Chapter the 2nd
Although the spring afternoon was chilly, Shawn Harrison let his jacket hang down around his waist because he wanted to show off his favorite sweater. It was also his lucky sweater. He got more packages on the days he wore it than he did on other days. The catch was that his lucky sweater only worked if he did not wear it too often. Twice a week seemed to be optimal. When Shawn turned the corner to the street where he lived with his aunt, Shawn pictured in his mind the box that he wanted to see at the foot of the stairs when he came into the house. He knew that mind power worked wonders when he tried hard enough.
Shawn avoided stepping on the cracks in the sidewalk. Although he knew that stepping on them did not really break his mother's back, he had learned over the years that stepping on the cracks made her more drunk when he came home from school than she was when he avoided the cracks. Now that she was in treatment, it was all the more important not to step on the cracks. His mother was depending on him. It was the least he could do since he rarely got around to writing her. The sooner she finished her treatment, the sooner he could get away from Milton.
“This is your lucky day,” said a man.
Shawn jumped half a mile. He was sure that a second ago, there wasn’t anybody near him. Suddenly, three people were standing around him: a middle-aged couple and a young man who could have been their son. All three were dressed in black and each carried a black umbrella. Both of the men wore short beards. The woman deported herself as any coldly proper lady would.
“What’s so lucky about it?” Shawn asked suspiciously.
“The package you wanted came today,” said the woman.
“How do you know?”
“We make sure you get your heart’s desire,” said the older man.
“But beware of the letter from the evil king,” warned the younger man.
“What evil king?” asked Shawn.
“The king who thinks you are stealing from him when you are only taking is rightfully yours,” replied the woman.
“You can’t trust any ally of this evil king,” said the younger man.
“You can’t trust anybody but yourself,” added the older man.
“I know,” Shawn replied.
Without taking their leave, the three people dressed in black withdrew and, almost instantly, reappeared at the house across the street where two stone lions with newspapers sticking out of their mouths guarded the door. Somehow, the three people made the day seem darker than it was and Shawn shivered. The older man rang the doorbell. Then the younger man knocked on the door. Still no answer. Shawn shrugged his shoulders and moved on.
Shawn hated his aunt's house. It made him feel poor, although he was rich. His father sent him so much money that he had to work hard to find ways to spend it all. But there was not enough space in his room for himself and all his possessions and so he suffered the inconvenience of constantly retrieving things he wanted from the basement. His real house was a large one on the Hudson River, but that house was gathering dust. Even when his family lived there, his father spent three or four nights a week in his apartment in Manhattan. With his mother at the treatment center, there was nobody at home to take care of him and that was why Shawn was cooped up in his aunt's house in Milton, Pennsylvania.
When he opened the door, Shawn was greeted with an endless stumbling melody being cranked out on the piano by one of his aunt's students. The living room was her world; she could have it. Shawn disciplined himself to avoid looking at the stairs until he was right in front of them. His self-discipline was rewarded when he saw the package he was waiting for on the bottom step, just as those three strange people said it would be. On top of the package was an advertizing flyer. There was no other mail, not even a letter from one of his parents. That did not matter. His father’s letters consisted of nothing more than one or two inconsequential sentences signed “In haste.” His mother’s letters regaled him with detailed accounts about how the treatment center was changing her life. There was no letter from the king of another country, so the three people were wrong about that.
Shawn trotted up the stairs with his package and the flyer under his arm to the small patch of floor left over from his Kingdom of Corelee, the land serviced by his toy train. Corelee was filled with mountains and valleys, farm houses and villages. A large palace presided over the center of the largest village. In his imagination, Shawn lived there while servants waited on him while he made whatever decrees he felt like making.
Shawn let the flyer drop on his bed and tore into the package. Yes! The lighthouse he ordered had finally come. Shawn held up his new toy to take a good look at it. The detailed craftsmanship, worked out to the last brick, amazed Shawn. At the base of the lighthouse was a pile of rocks from which the light was protecting ships at sea. Underneath the lighthouse, Shawn found a switch between “Light” and “Darkness.” The switch was on “Light,” but the light of the lighthouse was not on. The problem was easy enough to figure out. The toy needed a pair of batteries that, as usual, were not included. Shawn was not up to running down to the basement to get some batteries so he turned the switch to “darkness.” Nothing happened. Shawn looked around the edges of his kingdom until he decided on the best place for the lighthouse and he placed it there.
