Lost Places (8 page)

T
ANGER SAT IN A
dark wood, his back pressed up against the trunk of a tree.
How ever did I wind up all alone?
he wondered. He was certain he had been transported with the Opener, so where was the Opener? Had Tim gone and lost himself? Humans did have a tendency to go in all directions at once, so it was quite possible that he and Tim had become separated. Tanger was definitely more of a one-place-at-a-time sort of creature.

Oh, who would have thought we'd ever stray so far from our places?
He shivered a bit and rubbed his back against the bark. It was a comforting feeling, being up against a tree. It was the most familiar sight in the strange and murky landscape.

Tanger took stock of his surroundings.
Trees and mist, mist and trees. That's all that seems to be here.
There were a few howls here and there, of
course, but Tanger tried not to think about those.

“Demon Playland,” Tanger muttered. “I never thought I'd live to see the day when I'd be in such a place.” He tried to hope that all would be well, that he would be reunited with his dear friend Crimple, that they would return safe and sound to their lovely tree. Really, it was a dear thing, their tree. So leafy, so many thick roots to slide down, their little abode inside the trunk so cozy. A tree is solid, it can be counted on. Friends, too, for that matter.

So no matter how dark this place, no matter how ghostly and filled with apparitions the entire world seems to be, I will not give up.
Even if he lost his own life by having wandered so far from his place, he'd stay put now, he would.
It is the smartest thing to do, or I'm a saucepan.
He tugged his twiggy knees up to his chest and wrapped his skinny arms around them.
Yes, I'll wait right here until Tim finds himself again.

 

The demon Barbatos was not pleased. Far from it.

This is not going as planned,
he thought as he stomped through the woods. His fishlike eyes narrowed in his round, bald head. There was a change in the air.
All that oozing happiness is making me queasy. And it is wreaking havoc on the
environment.
He snapped a blossom off a nearby rosebush and tossed it to the ground.
Things are actually blooming, for badness sake!

His tiny teeth gnashed.
I must stop this before everything spins ridiculously out of control.

“That blasted Molly O'Reilly!” he cursed. She had spoiled everything. She was preventing young master Tim from becoming master Timothy Hunter, the mage Barbatos adeptly manipulated. If this kept up, young Tim would never become bitter and twisted. He wouldn't go power mad. He wouldn't strike bargains with demons.

And that would never do.

Barbatos tapped the tips of his blue fingers together, formulating a plan.
It all seemed to rest on that girl. I must separate them once and for all, create the event that sets him adrift, triggers the obsessions. But how?
This plan had to be clever, diabolical. Permanent.

This won't be simple,
he realized.
If I put her in danger, I run the risk of fueling the flame of heroism and dashing derring-do in Tim.
Barbatos knew that a dramatic and romantic scenario could bring Tim and Molly even closer together—if such a thing were possible.
Besides,
he reminded himself,
she does have a pesky knack for rescuing herself.

“Hmm,” he rumbled.
Look to her for your
answer,
he told himself.
She's the problem—she will present the solution.

 

Tanger was startled to see grass sprouting on the barren patch of ground in front of him. Gazing around, he noticed flowers bursting full grown from a nearby bush.
Spring certainly arrives all at once in these parts, he reckoned
.

Then, oh joy! Such a marvelous sight! Crimple! And not just any Crimple. A transformed Crimple! A flying, darting, swooping, lively, and
alive
Crimple! And Tim and Molly right along with him.

Tanger leaped to his feet and waved. “Crimple! Tim! Molly!” he shouted. “You've found yourselves!”

“Tanger! Look, it's Tanger!” Crimple swooped straight toward his twiggy friend, then hovered a few inches above him. “Tanger, I have wings!”

Tanger reached up and clasped Crimple's leafy hands. He was nearly lifted off his tiny feet by Crimple's fluttering movements. “Yes, I see. How marvelous!”

