Shadowland (56 page)

 
   'Morning. Where did you go last night? I want you to tell me.'

 
   'I just walked around. I got lost for a while.'

 
   'You didn't see my uncle.'

 
   'No. I didn't. I told you.'

 
   Del shifted and rubbed his hand over damp grass. 'I don't suppose anything happened to you last night. I mean . . . anything like he was telling us about?'

 
   'Did it happen to you? Were you welcomed?'

 
   'No,' Del said. 'I wasn't.'

 
   'I wasn't either,' Tom said. 'It was probably the dullest night of my life.'

 
   'Yeah, me too.' Del beamed back at him. 'But I thought I heard something — really late, it would have been. A big noise, like a billion birds taking off at once.' He looked shyly at Tom. 'So maybe I was welcomed? Maybe that was it?'

 
   'Let's go brush our teeth,' Tom said. 'There'll be food back at the house.'

 
   Tom put on his shirt, which was wrinkled as a relief map. They rolled up their sleeping bags and left them in the glade.

 
   'You look different,' Del said.

 
   'How?'

 
   'Just different. Older, I guess.'

 
   'I didn't get much sleep.'

 
   They were walking through the woods, going beneath big high-crowned trees. In minutes they reached the clearing where the man with the sword had told him that he knew what he was.

 
   'Maybe we'll see Rose today,' Del said.

 
   'Maybe.' Tom walked straight through the clearing toward the barely visible path, no more than a fewtrampled weeds, which led to the rock shelf.

 
   'Tom, I'm sorry I got so mad at you. I thought you were trying to ruin things — you know. That was nuts. I'm really sorry.'

 
   'It's okay.' Tom pushed aside ferns and went back into deep woods.

 
   After a while Del spoke again. 'You know, I think we've been here a lot longer than it seems. He did that once to me before.'

 
   'Yeah, I think so too.'

 
   'The sun's in a different position. Isn't that neat? It's like he can move the sun.'

 
   'Del, I have a headache.'

 
   'Oh, that's probably why you look different. Look, what did you think of Rose? I know you only met her once, but what did you think? I hope you liked her. I think you did.'

 
   'I liked her,' Tom said. This was unbearable. He thought of a way to stop Del talking about Rose. He turned around on the narrow indistinct path. Now they were within sight of the rock shelf. Spangled pale light fell on them. Del looked up at him, purged of his doubts and friendly as a puppy. 'I want to ask you something,' Tom said.

 
   'About Rose? You can be my bes.t man, if that's what you want.'

 
   'That time you broke your leg. That was the time you were here longer than you thought?' *

 
   'How did you guess that?' Del looked at him in amazement. 'Yes. You're right.'

 
   'Can you remember anything about what happened? When Bud came for you?'

 
   Del's amazement altered to perplexity. 'Well, it's like I

 
   was asleep for a long time or something. Why do you want

 
   to know about that? Sometimes I remember little pieces

 
   of what happened — little things, like you remember

 
   dreams.'

 
   Tom waited.

 
   'Well, like, I remember Bud arguing with Uncle Cole. That's mainly it.'

 
   'Arguing about you?'

 
   'Not really. Bud wanted me to come home right away,I remember that. And Bud won. I did go home with him. But I can remember Uncle Cole sort of taunting him. He said he hoped Bud wasn't waiting to be included in my will. I know that was a terrible thing to say, but he was mad, Tom. That's about it. Except . . . well, I can remember Bud sitting on one end of the living room and Uncle Cole sitting on the other end. I must have been lying on my side of the couch. They were just staring at each other. It was like they were fighting without words. Then my uncle said, 'All right. Take him, you old woman. But he'll be back. He loves me.' And Bud went upstairs to get my stuff. When he came back down, we all went out to the car, and Bud said, 'We don't want any repeat performances, Mr. Collins.' My uncle didn't say anything.'

 
   ''No repeat performances.''

 
   'Right.' With the light falling on him in disks and shafts, Del seemed a part of the forest, camouflaged to blend in as easily as a squirrel. 'But that was silly. I was never going to break my leg again. I guess Bud was being extra careful.'

 
   'Okay,' Tom said. He began to walk toward the rock ledge.

 
   'I sure wonder if we'll see Rose today,' Del said behind him.

