Shadowland (40 page)

 
   Both were in late middle age, clean-shaven; glasses as old-fashioned and foreign as their dress modified their sturdy faces, made them scholarly. They sat at their desks in a little pool of light cast by candles; high bookshelves loomed behind them.

 
   'Should we invite him in?' said the second man.

 
   'I think we ought. Won't you come in, boy? Please do. Come in, child. That's the way. After all, we are working for you as much as for anyone else.'

 
   'Our audience, Wilhelm,' said the second man, and beamed at Tom. He was stockier, deeper in the chest than the man with the kindly face. He stood and came forward, and Tom saw muddy boots and smelled a drifting curl of cigar smoke. 'Please sit. There will do.' He indicated a chesterfield sofa to the right of the desk.

 
   As Tom advanced into the dark room, the crowded detail came clear: the walls covered with dim pictures and framed papers, a stuffed bird high up on a shelf, a glass bell protecting dried flowers.

 
   'I know who you are. Who you're supposed to be,' he said. He sat on the springy chesterfield.

 
   'We are what we are supposed to be,' said the one called Wilhelm. 'That is one of the great joys of our life. How many can claim such a thing? We discovered what we were supposed to be young, and have pursued it ever since.'

 
   'We shared the same joy in collecting things,' saidJakob. 'Even as children. Our whole life has been an extension of that early joy.'

 
   'Without my brother, I should have been lost,' said Wilhelm. 'If is a great thing, to have a brother. Do you have one, child?'

 
   'In a way,' Tom said.

 
   Both brothers laughed, so innocently and cheerfully that Tom joined them.

 
   'And what are you doing here?' Tom asked.

 
   They looked at each other, full of amusement which somehow embraced and included Tom.

 
   'Why, we are writing down stories,' Jakob said.

 
   'What for?'

 
   'To amaze. To terrify. To delight.' .

 
   'Why?'

 
   'For the sake of the stories,' Jakob said. 'That must be clear. Why, our very lives have been storylike. Even the mistakes have been happy. Boy, did you know that in our original story it was a fur slipper which the poor orphan girl wore to the ball? What an inspired mistranslation made it glass!'

 
   'Yes, yes. And you remember the strange dream I had about you, my brother: I stood in front of a cage, on top of a mountain . . . it snowed . . . you were in the cage, frozen . . . I had to peer through the bars of the cage — so much like one of our treasures . . . '

 
   'Which we were determined to show the world the wonder we felt in discovering, yes. You were terrified — but it was a terror full of wonder.'

 
   'These stories are not for every child — they do not suit every child. The terror is there, and it is real. But our best defense is nature, is it not?'

 
   Tom said 'Yes' because he felt them waiting for an answer.

 
   'So you see. You learn well, child.' Jakob set down the quill pen with which he had been toying. 'Wilhelm's dream — do you know that when Wilhelm was dying, he spoke quietly and cheerfully about his life?'

 
   'You see, we embraced our treasures, and they gave us treasure back a thousandfold,' Wilhelm said. 'They were the country in which we lived best. If our father had notdied so young — if our childhood had been allowed its normal span — perhaps we could never have found what it is to live in that country.'

 
   'Do you hear what we are saying to you, boy?' Jakob asked. 'Do you understand Wilhelm?'

 
   'I think so,' Tom said.

 
   'The stories, our treasures, are for children, among others. But . . . '

 
   Tom nodded: he saw. It was not the personal point.

 
   'No child can go the whole way with them,' Wilhelm said.

 
   'We gave our wings,' Jakob said. 'For our song was our life. But as for you . . . '

 
   Both brothers looked at him indulgently.

 
   'Do not idly throw away any of your gifts,' said Jakob. 'But when you are called . . . '

 
   
'We
answered. We all must answer,' Wilhelm said. 'Oh, my, what are we saying to this boy? It is late. Do you mind stopping work until tomorrow, brother? It is time to join our wives.'

 
   They turned large brown eyes toward him, clearly expecting him to leave.

 
   'But what happens next?' Tom asked, almost believing that they were who they appeared to be and could tell him.

