Chapter the 25th
Walking with no feeling of support beneath her feet, and yet not seeming to fall, was a strange sensation for Sheila. Once the dim lights of the Lost City had faded out, only the unlit candle in her arms and the steadying hands of the engineer and Roger gave her a vague sense of reality. Every time she thought about her parents, she feared she would never see them again. As she began to imagine her mother crying over her father’s shoulder, the lump in her throat grew larger until it finally broke out into a sob.
“Are you scared?” Roger asked her.
“No,” Sheila replied in a broken voice even as more tears ran down her face.
The touch of her three companions was comforting, but it was not enough to dispel the fear that she was going to wander in the darkness forever.
“It's okay to be scared,” said Samantha.
“Just because I still think we’ll find a way out doesn’t mean that we will or that I’m not scared, too,” said Roger.
“Something is bound to turn up sooner or later,” said the optimistic engineer.
“How do you know?” Sheila couldn’t help but ask.
“That’s a good question,” said Roger, his voice subdued.
“If Sylvester is still holding us up,” said Samantha, “we should be okay.”
“Who is—Sylvester?” asked Sheila.
“Sylvester is the turtle who carries the world,” Samantha explained.
“I suppose every school kid knows that?” asked Sheila.
“Uh—yes,” said Roger, trying hard not to rub it in.
“Do you really think that a turtle can be holding us up when we’re in the middle of nowhere?” asked Sheila.
“Our mother says that Sylvester can carry the world with his eyes closed,” said Roger.
“Sylvester’s the best turtle the world has ever seen,” said the engineer. “I’ve never known Sylvester to fail us once in all my born days. I don’t think rain or sleet or snow or hail or hurricanes or typhoons or cyclones or earthquakes could stop him from carrying the world where it needs to go.”
“I’m having trouble believing that,” said Sheila, her voice quavering.
“It’s simple,” said Roger. “Just practice. It’s like practicing scales on the violin or the piano.”
“I’ve never had to practice believing that a turtle can hold up the world before,” Sheila admitted.
“How come?” asked Samantha.
“I guess—life’s been easy for me—until now.”
“Light ahoy!” cried the engineer.
Sheila tightened her hold on the candle and squinted into the dark, but failed to see anything.
“Which way?” asked Roger.
“To the northwest,” said the engineer, “right where I’m pointing.”
“I can’t see you,” said Sheila.
“Sorry,” said the engineer, “I mean, it’s over this-away.”
“I see something pink,” said Samantha. “I think it’s southeast, though.”
“Never was good at directions without a train and a compass,” admitted the engineer.
When Sheila first began to hear a high tinkling sound like tiny bells, she thought she was imaging it.
“What piece is that?” asked Samantha.
“I think it’s a Cimarosa sonata,” said Roger, “but it’s not as good as the violin sonata I made up to pass the time while hiking through this dark. I wish I had my violin with me.”
“You think an awful lot of your violin sonatas,” Samantha reproved her brother.
“I have to make up for your lack of appreciation,” Roger retorted.
“Sounds like pretty music to me,” said the engineer. “Who could be making it?”
“Must be the pink something over there,” said Samantha.
Once Sheila saw the pink blur for herself, she began to think that the toy piano from Morley’s was coming to haunt her yet again. She was so desperate, however, that she was willing to be saved by the despised toy.
“Just because you hear something and see something doesn’t mean they both have to be what you’re seeing and hearing,” said Roger.
“Doesn’t mean they aren’t,” said Samantha.
“I suggest we head over to the bit of pink over there,” said the engineer, “and find out.”
As the children drew nearer to the pink blur, there was no question that it was the toy piano she had tried to shake off so many times. Sitting at the piano, playing the keys, was a very familiar-looking teddy bear, and the music was familiar as well.
“That is a Cimarosa sonata!” Sheila exclaimed. “I’ve been practicing it lately!”
“Told you,” said Roger.
“Well I'll be a trussed-up suckling with its breeches on backwards,” the engineer muttered quietly.
The faint glow of the piano reflected off Theodora’s eyes as she played the sonata flawlessly. The same pink glow lit up a strand of slender threads extending from the piano deep into the darkness. To Sheila’s surprise, the piano seemed to be moving away from her although Theodora didn’t miss a beat of the sonata she was playing.