Then Shawn casually picked up the flyer only to find that it was not an ordinary flyer. It was made of crinkly paper colored a bright gold, and Shawn's name and address were written out by hand in a gothic script. He broke the seal, unfolded the flyer and saw a page studded with dragons. The text read:
TOYS FOR TOTS AND TEENS AND IN-BETWEENS
Announcing the opening of
MORLEY'S TOY STORE
355 Main Street
Possibly through Milton, Pa.
Or possibly through Taverner & Tye’s or the Byrd and Tallis
in Carelin
The best in toy trains, pirate ships and all lines of toys
All you imagined and much much MUCH more!
A new store like this in Milton of all places? Shawn asked himself. If so, it would be the first store worth looking at in this town. Since the directions didn’t make any sense, however, Shawn dismissed the flyer as somebody’s idea of a joke. Something about the ad jogged Shawn’s memory, though. He had recently purchased a tavern and a couple of shops and he vaguely thought they had names like the establishments mentioned in the ad. Shawn looked for the miniature buildings to check them out, but he could not find them. He searched his memory until he was quite certain about where he had placed them and then looked there, but he still couldn’t find them. The gaps between the remaining buildings left the matter in no doubt. Shawn cursed under his breath. He was as sure as he could be that he had not moved those buildings. It seemed unlikely that anybody could have gotten into his room while he was out to steal any pieces from his train set, but he could not be certain of that.
Shawn looked over his assorted citizens scattered throughout Corelee: cowboys and Indians, milk maids and princesses, Spider Man and Spider Woman rubbed shoulders with characters from Star Trek, dwarves, knights in shining armor, baseball players and hockey players. There was a standing army where each soldier wore the uniform of his choice. They held military drills regularly and were ready to defend Corelee at any time. Pet animals populated the countryside: among them a lion, a bear, a silver wolf, several dinosaurs, and some unicorns that mysteriously disappeared that morning. But now something else was missing. Shawn looked carefully until he knew what it was: the silver wolf! This was getting to be too much! First the unicorns and now the wolf!
But just before Shawn could throw a complete tantrum, something from the other side of his country caught his eye. To his amazement, a group of cowboys were riding his unicorns through the countryside. He remembered mounting the cowboys on the unicorns because he thought it was a good joke, but he didn’t see how they could have moved off and then returned all by themselves. Shawn watched in stupefied fascination as the unicorns came to a halt next to the train and the riders dismounted. One of them opened a freight car and each threw a bag into the car. As soon as one of the cowboys had closed the door, all of the figures suddenly froze so that they looked like the animated toys Shawn thought they were. He picked up a cowboy and then picked up a unicorn. He couldn’t see any sign of a mechanism or electronic device that could have made them mobile. With a shiver, Shawn wondered if he was losing control over his kingdom.
With these puzzles racing through his mind, Shawn noticed an envelope resting on top of his pillow. As he picked it up, he saw his name written across the envelope in a fancy handwritten script. There was no address, no stamp, and the envelope was not sealed. Shawn took out the letter. With a start, he saw a royal seal affixed to the bottom of the letter. So those people in black were right after all about his receiving a letter from a king, Shawn thought to himself. In some bewilderment, he read the letter:
Your Majesty King Shawn I!
My forefathers and I have looked upon the existence of Correlee with benevolence for centuries. Our benevolence, however, has now come to an end. Your bandits are stealing the light from my kingdom at an alarming rate. If you do not return the stolen light forthwith, I will send the kingdom’s pirates and our militia to your kingdom to take it back. The choice of whether or not your kingdom suffers this invasion is yours.
His Majesty King Perezvon XXVI, Monarch of Carelin
Shawn shook his head. He had not the slightest idea of where the kingdom of Carelin might be and he had never done anything with the intention of offending that country or its king. On the other hand, Shawn was pleased and flattered that somebody, even in a hostile way, recognized him as a king in his own right. Nobody had ever done that before. Shawn reflected that if some of his pieces were getting into the habit of wandering away from his train set of their own accord, there was no telling what they might be doing while they were away. Was there a chance that his cowboys and the unicorns had stolen some light from Carelin? Shawn picked up one of the mounted cowboys. He had his neckerchief drawn over his face, an indication that he was an outlaw.