 
   'All stories unfold,' Jakob said. 'But they take many turns before they reach their ends. Embrace the treasure, child. It is our best advice. Now we must depart.'

 
   Tom stood up from the chesterfield, confused: so much of what happened here ended with a sudden departure! 'Where do you go? According to you, where are we?'

 
   Wilhelm laughed. 'Why, Shadowland, boy. Shadowland is everything to us, as it may be to you. Shadowland is where we spent our busy lives. You may be within a wood . . . within a storied wood . . . '

 
   'Or fur-wrapped in a sleigh in deep snow . . . '

 
   'Or dying for love of a sleeping princess . . . '

 
   'Or before a dwindling fire with your head full of pictures . . . '

 
   'Or even asleep with a head full of cobwebs and dreams . . . '

 
   'And still you will be in Shadowland.'

 
   Both brothers laughed, and blew out the candles on their desks.

 
   'I have another question,' Tom said into the lively blackness.

 
   'Ask the stories, child,' said a departing voice.

 
   A flurry of quiet rustling, then silence: Tom knew they were gone. 'But they never give the same answers,' he said to the black room.

 
   He felt his way to the door.

 
17

 
When he turned the corner back into the main hallway, Coleman Collins was standing before him in the semi-darkness, blocking his way. Tom felt an instant ungovernable surge of fright — he had broken one of the rules, and the magician knew it. He must have seen him turn out of the short corridor.

 
   Collins' posture gave him no clues; he could not see his face, which was shadowed. The magician's hands were in his pockets. His shoulders slouched. The entire front of his body was a dark featureless pane in which a few vest burtons shone darkly: tiger's eyes.

 
   'I went in that room,' Tom said.

 
   Collins nodded. Still he kept his hands in his pockets and slouched.

 
   'You knew I would.'

 
   Collins nodded again.

 
   Tom edged closer to the wall. But Collins was deliberately blocking his way. 'You knew I would, and you wanted me to.' He bravely moved a few inches nearer, but Collins made no movement. 'I can accept what I saw,' Tom said. He heard the note of insistence, of fear, in his voice.

 
   Collins dropped his head. He drew one heel toward him along the carpet. Now Tom could see his face: pensive, withdrawn. The magician tilted his head and shot a cold glance directly into Tom's eyes.

 
   There might have been some playacting in it; Tom could not tell. All he knew was that Collins was frightening him. Alone in the hallway, he was scarier than in the freezing sleigh. Collins was more authoritative than a dozen Mr. Thorpes. The expression which had jumped out of his eyes had nailed Tom to the wall.

 
   'Isn't that what you said? Isn't that what you wanted?'

 
   Collins exhaled, pursed his lips. Finally he spoke. 'Arrogant midget. Do you really think you know what I
want?'

 
   Tom's tongue froze in his mouth. Collins reared back and propped his head against the wall. Tom caught the sudden clear odor of alcohol. 'In two days you have betrayed me twice. I will not forget this.'

 
   'But I thought — '

 
   The magician's head snapped forward. Tom flinched, feared that Collins would strike him.

 
   'You thought. You disobeyed me twice. That is what I think.' His eyes augered into Tom. 'Will you wander into my room next? Ransack my desk? I think that you need more than cartoons and amusements, little boy.'

 
   'But you told me I could — '

 
   'I told you you could not.'

 
   Tom swallowed. 'Didn't you want me to see them?'

 
   'See whom, traitor?'

 
   'The two in there. Jakob and Wilhelm. Whoever they were.'

 
   'That room is empty. For now. Get on your way, boy. I was going to give your friend a word of warning. You can do it for me. Scat. Get out of here. Now!'

 
   'A warning about what?'

 
   'He'll know. Didn't you hear me? Get out of here.' He stepped aside, and Tom slipped by him. 'I'm going to have fun with you,' the magician said to his back.

 
   Tom went as quickly as he could to the front of the stairs without actually running. He realized that he was dripping with sweat — even his legs felt sweaty. He could hear Collins limping away down the hall in the direction of the theaters.

 
   The next second brought a new astonishment.

 
   When he looked up the stairs, he saw a nut-faced old woman in a black dress at their top, looking down at himin horror. She lifted her hands sharply and scurried away out of sight.