The Dream-Maker's Magic

  My mother exclaimed with dismay when she saw me, and sent me out to the back to wash up. I dumped two buckets of water over my head—my thrifty idea of cleaning my face and my clothes at the same time—and washed the dirt off my face. I would live, I decided.

  Fortunately for me, the young couple had headed for the fair a few hours ago, so I could step into my room and rummage through my dresser for fresh clothes. In a few moments, I was clean, I had combed back my wet hair, and I had dabbed ointment onto all the cuts that looked worst. Best I could do.

  When I returned to the kitchen, my mother was gone, and Ayler was sitting at the table eating a late lunch.

  “What happened to you?” he asked, laying aside his fork.

  “It’s a secret,” I said sourly.

  He laughed, but his face was compassionate. “Someone doesn’t like you much.”

  I shrugged. “Bullies from the schoolhouse. Where’s my mother?”

  “Off to the fair to get spices, she said.”

  I nodded. Obviously, she was replacing the ones I’d lost. “Anything else you need?” I asked politely.

  He shook his head. “If you want,” he said, “I can show you how to fight back.”

  I was skeptical. “Against three boys?”

  He gave me that dreamer’s smile. “I didn’t say you’d win.”

  I looked him over. He wasn’t tall, but he was strongly built—probably some muscle hidden under his baggy trousers and loose shirt. “You really know how to fight?”

  He nodded solemnly. “I know the secret methods taught to the soldiers in the royal guard of the faraway kingdom of Foltavi.” I laughed. He smiled and continued, “I also know the basics of boxing. And a few tricks I can show you. It might even up the odds a bit.”

  “All right,” I said. “Let me clean up the kitchen first.”

  Chapter Seven

  The Safe-Keeper and I spent an hour in the back yard while he demonstrated how to make and land a fist, where to strike an opponent, and how to protect myself if I did go down. I was not in the best of shape due to my recent escapade, but I liked the lessons well enough to promise to practice when I had a chance.

  “You’re strong—that’s to your advantage,” Ayler said. “I haven’t met too many girls with that kind of power in their arms.”

  I balled my hand and curled my arm in a boastful pose. “Chopping wood,” I said.

  “And you’re smart,” he said. “You’ll find that gives you the ability to fight in entirely different ways.”

  I shook my head. “Not smart like Gryffin.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “My friend.”

  “Maybe you can spar with him. Would he want to come over and learn some of my secret boxing tricks?”

  “He can’t. His legs are bad. He has trouble walking.”

  “No, then, not a boxer, I suppose,” Ayler said.

  “He wants to go to Wodenderry and study law or accounting,” I said.

  “I’ve been to Wodenderry many times,” Ayler said. “It’s a wonderful city! Full of trouble and beauty. You might like it yourself.”

  I sighed. We had paused after our exertions to drink about three glasses of water each, for it was midday and hot. I reflected that my second set of clothes had now gotten almost as dirty as the first set. So I dumped water over my head again to help cool me down. Ayler did the same.

  “I doubt I’ll ever go to Wodenderry,” I said. “I’ve never been anywhere.”

  “Not even Merendon? Or Lowford? Or Tambleham?” he asked, naming the closest major towns.

  “Never. Well, I was born in Tambleham, but I was only two days old when they brought me here, and I’ve never left since.” I glanced up at him as he was wiping water from his eyes. “I suppose you’ve been everywhere?”

  He nodded. “I’m an itinerant. I never stay still.” He smiled down at me. “Most Safe-Keepers find themselves a little cottage in some town, and plant their kirrenberry trees, and sit and wait for secrets to come to their doorsteps. I always thought it was more interesting to go looking for secrets. And then I carry them safely with me when I go.”

  “There hasn’t been a Safe-Keeper living in Thrush Hollow since I was born.”

  He smiled. “Then I’ll have to come back more often.”

  I considered. “I wonder if Gryffin has any secrets.”

  “Let’s go ask him.”

  Gryffin was seated in the kitchen, his fingers flying as he chopped onions and grated carrots and split celery. His aunt shot us a harassed look as we came in, for she was attempting to stir a pot on the stove and check a dish in the oven while scolding a weeping young barmaid at the same time.

  “What do you want, Kellen?” she demanded. “We’re all too busy to talk right now.”

  “Can’t Gryffin come out just for a few minutes? I wanted him to talk with the Safe-Keeper.”

  Dora’s sharp eyes grew even sharper as she took in Ayler’s round face and abstracted expression. “That’s a Safe-Keeper?” she said in a slow voice. “What would he be doing in Thrush Hollow?”

  “Collecting secrets,” Ayler said amiably. “If you have any to share.”

  “I don’t have secrets,” she snapped. “Everyone knows my business.”

  “Then you have an easier life than many people,” Ayler said.

  “I’ll come out for a few minutes,” Gryffin said, drying his hands on the front of his shirt and reaching for his canes. “Just to say hello.”

  The heat outside was bearable if we sat in the shade the tavern threw over the back lawn. The kitchen garden was full of stalks and vines greedily soaking up sun; I could smell the pungent leaves of tomato plants and spot telltale signs of red and yellow on some of the ripening gourds. The bench beside the house was only long enough to accommodate two people, so I let Gryffin and Ayler have it while I settled to the ground before them.

