Chapter the 3rd
The strange girl, Amarilla, was playing a suitably solemn prelude on the organ as Father Clement tried to get his bearings for performing what was shaping up to be the strangest funeral in his life. He had been quite startled when he first came into the church and saw four children waiting for him. A tall girl introduced herself as Amarilla and then said that the boy at her side, her brother Roger, would pump the bellows for her and that the other boy, Edmund, who was dressed in a black cassock, was going to sing. The smaller girl, who was introduced as Samantha, had a small drum hanging around her neck but, to Father Clement’s relief, nobody said anything about her playing it during the funeral. It was only with difficulty that Father Clement had persuaded Amarilla that the organ ran by electricity and it was not necessary for her brother to pump the bellows for her. Even when Amarilla pressed down on the keys, she didn’t seem to believe she was hearing the sound she was hearing. Her puzzlement notwithstanding, she was soon all business with the instrument.
The closed coffin, a cheap pine box, lay in the sanctuary surrounded by four dark requiem candles. In the front pew stood a boy wearing a ceremonial military uniform bedecked with copious medals next to a girl wearing a dress that belonged in a fantasy medieval pageant. The boy had introduced himself as Moroch, the crown prince of Carelin. Then he added, with a smirk on his face, that he was representing his father, the king who, for reasons of state, could not attend. The girl then introduced herself as Princess Mona and said, with a smirk of her own, that she was representing herself. Roger and Samantha were sitting next to the royal children. His neighbors, Karen and Kevin Rosskill sat together in a middle pew, looking as awkward as any two children would who had never been to a church before. Father Clement couldn’t fathom why they would have come. Ted Sloane stood by himself off to the side, also looking out of his depth in a church not familiar to him. Michael Bullinger and Scott Simpson slumped together in a pew towards the back. The four undertakers stood against the back wall of the church. Except for Scott, not one member of the parish had come. Just as the last chord of the prelude faded away and Father Clement opened his mouth to say the opening verse: the three relatives of Mrs. Lear, who had approached Father Clement so disagreeably the day before, materialized out of the back wall of the church. Dressed in black, they stood with the posture of vultures, seemingly more interested in what they could glean from the corpse than in paying their respects. The church felt all the darker for their presence.
“‘I am the Resurrection and the Life,” Father Clement’s voice rang out, but the words sounded hollow in the mostly empty church. As the service, dreary even for a funeral went on, Father Clement winced each time he gave out a verse that called for a congregational response. If Mark had not been there to answer back, there would have been little, if any, response. The only bright spot was Edmund’s singing. Father Clement’s heart melted at the unearthly beauty of the brief piece of music and the boy’s singing of it. When the time came for the commendation of the body, Mark and his father moved down to the casket and stood at opposite sides of it.
“Give rest, O Christ, to your servant with your saints.”
“Where sorrow and pain are no more, neither sighing, but life everlasting.”
Feeling that the three dark relatives were breathing down his neck from a distance, Father Clement struggled to pray the words with proper devotion.
“Into you hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant Evelyn. Acknowledge, we humbly beseech you, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming. Receive her into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light. Amen.”
The undertakers came forward to take the casket. Michael, Scott, Kevin, and Edmund came forward to assist them. The relatives glared at the boys as if they were beneath contempt. Outside, the dark sky seemed to cast a funeral pall on everything. One of the relatives, the older man, shook Father Clement's hand solemnly.
“Thank you for the service,” he said in a deep voice. “We appreciate your efforts.”
Never had a person sounded less appreciative to Father Clement than that man.
“I am glad to be of service at such a time,” Father Clement replied mechanically, even as he hated himself for his insensitivity.
With the casket loaded in the hearse, the three relatives went to their car. One of the undertakers politely pointed to his limousine and invited Father Clement and the children to ride in it. Ted Sloane solemnly offered his condolences to the grandchildren and headed back to his office. As soon as the priest and his son were settled in the limousine with more children than there seemed to be room for, the hearse started up and the funeral procession of two black cars began.