“Oh, you should have seen me. I was amazingly brave.” He released Tanger's hands and darted and soared in front of his friend. He came to a stop and hovered again. “Especially when you consider how terrified I was.”

“Oh, how I wish I could have been there!” Tanger said.

“We wished it, too!” Crimple landed on the ground in front of Tanger. “We wished it so much, indeed.”

“Let me take a look at those things,” Tanger instructed, using a scrawny finger to indicate that Crimple should turn around.

“Aren't they a pip?” Crimple twirled so that Tanger could take a closer look at the brand-new wings.

“It's so strange to see you with those,” Tanger commented. He slapped his woody thigh and hooted. “The joke is on me!” he exclaimed. “This whole time I was worrying about you, afraid you'd be withering. And just look at you!”

“Oh, but I
was
withering!” Crimple protested. “I'd left my place, after all. And I was ever so worried I'd never see you again. And—” He dropped his voice to a lower register. “I was in constant danger of being
pruned
!”

“No!” Tanger gasped, his hands rushing to his cheeks in horror.

Crimple nodded. “Oh, yes. Yes indeedy do. But Molly and I faced down the old crone. You should have seen our Molly. She was marvelous.”

“And silly you,” Tanger scolded. “You ran away and refused to meet her when she first
arrived at our tree!”

Crimple hung his head in shame. “Don't I know it. What a silly splinter I was. And do you know, I would be sapless now, I believe, if Molly and the Opener hadn't…hadn't…” He seemed at a loss for words.

“Hadn't what?” Tanger asked, puzzled.

“Hadn't done
this
!” Crimple leaned forward and placed his lips on Tanger's cheek, making a smacking sound. He stepped back and looked at Tanger.

Tanger touched the spot Crimple had kissed. “What an interesting thing to do. It says hello in an entirely different way.”

He continued tapping his cheek with his twiggy finger. “Perhaps that was what made the grass grow.” Tanger pointed to the lush new lawn spreading out under them. “I noticed a sudden blooming. Quite unlike anything I have ever seen. And my old joints perked up a bit.” He danced around Crimple, lifting his knees high. “Why, I feel like a sapling again!”

“I do believe you are right!” Crimple declared, clapping happily. “That is the precise and perfect explanation!” Crimple grabbed Tanger's hands, and they danced a merry little jig. Crimple fluttered a few inches above the ground, while Tanger took care not to be slapped by Crimple's new
wings. “Oh, yes, I do believe it is!”

Delighted, Tim watched the little narls' reunion. They were so happy to see each other. He was thrilled to think that something as simple and wonderful as a kiss could have had such an extraordinary impact on even
this
world. He grinned as he noticed Tanger starting to sprout in the same way Crimple had. Tim figured it was only a matter of time before Tanger also grew a pair of wings.

Tim took Molly's hand. “I'd say everything's just about taken care of here. We should go home.”

“You're forgetting something,” Molly said.

“Oh right.” Tim sighed. “You want to take on the puffy pink dinosaurs. And whoever is in charge of them.” He smiled sheepishly. “I was kind of hoping you had forgotten about the bad guys in light of all this good news.” He gestured at the flowering landscape and the exuberant, now-leafy little narls.

“I don't think we can ever forget about the bad guys,” Molly warned.

A loud thud behind him made Tim jump. His head whipped around as he scanned the area, trying to determine the source of the sound. He spotted something on the path.

“Where'd that book come from?” Tim said. A
thick book lay on the ground, looking completely out of place. Tim crossed to it, knelt down, and turned several pages.

“This is superweird,” he commented. He turned to face Molly and the narls. “I've seen this book before. A troll made me read a story from it.”

“What's it doing here?” Molly asked.

Tim stood up and gazed around. “I don't see the troll anywhere nearby, and, believe me, he'd be tough to miss.”

“I doubt he'd leave his bridge,” Tanger said. “They do like their tolls. Never known one to pass one up.”

