   time   showed   at   nearly   10:30,   so   it   was   probably   a   good   idea   to   start   heading   down   to   the   soup   kitchen   at   St. James. He   banked   the   fire   carefully   and   gathered   damp   twigs   to   dry   next   to   it,   checked   for   leaks   (only   one,   way   at   the   back;   no   need   to   go   patching   it   with   roofing   tar   just   yet)   and   shrugged   on   his   long   raincoat.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Ah,   there   you   are,   Peter.”   said   a   man   standing   in   front   of   his   tent.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Peter   paused,   frowning. The   man   wore   an   old   leather   coat,   sewed   many   times   where   it   had   ripped,   and   either   stained   with   moss   or   hung   too   long   in   a   damp   hall,   for   it   was   dull   with   mildew. He   had   the   typical   flat   newsboy-cap   of   the   1920s,   with   a   small   brim   in   front   and   no   ear   protection,   which   is   mostly   seen   on   old   men;   but   he   was   not   old,   though   he   was   not   young   either,   and   it   was   hard   to   put   an   age   on   that   somber   powerful   face,   the   features   of   some   old   and   dignified   king. On   a   closer   look   Peter   realized   the   cap   was   made,   not   of   cloth,   but   of   leather.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   walk   mighty   quiet.”   Peter   said. “I   didn’t   hear   you   come.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “No,   I   don’t   suppose   you   would,”   the   other   man   said,   with   the   faintest   suggestion   of   a   strange   smile. “Rain,   you   know.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yes,   very   true.”   nodded   Peter,   stroking   his   beard. “Come   stand   under   cover   for   a   moment. I   was   about   to   head   into   town. How   can   I   be   of   service?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   strange   man   fixed   Peter   with   his   deep   thoughtful   eyes. They   were   blue,   but   the   pupils   were   edged   with   amber,   that   radiated   outward   into   the   blue   in   tiny   rays. It   made   him   look   almost   unhuman. “You   wish   to   be   at   my   service,   Peter   Midwinter?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   have   the   advantage   of   me,   mister.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Very   true,”   the   peculiar   stranger   said,   “yet   one   seldom   hears   such   truisms in   this   hostile   world. Now   men   say   ‘Can   I   help   you?’   in   a   tone   that   means   anything   but   helpfulness,   or   ‘What   can   I   do   for   you?’   with   the   unstated   ending,   ‘to   get   the   hell   out   of   my   hair.’   And   to   admit   my   advantage…!”   He   broke   off,   laughing   softly. Peter   drew   in   his   breath   sharply.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “My   advantage   over   you   is   as   great   as   yours   is   above   the   birds. And   as   for   your   service:   you   have   offered   it   to   me   since   the   day   you   took   that   watch   into   your   keeping.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   know   about   my   watch?!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   know   more   about   that   watch   than   you   would   believe   possible,   Peter.”   the   stranger   said   sternly. “It   was   made   in   1695,   when   the   first   Midwinter   came   from   out   of   Middle-earth   and   set   foot   upon   these   shores. Since   then   three   have   borne   it;   you   are   the   fifth   to   hold   that   watch,   the   fourth   to   pass   the   lore. But   the   time   for   which   I   made   it   as   at   last   drawing   near. I   am   the   owner   of   the   watch. I   have   come   to   lay   claim   to   it,   and   bestow   the   doom   that   it   bears.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Peter   Midwinter   was   staring   at   the   other   with   the   same   look   that   St. Peter   must   have   had   when   he   saw   the   Risen   Lord. His   bright   old   eyes   were   wide   with   awe,   and   wonder   beyond   belief,   and   immense   joy. Slowly   he   sank   down   upon   one   long   bony   knee.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “My   lord.”   he   whispered.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Across   the   face   of   Arheled   a   wise   and   ancient   smile   spread. “Last   of   the   house   of   Midwinter,   do   you   offer   your   service?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “My   service   has   always   been   yours,   Arheled.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   days   draw   near. The   world   darkens   around   us. Dragons   walk   as   men   down   our   streets,   and   the   Road   itself   groans   with   the   threat   that   it   feels. The   seven   thrones   are   filling. The   Lord   of   Chaos   waits   under   the   heart   of   the   world,   and   I   cannot   stop   him. I   call   for   the   watch. Have   you   it?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Peter   drew   it   out   of   its’   pocket. Before   he   could   unclasp   the   chain,   Arheled   stopped   him,   and   folding   his   hands   around   it,   pressed   it   back   upon   him. “Bear   you   the   watch,   Peter   eldest   of   the   House   of   Midwinter,   as   First   of   the   Three   Elders,   who   have   never   yet   been   summoned   since   the   Road   began   returning. You are   their   eldest;   you   must   lead   them.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   hear   this   doom,   and   I   answer   it   gladly.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Arheled   nodded. “It   is   well.”   he   said. “You   won’t   be   able   to   camp   here   much   longer,   I   suppose.”   as   a   colder   gust   sucked   around   them.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “That’s   when   I   head   to   the   Y   shelter.”   shrugged   Peter   Midwinter.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Not   this   year.”   said   Arheled. “This   year   I   will   provide   other   lodgings   for   you. It   is   not   good   for   you   to   be   too   much   of   the   Shadow   Folk,   not   while   they   are   yet   unsworn.”   He   helped   Peter   to   his   feet. “Well,   I   won’t   keep   you,”   he   said. “I   know   the   soup   kitchen   serves   lunch   at   11:30. Be   ready,   Peter. I   will   see   you.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   will   see   you   also.”   said   Peter   Midwinter.