“Hey! Theodora!” Sheila cried. “Where are you going now?”
“Melanie’s Web has got a hold of the piano,” said Samantha.
“That will get us to someplace eventually for sure,” said Roger. “We’d better take a ride on it.”
“But there’s not enough room for anybody on top of that toy piano,” Sheila protested.
“There will be when you get on top of it,” said Samantha.
She took a running jump and landed on top of the piano. Not to be outdone, Roger made a ran after his sister and almost slid off the other side of the piano. Although the piano still didn’t look any larger than before, there was no question that both children were sitting on it. But they didn’t leave any room at all for her. Theodora came to the end of the Cimarosa sonata, but then started it over again without any break in the music.
“Come on, Sheila!” Roger called out. “We don’t have all day.”
“We don’t have any day at all,” said Samantha.
“There isn’t any more room,” Sheila protested.
“There will be if you get on it,” Roger insisted.
Sheila didn’t believe it, but she had nothing to lose by trying to get on to the piano. Cautiously, she walked over to the piano and gingerly climbed up on it. Roger grabbed her by the wrist to pull her over on the piano’s back and keep her there. The piano still looked as small as ever but there was no question that she was sitting on it with her two companions, although she had no idea how that had happened. The vibrations caused by Theodora’s playing felt funny to Sheila as she absorbed them. The piano seemed to be riding a pair of purplish threads as if they were train rails.
“Where are we going now?” asked Sheila.
“Without my engine and my compass,” said the engineer, “I have no idea.”
“I’ll bet Melanie knows where she’s taking us,” said Samantha.
“I’ll bet two violin concertos she does,” said Roger.
“Who is Melanie?” asked Sheila.
“Don’t you even know who Melanie is?” Samantha asked in return.
------------------------
“This is better than climbing a jungle gym!” Edmund exclaimed as he climbed up the next purplish step on what was like a rung on a swaying rope ladder.
“A-a-o-o-o!” Nigel cried out as he lost his footing and dangled in the darkness for a moment until he could hook a foot around one of the threads. “If you say so, Edmund.”
“Of course I say so,” said Edmund. “Isn’t it fun when you don’t know where you’re going to end up?”
“Melanie’s Web has always been known to be connected to something, somewhere,” Nigel replied.
“Didn’t Captain Dennis’ Great Aunt say that Melanie can spin a web in the dark with her eyes closed and her feet tied together?” asked Edmund.
“Something like that,” said Nigel.
“Hey!” Edmund exclaimed, “I think I hear something!”
Nigel listened and heard a rumbling sound.
“You’d think a train was coming if there were any train tracks,” said Nigel.
“I’ll bet a train doesn’t need any tracks if it’s in Melanie’s Web,” said Edmund.
“I’m not about to lose any pirate swords betting against you on that,” said Nigel.
The shape that emerged a moment later definitely looked to the boys like it could be a train car running on two threads as if they were rails.
“Look! It’s a caboose!” Edmund exclaimed. “I told you.”
“So I see,” said Nigel as the caboose came close and the web’s light made the car’s identity intelligible.
“We’d better jump it if we’re going to get a ride to somewhere,” said Edmund.
“I’ll jump first and then I’ll help you,” Nigel offered.
“Let me help you for once,” said Edmund.
“Not this time,” said Nigel. “Edmund, what are you doing?”
“Like I said: I’m helping you for once,” said Edmund from the open back door of the caboose. Come on!”
“Coming!”
Nigel flung himself at the caboose and barely got his fingers on the railing. Edmund took a hold of Nigel’s arms and pulled him in to the care. Inside the caboose was a small office with a desk and papers neatly stacked on it. The floor was so covered with mail bags that the boys had very little room to maneuver in.
“Hey! Stop!” cried another boy from in front of the caboose.
“Who could that be?” asked Edmund.
“Don’t ask me,” said Nigel.
“I said: Stop!” the boy cried again.
“By order of the King: stop this caboose immediately!” roared a man.
“I guess we know who that is,” said Edmund.
But the caboose did not stop. Screams from the both the boy and the king filled the car.