“You sang very well,” Father Clement said to Edmund.
“Thank you,” the boy replied with dignity.
“And you played well on the organ,” the priest added with a look to Amarilla.
“I am deeply honored that I was asked,” she replied.
Michael looked back at the car that was following them apprehensively.
“I don't think it's a good idea to let them follow us to the cemetery,” said Michael.
“Kevin and I have been watching them the past two days,” Karen added. “They act as if Mrs. Lear's house is a bone for them to pick dry.”
Kevin, seated between Father Clement and Mark, so that he faced the back of the limousine, stared at the car behind them as if mesmerized by its three occupants.
“I share your sentiments,” said Father Clement. “They are the kind of people who make me feel I'd better check my fingers after shaking hands with them to make sure all of them are still there. However, we can't deny even the nastiest of family members the right to participate in the liturgy offered by the church at such a time.”
“I am sorry to differ with you,” said Amarilla, “but we must not allow those three to stand at the grave when she is interred.”
“And why not?” asked Father Clement.
“It is imperative that the light still living in Mrs. Lear be buried with her,” the girl explained.
“I’m sure my father has forbidden them to come,” said Prince Moroch, sounding very self-important.
“And I’m sure he’s inviting them by thinking just like them,” said Princess Mona.
“Don’t worry,” said Edmund, a smug smile showing, “I know some people who have a plan for dealing with them.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Amarilla. “Surely you are not referring to Nigel and all your other musical friends who specialize in artistic mischief are you?
“Of course I am,” Edmund replied with a smile.
The limousine passed a thin girl wearing wide round glasses as she stood on the corner, waiting for the cars to pass by. Michael looked at her, then shook himself out of his own preoccupations.
“Do any of you know that girl?” he asked, pointing in her direction.
“Do you mean Sheila?” asked Kevin.
“Yea, Sheila. Do you know her?”
“She moved here last Fall,” Karen replied. “What’s with her?”
“Can you make friends with her?” Michael asked him.
“I could try,” Karen replied, “but isn’t she in your class, Kevin?”
“Yea,” Kevin answered.
“Then you can make friends with her,” Michael ordered Kevin.
Kevin shook himself from his reverie.
“Why should I make friends with her?”
“Because I said so.”
“Why don't you do it?” Kevin retorted.
“Because I’m no good at making friends,” said Michael.
“Why do you want us to be so friendly with her all of a sudden?” asked Karen. “Is your heart turning into gold?”
“Not that I know of,” said Michael. “She saw something interesting a couple of days ago.”
“What?” asked Karen.
“She saw a bunch of cowboys riding unicorns shoot up a couple of street lights.”
“Really?” asked Kevin.
Father Clement and Mark looked at each other to sustain their sanity in the midst of this strange conversation.
“Yea, really,” said Michael. “She said they came out of the back yard of Mrs. Lear’s house. Then they rode down to that piano teacher’s house, the house where Shawn Harrison lives, and disappeared.”
“Did she believe what she saw?” asked Kevin.
“She did when I got through with her.”
“You don’t seem to be any better at making friends than you ever were,” said Karen.
Michael shrugged off the remark.
“Then Sheila and I both seen a wolf in Mrs. Lear’s back yard looking like it was taking a drink from her floodlight,” Michael continued. “Then Sheila told me that some undertakers had come and taken away Mrs. Lear’s body.”
“I can see the importance of making friends with that girl,” said Amarilla. “It seems possible that she has been assigned a quest.”
“Did you say that Sheila said the unicorns and the cowboys disappeared at Shawn’s house?” asked Scott.
“Do you mean Super Brat?” asked Karen.
“Yea,” said Scott. “I saw him down on Main Street cowering against a store because a wolf—maybe the same one Sheila saw—was prowling on the sidewalk. It turned out he had a flyer about a toy store named Morley’s and he was looking for it.”
Edmund’s eyes brightened at the name.
“Morley’s Toy Store?” he exclaimed. “I’ve been waiting for it to open up for months!”
“So have I,” said Roger.