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It’ll   be   cold   this   weekend,   Wayham.”   said   Grandmother   Lane   as   she   stirred   chili   on   the   stove.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Wayham   Lane,   who   was   inside   resting   after   a   long   day   sawing   wood   with   an   antique   bowsaw,   merely   nodded.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Near   frost,   I   would   say.”   he   said. “Let’s   hope   the   rain   stops,   or   it   will   be   raw   as   well.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Rufus   was   rather   put   out   when   you   wouldn’t   let   him   use   the   chain   saw   on   those   logs.”   Grandmother   Lane   said   mildly.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   distrust   these   new   machines.”   Wayham   replied. “Do   you   know   how   many   times   his   saw   stopped   the   last   time   I   let   him   cut   my   wood? He   only   cut   two   days’   worth   of   sawing,   and   spent   the   rest   of   the   day   tinkering   queer   wrenches   and   queerer   words. No;   anything   over   a   foot   I   will   let   him   cut,   but   this   cordwood   from   the   swamps,   it   is   sticks.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Here.”   said   Grandmother   Lane,   smiling   to   herself   as   she   lifted   the   pan   off   the   stove   and   spooned   hot   chili   onto   his   plate. “Fill   your   ancient   mouth   with   that   and   let   me   cook   in   peace.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Is   that   what   we’re   having   for   vegetables.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             She   cocked   a   white   brow   at   him. “I   beg   your   pardon?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Why,   pease,   of   course!”   roared   Wayham,   thumping   the   table   and   laughing   till   he   wheezed. Grandmother   Lane   shook   her   head,   but   she   was   still   smiling.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Sounds   like   something   out of   Kung   Fu   Panda.”   said   what   sounded   like   Rufus   Lane,   apparently   outside   the   front   door,   which   was   open   partway. The   fireplace   had   smoked   again. “You   know,   ‘How   did   you   find   peace?’   ‘I   found   it   in   my   pea   soup!’   Or   that’s   what   they   should   have   had. Hee   hee.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Come   in,   Rufus;   you’re   just   in   time   for   supper.”   called   Grandmother   Lane. The   screen   door   squeaked   and   they   heard   the   clomp   of   heavy   boots   on   the   wood   floor. But   the   man   who   walked   in   was   not   Rufus.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh,   I’m   sorry,   I   thought   you   were   Rufus   Lane.”   said   Grandmother. “But   sit   down,   anyway,   since   you’re   inside,   and   tell   me   to   what   do   I   owe   this   pleasure?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Afternoon,   m’lady,   sir.”   the   stranger   said,   sitting   carefully   down   in   a   chair. He   was   large   and   ponderous,   with   a   folded   solemn   face   of   no   definable   age:   he   might   have   been   thirty,   or   thirty   thousand,   if   you   went   by   the   slow   ancient   light   of   those   strange   eyes. “Fact   is,   I’m   a   historian   of   sorts,   and   they   told   me   at   City   Hall   you   knew   more   about   the   Lanes   than   anyone   in   town.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Isn’t   it   usually   ‘an   historian’?”   Grandmother   Lane   murmered,   lifting   an   eyebrow   as   she   spooned   more   chili   into n another   plate.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   no,   m’lady,   the   fact   is   that’s   merely   a   grammatical   aberration   that   took   on   the   force   of   law   back   a   couple   hundred   years   ago   when   the   grammarians   codified—artificially,   in   my   opinion—the   English   language. English,   of   course,   has   a   structure   and   identity,   but   it   is   a   living   speech   and   not   a   dead   one   like   Latin—and   that   too   was   living   once,   but   when   the   Emporers   rose   it   became   fixed,   for   to   change   it   would   change   Rome,   and   when   it   became   the   speech   of   the   Church   it   became   holy. And   so   English   has   only   been   around   for,   oh,   fifteen   hundred   years   (and   you   need   a   translation   for   Old   English   now!),   yet   already   it   has   grown   so   much   that   the   speech   as   it   began   is   like   a   foreign   tongue. We   can,   barely,   read   Middle   English,   and   Elizabethan   sounds   antique   and   queer   after   but   five   hundred   years.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “So   grammar   has   no   purpose,   then?”   