“We’ll have to help them out,” said Nigel.
Nigel stuck his head out of the open door he had just entered. After getting a firm grip on the handle next to the door, he stuck his head out and saw a crowned man in royal robes and a boy running away from the train.
“Hey!” Nigel called out. “Just grab a thread and Melanie will bring you back here!”
“I’m tired of Melanie!” the boy yelled back.
“Then you’d be get untired of her fast!” Edmund yelled.
But Melanie the Web Spinner did not give either the boy or the king any choice. First the king, and then the boy were each pulled away by a thread that Melanie had just wrapped around them. Kicking and screaming all the way, the two were pulled along the caboose to the back of it until they were both in grasping distance of the car.
“His royal majesty requires your assistance!” the king demanded.
“Anything to help a king,” Nigel muttered.
He yanked the king, entangled in his royal robes, in to the caboose.
“Don’t help me or anything,” said the boy who was still dangling from the caboose.
“All right, I won’t,” said Nigel.
He withdrew the helping hand he was offering, leaving the ill-mannered youth to struggle and swear until Nigel relented and grabbed the boy’s wrist to draw him into the caboose. Not surprisingly, the boy gave no word of thanks. In the meantime, several threads from Melanie’s Web had worked their way into the caboose and they furnished the only light in the car when Nigel closed the back door. King Perezvon XXVI looked about in dismay.
“Where is there a place to sit?” asked the king.
“The floor,” Edmund replied.
“Or on one of these sacks,” said Nigel.
“They’re empty except for air,” said Edmund. “That makes them good cushions.”
“Somebody chewed them up pretty good,” said Nigel.
“So much for mail delivery,” said Edmund.
“Is there a place for his royal highness to seat himself inside this car that is compatible with my royal dignity?” asked the king.
“I told you,” said Edmund. “On the floor, or on one of the sacks.”
“What kind of place is that for a king in his royal robes?”
“Not a very good place, but it will have to do,” said Nigel.
“It would be a lot easier for you if you didn’t wear your robes all the time,” said Edmund
“I can’t compromise my royalty by removing as much as one symbol of my position,” said the king haughtily. “Besides, you should talk, considering the robes you wear when you sing at the palace.”
“But we don’t wear our choir robes when we’re sailing on a pirate ship or jumping a train,” Nigel pointed out.
“Here. I’ll make you as good a throne as I can make with what’s here,” Edmund offered.
He and Nigel stacked up several bags until they formed some semblance of a seat with a back to it.
“There you are, Your Majesty,” said Nigel.
“Hmpf! I guess it will have to do,” grumbled the king as he sat down while fussily attending to his robe.
“Now all we have to do is wait and see where Kevin’s caboose takes us,” said Edmund.
“Wait a minute,” said the boy who had boarded the car with the king. “This is my caboose and it is inside my treasure chest.”
Nigel and Edmund looked over at the sullen youth who had plopped down on a couple of the sacks.
“I know that this caboose is not yours,” said Nigel, “because I saw this caboose pick out Kevin the Painter Weaver and Map Maker at Morley’s Toy Shop.”
“No,” said the boy, “I ordered it from Morley’s Toy shop myself!”
“Neither is this treasure chest yours,” Nigel went on.
“It is too mine!” the angry youth insisted. “The treasure chest was inside my package and the caboose is a train car I ordered.”
“No, we found this treasure chest on Kevin’s Treasure Island by following the treasure map drawn by Kevin the Mapmaker himself,” Edmund insisted.
“Who is Kevin the Mapmaker and since when can he can put my treasure chest in his drawing?” asked the boy.
“Who are you to ask us by what right Kevin the Mapmaker draws your treasure chest?” Nigel asked in return.
“And who are you to ask me who I am to ask you that?” asked the youth.
“And who are you to ask us who we are?” Edmund shot back.
“I will use my royal prerogative to inform Nigel and Edmund that they are asking questions of Shawn who styles himself as King Shawn the First, the King of Correlee,” said the king, “and I will also use my royal prerogative to inform self-styled Shawn the First that he is asking questions of Nigel and Edmund, members of my royal boys’ choir.”