  “If you want to confide something in me,” Ayler said, his voice grave but his eyes twinkling, “we’d best be sending Kellen on her way.”

  “She knows everything I might say to you,” Gryffin replied. Then he cut his eyes back toward Ayler. “You know she’s a girl?”

  “People tend to tell me things.”

  Gryffin leaned forward. “Here’s my secret wish,” he said. “I wish Kellen would come with me when I go to Wodenderry. I wish she would leave her mother’s house and go where she’s treated better.”

  “How odd,” I said, “when you are not treated well yourself.”

  “Yes, but I’ll be leaving.” Gryffin appealed to the Safe-Keeper. “I wish she was somewhere that she could live like a girl, and people wouldn’t think she was strange, and she could be happy.” He had never said this to me before. It seemed that Ayler’s presence did indeed induce people to expose their most hidden thoughts.

  “I think you’ve confused me with the Dream-Maker,” Ayler said gently. “I have no power to make wishes come true. Merely to hear what you hold in your heart, so that things too heavy to bear alone are shared.”

  Gryffin turned his head away. “I think it is my dreams that are too heavy to bear,” he said in a muffled voice. “I think it is my dreams I cannot speak out loud.”

  I had an inspiration. “You must know the Dream-Maker,” I said to Ayler. “Next time you’re in Wodenderry, seek her out. Tell her to come to Thrush Hollow, for there are all sorts of dreams here that need to come true.”

  “I do know Melinda, who is a lovely woman,” Ayler replied with a smile. “But these days she travels much less than she used to. She is more than seventy now, and I think she is growing tired.”

  “Well, tell her not to be too tired till she comes to Thrush Hollow,” I said.

  Ayler nodded as if accepting a commission. “I will send her on her way.”

  When Ayler learned that Gryffin had never been to a Summermoon Festival, because it was too difficult for him to navigate both the crowds and the distance, he was determined to rectify the omission. “Can you ride?” he
asked.

  Gryffin and I both stared at him. “Ride a horse?” Gryffin repeated. “No.”

  “Well, you could sit on one, couldn’t you?” Ayler said. “My little mare is very docile. I put children on her back all the time. I think she’ll carry you as long as my hand is on the bridle.”

  “And if she bolts while Gryffin is on her back?” I demanded.

  Ayler grinned. “That at least won’t happen. Gryffin may tire, for it is not so easy as it looks to sit on a horse, but then we will take him aside and let him sprawl on the grass awhile. I’ll bring a blanket. I think this will not be so difficult to do.”

  Gryffin was trying hard not to look excited. “I would like to try,” he said casually. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  Ayler smiled. “I think it must be why I felt compelled to come to Thrush Hollow.”

  We scattered for a time, Gryffin returning to the kitchen to finish his chores, me returning to my own house on the same errand, and Ayler off to canvass the town for secrets. We all met at the tavern again in three hours, just as the sun was finally sinking enough to abate some of the high heat of the afternoon. The Safe-Keeper was leading his horse, a rather squat black mare with a diamond-shaped white mark on her face and eyes as dreamy as Ayler’s own.

  “I borrowed a saddle from Josh Parmer,” Ayler said. “We can adjust the stirrups till they feel right for your legs.”

  The little mare showed amazing patience as Ayler lifted Gyffin into the saddle and went to some trouble to make him comfortable. I could tell that my friend still felt noticeable pain in the unfamiliar position, but his face was so creased with delight that it was obvious he considered the trade-off worth it. He looked down at the two of us and laughed out loud.

  “I feel so tall!” he exclaimed. “This is great fun!”

  “Let’s see how it feels once you’re in motion,” Ayler said, and gently tugged on the horse’s bridle. The mare obediently stepped forward. Gryffin whooped and grabbed the saddle horn, but he stayed on. Ayler continued to lead the horse toward the fair.

  “I’ll bring your canes,” I called to Gryffin. “Just in case you need them.”

  So we made an odd procession as we slowly moved through the streets of Thrush Hollow, the man leading the horse with the boy in the saddle, me behind them with the canes slung over my shoulder. Every once in a while I would hear Ayler ask a question; every once in a while I would hear Gyffin laugh for what appeared to be no reason at all.

  The streets were fairly empty, as most people were already at the fair. I was not sure how Ayler intended to negotiate the narrow, crowded aisles between the close-set booths, but it was soon clear that was not his plan.

  “We’ll walk around the perimeter,” he said, for the booths lining the four sides of the fair had their tables turned outward. “That will at least give you a taste of what’s available. Then perhaps Kellen will run quickly through the inner booths and report back to us what might be for sale that you would be interested in purchasing, so you don’t have to miss any possible treasures.”

  “I don’t have much money with me,” Gryffin said.

  “You won’t need much,” Ayler assured him. “Everything is cheap at the fair.”