Grandmother   Lane   said   shrewdly,   putting   a   plate   of   chili   in   front   of   him   and   scraping   the   remainder   into   her   own   plate. She   always   made   enough   for   three   these   days;   if   it   wasn’t   used   at   meals   it   would   be   eaten   in   between   by   Wayham. Today   he   simply   wouldn’t   have   any   seconds. “There’s   peas   on   the   stove,   if   you   want   any.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Why,   thank   you   very   much,   I’m   sure. No,   grammar   has   a   purpose,   to   hold   a   speech   together   and   keep   it   from,   say,   breaking   apart   in   an   ice-storm. But   saying   that   it   must   be   an   historian   and   not   a    historian—why,   that’s   just   ridiculous!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It   does   not   even   make   sense.”   added   Wayham.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “A   language   grows,   like   a   tree,”   the   stranger   said,   pausing   to   eat   chili. He   ate   with   a   curious,   antique   elegance,   speaking   only   after   he   swallowed. “Excellent,   this. I   haven’t   had   as   good   in   a   long   time. But   the   grammar   people,   they   are   like   pruners   who   would   lop   off   any   new   shoots   at   all,   even   those   that   carry   on   the   shape   of   the   old   branches. Take   ‘ain’t’,   for   example. Is   it   not   more   expressive,   more   conveyant of   meaning,   than   the   ‘correct’,   ‘approved’   shortcut   of   ‘aren’t’? The   true   expression,   ‘am   I   not’   or   ‘is   it   not’,   are   too   formal   for   most   people   today,   aren’t   I   right?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Grandmother   Lane   chuckled. “You   are   indeed   right. Now,   you   say   you   wanted   to   hear   about   the   Lanes?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “One   thing   I   wonder,”   said   Wayham   almost   at   the   same   time,   “is   why   you   called   Crimella   here, m’lady. I   haven’t   heard   anyone   called   that   in   a—very   long   time.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “But   she   is.”   answered   the   stranger. “She   is   the   lady   of   the   house   of   Lane. There’s   always   been   a   Lane   in   Colebrook;   but   do   you   know   why?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I’m   not sure   what   you   mean.”   said   Grandmother   Lane.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Your   house   goes   back   beyond   Wayham.”   said   the   stranger. “Lanes   have   walked   in   many   lands,   for   many   ages,   since   the   Road   first   began   to   return   and   the   Wayfinder   began   to   call   them. Oh   yes,   your   line   is   not   the   only   one   to   know   of   him. That’s   why   I’m   here,   in   fact. Because   both   of   you   know   of   him. You,   m’lady,   have   sought   for   him   your   whole   life—while   you,   Wayham,   have   spoken   with   him.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Both   Lanes   became   immobile,   stiff   as   stone,   eyes   burning   into   the   solemn   stranger. He   scraped   the   last   of   the   chili   off   his   plate   as   if   he   hadn’t   noticed,   then   looked   up   and   met   their   eyes. There   was   a   hint   of   laughter   in   his   face.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Slowly   Wayham   Lane   rose   to   his   feet. His   face   was   suddenly   solid   as   if   chopped   out   of   some   hard   and   ancient   wood,   but   his   eyes   burned   strong   and   commanding. “No   one   knows   my   name.”   he   said   in   a   dangerous   voice. “Whom   you   are   you   have   not   said. You   will   say   it   now,   and   you   will   say   from   whom   your   knowledge   comes,   or   I   swear   by   the   Road   you   will   exit   from   this   house. I   am   Wayham. I   command   you.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   face   of   the   stranger   was   changing   under   his   gaze,   the   features   becoming   powerful   in   majesty,   yet   still   with   a   wise   earthiness   like   a   king   of   rock;   and   an   amber   ring   was   growing   in   the   blueness   of   his   eyes. Very   old   those   eyes   were,   slow   and   potent   and   alive   with   kindness   and   strange   laughter. “My   knowledge   is from   myself.”   he   answered. “My   names   are   all   assumed,   and   though   all   of   them   are   true   expressions   none   of   them   are   truly   mine. I   am   the   one   who   planted   you   here. I   am   the   one   who   kept   you   alive   down   the   ages. I   am   Wayfinder.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Slowly   the   stern   look   faded   from   the   eyes   of   Wayham   Lane,   replaced   by   awe. He   sat   carefully   down   in   his   chair,   his   eyes   bright   and   wary. Grandmother   Lane   looked   as   if   she   had   been   turned   to   stone.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Let   there   always   be   a   Lane   upon   this   spot,   to   watch over   it   even   when   they   do   not   know   they   are   so   doing;   for   if   no   Lane   is   here   to   greet   the   Road   it   will   be   ill   indeed   for   Arda.”   said   the   Wayfinder   softly.