Tim didn't bother asking Tanger how he knew about the habits of trolls. The narls kept surprising him. Tim had learned to accept that. “But if that's true,” Tim began, “how did—”

Before Tim could finish his sentence, the pages of the book flipped themselves open. Tim felt a powerful force pulling at him, dragging him toward the book that lay on the ground. A fierce wind whipped up, sending the narls flying, along with broken tree limbs, dust clods, and dust. He could barely see Molly as the sharp wind made tears spring into his eyes. And all the time, he could feel his body being dragged toward the book.

“Molly, run!” he shouted over the roaring whirlwind.

“No way!” she screamed back. “Not without you!”

Tim dug in his heels and leaned backward as hard as he could, desperately fighting against the gale. But it was no use. He was sucked into the book!

 

Barbatos stood in the bushes and smiled.
One down, one to go.
He chanted the incantations, and before Molly knew what was happening, he swept her into the book, too—though to a very different page.

The demon chuckled. This was the perfect plan—he was sure of it. Molly would drop Tim herself. Put an end to things. Certainly she would.
What girl wouldn't, when she discovers what is in store, who Tim would become? Yes. This will work quite satisfactorily.

And now for the pièce de résistance. The ace in the hole. The sure thing. With a snap of his blue fingers, Barbatos brought himself to his own Timothy Hunter—all grown up but still decidedly childish, come to think of it.

Timothy cowered where Barbatos had left him, afraid to move, afraid the future that they had created together was woefully undone.

“Barbatos!” Timothy cried. “You're back. Is everything…taken care of?”

Barbatos took note of the sweat beaded on the magician's forehead. Good. He was in a particularly vulnerable state.

Barbatos bowed, hiding his smile. “Master, I have done what I can. But this future is still unstable, as you no doubt can sense. I will need your help for the next phase.”

“
My
help! Why?”

“You are so much more powerful than I,” Barbatos wheedled. “I believe I have discovered the solution. You must go to Molly while she is still a child, which is when all this started. But you cannot appear to her as you are now.” Barbatos waved his hand up and down in front of Timothy, as if his human shape were an out-of-style suit.

“Yes, yes, of course, I'll need a disguise.” Timothy stood and paced the room, biting his nails. “Why is that again?”

“She must see you as you truly are,” Barbatos explained sweetly. “That is the test. If she sees you as you are, no matter your shape, you have ensured your future.”

Before Timothy could annoy him with another question or anxiety attack, Barbatos said the words, made the gestures, and the magician was transformed into a fire-breathing dragon.

Barbatos swept him into the thick storybook
and slammed the covers shut. “Look alive, my little puppets,” he crooned, stroking the leather binding. “Have you memorized your lines? Are you prepared to utter clichés on cue?” He thumped the cover. “Lovely! Let's cloud some little romantic minds. My princess. My knight. And my dragon.”

“W
HERE AM I NOW?”
Tim muttered.
There are way too many places inside of places these days.
He felt like one of those dolls that had another doll inside it, and then another and another.

With worlds, does it go on to infinity?
he wondered.
How small are the inhabitants there? And do they know they're so tiny? And does having a world inside it tickle the host world?

“Stop it!” he ordered himself. “Sheesh. Your speculations are goofier and more convoluted than anything those multiple mini Tims could have come up with!”

Stay focused.
He let out a slow breath, trying to gather his thoughts.
Okay, so what just happened? Molly, Crimple, and I found Tanger. Things were looking up.
He sighed.
Then I stupidly had to go and check out the book. And now I'm in it!

“Molly!” he called. “Where are you?”

No answer.
Maybe that's good,
he told himself.
Maybe that means she's with Tanger and Crimple and she's safe.
But Tim knew he was kidding himself. She would never stay safely somewhere if she thought he was in danger. Perhaps, she had been trapped by that whirlwind, too.

That means she might be here somewhere. And I just have to find her.

