The Case of the Misplaced Hero

once.

  Alex had had this sensation before when looking at the surface of water; blending pictures, blending worlds. It was distracting, disorienting, but beautiful. Even in the murky surface of a muddy river.

  Alex shook himself and pulled back. He turned and saw the professor had climbed up onto the square cement base of one of the bridge pylons. He stood there, staggering as he lifted his arms, ready to dive.

  "No!" said Alex. "It's too shallow. The rocks!"

  The professor staggered back a half step, and that gave Alex time to scramble up. There wasn't a lot of room on the flat bit of cement, and as the professor lurched his way toward the water again, Alex realized here was no place to step back to brace himself to take the man's weight.

  The professor wasn't a large man, but as he pitched forward, he overbalanced them both, and they tumbled in.

  But there was no splash..

  They went deeper into the water than Alex expected, and the water was colder, and the force of it pushed them faster.

  Alex grasped the professor's coat and they both floundered and kicked for a moment before they breached the surface.

  Water splashed into his mouth as he gasped for air. It was sweet and clean. Not muddy. Not at all muddy. Alex kicked to keep his head above water and looked for the riverbank. It was farther than expected, and he couldn't even see the bridge. None of it looked familiar. Walls of rock and a stretch of gravelly beach that they were passing fast.

  The current pulled hard, and churned. They both went under for a moment. Alex realized that they would soon be swept past that shallow gravel beach. The rest of the bank was high rock and there was no other place to land.

  He kicked and pulled and so did the professor, and they broke the surface again. There was a thundering, roaring sound in the distance down stream.

  "This way," gasped Alex, as the professor paddled beside him. He pulled the older man toward the beach-like area, but the current kept pulling them onward. They were almost past it.

  But then Alex thought he recognized that roaring sound.

  He paused to give a tremendous kick to raise himself a little higher above the water line, just a few more inches. He only caught a glimpse, but he could see the river vanished just a short ways ahead. Mist rose beyond the spot where it vanished.

  "Waterfall!" he cried.

  The professor's eyes widened in panic, and he began to flounder as the current took them both.

  Episode 6

  No, Seriously, Not The Right River

  Alex's mind registered, vaguely, that there was no waterfall on the Red Cedar River. It was flat, muddy and slow. But the roar of the falls was too loud to ignore, and the current was racing.

  Alex grabbed Old Thorny's sleeve and pulled and kicked, away from the center of the river. He didn't care where they landed anymore. They just had to get out of the current. Now.

  The professor floundered and might have dragged them both under, but Alex had him by the elbow, and pushed him forward. In a moment the professor had control of himself and started kicking and swimming with a will.

  They reached the shallows. The water still bounced them along the rocks, but with less force. They hauled themselves up and half-crawled, slipping and grasping, back upstream to the small inlet at the side of the river. It wasn't exactly a beach, just a flat area of gravel and broken rock, but it was out of the water.

  The professor collapsed into a heap. Alex fell to the ground beside him, and looked at the raging river, and the deep forest on the other side of it, and the high rocks all around them. Not Michigan. Where the hell were they?

  Just then there was the rattling sound of an old car. A very old-fashioned car. Alex turned and saw a narrow road above them, running parallel to the river. The vehicle bumped into view. It reminded him of a Model T -- with round headlamps and an engine hood which opened on the sides -- but it was bigger. The top was folded back and it was packed with soldiers. There were a couple of soldiers standing on the running boards, and clinging to the sides.

  They rattled past, honking a hoarse old horn, and then the car couldn't quite make it up a steep bit of hill.

  "Spushta!" shouted one of them, and the others all jumped out and pushed to get the car going again. In a moment they were out of sight.

  Spushta.

  Alex had heard that word hundreds of times. Aunt Flavia used to say it to him when he lagged behind.

  Hurry.

  That was her secret language, the one he thought she'd made up, to go with the country she'd made up.

  "Don't look now," drawled the professor, "but I think we're not in Kansas anymore."

  "Not by a long shot," said Alex. He stood up. "We're in Awarshawa."

  Rather than ask where that was, the professor simply passed out again on the gravel. Alex turned to look at the river.

