Chapter the 14th
“Are the Crown Prince and the Princess of the Realm willing to offer hospitality to the Kingdom’s stranded visitors for the night?” Aunt Edith asked Prince Moroch and Princess Mona.
The Crown Prince bristled so sharply at the suggestion that Mark feared he might have to spend the night in Carl’s Hardware Store.
“Are you suggesting that the Crown Prince of Carelin should even think of going to bed at the behest of a commoner like you?” Prince Moroch asked.
Aunt Edith bristled in her turn.
“I wouldn't dream of interfering with your sleeping patterns—or lack of them,” she replied.
“That’s good,” said Princess Mona. “My brother needs practice in knowing what to do without other people telling him to do it or how to do it.”
“However,” said Aunt Edith, “this still leaves unresolved the issue of where those of us here who wish to have a bed for the night might procure such a bed for the purposes of having a night’s worth of sleep.”
“Are you suggesting that we offer hospitality in our grandmother’s house?” asked Prince Moroch.
“I would be more than happy to spend the night in the nearest hotel that has electricity and running water and room service,” said Edna Speiser.
“What's a hotel?” asked Uncle Martin.
“The fountain has running water,” said Prince Moroch. “Will that do?”
“What is eleco-tricity?” asked Princess Mona.
The look on Edna’s face at those words almost made Mark and Scott crack up.
“A hotel is a place that provides lodging for people when they are away from home,” Edna replied. “Do you mean to say that you have no such establishments in this town of yours?”
“No,” said Mona. “Never heard of such a thing.”
“Edith doesn't mean to take over anybody's house,” Uncle Martin explained. “She's just acting out of force of habit. She isn’t used to not being in her own house and she is used to inviting people to stay the night when they need a place to stay.”
Aunt Edith sat rigidly straight in her chair, hardly mollified by her husband's remark. Prince Moroch made a show of thinking very hard about the matter.
“Edith, Mother of Amarilla, Roger and Samantha,” said Moroch in a commanding voice, “I appoint you minister of domestic hospitality. I order you to find a bedroom upstairs for everybody.”
“I hope my parents don’t worry about me when I don’t come home,” said Mark, “but I’m sure they will.”
“My mother doesn’t know what to do if I’m not around the house to give her somebody to yell at,” said Scott.
“I just hope my husband has enough pairs of trousers that don’t need altering to tie him over until I get back home,” said Edna.
Gary slouched silently in his chair to suggest that he didn’t care if anybody worried about him or not.
“You can all write home in the morning if you think that expedient or charitable,” said Aunt Edith. “As for me, I am weary of the day's activities and I wish to retire for a night’s worth of slumber.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Uncle Martin. “We’re going to need all the dreams we can get if we’re going to crack the nut we’ve got for ourselves this time.”
“I don’t know what time it is since my watch stopped as soon as that store got transported to this place,” said Edna, “but I’m sure it’s well past my bed time.”
“Would you like some help with clearing these dishes?” Aunt Edith asked with a wry look at the dishes that were still strewn on the floor.
“Are you suggesting that the Crown Prince and the Princess of the Realm are not keeping this house neat enough for you?” Prince Moroch asked, his eyes flashing with anger.
“Oh, I would never, ever in my life, suggest such a thing to the Crown Prince of Carelin or the Princess of the Realm of Carelin,” said Aunt Edith with one last acidic look at the dirty dishes.
Scott and Mark decided to follow suit and climb the stairs with Aunt Edith and Uncle Martin and Edna. Remembering how small the house was, Mark didn’t see how there could be room for everybody without some doubling and tripling up, but once they reached the second floor, there seemed to be no end of rooms. Edna poked her head into several doorways, sniffed with dissatisfaction, and then snatched a room that seemed to meet her standards. When Mark found a room with twin beds all made up, he asked Scott if he wanted to share, but Scott found a vacant room next to his and took that.
