thoughts she never even told Mama. But it meant that she rather despised Chrestomanci for being quite so tall and for having hair so black and such flashing dark eyes. She knew he was going to be no more help than Mr. Mindelbaum, and Mr. Mindelbaum had reminded her of Melville.
Mama meanwhile was holding Chrestomanci’s hand between both of hers and saying, “Oh, sir! This is so good of you to interrupt your holiday on our account! But when even Mr. Mindelbaum couldn’t find out what’s stopping her dreams—”
“Not at all,” Chrestomanci said, wrestling for his hand rather. “To be frank, I was intrigued by a case even Mindelbaum couldn’t fathom.” He signaled to the serving lady who had brought them to the terrace. “Millie, do you think you could take Mrs. . . . er . . . O’Dear downstairs while I talk to Carol?”
“There’s no need for that, sir,” Mama said, smiling. “I always go everywhere with my darling. Carol knows I’ll sit quite quietly and not interrupt.”
“No wonder Mindelbaum got nowhere,” Chrestomanci murmured.
Then—Carol, who prided herself on being very observant, was never quite sure how it happened—Mama was suddenly not on the terrace anymore. Carol herself was sitting in a deck chair facing Chrestomanci in his deck chair, listening to Mama’s voice floating up from below somewhere. “I never let Carol go anywhere alone. She’s my one ewe lamb. . . .”
Chrestomanci leaned back comfortably and crossed his elegant legs. “Now,” he said, “be kind enough to tell me exactly what you do when you make a dream.”
This was something Carol had done hundreds of times by now. She smiled graciously and began, “I get a feeling in my head first, which means a dream is ready to happen. Dreams come when they will, you know, and there is no stopping them or putting them off. So I tell Mama, and we go up to my boudoir, where she helps me to get settled on the special couch Mr. Ploys had made for me. Then Mama sets the spin-off spool turning and tiptoes away, and I drop off to sleep to the sound of it gently humming and whirling. Then the dream takes me. . . .”
Chrestomanci did not take notes like Mr. Mindelbaum and the reporters. He did not nod at her encouragingly the way Mr. Mindelbaum had. He simply stared vaguely out to sea. Carol thought that the least he might do was to tell those children in the pool to keep quiet. The screaming and splashing were so loud that she almost had to shout. Carol thought he was being very inconsiderate, but she kept on.
“I have learned not to be frightened and to go where the dream takes me. It is like a voyage of discovery—”
“When is this?” Chrestomanci interrupted in an offhand sort of way. “Does this dreaming happen at night?”
“It can happen at any time,” said Carol. “If a dream is ready, I can go to my couch and sleep during the day.”
“How very useful,” murmured Chrestomanci. “So you can put up your hand in a dull lesson and say, ‘Please can I be excused to go and dream?’ Do they let you go home?”
“I ought to have explained,” Carol said, keeping her dignity with an effort, “that Mama arranges lessons for me at home so that I can dream anytime I need to. It’s like a voyage of discovery, sometimes in caves underground, sometimes in palaces in the clouds—”
“Yes. And how long do you dream for? Six hours? Ten minutes?” Chrestomanci interrupted again.
“About half an hour,” said Carol. “Sometimes in the clouds or maybe in the southern seas. I never know where I will go or whom I will meet on my journey—”
“Do you finish a whole dream in half an hour?” Chrestomanci interrupted yet again.
“Of course not. Some of my dreams last for more than three hours,” Carol said. “As for the people I meet, they are strange and wonderful—”
“So you dream in half-hour stretches,” said Chrestomanci. “And I suppose you have to take a dream up again exactly where you
Mama meanwhile was holding Chrestomanci’s hand between both of hers and saying, “Oh, sir! This is so good of you to interrupt your holiday on our account! But when even Mr. Mindelbaum couldn’t find out what’s stopping her dreams—”
“Not at all,” Chrestomanci said, wrestling for his hand rather. “To be frank, I was intrigued by a case even Mindelbaum couldn’t fathom.” He signaled to the serving lady who had brought them to the terrace. “Millie, do you think you could take Mrs. . . . er . . . O’Dear downstairs while I talk to Carol?”
“There’s no need for that, sir,” Mama said, smiling. “I always go everywhere with my darling. Carol knows I’ll sit quite quietly and not interrupt.”
“No wonder Mindelbaum got nowhere,” Chrestomanci murmured.
Then—Carol, who prided herself on being very observant, was never quite sure how it happened—Mama was suddenly not on the terrace anymore. Carol herself was sitting in a deck chair facing Chrestomanci in his deck chair, listening to Mama’s voice floating up from below somewhere. “I never let Carol go anywhere alone. She’s my one ewe lamb. . . .”
Chrestomanci leaned back comfortably and crossed his elegant legs. “Now,” he said, “be kind enough to tell me exactly what you do when you make a dream.”
This was something Carol had done hundreds of times by now. She smiled graciously and began, “I get a feeling in my head first, which means a dream is ready to happen. Dreams come when they will, you know, and there is no stopping them or putting them off. So I tell Mama, and we go up to my boudoir, where she helps me to get settled on the special couch Mr. Ploys had made for me. Then Mama sets the spin-off spool turning and tiptoes away, and I drop off to sleep to the sound of it gently humming and whirling. Then the dream takes me. . . .”
Chrestomanci did not take notes like Mr. Mindelbaum and the reporters. He did not nod at her encouragingly the way Mr. Mindelbaum had. He simply stared vaguely out to sea. Carol thought that the least he might do was to tell those children in the pool to keep quiet. The screaming and splashing were so loud that she almost had to shout. Carol thought he was being very inconsiderate, but she kept on.
“I have learned not to be frightened and to go where the dream takes me. It is like a voyage of discovery—”
“When is this?” Chrestomanci interrupted in an offhand sort of way. “Does this dreaming happen at night?”
“It can happen at any time,” said Carol. “If a dream is ready, I can go to my couch and sleep during the day.”
“How very useful,” murmured Chrestomanci. “So you can put up your hand in a dull lesson and say, ‘Please can I be excused to go and dream?’ Do they let you go home?”
“I ought to have explained,” Carol said, keeping her dignity with an effort, “that Mama arranges lessons for me at home so that I can dream anytime I need to. It’s like a voyage of discovery, sometimes in caves underground, sometimes in palaces in the clouds—”
“Yes. And how long do you dream for? Six hours? Ten minutes?” Chrestomanci interrupted again.
“About half an hour,” said Carol. “Sometimes in the clouds or maybe in the southern seas. I never know where I will go or whom I will meet on my journey—”
“Do you finish a whole dream in half an hour?” Chrestomanci interrupted yet again.
“Of course not. Some of my dreams last for more than three hours,” Carol said. “As for the people I meet, they are strange and wonderful—”
“So you dream in half-hour stretches,” said Chrestomanci. “And I suppose you have to take a dream up again exactly where you
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