“And me,” Samantha added.
“Did he find the store?” asked Edmund.
“Yes and no,” Scott replied. “I found it for him but he wouldn’t follow me across the line of reality.”
“Shows you what he knows,” said Michael. “I don’t want to be involved with him even if the world tips over and dumps us into Outer Space.”
“We might not have a choice, you know,” said Scott. “I can try making friends with him but I don't think he’ll trust me.”
“He's in your grade, Karen,” said Kevin, not disguising a bit of sadistic pleasure at the thought.
“He is,” said Karen, looking none too pleased.
“Then he's your job,” said Michael.
“I suppose so,” said Karen, resigned to the task.
“About the store,” said Amarilla. “Is it possible to get to it from a spot here in Milton?”
“Yes,” Scott answered. “Very possible.”
“Then it appears that our worlds are becoming quite permeable.”
“What’s that mean?” asked Kevin.
“She means that Carelin and Milton are starting to merge into each other,” Karen answered.
“Do you mean that it’ll be like having Carelin right here in Milton?” asked Kevin.
“Something like that,” Roger replied.
“That’ll be exciting,” said Edmund.
“Provided we get the pieces to work together without going haywire,” said Amarilla.
“But haywire makes things interesting,” said Roger.
“If things go too haywire,” said Amarilla, sounding like a fretful mother, “then you might not be able to find Morley’s Toy Store or, if you do, you might not be able to find your way back home.
“But we’ll have our toys if we got to the store,” said Samantha.
“Samantha, this is serious!” said Amarilla. “There is a very real possibility that they are moving back and forth between Milton and Carelin because too many people in both places are listening to them. Worse: there is a very real possibility that their movements back and forth are opening letting the Dark Lake into the cracks, thus disrupting all the relationships of all locations.”
“What is the Dark Lake?” asked Kevin.
“The Dark Lake is where everything that is lost goes,” Amarilla replied solemnly.
Those words reduced everybody to silence for some time. The limousine left Milton behind and it inched its way along the highway with the car driven by the three relatives still trailing behind.
“That car makes the whole sky look dark,” Kevin complained.
Michael glanced behind him, shuddered, and faced Kevin again.
“It isn’t just them,” said Michael. “Somehow Milton has been looking darker every day for some time. I don't know what’s happening or how it’s happening, but it is.”
“I've noticed it, too,” said Karen. “But you can't talk about it.”
“Ah!” said Mark, “then I’m not the only one who’s thought that.”
“Somebody I was counseling a couple of days ago said much the same thing,” said Father Clement. “I thought it was a subjective statement at the time. For myself, I thought it was just those three relatives darkening my outlook on life.”
“There is a prophecy to the effect that all of the light will be swallowed by darkness,” said Amarilla.
“That figures,” said Michael.
“Does that mean we’ll just have to stumble in the dark?” asked Karen.
“It means we’ll have to find a way to stumble back into the light, doesn’t it?” suggested Edmund.
“Theoretically, the darkness cannot overcome the light,” said Mark.
“Theoretically,” Scott echoed.
“It means that somebody—or several somebodies—will have a quest—or several quests to retrieve the light,” said Amarilla.
“Do you think we might be some of those somebodies?” asked Kevin.
“I wouldn’t put it past the hands of Providence to call on us again,” Amarilla replied.
“Help!” Kevin yelled out, shrinking in his seat as he pointed to the back of the limousine. “They’re attacking us!”
Father Clement instinctively took Samantha’s hand when she leaned against him and he saw what appeared to be a flock of giant blackbirds surrounding the car behind them and heading their way.
“It’s okay!” Roger exclaimed, “They’re attacking them!”
“It’s Nigel and Geoffrey and all the others!” Edmund exclaimed. “I told you they’d come!”