That left the royal children downstairs with Gary who remained slouched in his chair, looking neither asleep nor awake. Hoping she could entice her brother into a game, Mona picked up a deck of cards and dealt out a hand of solitaire. Not interested in cards just then, Moroch pulled a sheaf of maps out from between two books in the bookcase, plopped them down in the middle of the floor where the dirty dishes gave him just enough room, and studied them one by one. Not willing to stay up late for the sake of staying up late if it meant being bored, Mona dropped the cards and went up to her room. Moroch continued to pour over map after map without finding a clue for the right plan to find the missing light, no matter how many times he looked at them. Just when Moroch thought he had studied all the maps, he unfolded a map of an island he hadn't seen before, a hand-drawn treasure map no less. On the rocky coast of the island there was a lighthouse. Three shadows loomed over the map as Moroch trailed the route with his finger.
“Yes, this lighthouse is where the light is stored,” said a man’s voice.
“You will find it all there,” added a woman.
“You will save all Carelin with the light you find there,” said a second man.
Prince Moroch the Pickled nodded to himself, dropped the map, and started to walk along the rocky coast. The surf crashed so hard against the rocks that it almost sounded like the breaking of thousands of dishes. The wind was cold and Prince Moroch did not have a coat. The trouble with a coat was that it would cover up his medals. He was better off without one. The dark lighthouse loomed just ahead. The prince stumbled over the rocks in its direction.
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“Did you buy those train cars at Morley’s Toy Shop?”
Kevin eyed the toy train cars as they snaked their way around the children seated in the living room.
“I think they bought me,” said Kevin. “They just started following me around like a couple of lost puppies and next thing I knew, this guy who was making that long list told me I had bought them.”
“That means these train cars are supposed to take us on our quest,” said Samantha.
“We need more of a train than one circus car and one caboose to go on a quest in,” said Roger.
“We just need to find the rest of the train,” said Amarilla.
“If it’s somewhere round here,” said one of the lost boys, “then maybe all we have to do is follow the cars out of the house tomorrow morning.”
“And they’ll go straight to the house where the rest of the train is,” added a lost girl.
“Do you know where there might be a train set around here?” Amarilla asked, looking at Kevin and Sheila.
“Yes,” said Sheila, while Kevin shook his head. “Shawn Harrison has a train set. I hear it buzzing every time I go to his aunt’s house for my piano lesson.”
“Who’s he?” asked Samantha.
“My piano teacher’s horrible nephew, Sheila replied. “He’s the biggest spoiled brat in the world. He’s staying with Miss Shepherd because his mother is busy getting treated for drinking too much and his father is too busy making money to take care of him. Shawn has this elaborate train set that my teacher says takes up all the space in his room except for his bed.”
“Shawn was one of the guys we talked about on the way to Mrs. Lear’s burial,” said Kevin. “My sister Karen was going to check him out and see if he’s got a quest.”
“I wouldn’t want him on my quest,” said Sheila.
“Maybe we should go over to house where Shawn lives and ask him if he’ll give us a ride on his train if we give him these two cars,” Samantha suggested.
“I bet he’ll take the cars and kick us out without giving us a ride,” said Kevin. “He's the creepiest boy in town.”
“He never wants to help anybody,” added Sheila.
“We’ve got that creep outnumbered,” said a lost boy. “We could go over to his house and take the train away from him.”
“We can get a bunch of toy guns and tomahawks at Morley’s and persuade him,” said a girl.
“I suppose you could,” said Father Clement, “and I admit that I understand your sentiments towards Shawn Harrison, but I cannot in good conscience allow you to steal his train.”
“You could tell him he'll go to the bad place if he doesn’t cooperate,” said Samantha.
Father Clement chuckled.
“Sorry to say, church teaching does not allow me to tell anyone categorically what his or her final destination is going to be. That’s in God's hands. Besides, most people don't listen to clergymen anyway, least of all those who need to listen most.”
“Could you ask him nicely?” asked a lost girl.