  Aunt Flavia had disappeared into the water without a splash or trace, and then reappeared hours later, inexplicably injured. And that night she told him he'd want to jump in the lake sometime himself. I encourage you to do it, she said.

  And then she gave him the ring and said to wear it when he jumped in.

  "It's the ring," said Alex. "And the river. They work together somehow."

  He went to the edge and looked in. The reflections played across the water, and he had that same feeling of vertigo he'd had before. Two images on the water. And there, among the fractured bits of the trees and rocks and sky, he saw reflections of the bridge they'd left behind.

  They could get back just by jumping in, he was sure. The only problem was that Thorny was still too drunk to swim. Still, the shallows here were not as dangerous as mid-river. And back home, the river was slow and safe.

  And he really wanted to get Thorny home before he sobered up and saw what was going on.

  He turned to get the old man up.

  But the professor wasn't there.

  Episode 7

  Welcome to Awarshawa

  When Professor Thornton opened his eyes and saw the rocks towering over him, and felt the gravel under him, he knew things were not as they should be.

  And that was magnificent.

  Perhaps it was the influence of the four margaritas -- or was that five? -- but he was tired of things being as they should be. He hated things being as they should be. He shoved himself to his feet and staggered forward. He didn't see Alex, since he was facing away from the water, but he remembered the antique car. A Tin Lizzie or something like that.

  He tottered toward the road, but the car was now long out of sight, and he wasn't sure what direction it had gone. So he tottered right on across the road, not looking where he was going , and hit a stone wall.

  He bounced off it, twirled around and a hand grabbed his arm to steady him. It wasn't Alex. It was a soldier. A soldier with a very long gun and a very long bayonet attached to it.

  "Hello," said Thorny.

  The soldier said something very harsh in a strange language.

  "I don't understand," replied Thorny.

  The soldier poked him with the bayonet, and gestured for the professor to put his hands up. Thorny complied, having nothing better to do, and soon they were marching along the road, the bayonet poking him along faster than he had any right to be going.

  They joined a group of people -- a couple more soldiers and a cluster of peasants, women in babushkas and men in baggy trousers and boots. The peasants were all in a line, and the soldier shoved Thorny into line with them.

  There was a man in a fancier uniform, with a polished helmet and boots and a sword at his side. Thorny staggered back out of line, and went over to give him an elaborate salute. The officer had his back to him and didn't see. Someone pulled Thorny back into line by the sleeve. A peasant girl.

  "Don't salute!" she hissed, in a thick accent. "You are in Awarshawa. It is considered anti-revolutionary."

  "Really?" said Thorny. "Then how do you show respect?"

  He sa
id it loud enough that the officer turned and looked at him. The girl shuffled back, behind Thorny. The officer came forward and frowned. He was taller than Thorny by at least a head, and had severe eyebrows and a pointy mustache.

  "You speak Imprish?" said the officer.

  "No," said Thorny. "Not at all. I speak English!"

  "Where are your papers?"

  "I'm afraid I graded them all and turned them in," said Thorny. "It's the end of the semester after all."

  A soldier hit him on the side of the face with the butt of his gun, and he rocked backwards, nearly losing his balance. The girl grabbed his arm and righted him. Thorny's head reeled and a vague pain in his jaw made him grateful he was drunk.

  The girl, meanwhile, was addressing the officer.

  "This man is obviously a victim of the train wreck," she said. "He is confused. He must have fallen in the river. His papers are gone."

  The officer paused and turned his full attention to the girl. She stood boldly, looking him in the eye. He smiled an oily smile and reached out to touch her face. She pulled back. The officer smiled again, satisfied, and he reached up to his own face and... good lord he didn't!

  "Did you just twirl your mustache?" asked Thorny, aghast.

  The officer made a gesture, and the soldier hit Thorny again. Thorny went down, and the soldiers hauled him off and threw him in the back of the car. A moment later the girl was shoved in along with him.

  "Oh, dear," said Thorny, as the car began to move. "Did I get you arrested?"

  "Yes," said the girl. "You did."

  "I'm very sorry."

  "Old man, you must keep your mouth shut. Answer their questions,