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Tears   began   to   well   up   in   the   frozen   eyes   of   the   old   woman,   though   her   dried-up   face   remained   as   stiff   as   wood. “Are   you…are   you   truly   him?”   she   said   almost   timidly,   and   the   voice   was   that   of   a   very   young   girl.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   am   him   whom   your   house   has   known   as   Wayfinder.”   he   said   gently. “I   have   come   to   call   you   forth. You   have   desired   long   to   see   me,   but   I   did   not   show   my   face,   for   that   which   I   feared   had   not   yet   come. Now   it   has. Now   is   the   time   for   which   I   have   seeded   so   long   in   advance. On   this   feast   of   Michaelmas   do   I   call   the   Three   Elders,   to   join   their   ancient   might   to   the   Children   of   the   Road,   that   Nine   may   stand   against   the   Lord   of   the   Darkness. Do   you   answer,   daughter   of   the   house   of   Lane?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   have   answered   since   my   father   told   me   stories   of   the   Wayfinder,   when   I   was   but   a   girl.”   Grandmother   Lane   answered.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Then   I   call   you   forth,   Crimella   Lane,   Second   of   the   Three   Elders,   their   voice   of   wisdom,   even   as   Peter   Midwinter   is   eldest   and   leader,   even   as   Hunter   Light   is   youngest   and   the   voice   of   knowledge. Be   you   under   the   Road,   and   may   It   rise   to   meet   you. You   shall   call   upon   the   weathers   and   the   lords   of   the   winds,   and   Peter   shall   call   to   the   Powers   of   the   Seasons,   and   Hunter   shall   call   to   the   light   in   all   its’   natures,   as   it   was   and   as   it   is.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Let   the   Three   Elders   rise!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             And   even   as   the   voice   of   Arheled   faded   in   the   rafters,   the   two   old   Lanes   found   themselves   gazing   at   an   empty   chair.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             October   1st   dawned   cold   and   rainy. The   warmth   that   had   ended   September   was   only   a   pleasant   memory. Carlee   found   herself   getting   up   in   the   middle   of   the   night   to   add   another   blanket;   the   landlord   was   a   cheapo   and   the   apartment   had   no   thermostat. But   the   rain   ended   by   midmorning   and   the   clouds   opened,   great   islands   of   windy   blue   yawning   amid   them. Just   in   time   for   the   Fall   Foliage   Festival,   she   thought. It   was   just   a   few   streets   away,   on   Main,   so   Carlee   took   the   long   black   umbrella   Ronnie   had   given   her   and   walked   across   Winsted. It   was   a   plain,   old-lady   sort   of   umbrella,   but   Ronnie   had   given   it,   and   that   more   than   anything   else   made   it   special. She   smiled   as   she   thought   of   Ronnie. Maybe   it   would   be   a   good   idea   to   have   him   over   again,   now   that   they   knew   each   other   a   little   better. Acting   on   impulse   she   called   and   left   a   message suggesting   a   visit   that   evening,   “but   it’s   okay   if   you   can’t   make   it,   I   know   it’s   short   notice.”   She   closed   her   phone   with   a   sigh. She   really   wished   one   of   these   days   he   would   actually   answer   it.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Not   much   fall   foliage   was   around   to   be   celebrating. Sad   yellows   and   warm   rusty   bronzes   mottled   with   green   was   the   best   Winsted   seemed   to   be   putting   out   this   year. She   crossed   Church   Hill   with   its’   quiet   respectable   neighborhoods   and   passed   St. Anthony’s   School,   then   down   the   sloping   drive   of   St. Joseph’s   and   so   to   Main   St. The   wind   blew   fresh   and   cool. One   side   of   main,   where   the   median   with   its’   trees   divided   it   in   front   of   the   post   office,   was   closed   and   cluttered   with   vendors   and   food   tents. There   was   a   sizeable   crowd. She   spotted   Brianna   walking   with   a   gaggle   of   teens,   Camille   beside   her,   and   they   waved. The   kid   was   going   brunette   this   year;   she   never   seemed   to   make   up   her   mind   on   hair   color.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hey,   Carlee!”   somebody   hailed   her. She   looked   up   and   found   herself   face-to-face   with   Dave.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Get   away   from   me!”   she   snapped,   brushing   by   him   and   walking   faster.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hey,   hey,   hey,   babe,   I   just   wanna   talk,   okay?”   he   said   hastily,   catching   up.