By this time, Father Clement could see that a group of boys wearing black cassocks like Edmund’s were riding bicycles on all sides of the black car and that the younger man at the wheel was waving at them angrily. The boys cut in behind the limousine, creating a black cloud that hid the car while the limousine followed the hearse off an exit ramp that turned into a narrow alley paved with cobblestones. This road was so narrow that there was not enough room for two cars to pass each other from opposite directions. Father Clement began to feel as if the world were being pulled out from under him and Mark looked as if he felt the same. Not even the strange experiences he had shared with Scott could have prepared him for this. The hum of the car motor turned into the clumping of horses' hooves, and next thing the priest knew, the hearse and the limousine had turned into carriages, each drawn by two large white horses who waved their large tails like flags. The choirboys continued to follow on their bikes, but there was no sign of the car that had been following them.
“I think we lost those creepy guys who crashed the funeral,” said Kevin as he looked out the back window.
“Good,” said Amarilla, her face still set in a grim expression. “Now, the next challenge is to keep them away.”
“How do we do that?” asked Scott.
“We must all avoid giving them an entry to our thoughts,” Amarilla replied.
“How do we do that?” asked Kevin.
“By thinking of something else,” Amarilla answered.
“Don’t worry,” said Moroch, “His Majesty, our father, will think of something horrible to bring them in.”
“Oh,” said Edmund as he let his head droop.
“In which case, the rest of us will have to think of something better,” said Mona.
A few minutes later, the carriages came to a stop at a gate in the middle of the wall. The undertakers came round to the back of the hearse to pull out the coffin. The driver of the carriage stepped out and opened the door for the passengers to step down. Father Clement heard the sound of music flowing from behind the wall.
“The pallbearers may assist with the casket,” said the driver.
The four boys gathered at the coffin to carry it in. There was no longer a roller under it, but the boys didn’t seem to find the coffin heavy to carry. The open gate lead into a small courtyard where a few grave markers were scattered about. An open grave was waiting in the middle and the pallbearers lowered the coffin into it with little difficulty. More people were gathered in the graveyard than there seemed to be room for. Father Clement shuddered when he saw a few dwarves, three or four pirates, one of them with a parrot perched on his shoulder. Off to the side, he was pretty sure he saw a tree turning the pages of a book. Father Clement recognized Dornal, the young man he and Scott helped when he was in the hospital. He was playing his harp and looking as if he had never been seriously injured. Roger picked up a violin and started to play it, and Samantha played a subdued roll on her drum. A gate appeared in the middle of another wall and the choirboys rode their bicycles rode through it, parked them against the wall and joined a group of vested men. They exchanged self-satisfied smiles with their conductor, a tall, thin man wearing a tuxedo, and started to sing a piece of music that Father Clement found solemn without being mournful. Prince Moroch approached Father Clement and brought him to a man dressed in a royal robe with a gold crown on his head.
“Thank you for coming,” said the king. “It was my mother's wish that you should commit her to the earth. Please proceed with the service.”
Nonplused, but nonetheless secure in his priestly duties, Father Clement said the prayers over the grave, took the aspergill from the bucket Mark was holding, and sprinkled the casket with holy water. Roger and a red-haired woman played “Taps” on violin and flute as a two-part round while everybody else stood still, and then the boys chanted the In Paradisum in Latin. Father Clement shoveled a handful of dirt onto the coffin, then stepped aside for others to do the same. The choir boys began another chant that Father Clement had never heard before as, one by one, all the people in the courtyard came forward to throw a clump of dirt onto the coffin. As the last note of the chant faded away, the king turned towards Father Clement.
“That was fittingly done if I say so myself.”
“Should we construe this burial as the official end of the Queen Mother’s exile by the imperial decree of his majesty Perezvon XXVI?” Dornal asked the king.
King Perezvon XXVI frowned fiercely. Amarilla sucked in her breath so noisily that it caught the attention of everybody near her.
“I do not believe that any imperial decree in the history of this kingdom allows anybody—not even a royal harpist—to review the relationship between a king and the Queen Mother,” replied the king in a frigid voice.
Several people murmured darkly. Amarilla nodded to Mona, who in turn tapped the king on the wrist and whispered something in his ear.