“I can try to talk nicely to Shawn,” said the priest, “but the few times I’ve talked to him at all, he has shown me a posture of so much contempt for the clergy that I probably can’t overcome it in a day. He is a very hurt young man and is in need of much healing that will take a very long time.”
“Then let’s steal the train and heal him later,” suggested a boy.
“I could try to talk to him,” said Roger. “If we can just get him to cooperate enough to get his train started with these cars, then we can go from there.”
“Shawn will spoil it,” Sheila protested.
“You really shouldn’t make these assumptions,” Father Clement cautioned. “You don’t really know what a person is going to do ahead of time.”
“But we know Shawn,” said Kevin.
“And so do I,” said the priest. “I have to admit your chances aren’t good, Roger, but a boy like you probably has the best chance to get a boy like Shawn to share his train set.”
“Kevin, can I offer him your train cars?” asked Roger.
Kevin looked as if he were being asked to give up both of his arms.
“I guess so,” he said, his face downcast.
“Drive a real hard bargain,” said a boy. “Don’t let him have the cars unless he lets us ride them.”
“It’s settled then,” said Roger. “I will go to Shawn’s house first thing in the morning and try to talk him into riding his train in exchange for the cars. Who wants to come with me?”
“I guess I’d better go,” said Kevin. “I don’t want to miss out on riding the train—if we get to do it—the way I missed out on taking the pirate ship.”
“You missed the pirate ship because that wasn’t your quest,” said Samantha, “so cheer up.”
The look on Kevin’s face made it clear he wasn’t going to cheer up about missing the pirate ship any time soon.
“Since Shawn’s aunt is my piano teacher,” said Sheila, “I guess I’d better go, just in case we have to talk to her about it.”
“I’ll go,” said Samantha.
“Anybody else?” asked Roger.
All of the other children held their peace. Roger’s face fell.
“Nobody else?” asked Roger.
“I’m only interested if we rob the train,” said a boy. “I don’t want to talk to a creep that everybody hates.”
“I want to go home,” said a small girl with tears in her eyes.
“I don’t know if we can manage that or not,” said Amarilla, “but I will try. And if I can’t get you home, I will take care of you.”
“Does that mean you aren’t going with us, either?” Roger asked her.
“It does,” Amarilla replied. “Somebody has to hold the fort here and make sure these children who refused to go on your quest do not wreck havoc on either Milton or Carelin. Moreover, somebody has to deliver the papers for Michael Bullinger until he ceases being a crow and returns to his human form.”
“What about you, Father Clement?” asked Roger. “Are you coming with us?”
“Thank you for inviting me,” said the priest, “but I have many duties at the church tomorrow that I must perform.”
“Now, that’s all settled,” said Amarilla in a motherly voice, “you will all need a good night’s sleep before starting off on either a quest of a day of mischief. Therefore, it is time for bed!”
“Bed!” cried Samantha. “What for? We haven't even played a Mozart quartet!”
“You can play a Mozart quartet in the morning before breakfast,” said Amarilla. “Like it or not, you have to listen to me once in a while, and this is a once. It is getting late and you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow. Now, all of you, march! Kevin and Sheila and Father Clement, you are invited to spend the night with us. We will find a bedroom for each of you, somehow.”
Kevin looked out the window at his house. All the windows were dark.
“There’s nobody home at my house,” said Kevin. “Might as well stay here.”
“I should go home if I can,” said Sheila, “my parents will be terribly worried, and—well—I want to see them again before I go off.”
“My wife must be worrying about me,” said Father Clement. “She won’t be expecting me to be this late making pastoral calls without calling her.”
“You and Sheila can go home,” said Amarilla, “provided you can find your way back here. To be sure of that, you had best get to your houses through this house for your own protection.”
“Why?” asked Father Clement.
“Because that way, you'll still be inside our house even when you're in your house,” Roger explained.
“And that way, I don't think they will be able to get at you,” Amarilla added.
“I see,” said Sheila, although she didn’t really understand the children very well.
