around the golden statue. Christopher gave himself up for lost. But the Goddess, seeing she was never going to get the brace-let off in time, snatched his hand and held it against the whole heap of jingling jewelry on her arm.
Just as before, everything turned misty and Christopher fell through it, into his bed in the dormitory. Crash!
“I wish you wouldn’t do that!” Fenning said, waking up with a jump. “Can’t you control those dreams of yours?”
“Yes,” Christopher said, sweating at his narrow escape. “I’m never going to have a dream like that again.” It was a silly setup anyway—a live girl pretending to be a goddess, who was nothing but a worm-eaten wooden statue. He had nothing against the Goddess herself. He admired her quick thinking, and he would have liked to learn both the very stupid expression and how you did that vanishing trick with the books. But it was not worth the danger.
8
F OR THE REST of the Spring term, Christopher went regularly to the Anywheres with Tacroy, but he did not try to go to one on his own. By now Uncle Ralph seemed to have a whole round of experiments set up. Christopher met Tacroy in Series One, Three, Five, Seven and Nine, and then in Eight, Six, Four and Two, always in that order, but not always in the same place or outside the same valley. In each Anywhere people would be waiting with a pile of packages which, by the weight and feel, had different things inside each time. The parcels in Series One were always knobby and heavy, and in Four they were smooth boxes. In Series Two and Five, they were squashy and smelled of fish, which made sense since both those Anywheres had so much water in them. In Series Eight, the women always breathed garlic and those parcels had the same strong odor every time. Beyond that, there seemed no rule. Christopher got to know most of the people who supplied the packages, and he laughed and joked with them as he loaded the horseless carriage. And as the experiments went on, Uncle Ralph’s wizards gradually perfected the carriage. By the end of the term, it moved under its own power and Tacroy and Christopher no longer had to drag it up the valleys to The Place Between.
In fact, the experiments had become so routine that they were not much of a change from school. Christopher thought of other things while he worked, just as he did in magic lessons and English and Chapel at school.
“Why don’t we ever go to Series Eleven?” he asked Tacroy as they walked up one of the valleys from Series One with another heavy knobby load gliding behind on the carriage.
“Nobody goes to Eleven,” Tacroy said shortly. Christopher could see he wanted to change the subject. He asked why. “Because,” said Tacroy, “because they’re peculiar, unfriendly people there, I suppose—if you can call them people. Nobody knows much about them because they make damn sure nobody sees them. And that’s all I know, except that Eleven’s not a Series. There’s only one world.” Tacroy refused to say more than that, which was annoying, because Christopher had a strong feeling that Tacroy did know more. But Tacroy was in a bad mood that week. His grandmotherly lady had gone down with flu and Tacroy was making do with the stern flute-playing young lady. “Somewhere in our world,” he said, sigh-ing, “there is a young lady who plays the harp and doesn’t mind if I turn transparent, but there are too many difficulties in the way between us.”
Probably because Tacroy kept saying things like this, Christopher now had a very romantic image of him starving in his garret and crossed in love. “ Why won’t Uncle Ralph let me come and see you in London?” he asked.
“I told you to stow it, Christopher,” Tacroy said, and he stopped further talk by stepping out into the mists of The Place Between with the carriage billowing behind him.
Tacroy’s romantic background nagged at Christopher all that term, particularly when a casual word he dropped in the
Just as before, everything turned misty and Christopher fell through it, into his bed in the dormitory. Crash!
“I wish you wouldn’t do that!” Fenning said, waking up with a jump. “Can’t you control those dreams of yours?”
“Yes,” Christopher said, sweating at his narrow escape. “I’m never going to have a dream like that again.” It was a silly setup anyway—a live girl pretending to be a goddess, who was nothing but a worm-eaten wooden statue. He had nothing against the Goddess herself. He admired her quick thinking, and he would have liked to learn both the very stupid expression and how you did that vanishing trick with the books. But it was not worth the danger.
8
F OR THE REST of the Spring term, Christopher went regularly to the Anywheres with Tacroy, but he did not try to go to one on his own. By now Uncle Ralph seemed to have a whole round of experiments set up. Christopher met Tacroy in Series One, Three, Five, Seven and Nine, and then in Eight, Six, Four and Two, always in that order, but not always in the same place or outside the same valley. In each Anywhere people would be waiting with a pile of packages which, by the weight and feel, had different things inside each time. The parcels in Series One were always knobby and heavy, and in Four they were smooth boxes. In Series Two and Five, they were squashy and smelled of fish, which made sense since both those Anywheres had so much water in them. In Series Eight, the women always breathed garlic and those parcels had the same strong odor every time. Beyond that, there seemed no rule. Christopher got to know most of the people who supplied the packages, and he laughed and joked with them as he loaded the horseless carriage. And as the experiments went on, Uncle Ralph’s wizards gradually perfected the carriage. By the end of the term, it moved under its own power and Tacroy and Christopher no longer had to drag it up the valleys to The Place Between.
In fact, the experiments had become so routine that they were not much of a change from school. Christopher thought of other things while he worked, just as he did in magic lessons and English and Chapel at school.
“Why don’t we ever go to Series Eleven?” he asked Tacroy as they walked up one of the valleys from Series One with another heavy knobby load gliding behind on the carriage.
“Nobody goes to Eleven,” Tacroy said shortly. Christopher could see he wanted to change the subject. He asked why. “Because,” said Tacroy, “because they’re peculiar, unfriendly people there, I suppose—if you can call them people. Nobody knows much about them because they make damn sure nobody sees them. And that’s all I know, except that Eleven’s not a Series. There’s only one world.” Tacroy refused to say more than that, which was annoying, because Christopher had a strong feeling that Tacroy did know more. But Tacroy was in a bad mood that week. His grandmotherly lady had gone down with flu and Tacroy was making do with the stern flute-playing young lady. “Somewhere in our world,” he said, sigh-ing, “there is a young lady who plays the harp and doesn’t mind if I turn transparent, but there are too many difficulties in the way between us.”
Probably because Tacroy kept saying things like this, Christopher now had a very romantic image of him starving in his garret and crossed in love. “ Why won’t Uncle Ralph let me come and see you in London?” he asked.
“I told you to stow it, Christopher,” Tacroy said, and he stopped further talk by stepping out into the mists of The Place Between with the carriage billowing behind him.
Tacroy’s romantic background nagged at Christopher all that term, particularly when a casual word he dropped in the
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