“Well—er—I shall handle the matter this way,” said the king. “I will compose the decree ending the Queen Mother’s exile while I drink my nightcap this evening and I will affix my seal to it immediately afterwards. That way, all will be forgiven.”
Scattered applause greeted those words and the king bowed as if he had just been cheered by a multitude.
“I am sure you have not forgiven the queen mother,” said a man with a deep, cold voice.
Several people gasped when the black car with its driver and two passengers all dressed in black materialized in the graveyard. Its large headlights were as black as the car so that it looked like a metallic monster staring at everybody with its vacuous eyes. The sky grew darker, as if a solar eclipse had just begun. Father Clement felt a chill.
“And so surely the Queen Mother has not forgiven you,” said the woman as she stuck her head out her window.
“Which is to say: nothing is forgiven,” added the young man at the wheel.
“Are you implying that the king is in need of forgiveness?” asked the king.
“I would not shrink from that implication myself,” said the woman.
“Particularly since the Queen Mother drew light away from your kingdom,” said the older man.
“And now you have buried the light with her,” said the woman.
“Which mean you will never get it back,” added the younger man.
Several people gasped.
“My Great Aunt said that when a person is buried, all that person’s light is released to every world,” piped up one of the smallest choristers.
“Then how do you account for the progressive darkness in your kingdom?” asked the older man.
The boy crumpled at those words and one of the older choristers put a tender arm around him to keep him on his feet.
“Why, the answer to that is: the self-appointed king of Corelee is stealing the light from out kingdom,” the king replied indignantly.
“And he is not about to give it back,” said the woman.
“He is sending his citizens to Carelin to steal all of your light,” said the younger man.
“Then we must send our pirates to Corelee right away!” exclaimed a man.
“Right away! Away from right!” chirped the parrot sitting on the shoulder a burly pirate.
“Captain Polly at your service!” cried the pirate with the parrot on his shoulder.
The other pirates belted out a cheer.
“We need to form a militia!” cried a woman.
“That is exactly what I have already proposed to do,” said the king. “I have the proclamation already written out and ready to be promulgated, pending the reply of the newly self-appointed king to my missive regarding this serious matter.”
“Your majesty!” cried an older choir boy standing next to Edmund, “Why not send a group on a mission to Corelee to see if it is true that our light is being hoarded there?”
“And who is proposing to go on that mission?” asked the king.
The choir boys looked at each other and then yelled in chorus: “WE ARE!”
A look of panic spread across the face of their choirmaster.
“Do you realize how serious a mission like that is?” the choirmaster asked.
“Of course,” Edmund replied, “The mission is so serious that Morley’s Toy Store is about to open up.”
All children cheered by many of the adults groaned.
“And where is Morley’s Toy Store this time?” asked the King.
In the ensuing silence, Scott looked at Edmund, who gave him an encouraging nod.
“It’s somewhere off Main Street in Milton,” Scott answered.
A troubled hubbub greeted that announcement.
“If Correlee steals the light and Milton steals our stores, what’s going to be left for us?” asked an adolescent boy.
“I think the proper solution is to form two militias,” said the king. “One for Correlee and one for Milton.”
Dornal played a glissando on his harp that brought the unruly crowd to silence.
“I will remind you that all respect should be paid to the town whose house of healing was so vital to my healthful well-being,” said Dornal, “and that the town that took in the exiled Queen Mother is worthy of honor on that account as well,” said Dornal.
“That’s all well and good,” said a man, “but we need our light and we need our stores.”
Father Clement noticed that the three people in the black car were no longer in the graveyard, but their departure had done nothing to lighten things up. They had accomplished what they came to do.
“I will make sure that I retrieve all of our light and all of our stores,” the king thundered, “if I have to ransack every last square inch of every thieving world to do it.”
A few people applauded and cheered faintly. The Crown Prince stepped forward and held up his hands for attention.
“In gratitude to the priest of Milton and the acolyte from Milton and to the member of the congregation from Milton who helped plan the service and to the four non-church members of Milton who attended the funeral out of respect of the late Queen Mother, I propose a day of amnesty for Milton.”