Deciding he should humor Amarilla, Father Clement let Samantha lead him towards the dining room. When he stepped through the opening, he found himself, instead, in his own dining room at the rectory. The table was covered with church papers and his wife was hard at work.
“There you are!” cried Mary from the middle of the litter.
“Of course I'm here. Sorry a pastoral problem kept me so late.”
“Now that you’re here, you can give me some pastoral care,” said Mary. “Mark still hasn’t come home and nobody has seen or heard of him.”
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Scott stood on a high rock and fought three dark assailants with a shining sword. Each time his sword clashed with one of their black umbrellas, his sword turned blacker until, finally, his sword turned into a black umbrella just like theirs. He thought he was finished then, but to his surprise, his three enemies fell on their knees and hailed him as their vanquisher. Scott raised his umbrella to knight his enemies for their valor in battle, but the umbrella fell from his hand as another enemy shook his shoulder.
“I said, wake up! We don't have all night!”
Scott swung his fist in the air and hit his pillow. When he opened his eyes, he could barely make out a girl in a white night dress and a nightcap in the light of a lantern she was carrying. After a few seconds, Scott remembered that this girl was the sister of the crown prince of Carelin.
“I’m too tired to get up,” Scott mumbled.
“You have to get up anyway,” Mona insisted. “The crown prince has gone to get the light back and he doesn't know where’s he’s going or what he's doing.”
“How do you know?”
“First I got woken up by a big crash downstairs. Since nobody else bothered to wake up over that, I felt obligated to run downstairs and see what it was. Well, who should I see walking in his sleep, but Prince Moroch the Pickled—also known as my brother? He had just tripped over the dishes in the living room Before I could wake him up, he had walked out the door. We've got to follow him.”
“Can't he follow himself?” Scott asked drowsily.
“As a matter of fact he can't,” Mona replied. “You can't follow yourself when you don't know where you're going and Moroch doesn't know where he's going.”
“Oh awright,” Scott mumbled as climbed out of bed in his rumpled clothes.
He followed Mona downstairs, guided by the dim light of her lantern. He carefully picked his way through the broken dishes on the living room floor, but he wasn’t careful enough. He lost his balance on his bad foot and fell over with another big crash.
“Now everybody else will wake up and follow us,” said Mona as she pulled Scott to his feet. “There’s no help for it. Let's go.”
“What’s going on?” Gary groaned from the depths of a chair.
“It’s too long a story to explain,” said Mona. “I’ll tell you in the morning.”
“We’re just chasing after the crown prince,” said Scott. “Want to come?”
“No.”
“Hurry up, Scott,” Mona urged him.
“I’m coming,” said Scott.
He pushed himself up from the floor and headed for the door that Mona held open for him. Something crinkled under Scott’s foot and an image of a rocky shore, much like what he had seen in his dream entered his mind. Seeing that he had stepped on a large piece of paper, Scott carefully stepped off of that and finally made it outside into the dark street where the street lamps there were as dim as Mona's lantern.
“Where did he go?” asked Scott.
“The streets know, just follow along.”
Too tired to argue with Mona’s strange logic, Scott trotted along with her. To his surprise, the street moved as if it were a snake crawling on the ground. Side streets suddenly appeared just in time for Scott and Mona to turn the corner and follow them down. After twisting and turning several times, Scott and Mona suddenly found themselves in front of the fountain. The colors in its spray stood against its dark background like an explosion of fireworks.
“Thought we’d end up here,” said Mona. “let's take a look.”
Scott and Mona leaned over the fountain’s edge and looked at their reflections among the spots of color dancing about in the dark water. Then a small, round shadow appeared among the colors. The shadow grew larger and shoved the colors off to the side. Then the shadow cleared to show Prince Moroch the Pickled, walking along a rocky coastline. He was still dressed in his full military uniform, and he held a naked sword in his hand, exactly like the sword Scott had held in his dream. The surf crashed in against the rocks. Up ahead of the prince, an unlit lighthouse was silhouetted against the darkness behind it. Then the sparkling colors in the fountain washed back in and dissolved the vision.