“Have you been out robbing the people of Carelin?” Shawn asked the plastic cowboy.
The toy did not answer. Shawn opened the freight car where the cowboys had put their bags and took one of them out. It felt empty, but then if they were filled with light, they wouldn’t weigh anything.
“If these bags have light that you stole from Carelin,” said Shawn, “then this train is going to be the brightest place going.”
Then Shawn remembered that the three people dressed in black had said that whatever a hostile king thought he had stolen was rightfully his. In that case, the light in the sacks was his and there was no reason to return it. Shawn placed some plastic army tanks in strategic places as a safety precaution in case his kingdom was attacked. That made him ready for any pirates or militia who came along.
At last, Shawn was ready to start up his engine. The train pulled out of the main station, a replica of the station at Poughkeepsie and wound its way through the countryside, chugging from village to village. The train had a milk car, a gas car, a dining car, a caboose, several freight cars and a few passenger cars. His pride and joy was the set of luxury cars, modeled on the custom-built cars that wealthy people commissioned in the late nineteenth century. Inside these cars were the lavish furnishings of the originals. A few model people were the lucky, rich passengers who got to ride the train with all the comforts of home. The train ran through a long tunnel and climbed up into the mountain range in the western part of the country where the cowboys and Indians lived with the dinosaurs. The train sped up. A farmer tried to get his wagon across the track. As often happened, the horses panicked and wouldn't move. The engine crashed into it, flipping the wagon in the air, and derailing the train. Shawn carefully placed the engine and train back on the track and started it up again. The train inched its way through the rest of the mountain range and gathered up speed as it came down to the coast where the new lighthouse guarded the coast. The train sped past the lighthouse and then bolted the tracks and hurtled off the edge of the country and into the sea.
“Why can’t you follow directions?” Shawn asked the engineer, a figure with a long beard hanging out of the cab.
The disobedient engineer did not reply. Shawn gathered the cars strewn about the floor and lined them up on the track. Then he pushed the start button. The train did not move. Shawn pressed the start button again. Nothing. Shawn examined the engine. He could see nothing wrong with it. But no matter how many times he tried to get it going, all the engine did was hum ineffectually. In a rage, Shawn threw the delinquent toy across the whole land of Corelee where it landed on top of the lighthouse. In a panic Shawn stepped over the villages and mountains of Corelee to retrieve it. This time the engine was really broken, and so was the light bulb in the lighthouse. Shawn tossed the lighthouse into the corner and ruefully placed the engine in the train yard where broken cars lived out their retirement. Then he picked up the odd flyer and read it once more. Deciding he had nothing to lose but a little time, he ran out of the house in search of Morley’s Toy Store.
-------------
Father Clement looked over his outline for Evelyn Lear’s burial service. Everything seemed to be in place. It felt strange not to have input from some family member or at least a friend. His attempts to contact Scott Simpson had all failed and he had given up on him. Father Clement wondered if anybody at all would come to the funeral besides Scott Simpson, who was supposed to help plan the service but had not shown up or been at home to receive a call. Evelyn Lear had not been a popular person. Father Clement himself was rarely comfortable with her and many times he felt the sting of her tongue if a sermon did not suit her. But over the years, Father Clement had learned that she was one person who would help out at anything at the drop of a hat if she were needed. She had even proved to be surprisingly effective with the nursery school one Sunday when the regular teacher suddenly caught the 'flu.
Father Clement stuffed the tentative outline for Evelyn Lear’s funeral service into his Book of Common Prayer and closed the book. He was on the verge of being late for dinner yet again. Although the miracle of the microwave warmed up his late meals, he didn’t like the way it dried up his food. Besides, he missed his family when he didn’t get to see them. But before Father Clement could pull himself out of his chair, there was a knock on the door. His secretary had left an hour before and was not on hand to run interference. Father Clement sighed as his stomach growled. In this depressed town, many of the people needed counseling and he didn’t know how to turn them away when they knocked at his door.
“Come in!” Father Clement called out in his booming voice.