The announcement of the Crown Prince drew a slightly more vigorous applause. His father, seeming to notice this, frowned but said nothing. Dornal struck up a tune on the harp and everyone began to mill about the yard and talk in subdued tones. Servants carried trays of wine and cakes among the guests. Unheeded, the undertakers began filling in the grave.
“If the king needs a militia,” said a man nearby, “I’m ready to volunteer at the drop of a shoe.”
“We haven’t needed a militia in over three hundred years,” said another man. “I say it’s about time we needed one again.”
“If our militia performs daring deeds,” said a woman, “then perhaps we will raise up new historians among us.”
“History has become quite a lost art,” commented another woman.
As Father Clement tried to figure out what to make of what was going on around him, Scott came over to him and offered him a pastry and a glass of wine. As he thanked Scott, the priest noticed Amarilla wandering over to the grave where several roses were growing out of the ground that Father Clement was sure were not there a moment before. Amarilla picked one of the roses and reverently carried it away.
“What’s happening here?” Father Clement heard Michael whisper to a man he seemed to know well.
“Just a slightly larger misunderstanding than usual,” the man replied.
“What does your Great Aunt say about all this, Dennis?” Edmund asked the small in a voice loud enough that anybody could hear him.
To Father Clement’s surprise, most people stopped talking to listen to the boy.
“I’ll have to ask her,” Dennis replied, “but I know what she said this morning.”
“What is it?” asked an older choirboy.
“She said that if the light is taken away, we will have to look for it in the darkness.”
“Do you expect the militia to have time for that?” scoffed a boy who overheard those words.
“No,” said Dennis.
“And how are you going to find anything in the darkness if you can’t see anything?” asked a girl.
“BY USING THE LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS, STUPID!” Edmund yelled.
The ground shook as Edmund yelled those words, followed by a loud rumbling sound.
“GET AWAY FROM THAT WALL!” yelled one of the pirates.
“Way from the wall,” added the parrot.
The wall split apart and then crumbled as a blue brontosaurus trundled into the graveyard.
“Hey!” cried one of the boys, “it’s the last one I need for my collection!”
“Geoffrey!” yelled the choirmaster, “where is your common sense?”
“He threw it into the brontosaurus’ brain,” one of the boys replied.
Heedless of his choirmaster, Geoffrey jumped up on the dinosaur’s back and climbed half-way up its neck. The brontosaurus carefully placed its feet around the freshly-dug grave and continued its way to the opposite wall which it also destroyed on its way out.
“Geoffrey!” cried the choirmaster. “Somebody save him!”
Kevin dashed after the chorister and the disappearing brontosaurus whose blue head could still be seen bobbing over the broken wall. Karen, frantic about her brother ran after him. Father Clement and Mark and Michael ran after Karen and her brother. Scott limped behind and picked his way through the wreckage as best he could. When the priest saw Scott lose his balance and fall he went back for him, but another boy reached Scott first and pulled him back on his feet.
“Thanks, Nigel,” said Scott.
“Come on!” Edmund urged, “this way!”
Along with the two choristers and Scott, Father Clement stepped over the rubble and set his feet on a tile floor. Up ahead, Karen and Kevin flanked a thoroughly dizzy Geoffrey while the others milled around in a small space. A picture window looked out on to a busy street that was quite familiar to Father Clement. However it happened, he was suddenly in Donna’s Donuts. The wall behind him and the booths against it all seemed intact. Of the brontosaurus, there was not a sign.
“What kind of lights are these?” asked Nigel as he pointed to the fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling.
“What are those animals out there?” asked Edmund as he pointed through the window towards the cars.
“We call them cars, and they aren’t animals,” Michael replied.
“They move like animals,” said Geoffrey.
“That’s where the resemblance ends,” said Scott.
“I suggest we quick get some donuts to keep these guys from wondering how we all got here,” said Mark to his father as he indicated the bewildered look on the face of the young woman behind the counter.
“Well—er—everybody pick out a donut,” announced Father Clement.