“We have to go after him!” Mona gasped.
“How?” asked Scott.
“I’ll show you.”
Mona whistled a brief tune. Nothing happened.
“Can you whistle?” Mona asked Scott.
“No.”
“Hmm.”
Mona whistled the tune again, but still gained no result. Scott reached for the harmonica in his shirt pocket before he even thought of it. He played the tune on the harmonica and waited. Before long, tiny bubbles popped up on the surface of the water.
“I think you did it,” said Mona.
The bubbles were followed by a turtle's head that peeped out above the surface.
“Can I help you, your highness and your harmonica-ness?” asked the turtle in a deep lugubrious voice.
“Of course you can, Sylvester,” said Mona. “Otherwise, we would not have called you. We know how busy you are and we would have never disturbed you if it wasn't important.”
“Since I already spend all of my carrying the world,” said the turtle, “I guess it doesn’t matter to you if you add anything else to my burden.”
“Oh Sylvester,” said Mona, trying to be conciliatory, “I mind very much having to ask you to take an additional burden. I might add that I very much mind having to come out here in the middle of the night in my nightgown on this mission where I need your help.”
“I’m sure that running out to the fountain is at least as hard a burden as carrying the whole world on my back,” said Sylvester in a grumpy voice.
“I’m sure that carrying the world on your back is much harder than getting up in the middle of the night to visit the fountain,” said Mona.
“I’m sure it is, too,” said Sylvester.
“It’s like this, Sylvester,” said Mona. “I am afraid that if you don't help us out, you might not have much of a world to carry.”
“It's not much of a world as it is, if you ask me,” said the turtle.
“It is in a bit of a pickle right now,” Mona admitted.
“With Moroch the Pickled walking towards the dark lighthouse, any world would be in a pickled stew,” said Sylvester.
“That’s what I mean,” said Mona.
“What do you want me to do about the pickled stew the world is in?” asked Sylvester.
“Uh, can you take us to my brother, the Crown Prince?” asked Princess Mona.
“Hmmmmmm. I suppose I could, provided he's still there when we get there, and no other burden more crushing than the one you are laying on me intervenes before we reach him,” Sylvester replied.
“Oh, thank you,” said Mona. “I'll knight you yet.”
“Don't do that!” Sylvester cried, his voice cracking with energy. “If you laid a sword on my shell to knight me, it would be one burden too many and it would break my back into a thousand pieces and the world would fall into trillions of pieces unless Bertha the Elephant can hold up on the added strain all this would put on her.”
“Well, in that case,” said Princess Mona, “I promise not to knight you, if that will cause as many problems as that. Are you ready for us to ride on your back?”
“I suppose I’m ready to bear this crushing burden on top of the crushing burdens the rest of the world is making me bear.”
“Don’t mind him,” Mona whispered to Scott. “He’s always complaining, no matter what happens.”
The turtle ducked its head under the water, then raised its shell above the water's surface. To Scott’s eyes, the shell only appeared to be the size of a small rock, but when Mona jumped on to it, she fit snugly on the back.
“Get on!” she urged Scott.
“There isn't enough room for me,” said Scott.
“There will be if you get on.”
Figuring that the fountain was shallow enough that it wouldn’t matter if he feel off the turtle’s back, Scott climbed on to the shell right behind Mona. He didn’t see how it happened, but there turned out to be just enough room for him next to Mona after all. The turtle dove under the water and Scott blew a flurry of bubbles.
“In case you don't know,” Mona explained, “this water is made out of air, so you can breathe normally.”
Scott wasn’t ready to believe that until his lungs were bursting to the point that they forced him to take a deep breath of water. To Scott’s surprise and relief, his lungs filled up with fresh air, even though he felt water all around him as the turtle took his passengers deeper and deeper into the dark water.