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “After   what   you   said   to   me?! You   got   your   freakin’   nerve!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yeah,   I   know,   I   was   drunk   right   when   you   called   and   I   acted   like   a   real   creep,   I   know. I   just   wanted   to   ask   if,   like,   there’s   any   way   I   could   make   up   for   it. I’m   really   sorry,   what   I   said,   I   didn’t   mean   it,   you   know.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   umbrella   handle   felt   warm   in   Carlee’s   hands.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Dave,”   she   said   in   a   gentler   voice,   coming   to   a   stop,   “I’m   glad   you   apologized. But   I’m   afraid   it’s   all   over   between   us. I   wanted   a   husband,   Dave. Not   a   bedmate. We   can   still   be   friends,   since   you’ve   apologized,   but   we’re   through.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   see.”   said   Dave. “Since   we’re   friends,   you   wanna,   I   dunno,   grab   a   pizza   or   something?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “No.”   said   Carlee   firmly. “We   can   sit   down   and   talk   on   one of   the   benches   if   you   have   anything   to   say,   but   I   won’t   let   you   walk   with   me,   and   I   won’t   go   anywhere   with   you.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   change   came   over   his   good-looking   face. It   grew   hard   and   sinister,   the   eyes   beginning   to   glow. Carlee   took   a   step   backward,   a   tide   of   panic   washing   through   her   limbs.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   take   back   my   apology.”   he   said   in   a   dangerous   voice. “You   are   going   somewhere   with   me,   all   right,   you   little   bitch. And   when   I’m   through   with   you,   you   will   mount   the   second   throne.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Get   away   from   me,   get   away,   or   I’ll   scream.”   gasped   Carlee. She   held   up   the   umbrella,   stiffly,   as   if   she   could   somehow   stop   him   with   it,   backing   away. People   were   beginning   to   notice.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   have   a   new   father   now.”   said   Dave   softly. “Go   ahead   and   scream. I   give   you   permission.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   moved   faster   than   she   did. Even   as   she   swung   the   umbrella,   he   closed   his   hand   upon   her   arm. “But   where   you   scream,   no   one   will   hear.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Blue   lightning   came   out   of   the   umbrella.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Dave   gasped   and   jumped   backward. Smoke   rose   from   a   scorched   spot   on   his   shirt. “Ronnie.”   he   snarled. “You   have   been   dating   the   Hill   of   the   Road. You…little…bastard!!!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Just   like   that   he   wasn’t   human   anymore. Just   like   that   he   was   a   dragon,   twenty   feet   long,   blue   and   golden   red,   and   from   his   jaws   burst   a   blue   mist. The   umbrella flew open   and   blocked   it;   and   instead   of   heat,   Carlee   found   herself   imprisoned   in   an   igloo   of   solid   ice. In   a   blind   panic   she   flailed   with   the umbrella. Blue   light   hammered   into   the   ten-foot-thick   ice. Three   blows   with   the   umbrella   sent   it   fountaining   up   in   shards   of   steam,   but   as   the   steam   blew   away   she   saw   in   dawning   horror   that   they   were   no   longer   on   Main   Street,   but   in   an   underground   cave.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Let   your   magic   umbrella   protect   you   from   the   roof!”   roared   the   dragon,   and   with   his   tail   he   smote   the   wall.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   landslide   of   giant   stones   cascaded   down   upon   her. Frantically   Carlee   held   it   open,   above   her,   crouching   under   it   like   a   shield. Rocks   thundered   off   a   web   of   blue   light. A   tail,   prehensile   as   a   tentacle,   snaked   up   through   the   earth   under   her   feet   and   plucked   the   umbrella   from   her   grasp. The   rocks   ceased   to   fall. The   umbrella   withered   and   burnt   away   like   ash.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ice   lifted   stones   away. The   dragon’s   eyes   looked   into   hers,   and   drew   hers   in,   bottomless   as   wells,   and   Carlee   fell   down   into   darkness   and   swooned   upon   the   floor.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Dave   stepped   forward   in   his   human   form,   save   that   his   eyes   were   still   the   eyes   of   a   dragon. A   dreadful   smile   grew   upon   his   face   as   he   reached   down   to   caress   the   fallen   girl.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Now   you   will   do   whatever   I   want   you   to,”   he   said,   “before   I   take   you   to   my   father.”