“And I suppose singing in a choir gives them the right to help themselves to my caboose?” Shawn asked.
“I think that Melanie the Web Spinner has custody of this caboose for now,” said Nigel.
“This Melanie the Web Spinner has no right to take my train away from me,” said Shawn through clenched teeth.
“Dennis’ great aunt once said that Melanie the Web Spinner has a right to anything she needs to put connect things that need to be connected,” said Edmund.
“And who is this Dennis who has such a great aunt?” asked Shawn.
“Dennis is another of my choristers in the Carelin Royal Boys’ Choir,” said the king, “and his great aunt is constantly putting Dennis up to saying the most inconvenient things at the most inconvenient times.”
Just then, the caboose jerked gently with a clicking noise and then seemed to stop.
“I don’t think we’re going anywhere now,” said Edmund quietly.
“I think we may have just connected with some more train cars,” said Nigel.
“Ah!” cried Shawn, has he jumped up and flung open the door. “If this caboose has connected with the rest of my train, than that proves it’s my caboose.”
“It does not,” said Edmund.
“Shawn! Get back here!” Nigel called out.
“Yes!” Shawn cried from outside. “This is my train!”
Edmund and Nigel looked at each other.
“I guess it’s safe to take a look as long as we stick to Melanie’s Web,” said Nigel. “Coming, Your Majesty, King Perezvon XXVI?”
The king grumbled about how awkward his royal robes made it for getting off the train, but he managed it with the help of the two choristers.
“Wow! What a train!” Edmund cried as soon as he saw a long train melting into the darkness ahead, lit only by the strands of Melanie’s Web woven around it.
Shawn was already several cars ahead of everybody else. The choirboys and the king followed at their own pace, admiring a milk car sandwiched in between two freight cars as they went.
“Who wrecked these cars?” Shawn yelled from up ahead.
When the others reached the car Shawn had yelled about, they saw a set of bent and broken bars on the side of what had been an empty cage.
“What’s this? A prison car?” asked Edmund. “Looks like the prisoners got away.”
“It’s a car for my circus train,” Shawn explained. “I spent a lot of money on the toy animals I put in those cars.”
“I didn’t wreck it or let the animal loose,” said Edmund. “Honest.”
Shawn angrily hurried his pace until he reached a fancy-looking car. He flung open the door and then cried out in rage. Edmund and Nigel ran up and peered into the car to see for themselves what had happened. Fancy-looking furniture had been turned upside down and broken glass and shattered chinaware was sprinkled over everything.
“High flying swordfish and dragons!” exclaimed Edmund.
“Looks like a bunch of pirates had a party and ran off before all the king's horses and all the king's men came to put the room back together again,” said Nigel.
“Who did it?” cried Shawn.
“Well,” said Perezvon XXVI who had just caught up with the boys, “speaking as the king, I couldn't rightly say who did this outrageous act of vandalism, but I will be glad to have a royal commission investigate the matter and bring the offender or offenders to justice.”
“They will have a lot to pay for,” said Shawn through clenched teeth. “This car is a replica of the Vanderbilt's custom-made car, 1891. I guess I’d better check out the rest of this train.”
Shawn hopped out of the luxury car and hiked briskly to the front of the train, quickening his steps the more the closer he came. But when he saw the front end of the engine badly smashed up, he stopped short.
“Who wrecked my engine?”
Silence.
“Who was playing with my engine and wrecked it?”
“Looks like the engine ran into a blank wall,” said Nigel.
“It does have that appearance,” King Perezvon agreed.
“Who played with my train and wrecked it?” Shawn yelled.
“I suppose I could order a second royal commission to investigate. . .”
“I’ll order my own royal investigation,” Shawn grumbled.
“Let's see what's on the other side of the wall,” Edmund suggested as he clamored up the rubble.
“It could be the Lost City,” suggested Nigel.
“That's right!” Edmund exclaimed. “It could!”
“I've always wondered what the Lost City was like,” said the King, tripping over his royal robes as he climbed up the rubble after the choirboys.
But when they reached the top of the wall, Nigel and Edmund choked at the sight. For there was nothing to see but darkness. Even Melanie's web suddenly broke off at the top of the city wall as if the darkness of the Lost City had cut the web.
