possible that the hospital authorities would decide the journey was too dangerous for Mam and change their minds. But Rage could not really hope for that because maybe Mam did need more specialized care. The broadcast dissolved into loud crackling, and Rage didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry.
She glanced over at her uncle and was alarmed to notice that he was staring curiously at Billy, who looked exactly as if he was trying to hear the faint words under the static. Rage coughed loudly and Billy dropped his muzzle to his bowl.
Dessert was a tin of peaches, then Uncle Samuel made himself a coffee and said he would do some work in his room. Rage was surprised because he had not touched the piles of notebooks and boxes of specimens in his room, let alone the battered typewriter he’d spent such care in cleaning and oiling. Then she realized that it was probably just an excuse not to stay in the kitchen with her. As he went out, her uncle looked back and reminded her to finish her homework and not to stay up too late.
Later Rage snuggled into her blankets and yawned widely, forcing her tired mind to imagine Goaty. Not Goaty, she reminded herself dreamily. Gilbert. She mustn’t forget to use the name Elle had given him.
Rage was standing in the middle of a narrow street paved in smooth, pale flagstones running between a row of lovely pale stone buildings on one side and a narrow, slow-moving stream of aqua water on the other, with banks paved in the same pale stone. There was another paved path on the other side of the stream, and more lovely buildings. They were only one, two, and occasionally three stories high, but the facades were so delicately formed that there was no sense of heaviness about them, despite being side by side without a single break. It was too misty to see the detail in the facades across the stream, but on her side the plants and flowers carved into the stone were so perfectly shaped that they might have been real.
She began to walk and discovered that she was barefoot and in her pajamas! Now she knew she was dreaming. She drifted closer to the exquisite carvings. They were impossibly perfect, with tiny stone stamens rising up out of the minutest stone blossoms, each one with its own unique configuration. Rage came to a series of columns supporting a balcony and gasped to see a fall of lush marble blossoms with petals so thin as to be translucent. Reaching out to touch one of the flowers, Rage was disconcerted to discover that the marble was faintly warm.
She continued along the path. The warmth in the carved flowers extended to the flagstones under her bare feet, but Rage was distracted from wondering about it because the stream suddenly curved out of sight. Then, around the bend, the pale stone altered slightly in hue. It had a delicate greenish tinge, and here and there were streaks of dull purple that looked oddly bruiselike. Touching one of these streaks, Rage discovered that unlike the surrounding stone, it was quite cold. On impulse, she went to the bank and knelt down to dip her fingers in the water. She half expected it to be hot, for a slight mist lay over it, but it was so cold that her fingers hurt. She frowned at the water, trying to think what the milky aqua color reminded her of. Both the water and the misty air had a luminous quality that suggested that the sun was somewhere above, shining brightly.
It was growing colder, or perhaps the chilly mist was beginning to make Rage cold, so she started walking again, wishing that she were wearing something warmer. She couldn’t remember feeling so cold in her dreams before. But she had been cold in the playground dream, too.
Only that had not exactly been a dream.
She drew in a slow breath, for this was not just a dream. She had obviously dream-traveled again. She turned slowly, trying again to figure out what it was that bothered her about this place. She noticed the way the mist coiled and swirled in her wake, while elsewhere it
She glanced over at her uncle and was alarmed to notice that he was staring curiously at Billy, who looked exactly as if he was trying to hear the faint words under the static. Rage coughed loudly and Billy dropped his muzzle to his bowl.
Dessert was a tin of peaches, then Uncle Samuel made himself a coffee and said he would do some work in his room. Rage was surprised because he had not touched the piles of notebooks and boxes of specimens in his room, let alone the battered typewriter he’d spent such care in cleaning and oiling. Then she realized that it was probably just an excuse not to stay in the kitchen with her. As he went out, her uncle looked back and reminded her to finish her homework and not to stay up too late.
Later Rage snuggled into her blankets and yawned widely, forcing her tired mind to imagine Goaty. Not Goaty, she reminded herself dreamily. Gilbert. She mustn’t forget to use the name Elle had given him.
Rage was standing in the middle of a narrow street paved in smooth, pale flagstones running between a row of lovely pale stone buildings on one side and a narrow, slow-moving stream of aqua water on the other, with banks paved in the same pale stone. There was another paved path on the other side of the stream, and more lovely buildings. They were only one, two, and occasionally three stories high, but the facades were so delicately formed that there was no sense of heaviness about them, despite being side by side without a single break. It was too misty to see the detail in the facades across the stream, but on her side the plants and flowers carved into the stone were so perfectly shaped that they might have been real.
She began to walk and discovered that she was barefoot and in her pajamas! Now she knew she was dreaming. She drifted closer to the exquisite carvings. They were impossibly perfect, with tiny stone stamens rising up out of the minutest stone blossoms, each one with its own unique configuration. Rage came to a series of columns supporting a balcony and gasped to see a fall of lush marble blossoms with petals so thin as to be translucent. Reaching out to touch one of the flowers, Rage was disconcerted to discover that the marble was faintly warm.
She continued along the path. The warmth in the carved flowers extended to the flagstones under her bare feet, but Rage was distracted from wondering about it because the stream suddenly curved out of sight. Then, around the bend, the pale stone altered slightly in hue. It had a delicate greenish tinge, and here and there were streaks of dull purple that looked oddly bruiselike. Touching one of these streaks, Rage discovered that unlike the surrounding stone, it was quite cold. On impulse, she went to the bank and knelt down to dip her fingers in the water. She half expected it to be hot, for a slight mist lay over it, but it was so cold that her fingers hurt. She frowned at the water, trying to think what the milky aqua color reminded her of. Both the water and the misty air had a luminous quality that suggested that the sun was somewhere above, shining brightly.
It was growing colder, or perhaps the chilly mist was beginning to make Rage cold, so she started walking again, wishing that she were wearing something warmer. She couldn’t remember feeling so cold in her dreams before. But she had been cold in the playground dream, too.
Only that had not exactly been a dream.
She drew in a slow breath, for this was not just a dream. She had obviously dream-traveled again. She turned slowly, trying again to figure out what it was that bothered her about this place. She noticed the way the mist coiled and swirled in her wake, while elsewhere it
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