“Sorry to have to tell you this,” said the turtle, “but I've just contracted a previous engagement.”
“What do you . . .” Mona started to ask.
Before Mona could finish the question, the turtle flipped himself upside down. Somehow, Scott and Mona managed to grab a hold of each other before they fell deeper into the fountain that seemed to have no bottom.
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“According to this map,” said Manchester, “Correlee is located here.”
King Perezvon XXVI tightened his ermine cloak about his shoulders and, making sure his crown was secure on his head, leaned over to peer at the parchment map that his royal advisor had spread across the great hardwood table of the planning room.
“Explain the obscurity of this map,” the king ordered.
“Here is Main Street, Your Majesty” explained Royal Advisor Portabello.
“Do you mean Main Street in Correlee?” asked the king.
“No, I mean Main Street in Milton, Pennsylvania, Your Majesty” Portabello replied.
“What is Main Street in Milton, Pennsylvania doing on a military map of Corelee?” King Perezvon XXVI asked in a hot tempter.
“Allow me to explain, Your Majesty” said Portabello. “Once you are on Main Street in Milton , Pennsylvania, you take this street up the hill. At the top of the hill is St. John’s Episcopal Church, next to which your departed and lamented mother lived after her exile in her house. Then, you go down the other side of the hill and you will find Corelee.”
“So!” the king cried. “Corelee is located within the town of Milton!”
“That is correct, Your Majesty,” said Manchester.
“And that means that Milton, Pennsylvania has Corelee under its protection.”
“It would seem so, Your Majesty,” said Ratlos, another Royal Advisor.
“Then, in order to reach Corelee, we must invade Milton, Pennsylvania,” said the king.
“Unless somebody can find another way, it will, indeed, be necessary to invade Milton, Pennsylvania,” said Portabello.
“Is not Milton, Pennsylvania the place from which Carl, this merchant of strange accouterments, claims to have been translated?” asked the king.
“It is so indeed, your Majesty,” said Manchester
“Then hold his store and his accouterments for ransom until we get the light back from Corelee at the heart of Milton, Pennsylvania,” ordered the king.
“That is a very good idea,” said the old man in black.
“And surely you will invade Milton, Pennsylvania at the soonest possible instant,” suggested the woman in black.
“Be sure to attack the town without mercy until you find the light they have stolen,” advised the younger man in black.
“Is the royal squadron ready to march?” asked the king.
“It will be ready one hour before the crack of dawn, your majesty,” said Manchester.
“Then we shall march at one hour before the crack of dawn!” announced King Perezvon XXVI.
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“Come on, Dornal,” Mark urged, “you can straighten out your tunic later.”
“No, I can't,” Dornal replied calmly. “besides, time is not the factor that counts.”
“But the longer we take, the farther they’ll get from us,” Mark protested.
“Not really,” said Dornal.
Dornal picked up his harp, sat back on his bed and began tuning it string by string.
“We don't have all night,” said Mark.
“We have longer than that if we need it,” said Dornal. “The harp has to be tuned or we might as well wait until next month to set out.”
Mark plopped down on the end of Dornal’s bed and waited as patiently as he could while Dornal finished tuning his harp.
“Done!” Dornal cried suddenly.
He strapped the harp to his back and hurried out of the room, leaving it for Mark to catch up with him. When they reached the living room they found, to their surprise, Aunt Edith and Uncle Martin waiting for them. Aunt Edith was wearing a formal dress while Uncle Martin was still in his wrinkled pajamas.
“We didn't hear you get up,” said Mark, as if he had been caught in a guilty act.
“Wasn't necessary,” said Aunt Edith. “We just want to wish you a safe trip.”
“They'll make it all right,” Uncle Martin assured his wife.
“I'll believe that when I see them back safe and sound,” said Aunt Edith. “Whatever you do, remember who you are.”
“Will do,” said Dornal on his way out the door, as if that were the easiest thing in the world.