--------------------------
“That will teach you to sacrifice my friends to the Dark Lake,” Kevin muttered to himself as the last shreds of his drawing dropped from his fingers.
“Now, where do we go from here?” Kevin asked the boar, “Nowhere?”
The boar grunted and shrugged Kevin off its back. With no ground of any kind to land on, he wasn’t hurt.
“Why did you do that?” Kevin asked. “Mad at me for teaching those guys a lesson?”
The boar gave no response except to walk away.
“Hey!” Kevin shouted after the beast, “You’re my golden boar! You can’t desert me now!”
Kevin chased after the boar, but it receded from Kevin until it became a small twinkle like a distant star.
“Come back!” Kevin yelled.
But the darkness swallowed the diminishing star, leaving Kevin in darkness.
“Help!” Kevin cried out.
But only empty darkness absorbed his desperate cry.
“I guess I’m just as lost as the people of the Lost City,” said Kevin to himself. “If they won’t have a city to walk in until somebody draws it, and I’m the only one who can draw it, then they’ll have a long wait. And if I can’t get anywhere unless I draw the rest of the Lost City, then I’ve got a long wait, too.
With nothing to do but think, Kevin began to think that perhaps it was his fault that Fenrir and Roger and Samantha and the engineer were sacrificed to the darkness. If he had not jumped the train, he would have come to the Lost City with them and perhaps he would still be happily drawing in the missing parts to bring the city to life. After a while, Kevin found it harder to even think and his head began to feel light as if it were floating in outer space.
“I’ve got to think of something before I go crazy,” Kevin told himself.
But he didn’t know what to think about. He thought about his Treasure Island and wished he had gone there with the choirboys. Sailing that pirate ship with them would have been great fun. The train ride had been good, too, though, until he ruined it for himself by jumping off because he thought it was running through is island. That reminded Kevin all over again that it was his fault that Roger and Samantha and the engineer and Fenrir had all been sacrificed to the Dark Lake.
“I wish I could apologize to them for what I did,” said Kevin to himself. “They seem like nice kids and they sure didn’t deserve to get sacrificed to the Dark Lake like they were. Come to think of it, it looks like I’m in the Dark Lake myself. Does this mean I’m lost for good? Does it mean I might find Roger and Samantha and Sheila around here someplace?”
As he asked himself those questions, Kevin began to hear the swishing sound of water. He reached down and felt cold water with his fingertips. And yet he had no other sensation of wading through water or swimming in it.
“Did you call me?” asked a lugubrious voice.
“Uh!” a startled Kevin cried out. “I—uh—I was hoping somebody would come.”
“Well, I suppose I could be considered somebody,” said the speaker, “not that anybody considers a turtle like me much at all.”
“I don’t care what you are or who you are, if you can get me out of this Dark Lake!” said Kevin.
A small pair of yellow eyes emerged out of the dark, the first thing to relieve the darkness since the golden boar had left him. Then he saw the shape of a turtle’s head and the shape of its shell behind it.
“I don’t blame you for not caring who I am,” said the turtle in a deeply discouraged voice. “Nobody else seems to care about me, either.”
“Well, I do care who you are,” said Kevin. “It’s just that it’s okay if you’re a turtle. I like turtles. I even had one for a pet once. I’m Kevin.”
“I thought you were Kevin the Weaver Maker and Map Maker,” said the turtle. “Since you are nice enough to care who I am, I suppose I might as well tell you that I am Sylvester.”
“Is there a chance you can carry me somewhere,” Kevin asked.
“I suppose that carrying one more boy isn’t too great an additional burden since I already have the entire world riding on my back,” said the despondent turtle.
“The whole world?” asked Kevin. “Poor Sylvester!”
“Thank you for feeling sorry for me,” said the turtle. “You’re the first person who has felt sorry for me in ages. And I have excruciating burdens all the time that make me feel very sorry for myself. One would think that carrying the world was labor enough. But on top of that, everybody wants me to carry them as well. Just when I thought I was carrying far more weight than I thought I could, the Lost City hit me like a ton of mountains, and now you come along and ask me to carry you along with everything else. You might just as well climb on my back like everybody else and let me carry you to your next appointed destination.”