Scott Simpson limped into the office, carefully handling a few pieces of fancy paper.
“Ah! Scott! I was trying to get a hold of you.”
“I thought so, after this stuff turned up on my pillow,” said Scott.
Scott sat down on the edge of the plush chair and sorted through his papers.
“Are these directions from the family?” asked Father Clement.
“Yea. Amarilla wrote them down for Prince Moroch and Princess Mona.”
“Uh—Would I have met any of those people at that—that rather strange party in celebration of the blizzard’s end and the healing of the harpist?” asked Father Clement.
“Probably,” said Scott. “I think Amarilla played the bassoon and the grandchildren were thanking everybody because their father was too busy to thank anybody for anything.”
“Did Mrs. Lear have something to do with that place?”
“Uh-huh. She was the Queen Mother in exile.”
Father Clement jumped an inch or two off his seat, then regained his composure as best he could.
“Well, now I’m beginning to understand why he received a phone call from a funeral home I’d never heard of,” said the priest. “Why was she in exile? Too sharp with her tongue?”
Scott smiled knowingly.
“Mrs. Lear was the only person, besides the harpist, who ever told the king the truth and he didn’t like it.”
“Well, that’s an old, old story,” said Father Clement with a sigh. “Is this why the grandchildren are planning the funeral instead of their father?”
“Yes,” said Scott as he handed over a sheet covered with stunning calligraphy. “Here are the Bible readings they want,” “Prince Moroch and Princess Mona said Mrs. Lear picked them out before she died.”
Father Clement looked at the selections and nodded.
“These are most suitable. The reading from John is one of my favorite Funeral Gospels. We don't want to make death so dreary that we forget that Jesus is the Resurrection and the life.”
“The organist will play a—“ Scott looked at another piece of parchment—“ a prelude and a postlude,” said Scott.
“And who might that be?”
“Amarilla.”
“Is this the same Amarilla who wrote down the instructions and played the bassoon at that party?”
“Yes.”
“And Edmund, a member of the Carelin Boys’ Choir, is going to sing this piece,” Scott added.
Scott handed over another leaf of parchment. Father Clement studied the title scripted in the same elegant handwriting that read: Pie Jesu by Lily Boulanger, sung by Edmund.
“Hmm. How suitable,” said the priest, “and yet I’ve never heard this done at a funeral before. Are there any more requests that you have been asked to pass on to me?”
Yes, they want you to do—to do—“
“The interment?”
“What’s that?”
“The graveside prayers.”
“Oh. Yes, that’s what they want.”
“At which cemetery will that take place?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how can I do the interment?”
Scott shrugged.
“I guess they’ll take us there.”
“Who’s they?”
Scott shrugged again.
“Whoever they are,” he replied.
“Hmm. I guess I’ll just have to try to be ready for anything,” said Father Clement. “Would you like to serve at the Requiem?”
Scott looked down to his foot and shook his head. It pained Father Clement that he could not convince Scott that neither his limp nor his father’s imprisonment disqualified him for serving at the altar.
“Not if you can find someone else,” said Scott in a low voice.
“Very well,” said Father Clement. “I’ll see if Mark can do it. Thank you for coming. It’s late and past time that I got home.”
Scott so winced at those words that Father Clement wished he could invite the boy over to the rectory without imposing on his family. He led Scott out of his office to the reception area that seemed to be full of dark shadows. To his dismay, the priest saw the shadows resolve into three people dressed in black who were sitting in front of the secretary's desk. There were two men with hawk-like eyes, one older, one younger, and an elderly woman with a face stiff as ice. Scott shrank away from the visitors and leaned towards Father Clement.
“Uh—may I help you?” asked Father Clement.
“Perhaps you can,” said the woman in a deadpan voice.
“You see, we are relatives of the late Evelyn Lear,” said the older man.
“We thought we should attend her funeral tomorrow,” said the younger man.
“Uh—that's very nice of you,” said Father Clement. “We have just planned the service, but if you have any wishes for—“
“We have no wishes for the service,” said the woman. “Whatever you have already planned will be fine.”
“But there is a question we should like to ask you,” said the younger man.
“Is it true that Evelyn Lear left no will?” asked the older man.