Dawn was just beginning to break. Mark followed Dornal down one street and then down another. It seemed to Mark that streets and buildings that he thought he saw from a distance were not the same buildings and streets that he saw up close.
“Does this town really rearrange itself as he walk through it?” asked Mark in a whisper.
“Of course,” Dornal replied.
Dornal continued on his tortuous route through the town until he arrived at the fountain. TH ere, Dornal took the harp off his shoulder and played a tune. The surface of the water rippled and a turtle poked out its head.
“Can I help you?” asked the turtle in a weary voice. “Not that I don’t have enough crushing burdens to carry on top of the world riding on my back.”
“We're trying to catch up with Prince Moroch the Pickled, Princess Mona, and their companion, Scott the red-haired Harmonica-Player. Can you take us to them?”
“Yes, provided I don't have a previous engagement.”
“I accept the terms,” said Dornal. “Come on Mark, hop on.”
Mark looked dubiously at the turtle's back when it rose above the water’s surface.
“I wouldn't tell you to hop on if you couldn't,” Dornal prompted.
Mark carefully climbed over the fountain's edge and lowered himself on to the turtle's back. For one awful moment, he thought he would have to go without Dornal when there didn’t seem to ben enough room for another passenger, but the harpist jumped on behind him and somehow, the turtle’s shell made a snug fit for the two of them. Then the turtle slowly dove under the water.
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When Sheila explained that her bedroom was on the second floor of her house, Roger led her upstairs in his house once she had taken her candle and the music manuscripts. Roger walked down to the end of the hall and there opened a bedroom door with a flourish. When Sheila said good-night and stepped inside, all of her familiar stuffed animals were sitting on her bed waiting for her. Nestled among her animals was a pink toy piano. Sheila winced. There was no question that it was the same toy that had bugged her in Morley’s Toy Store. There seemed to be no chance that she would be able to shake it off. When she heard her parents footsteps, Sheila hastily placed the candle on top of a book case.
“When did you get home?” asked Mother. “Why didn't you tell us where you were?”
“Sorry I couldn't call,” said Sheila. “I had dinner with some friends and they didn’t have a phone.”
“It's okay,” her father hastily interjected, cutting off his wife's accusations, “I'm just glad you're back. Really glad you're back. But you will try to let us know next time you stay at a friend's house, won't you?”
“Yes, I will,” Sheila replied, although she didn't know how she would be able to make good on that promise.
When Sheila’s mother left the room, her father held back.
“Did you see your little surprise?” he asked her with an embarrassed smile.
Sheila picked the pink toy piano out of the sea of stuffed animals and held it up.
“Do you mean this?” she asked, trying not to sound too unenthusiastic.
“Yea,” said her father. “I know it’s not really your type of toy, so don’t blame me. I wandered in this odd store downtown and this crazy clerk said I had to take it and give it to you. He said it’s free except for some quest you’re supposed to take.”
“Hmm. Sounds crazy to me,” said Sheila.
She put the piano down on her dressing table and threw her arms around her father to kiss her good night before he asked her any more questions.
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Gary Haggler fluttered his eyes open. The dawn creeping in through the windows made his face barely visible. Aunt Edith and Uncle Martin sat in two other chairs, facing each other.
“Where is everybody?” Gary asked.
“Out,” Aunt Edith replied.
“Oh.”
Gary closed his eyes and fell back to sleep.
Aunt Edith sighed.
“Sometimes I think the children have the easier job in all this,” she said. “At least they're too busy to worry about themselves.”
“Likewise, they are too busy to sit and wait for things to turn out just fine,” Uncle Martin replied.
“You know I can't help but worry when I know how dangerous their quests are,” complained Aunt Edith.
“And I can't help but believe that all these kids can overcome all dangers and come back safe and sound after all their quests are accomplished,” said Uncle Martin.
Edith sighed once more.
“I don’t have my flute with me.”
“And I don’t have my cello.”
“Who is making that racket down there?” yelled Edna from the top of the stairs. “Can’t you let a body sleep in peace?”