when a foot suddenly emerged from an open cabin door, and as he tripped over it he felt a jarring blow on the back of his skull that made his teeth knock together and sent him spiraling away into emptiness.
Â
Varippuli the tiger, soul-snagged and shanghaied, stood waiting in a room where frost bristled on thewalls and his breath billowed in clouds of steam. He seemed unaware of his surroundings, and stared through the walls of the frozen waiting room at some half-remembered landscape beyond. Miles found himself standing to the tigerâs left, almost close enough to reach out and touch him. The tiger gave no sign of having seen him, and Miles stayed as still as a mouse. Varippuli was no longer his friend and ally, and he did not want to draw attention to himself.
He stared at the tigerâs heaving ribs, vaguely aware that he was dreaming, but not daring to blink nonetheless. The wavy black bars of the animalâs stripes seemed to stand out from the gold of his pelt, and the harder Miles stared the more the gold seemed to glow. Soon he was enveloped by glaring sunlight and could not see the black at all. He turned his eyes away from the light and found himself gliding alongside the patched gray flanks of the Sunfish , almost weightless and lifted by the same stiff breeze that had blown across the poop deck minutes before.
Through a gap in the clouds below him he could see the Albatross crawling like a beetle on the corrugated blue of the sea. The soaring sensation was exhilarating, and he tilted himself, cautiously at first, to test his control. He spotted a cannon pokingfrom the hull of the Sunfish , and he swooped down past the network of cables and ropes by which the hull was suspended to take a closer look.
It was not a cannon at all, he realized as he got closer, but a head. It looked as if someone were trying to climb out through a porthole. âThatâs not very wise,â said Miles into the wind. There was something disturbingly familiar about the tousled head, and with a shock he realized what it was. âThatâs my head!â he said aloud. The head was lolling and the eyes closed, and he could see shoulders now, and his arms pinned to his sides by the narrow hole. There was no doubt about it: He was being posted out through a porthole, just as he had posted Little through the back window of the Mermaidâs Boot, except that the only thing waiting to break his fall was the freezing ocean a thousand feet below.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A PRACTICAL JOKE
M iles Wednesday, soul-soaring and billy-jacked, swooped down closer to his unconscious body. It was vital that he return to himself at once so that he could fight back, but he had no idea how to do it. He tried calling on Little for help, but his voice was lost in the wind and she was nowhere to be seen. âShe canât hear me when sheâs awake,â he told himself. He reached his inert body and tried to push himself back through the porthole, but he found himself as nebulous as the cloud he had tried to sit on during his first visit to the Realm. His hands plunged straight through his ownshoulders. It was a disturbing feeling, and he pulled them out again in a panic.
If you have ever seen iron filings stampeding toward a strong magnet you will have a picture of what happened next. Not a very accurate one, but a picture nonetheless. A strong magnetism exists between a personâs body and his soul, and once Miles had touched his unconscious self he was sucked back in like, well, like iron filings stampeding toward a strong magnet.
He was almost sorry when he found himself back inside his own predicament. He was suspended halfway out of a flying ship, and his frozen head throbbed from the blow that had knocked him out. He could not move his arms, and he was about to fall to his death in a body that definitely would not be able to learn to fly on the way down. He could feel strong hands gripping his legs and pushing him slowly out
Â
Varippuli the tiger, soul-snagged and shanghaied, stood waiting in a room where frost bristled on thewalls and his breath billowed in clouds of steam. He seemed unaware of his surroundings, and stared through the walls of the frozen waiting room at some half-remembered landscape beyond. Miles found himself standing to the tigerâs left, almost close enough to reach out and touch him. The tiger gave no sign of having seen him, and Miles stayed as still as a mouse. Varippuli was no longer his friend and ally, and he did not want to draw attention to himself.
He stared at the tigerâs heaving ribs, vaguely aware that he was dreaming, but not daring to blink nonetheless. The wavy black bars of the animalâs stripes seemed to stand out from the gold of his pelt, and the harder Miles stared the more the gold seemed to glow. Soon he was enveloped by glaring sunlight and could not see the black at all. He turned his eyes away from the light and found himself gliding alongside the patched gray flanks of the Sunfish , almost weightless and lifted by the same stiff breeze that had blown across the poop deck minutes before.
Through a gap in the clouds below him he could see the Albatross crawling like a beetle on the corrugated blue of the sea. The soaring sensation was exhilarating, and he tilted himself, cautiously at first, to test his control. He spotted a cannon pokingfrom the hull of the Sunfish , and he swooped down past the network of cables and ropes by which the hull was suspended to take a closer look.
It was not a cannon at all, he realized as he got closer, but a head. It looked as if someone were trying to climb out through a porthole. âThatâs not very wise,â said Miles into the wind. There was something disturbingly familiar about the tousled head, and with a shock he realized what it was. âThatâs my head!â he said aloud. The head was lolling and the eyes closed, and he could see shoulders now, and his arms pinned to his sides by the narrow hole. There was no doubt about it: He was being posted out through a porthole, just as he had posted Little through the back window of the Mermaidâs Boot, except that the only thing waiting to break his fall was the freezing ocean a thousand feet below.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A PRACTICAL JOKE
M iles Wednesday, soul-soaring and billy-jacked, swooped down closer to his unconscious body. It was vital that he return to himself at once so that he could fight back, but he had no idea how to do it. He tried calling on Little for help, but his voice was lost in the wind and she was nowhere to be seen. âShe canât hear me when sheâs awake,â he told himself. He reached his inert body and tried to push himself back through the porthole, but he found himself as nebulous as the cloud he had tried to sit on during his first visit to the Realm. His hands plunged straight through his ownshoulders. It was a disturbing feeling, and he pulled them out again in a panic.
If you have ever seen iron filings stampeding toward a strong magnet you will have a picture of what happened next. Not a very accurate one, but a picture nonetheless. A strong magnetism exists between a personâs body and his soul, and once Miles had touched his unconscious self he was sucked back in like, well, like iron filings stampeding toward a strong magnet.
He was almost sorry when he found himself back inside his own predicament. He was suspended halfway out of a flying ship, and his frozen head throbbed from the blow that had knocked him out. He could not move his arms, and he was about to fall to his death in a body that definitely would not be able to learn to fly on the way down. He could feel strong hands gripping his legs and pushing him slowly out
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