The question gave Father Clement a sour taste. Scott winced.
“Yes, there seems to be no will,” answered the priest. “The police looked all over for it and found nothing. Not only that, but her entire bank account was closed out the day before she died.”
“Sounds like she tried to find a way to take it with her,” said the woman.
“Or something,” said Father Clement. “The undertaker said he was given a check to pay for the funeral.” Father Clement was not about to add that he had just received in the mail a fifty-dollar bill in a strange envelope that was lying on his desk that morning.
“At least we'll get the house,” said the older man.
“We can sell it,” said the younger man.
“She couldn't take that with her,” said the woman.
“Is there anything else I can do for you now that I have told you that no will made by Evelyn Lear was found?” asked Father Clement with strained politeness.
“Not at this time,” said the woman.
“Perhaps another time you can help us further,” said the older man.
“Her estate is not closed out yet,” added the younger man.
With that, the three visitors drifted out of the office, leaving Father Clement alone with Scott.
“Who are they?” asked Scott, looking a bit ill.
“I don’t know. I hope I don’t have to find out.”
“I feel cold,” said Scott.
“So do I,” Father Clement replied.
-------------------
Shawn walked down the steep hill to Main Street at a quick pace, hoping that the new engine he needed for his train set was as good as in his hands. He still had a hard time believing the strange flyer, but he didn't want to wait the few days it would take his new engine to arrive by mail if he didn't have to. He had enough money in his pocket to buy six engines if he needed them, thanks to the regular deposits his father made into his bank account. That was one good thing about his father. Almost the only one. On the whole, Shawn did not miss him very much. He hardly knew the man. When he came to visit, he spent most of his time with clients in the area. When he took Shawn out to dinner, he mostly talked about his endless business deals or about Shawn’s grades, which were never quite good enough. Any time Shawn tried to tell his father how unhappy he was in Milton, his father changed to subject to his business affairs.
Shawn turned the corner at Main Street. The place reeked of what Shawn called Hicktown-itis. The many shoe stores had nothing in their display windows to compare with the pair he had on. The street lamps were bent into fancy shapes in a futile attempt to look like old-time American lanterns. Surely this new store advertized the flyer would be a flop. Milton couldn't possibly have a store that had anything he really wanted besides his favorite candy bars.
“Yup-pie!” “Yup-pie!”
Shawn turned his back on the boys who called out to him to show that he did not care what they thought of him. He knew they were just envious of his good fortune. If their fathers worked half as hard as his did, they would be as well off as he.
“When you gonna buy up the town?” asked one of the boys.
This time Shawn could not resist a withering reply.
“As soon as you bring the price down to what it’s worth.”
“What’s that?”
“Fifty cents. That’s with all Milton’s sunlight thrown in.”
“That was quite an apt inspiration,” said the old woman in black, who had suddenly appeared next to him.
“That’s telling these people,” said the older man.
“That’s putting them in their place,” said the younger man.
“Be sure to take all of the light,” said the older man.
“All of it,” added the woman.
“Leave nothing for these people,” said the younger man.
Much as he agreed with those sentiments, Shawn did not like hearing them for those three people. He was glad to see them disappear through a glass door that announced the law firm of Remmer, Leaden, & Armstrong in gold letters. Shawn couldn't help but smile with amusement at the plight of the victim the strangers might be suing. He read the addresses one by one. The drug store was 347. A shoe store was 353. Morley's Toy Store - 355 - should be next. But it wasn't. The next store down was Carl’s Hardware Store - number 357. Shawn looked from one store front to the other. No question about it. Morley's Toy Store could only be in the crack between two stores, but there wasn't enough room between them to stick a needle.
Shawn crumpled the flyer and tried to throw it on the street, but the paper stuck to his hand. He tried once again to throw the flyer away, but with the same result. Shawn uncrumpled the flyer and looked at it again. This time he read it more carefully, and he noticed that it said that the store was “Possibly through Milton” or “possibly through Taverner & Tye or the Byrd & Tallis.” What could that mean? Shawn asked himself. It seemed all the more likely that somebody was playing tricks on him, and Shawn had fallen for it, hook, line and sinker. Shawn leaned against the window of Carl's Hardware, hardly able believe his own stupidity. How could he have thought for a minute that a town like Milton would ever have a store that was any good for anything? He had wasted his time and the sooner he got home and called in an order for a new train engine, the better.