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   feast   of   St. Francis   was   that   Tuesday,   Oct. 4th,   cold   and   gloomy   with   intermittent   rain   spilling   from   the   skies. Daily   Mass   at   St. Joseph’s   was   said   in   the   afternoon   on   Tuesdays,   at   5,   and   today   there   was   a   soup-and-bread   dinner   in   the   new   Parish   Center. Fine   way   to   celebrate   a   saint,   by   eating   plain   food,   thought   Ronnie;   but   food   not   cooked   by   him   was   always   welcome. The   Beckmans   were   there—all   six   or   seven   of   them,   they   were   homeschoolers—and   there   were   the   Nine   Midwinters. Well,   seven   of   them. He   knew   the   eldest   was   in   college,   and   there   was   Lara,   but   Lilac   was   nowhere   in   sight. Lara   looked   so   drawn   she   seemed   almost   haggard,   and   Mrs. Midwinter   did   not   smile   when   she   said   hello   to Ronnie.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Is   something   wrong?”   he   asked   Lara. “Where’s   Lye?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Lara   gave   him   a   haunted   stare. “We   don’t   know.”   she   said   bluntly.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   stopped   dead   in   his   tracks   and   stared   full   at   her. Lara   tried   to   glare,   but   when   she   met   the   red   flicker   in   his   eyes   she   lowered   hers.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “She   vanished.”   Lara   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Slowly   the   red   spark   faded   into   concern,   and   alarm. “When?”   Ronnie   asked.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It   was…we   saw   her   last   after   supper   yesterday. Her   bed   wasn’t   touched. Nothing   was   taken. But   she’s   gone.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Taken.”   said   Ronnie.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What,   how   do   you   know,   she   could   have   gone   for   a   walk   and   had   an   accident—“

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Taken   by   our   enemies.”   said   Ronnie   firmly. “I   know   it. I   felt   it. I   suppose   you’ve   already   called   in   the   police?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   my   dad   is   a   cop,   so   the   police   have   been   in   it   from   the   start.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   nodded. “After   supper   I’ll   stop   in   at   Forest’s   on   the   way   home. You   give   Travel   and   Brooke   a   call. We   are   the   Children   of   the   Road—this   is   Road   business.”

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   stayed   only   long   enough   to   eat   his   fill. A   premonition   was   growing   in   him. Carlee   hadn’t   answered   his   repeated   calls,   and   when   he   went   to   her   apartment   it   was   dark   and   lifeless   that   evening,   and   there   had   been   nothing   for   it   but   to   go   home. But   now   he   was   alarmed. Had   the   umbrella   been   enough?

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   biked   up   the   steep   straight   streets   above   Church   Hill,   over   a   summit   where   a   house’s   porch   roof   rested   on   a   massive   intruding   rock,   and   then   cut   off   the   street   Carlee   lived   on. Dark   was   drawing   down   over   Winsted,   and   the   sky   far   above   was a   deep   pure   blue. The   clouds   were   nearly   gone,   but   more   threatened   in   the   south. Sad   pale   stars   shone   in   hard   pricks   of   white   in   the   eastern   darkness.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   side   street   crossed   Carlee’s   street   at   a   cross,   then   after   a   little   made   a   left   elbow   turn   up   the   hill. Funny   old   houses   stood   along   it,   and   below   the   elbow   turn   was   a   gateway   into   woods,   near   which   was   a   charming   old   cinder-block   cabin,   small   and   square   with   curtains   in   the   dark   windows. Ronnie   wondered   if   anyone   lived   there. It   was   mossy   from   the   overhanging   trees. Hiding   his   bike   he   went   down   into   the   woods. He   trod   softly,   afraid   neighbors   might   hear   him:   backyards   were   close   behind   the   brush-wall   on   the   right. Ahead   was   a   sudden   steep   rise,   and   out   of   that   rise   ancient   ruins   tottered,   shells   of   houses   nigh-collapsed,   and   foundations   of   structures   that   already   had,   and   odd   quaint   little   staircases   of   masonry   going   up   the   hill. Ronnie   mounted   beside   the   tall   ruin. Its’   wood   siding   was   dark   green,   and   the   house   sagged   in   the   middle,   nearly   ready   to   collapse:   the   roof   had   already   buckled   in   the   Fell   Winter.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             As   he   emerged   on   the   level,   he   had   the   queerest   feeling   that   he   was   in   the   cast-off   shells   of   some   horrible   living   structure,   as   if   it   kept   shedding   buildings   behind   it   like   successive   skins,   the   farther   back   you   went   the   worse   and   the   more   decrepit   they   grew. A   courtyard   surrounded   him,   open   to   the   slope   behind,   but   on   left   and   ahead   was   a   tumbledown   white-painted   outwork   of   garages   and   outbuilding,   the   paint   long   since   peeled,   graffiti   sprayed   palely   on   it   here   and   there. On   the   right   the   gaping   walls   of   the   sagging   ruin   yawned. Gutters   trailed   to   the   ground. He   stepped   into   the   doorless   opening   straight   in   front. At   first   it   was   damp   and   soggy   with   decay,   but   stuff   was   piled   against   walls   and   aisles   the   farther   in   he   went,   all   sorts   of   random   tools   and   attic   things,   as   if   it   was   growing   increasingly   less   abandoned. Another   layer   of   shell. Then   he   came   to   garage   doors,   open   fortunately,   and   beyond   were   vehicles,   and   Carlee’s   tall   house. There   was   a light   in   her   rooms.