“The Lost City?” asked Kevin.
“Yes, the Lost City,” said Sylvester. “I felt the whole city rip apart and disintegrate and land on top of me with a great crash. It wasn’t the sort of thing I needed on a day like this.”
“Uh-oh,” said Kevin who suddenly felt very small over what he had done. “I think I should tell you something.”
“And what is that something you have to tell me?” asked the turtle.
“I tore up my drawings of the Lost City because they sacrificed my friends to the Dark Lake. When I finished tearing them up, the city was gone.”
The turtle groaned long and loudly over that piece of news.
“This adds infinitely more to my burden as if it wasn’t infinitely heavy already!”
“I—I would think that if I made the Lost City disappear,” said Kevin, “it would be one less thing for you to carry.”
“You don’t understand,” complained the turtle. “If somebody disappears, then I have to carry that person twice as much as I did before. If a whole city disappears—and a Lost City at that—then I have to carry twice as much of that. Do you have the scraps that you tore up?
“No, why should I?”
“Do you have any parchment left?”
“No.”
“A quill?”
“No. I’ve got nothing at all.”
Sylvester let out another long drawn out groan.
“I’m sorry,” said Kevin in a hurt tone of voice.
“You can feel bad about it all you want,” said Sylvester, “as long as feeling bad doesn't stop you from doing something about it. It usually does, though. First, somebody does the wrong thing, then that somebody feels bad about having done the wrong thing and then that somebody lets everything get worse because that somebody feels bad about what that somebody did wrong. It’s no wonder the world weighs so heavily on my back all the time.”
“Do you think you can find my friends?” asked Kevin. “They’re probably somewhere in this Dark Lake since they got sacrificed to it by those people in the Lost City.”
Kevin put his fingers to his ears when Sylvester groaned for the third and longest and loudest time.
“Do you mean to say that in addition to you and the whole Lost City—not to speak of the rest of the world—you expect me to carry some friends of yours just because they were sacrificed to the Dark Lake?”
“I’m sorry I’m asking too much of you,” said Kevin, “but I’m worried about my friends.”
“Don’t worry about expecting too much of me,” said Sylvester. “Everybody else expects too much of me, so why shouldn’t you? At least you feel sorry for me, which is more than most people do. I suppose I can try to find your lost friends, in addition to all the other burdens I have to bear.”
As Sylvester spoke, Kevin felt a clammy and knobbed surface slide gently under him and then the motion of the turtle swimming or walking further into the darkness.
“Thank you Sylvester,” said Kevin.
“It is kind of you to thank me,” said Sylvester. “I hardly ever hear a word of thanks for all the weight that I carry all the time. I just hope I don’t collapse under the weight of it all now that I’m carrying you.”
“You’re not the only one,” said Kevin, who was beginning to be alarmed.
“I’m pretty sure that I can hold up under my burden if Bertha the Elephant continues to hold me up, even though all this makes things harder for her as well,” Sylvester explained. “Of course, all of that presupposes that Cornelius the Beetle holds up Bertha the Elephant.”
“Does anybody hold up Cornelius the Beetle?” asked Kevin.
“Why, it goes without saying that Humphrey the Bullfrog has the crushing burden of holding up Cornelius the Beetle and everybody he is supporting,” Sylvester replied.
“Uh—who supports Humphrey the Bullfrog?” Kevin asked hesitantly.
Sylvester answered with a long, bellowing groan.
“What’s the matter?” Kevin asked the turtle anxiously.
“I hate to tell you this,” said Sylvester.
“Is—is the elephant you talked about not holding you up any more?” asked Kevin.
“You guessed it,” said the turtle. “Even you can tell when the burden on my back has just doubled and tripled and quadrupled and dupled in more ways that a turtle can count. I just hope Cornelius the Beetle is supporting Bertha the Elephant—wherever she is—or we’re in even bigger trouble yet. Oh well, there’s nothing I can do about it but keep on plodding with no support and no sense of direction.”
“Thanks Sylvester,” said Kevin.
“Thank you for thanking me. Hardly anybody thanks me for all the burdens I carry with so little support.”