Before Shawn could act on that decision, a gray wolf emerged from between the two buildings where Morley’s Toy Shop would have been if it had been there. Shawn pressed himself against the window of the hardware store as the wolf walked past him. Even while walking on all fours, the animal’s head almost came up to Shawn’s shoulders. Unquestionably, it could tear a human being apart in half a second. A teen-age girl, one of many who had proved resistant to Shawn’s charm and good looks, was coming down the sidewalk towards Shawn and the wolf. Shawn smiled to himself at the thought of seeing the girl scream in horror and run the other way. But she did not. She kept on coming, even as she eyed the wolf curiously.
“Some dog you bought for yourself, Shawn,” she said to him as she passed by.
The quip startled Shawn in two ways. The girl had not seen the wolf for what it was and, more startling, Shawn recognized the wolf as the missing animal piece from his train set, come to life.
“What are you doing here?” Shawn asked the wolf, feeling emboldened by a sense of ownership over the animal.
The wolf did not reply to Shawn. Instead, it trotted over to the nearest streetlight, deftly climbed the post, and then appeared to drink from the light as if it were a source of water. When it had finished whatever it was doing, the wolf jumped back down to the street just a few feet away from Shawn. For a horrible moment, the wolf looked Shawn straight in the eye before it scooted between the same two stores and was gone.
“Is something wrong?” someone asked.
“No!” Shawn gasped.
When he recognized the scruffy red-haired boy who limped, Shawn was even less willing to talk. Shawn searched for the name, then remembered it was Scott.
“You look like you've been thrown through ten horror movies in the last hour,” said Scott.
Shawn frowned at the tactless remark. He hated the thought that he had shown his fear more than he thought he had.
“Thanks for the sympathy, Scarecrow.”
“Are you feeling okay now?” Scott asked, seeming not to notice the insult Shawn had thrown at him.
“Yea.”
“What did you see?”
“Nothing that you didn’t see.”
Scott thought about that much more seriously than Shawn intended.
“Did you see a gray wolf just now?” asked Scott.
“What’s it to you if I saw a wolf walking down Main Street in this poky town?” asked Shawn.
Noticing the flyer that had fallen from Shawn’s hand, Scott bent over to pick it up.
“Hoping to buy a toy for yourself?” Shawn asked with as much scorn he could pour into his voice.
“No money.”
“Isn't that just too bad!”
Scott didn’t seem to hear the taunt. He read the flyer carefully while Shawn waited impatiently for him to give it back.
“Are you hoping to buy a toy for yourself?” Scott asked Shawn.
“What’s it to you?”
Scott shrugged.
“Did you find it?” Scott asked.
“Find what?”
“The shop advertized in this flyer.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. What business is it of yours what stores I patronize?”
Scott looked at the flyer and then looked at the addresses the way Shawn had done.
“I suggest walking right between these stores,” said Scott. “Same place the wolf went.”
Shawn suppressed the sudden grin he felt rising inside him. The perfect experimental guinea pig had just dropped into his lap.
“Why don’t you follow your own suggestion and show me how it’s done?” Shawn asked Scott.
Scott seemed to understand Shawn’s thought processes perfectly, but he showed no dismay over the way he was being used.
“Okay.”
Scott approached the wall where the two stores met and walked right through it.. A spell of dizziness came and went through Shawn’s head. Then, after making sure nobody was looking at him, he cautiously approached the spot. His foot sliced through the wall as if it were not there. Where that foot landed, an island of cobble stones formed around it. Shawn thought of following through but then he thought of the wolf who might be lurking somewhere and decided not to go any further. He brought his foot back and waited for Scott to return but he didn’t. Shawn asked himself if he should report the incident to the police if Scott were found missing, but dismissed the question as a no-brainer. Even so, it was a bit of a relief to Shawn when Scott emerged from the wall a couple of minutes later, looking no worse for the excursion.
“Morley’s Toy Store is there,” said Scott. “Want to come?”
“Not today.”
“I’ll come with you if you want.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere with you,” Shawn replied as he walked briskly away, surprised with how much he was shaking inside.