But where
is
here?
Tim gazed around him. He was in another forest, but this one was lush and beautiful. A full moon hung low on the horizon, and he could hear birdcalls, chirping insects, and softly flowing water. This wasn't the strangely two-dimensional wood of the Demon Playland, where the color was flat and fear was in the air; this was total Technicolor—vibrant, a vision straight out of a movie.

“Or a fairy tale,” Tim muttered.
Don't be fooled by how pretty and scenic and serene it all is,
he reminded himself.
Just because you've never seen so much green in one place before—other than in the world of Faerie—just because the world you come from is bleak and gray and angular, don't let that make you lose your edge. This is a trap, no matter how picturesque it might be.

Now to find Molly.
Tim set off down the path he found himself on. It seemed as good a place as any to start. He walked and walked and walked,
the fat moon never budging from its spot above the trees. Time didn't seem to pass, though the miles certainly did. Tim could tell he'd covered a lot of ground by the soreness of his feet.

Exhausted and hoarse from shouting, Tim came to a river. He was horribly thirsty, but he held back, gazing down at the inviting water.
If it's a magical place, I shouldn't eat or drink anything,
he warned himself. He licked his dry lips.
But if I don't, I'll die of thirst.

Quit debating. You're as bad as those little mes! Just drink.
He leaned over, washed his face, and drank. The water tasted great. Then he took off his sneakers and socks and soaked his feet.
Ahhh…that's the ticket.

“Better fill the canteen,” he muttered. Only when he grabbed the container somehow slung across his chest, he discovered it wasn't a canteen at all! It was a leather bag with a big gold
H
embossed on it. And then he remembered—he didn't have a canteen with him when he came to the Demon Playland! In fact, he didn't even own one!

Okay, this is new. Still, it will be handy to have some water with me.

Tim leaned over the river to fill the pouch. He hesitated as he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the bright moonlight.

“Huh?” He studied the reflection gazing back at him. His armor gleamed, and the visor of his helmet was pushed back, revealing his face.
Something looks wrong here. I know what it is! Those strange things covering my eyes.
He reached up—and the moment he touched the frames of his glasses, he flung himself away from the river.

“No!” he shouted. His heart pounded hard, and he had to work hard to calm down.

“That was close,” he murmured.
I nearly believed I was a real knight. The clunky metal shirt I'm wearing and the sword hanging on my side—none of that caught my attention. It was my
glasses
that looked weird to me. My stupid, geekoid glasses that I've been wearing since I was in nappies, practically. The one thing about my appearance that is real is the one thing I thought was wrong. That is
not
good.

No wonder I am so darn tired,
Tim thought.
This armor must weigh a ton!

Tim ran his fingers over and over the frames of his glasses, forcing himself to feel their solidity, their familiarity, their reality.

He sat back up slowly and discovered that he was no longer wearing the armor. He was back in his usual uniform of jeans, sneakers, T-shirt, and sweatshirt.

So these glasses are the key to my remembering
to stay me.
He let out a sharp laugh.
All those years I've hated having to wear these crummy glasses and they wind up saving me from delusions of knightliness.

Somehow it reminded Tim of what Tanger had said, just after he'd left his tree.
Stuff about places and belonging. About having to do certain things to convince the world that you belonged in it. That's what's happening here,
he realized.
This world wants me to belong in it. Probably to trap me here forever. So it's trying to make me fit in.

He looked around.
This book I've fallen into has brought me to a magical wood, where I'm trying to find my missing girlfriend. That could easily be the start of a fairy tale. So it stands to reason it wants to dress me up as a knight in shining armor.

Tim snorted.
As if.
He could just hear Molly hoot at
that
idea.

Okay,
he told himself.
I don't think this place can change me as long as I remember to resist it. But just to be sure…

He rummaged around in his pockets and found a pen. He held the cap between his teeth and wrote on his hand:

I am not prince anybody.

Satisfied by his precautionary measures, he recapped the pen and shoved it back into his pocket. He looked around blankly.
Now what?