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   relieved   but   still   wary   feeling   in   his   heart,   Ronnie   Wendy   slipped   across   to   her   building   and   walked   softly   up   the   steep   old   stairs. He   rapped   on   the   door. There   was   a   startled   scrabbling   from   inside. Then   a   girl’s   voice,   drained   and   careless,   not   Carlee’s,   asking   who   was   there.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I’m   looking   for   Carlee.”   he   called.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   door   creaked   open. Cassie   stood   there,   reeking   of   beer   and   smoke,   her   eyes   looking   listless   and   dull. She   seemed   half-assembled,   as   if   her   clothes   had   been   thrown   on   anyway   without   regard   for   effect. “You’d   be   Ronnie,   huh?”   she   said. “Well,   I   ain’t   seen   her   in   days. Maybe   she’s   cheating   on   ya.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   faint   heavy   malice   in   the   words   was   a   surprise. Ronnie   gave   her   a   narrow   look. “I   don’t   believe   you.”   he   said. “I   think   you’re   just   trying   to   step   between   us. Is   she   in   there? If   so,   I   want   her   to   tell   me   to   get   lost   with   her   own   voice,   and   not   a   go-between’s.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Cassie   gave   him   a   blank   look:   the   sarcasm   was   totally   wasted   on   her. It   wasn’t   tobacco   smoke,   Ronnie   realized,   that   reek. It   smelled   like   burnt   oak   leaves. Pot. His   eyes   flickered   red   for   a   second.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I’m   glad   you’re   telling   the   truth.”   he   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Without   wasting   further   breath   on   formalities   he   turned   around   and   headed   down   the   stairs.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Out   in   front   of   the   church,   Ralph   was   still   talking   with   Mary   Rogers. The   evening   was   growing   warmer   than   it   had   been   all   day—the   rain   had   stopped,   and   the   clouds   were   opening   above   a   gorgeous   sunset—but   Mary   still   shivered   a   little.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hey,   you   want   to   get   some   pizza?”   she   said. “I   have   to   get   home   pretty   soon,   but   I   can   hang   for   a   bit.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yeah,   you   said   you   were   moving   to   Virginia   next   week?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yep. Permanently. Forever. No   more   Yong   Adult   Group.”   She   had   been   the   group   leader   all   winter.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Aw,   come   on,   I   liked   having   you   in   charge. Nothing   got   done.”   chuckled   Ralph. They   headed   down   the   steep   drive   to   get   their   cars—they’d   parked   along   Main   St.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yeah,   but   at   least   nobody   got   eaten   by   dragons   when   I   was   in   charge.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hey,   that   wasn’t   even   a   Youth Group   meeting,   and   none   of   us   got   eaten   anyway.”   said Ralph.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   police   car   pulled   up   to   the   curb,   the   dreadful   red   and   blue   flashers   rending   the   night,   just   as   Ralph   was   starting   his   engine. Two   officers   got   out. Ralph   and   Mary   looked   at   each   other. “Ralph,   are   you   sure   you’re   parked   legally?”   she   said   dryly   as   he   fumbled   to   open   the   glove   compartment. The   policemen   walked   up   to   the   car,   one   on   each   side,   and   one   rapped   on   Ralph’s   window. He   rolled   it   down.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hey,   good   evening,   officer.”   he   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Sir,   can   you   turn   off   your   engine   for   a   moment   and   step   out   of   the   car?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Why,   what’s   wrong?”   said   Ralph,   turning   it   off.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Are   you   the   owner   of   this   vehicle?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yes,   of   course   I   am,   it’s   registered   and   everything…”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   we’d   just   like   to   ask   you   some   quick   questions,   sir,   so   if   you   could   both   step   out   of   the   vehicle   and   keep   your   hands   where   we   can   see   them—?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Don’t   you   usually   just   ask   for   the   license,   insurance   and   registration?”   said   Ralph,   getting   out   of   the   car.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “We’ll   get   to   that. Could   you   tell   me   your   names?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">The   policeman   on   the   other   side   pushed   past   Mary   before   she   could   close   the   door,   nearly   knocking   her   off   balance,   and   pulled   the   papers   from   the   glove   compartment.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hey,   you   can’t   do   that.”   she   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Eyes   like   those   of   a   frozen   fish   looked   into   hers. “Oh,   you’d   be   surprised,   young   lady.”   he   said. He   walked   over   to   the   cruiser,   riffling   through   the   papers. The   other   one   proceeded   to   take   down   names,   dates   of   birth,   addresses   and   phone   numbers,   asking   each   question   in   the   bored   impersonal   and   overserious   voice   police   use   when   they   are   actually   covering   for   something   else. “Have   you   ever   been   convicted   of   a   crime?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “No,   but   look,   officer,   what’s   going   on   here? Are   we   parked   illegally   or   something?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “We   had   a   complaint   that   this   was   a   stolen   vehicle,   sir. Now   if   you’ll   just   stand   right   there   and   wait,   I’ll   go   and   see   how   we’re   doing   with   checking   your   papers.”   