 
   
You will betray Del:
that had already happened. The rest of it, Tom swore, never would.

 
TWO

 
Flight

 
1

 
Shadowland's windows reflected the sun. Milky soap bubbles between the flagstones picked up the brilliant light. Del pushed open the sliding windows, and the two boys walked into the living room. Grooves in the carpet were vacuum-cleaner tracks; a smell of air freshener and furniture polish lingered. The ashtrays sparkled. Tom felt immediately that they were alone in the house. It felt empty and up for sale, open for viewing.

 
   'Isn't this a beautiful place?' Del said as they walked through to the hall. More furniture polish. The banister gleamed. 'I almost think . . . '

 
   'What?'

 
   'That I'd be happy here. That I could live here. Like him. And just work on magic. Go into it deeper and deeper. Never perform, just get it perfect. It's really pure.'

 
   'I see what you mean,' Tom said. 'You think breakfast is in the dining room?'

 
   'Let's see, master.'

 
   Del chirpily crossed the hall and opened the door to the dining room. Two places had been laid on a vast mahogany table. A senes of covered serving dishes sat on a sideboard. There and on the table, brilliant freesias lolled in vases.

 
   'It sure is,' Del said. 'Wow. Let's see what we have here.' He raised one cover after another. 'Ah, eggs. Bacon and sausages. Toast in the toast rack. Kidneys. Chicken livers. Hash-browns. I guess you could call that breakfast.'

 
   'I guess you could call it six breakfasts.'

 
   They piled food on their plates and sat, on Tom's part a little self-consciously, at the immense table. 'This is wonderful,' Del said, beginning to attack his food. 'Some coffee?'

 
   'No, thanks.'

 
   'It's like being a king, but better. You don't have to go out and tax the masses, or whatever kings do. But I guess he is a king, isn't he — from what he was saying yesterday?'

 
   'Yeah.'

 
   'You really don't want it, do you?' Del asked shyly.

 
   'No, I don't. You're welcome to it.'

 
   'And I wouldn't be alone, like he is. I mean, I wouldn't have to be alone.'

 
   'I have a headache,' Tom interrupted. 'The kidneys seem to be making it worse.'

 
   'Oh, I'm sorry,' Del blurted. 'Tom, I feel like I have so much to apologize for. I guess I got a little crazy. I know there was no reason to be jealous, but he was spending so much time with you. But that just means that you'll be a fantastic magician, doesn't it? I'll always want your help, Tom. I know he chose me, and all that, but . . . well, I was thinking you could have a wing of thishouse all your own, and we could do tours together, just like he did with Speckle John.'

 
   'That would be
good,'
Tom said. He pushed his plate away. 'Del, just be careful. Everything isn't settled yet.' He could not talk to Del about escape while Del was mentally crowning him kinglet.

 
   'We'll have to pick new names. Have you thought about that yet?'

 
   'Del, we don't know what's going to happen yet.' Del looked sulky for a moment. 'All I'm saying is, take it slow. There's a lot we have to find out yet.'

 
   'Well, that's true,' Del said, and went back to work on his eggs.

 
   Tom plunged in deeper. 'I never asked you this before. How did your parents die?'

 
   Del looked up, startled. 'How? Plane crash. It was a company plane. My father was flying it — he had a pilot's license. Something happened.' Del set down his fork. 'They couldn't even have a funeral because the crash was a kind of explosion — there wasn't anything left. Just some burned — up parts of the plane. And my father put in his will that there wasn't to be any kind of memorial service. They were just. . . gone. Just gone.' He rattled the fork against his plate.

 
   'Where were you? How old were you?'

 
   'I was nine. I was here. It was during the summer. I was in a boarding school in New Hampshire then, and it was a rotten hole. I knew I was going to flunk out after that. And I did.
If
Uncle Cole hadn't been so good to me, I probably would have . . . dropped dead. I don't know.' He looked uncertainly up at Tom, who had his chin propped in his hands. 'Uncle Cole kept me together that summer.'

 
   'Why didn't you live with him after that?'

 
   'I wanted to, but my father's will said I had to live with the Hillmans. My father didn't know Uncle Cole very well. I guess he didn't trust him. You can imagine what bankers think about magicians. Sometimes I had to really beg my father to let me come here in the summer. In the end, he always let me, though. He always gave me what I wanted.'