I read somewhere that people who are lost tend to wind up running around in circles. But I have a new theory. When you don't know where you are, it doesn't matter whether you travel in circles, straight lines, or zigzags. You just can't get anywhere.

Careful, Hunter,
he admonished himself.
You're falling into thinking that this is your average, everyday case of being lost in the woods.
He knew he would have to keep reminding himself that he was in a bloody book. It was clear that this place didn't want him to remember that.

And it could succeed in keeping me from finding Molly,
he knew. His brow furrowed.
But if that's the goal,
Tim thought,
then why would both of us have been brought here? There must be some plan I'm not seeing yet.
Tim realized he might have to play along with whatever this world had in store for him in order to find out exactly what that plan was.
Hopefully that will help me figure out how to find Molly if she's here, too.

Tim decided to stay put. Since he had no clue as to where Molly was, it seemed to make the most sense. He sat back and waited to see what other tricks this fairy-tale world had up its sleeve.
Of course, worlds don't
have
sleeves.
Tim laughed at the image.

Come on, do your stuff,
he thought.
The more you mess with me, the more clear your nasty old plan
will become.
Although he felt more confident now that he had something resembling a strategy, he made sure to keep his expression somewhat baffled.
Shouldn't be too hard,
he figured,
seeing as that's my usual state of affairs.

He tapped his glasses again. “And as long as I have these,” he murmured, “I should be able to remember my real place.”

Something swooped past Tim's head, making him duck, its passage ruffling Tim's brown hair. It landed on a low branch of a nearby tree. Tim's hands balled into fists when he realized what it was.

An owl.

How obvious,
Tim thought.
They've sent a replica of my owl, Yo-yo.
Tim had to fight to smother his rising anger. How dare they use Yo-yo to trick him? How stupid did they think he was?
If Yo-yo hasn't returned to me in my own world, why would I think he'd show up here?

The owl cocked its head and blinked its yellow eyes slowly.

Remember your plan,
Tim told himself.
Play along. They sent this…fraud for a reason. Stay on your toes and try to find out why.

Tim stood up. “Oh, look, look,” he recited. “An owl.” His voice dripped sarcasm, and the flatness of his delivery echoed around him.
You can do
better than that,
he admonished himself.
Try harder.

He cleared his throat and spoke again. “I wonder if it can truly be my old friend Yo-yo. My very first magic. Oh, I do hope so.”

Better,
he critiqued, but he found it difficult to keep the disdain out of his voice. It irked him to think they believed he was so gullible. He'd show them. Maybe it was foolish, but he couldn't stand the idea that “they” thought “they” could pull something over on him—something this transparent.

He continued talking to the owl, waiting for an indication of what this game was really all about. “Oh, Mister Owl, please be my friend Yoyo,” Tim wheedled. “I am so stupid that I will believe that you are Yo-yo if you will only give me a sign.”

The owl flapped its wings and ruffled its feathers.
“Hoo!”
it hooted.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Oh, brother,” he muttered.
Even I'm a better actor than this replica. If they aren't going to make much of an effort, then neither will I.
“Yo-yo, it's you,” he recited flatly. “Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah. You will help me find Princess Molly, won't you, dear faithful owl?”

The owl flew straight at Tim. “Yah!” Tim yelped, throwing his hands up to protect his face. The attack caught him totally unprepared.

Tim batted at it, but it kept coming, its powerful wings slapping his face.

“Hey, get off me, you fake!” Tim hollered.

Their struggle knocked Tim's glasses to the ground. The owl swooped down, snatched them up in its talons, and flew away.

Tim gingerly touched the scratches on his face. He squinted at the blood on his fingers.
Bloody hell. It tried to kill me.
Then he realized—the glasses. They were gone. That was why the owl appeared—that was its game: to take his glasses away from him. The last link to his own reality.

“Oh, this is so not good,” Tim moaned.