He   took   Ralph’s   license   (Mary   hadn’t   brought   hers   as   she   wasn’t   driving)   over   to   the   squad   car   and   leaned   on   the   door,   talking   to   the   cop   inside. The   ghastly   red   and   blue   lights   played   luridly   over   everything,   giving   it   a   weird   and   unnatural   aspect.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   cops   kept   them   waiting   for   a   good   ten   minutes. Then   the   door   opened   and   the   other   cop   got   out. Both   of   them   walked   over,   with   that   slow   almost   arrogant   poise   of   the   policeman   who   knows   he   is   in   charge,   and   wants   everyone   to   know   it.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You’re   going   to   have   to   come   with   us,   I’m   afraid.”   the   second   one   said. “Because   right   now,   the   way   it   stands,   things   do   Not   Look   Good.”   He   pursed   his   lips   in   an   oversolemn   frown   and   shook   his   pompously   as   he   spoke.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Are   we   under   arrest?”   said   Ralph   as   he   and   Mary   were   ushered   in   front   of   the   cops   towards   the   cruiser.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “No,   we’re   just   taking   you   in   for   questioning   right   now,   but   if   we   can’t   get   some   straight   answers,   we   may   decide   to   keep   you   overnight   or   even   give   you   your   one   phone   call.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ralph   was   pushed   roughly   to   a   seat   when   he   didn’t   slide   in   fast   enough. He   was   seriously   alarmed   by   now. Dusk   was   closing   down,   and   the   weird   blue   sky   of   a   dying   day   glowed   sadly   in   the   west   above   the   black   shapes   of   the   hills. The   cruiser   didn’t   go   very   far,   only   a   block   or   two   westward,   turning   right   into   a   driveway   between   two   brick   buildings. The   Post   Office   was   on   the   right. On   the   left   was   the   high   square   Town   Hall   building,   with   old   metal   front   doors   painted   red. The   cruiser   stopped. They   weren’t   taken   in   the   front   doors,   but   into   an   arched   side   entrance,   glass-doored   and   lit   from   inside,   giving   onto   a lower   floor. It   made   Ralph   think   for   some   reason   of   the   door   into   the   underworld. They   were   escorted   down   halls   lined   with   brick   and   old   plaster,   windows   almost   at   the   ceiling:   it   felt   half   underground. The   doors   were   all   metal. The   police   took   them   into   a   small   room   with   a   table   and   some   metal   chairs   with   cold   red   upholstery,   lit   by   a   single   light   bulb. They   were   given   two   chairs   at   one   end   of   the   square   table. The   police   sat   on   the   other   end.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Now   all   you   have   to   do   is   just   answer   us   the   right   way,   and   this   can   all   be   cleared   up.”   said   the   first   policeman. They   were   able   to   see   him   clearly   for   the   first   time:   a   young   man   about   25,   with   a   sort   of   corn-like   hardness   in   his   face,   with   his   large   ears   and   short-cropped   hair   adding   to   the   look.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   be   nothing   more   than   a   bad   dream.”   the   second   added. He   was   young   too   but   with   dark   hair   and   a   long   lantern   face. But   in   one   thing   both   were   alike:   they   had   large,   strange   eyes   of   a   peculiar   brilliance,   difficult   to   look   away   from.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Just   a   bad   dream.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “All   this   will   be   only   a   bad   dream.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “A   bad   dream.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “A   dream   of   fear   and   fright.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ralph   and   Mary   merely   looked   bewildered. “Is   that   supposed   to   mean   anything?”   Mary   said   tartly.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   low   soft   drone   of   the   cop   voices   stopped. The   two   policemen   sat   in   their   chairs,   upright,   stiff   as   statues.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yeah,   cause   I   mean,   seriously,   if   you   guys   are   sniffin’   glue   or   something,   my   lawyer   is   going   to   do   a   lot   of   talking.”   said   Ralph.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Slowly   the   two   policemen   turned   their   heads   and   gave   each   other   a   long   look. Slowly   their   heads   turned   back   to   face   them.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “This   isn’t   going   to   be   so   easy,   Connor.”   said   the   first.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “We   were   warned   they   might   be   strong.”   the   dark   long-faced   one   answered. “But   there   are   many   things   they   are   vulnerable   to,   however   protected   they   are   from   our   direct   might.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Ralph…”   <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">said   Mary   in   a   strangled   voice,   leaping   to   her   feet,    “Ralph,   run!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Why,   what’s   the…”   Ralph   sagged   and   fell   out   of   his   chair   as   the   policeman’s   fist   hit   the   side   of   his   head. The   second   tackled   Mary   before   she   reached   the   door.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “These   Catholics   can   resist   any   of   our   powers,   but   ordinary   violence   can   fell   them   with   a   blow.”   Mary   heard   the   first   cop   say   dimly,   as   unconsciousness   tugged   at   her. “Strange   people,   they   are. Our   Father   will   be   pleased.”

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