  And indeed, he was right. Merchants were selling everything from shoes to gloves to shirts to bows to beads to pottery to cakes and breads and fruits and ales, and all of it at very reasonable prices. Moving still with that careful slowness, we circled the whole fair once, so Gryffin could observe what choices were available to him and decide where to spend his limited funds. I made a quick foray through the hot and densely packed booths and came back to describe what riches could be found in the areas denied to Gryffin. We decided, recklessly, that only the most accessible booths deserved our patronage, so we made a strange but satisfying meal from an assortment of vegetable skewers, cheese rounds, and exotic eggs, hard-boiled and edible but dropped from no poultry I’d ever come across. None of us wanted the alcohol on sale at so many different venues, but we drank from Ayler’s water flask and were just as happy.

  There was a bookseller at the very edge of the fair, his booth not quite so crowded as the others, and Gryffin actually asked Ayler to lift him down so he could sort through the merchandise. I handed over the canes, then held the horse’s bridle while Ayler stood behind Gryffin to protect him from careless strangers. Gryffin spent his last coppers on a volume that was in such disrepair that the pages were coming free of the binding and much of the leather was flaking off from the cover.

  “Folk tales,” he said happily as Ayler helped him back on the horse. “I’ve wanted something like this forever.”

  It was clear the excursion had tired Gryffin. We stayed perhaps an hour—the sun still had not completely set—before we decided to turn back for town. I walked right beside the horse this time, close enough to catch Gryffin if he started to fall, while Ayler sought the smoothest route home. More than once, Gryffin put his hand out to rest it on my shoulder, and I stiffened my back to take as much of his weight as I could.

  The tavern, of course, was alive with revelry when we finally made our way to the back door. But most of the light and noise poured from the front of the building; the back was dark and comparatively quiet.

  “Do you need any help getting up to your room?” Ayler inquired. “If not, I’ll take my horse back to the Parmers’.”

  There was just the slightest hesitation from Gryffin. “No. I can make it myself. But I think I’ll sit outside awhile and listen to the crickets.”

  “Kellen? Do you want to walk with me?”

  “I’ll stay with Gryffin a bit,” I decided. “I’ll see you at my mother’s.”

  Gryffin and I settled ourselves on the bench and leaned against the house. There was a burst of laughter from the front of the tavern and the sound of something shattering. More laughter. Above us, the moon was full and yellow, yawning with the exertion of enduring a full day of merriment.

  “Why don’t you want to go upstairs?” I asked after we had been sitting in silence a few moments.

  “The room’s occupied,” he said.

  “Who’s occupying it? And how can you tell from down here?”

  He just looked at me a moment in the faint moonlight. “There were two candles in the window,” he said. “A signal that the room’s in use.”

  “In use for—” I began, and then my mouth hung open. “You can’t mean—people who are drinking in the tavern want—they go up to use your bedroom?”

  Gryffin nodded. “Usually just on weekends. And holidays. I spend a lot of time down on this bench.”

  “Even in winter?” I demanded.

  He shrugged. “In winter I usually wait in the kitchen.”

  I made a little grunting noise. “Kitchen’s not so bad. I’ve slept on the floor in front of our stove a lot of times.”

  “Easier to get something to eat if you’re hungry late at night,” he agreed.

  “But do people know?” I said. “I mean, I can’t think the mayor—and Mr. Shelby—and the Parmers—well, they would be appalled to find out what’s going on here at the tavern.”

  “Obviously some people know,” Gyffin said with a ghost of a smile. “But I don’t know about all the respectable people. It’s not like I’m going to tell them. My uncle Frederick would just hate me even more.”

  “He couldn’t hate you as much as I hate him,” I said instantly.

  Now Gryffin laughed out loud. But he said, “I’ve never found that hate does much good. It’s better just to figure out what you can do to get out of the situation.”

  “Study hard and go to Wodenderry,” I said.

  “That’s my plan.”

  “Maybe Ayler will help you,” I said. “I like him.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I have a feeling Ayler might help us both.”

  “Although sometimes it seems both of us have too many problems to be fixed by anybody,” I said with a little laugh.

  “That’s what Summermoon is
for,” said Gryffin. “To convince us to believe in magical possibilities.”

  Ayler was gone two days after Summermoon, none of our problems resolved. But it did seem that, as was true with so much in my life, events were put in motion during those lush green months. I practiced my boxing skills, finding an unexpected and useful sparring partner in Sarah’s youngest brother. The first time I successfully punched Carlon in the nose, drawing a satisfying amount of blood, was the last time he ever attacked me.

  Gryffin continued to spend the occasional evening outside on the back bench, or inside on the kitchen floor. I continued to despise his uncle, and to mull over what I might do to make him improve his treatment of my friend.

  My mother continued to rent out the parlor sofa as well as my bedroom, bringing more money to the household and more chaos to my life.

  And bringing more strangers through our door.

  Chapter Eight

  Chase Beerin arrived late on a blustery fall day and told us he would stay a couple of nights on the sofa in the parlor. He was in his early twenties, with blond-brown hair that had a romantic curl, and brown eyes so dark they could not help but appear brooding. I had turned thirteen at the end of summer and was starting to look more like a girl, especially if I didn’t dress in disastrously ill-fitting clothes. I had started to spend time thinking about Sarah’s younger brother and two of the boys in class, wondering if they would notice me if I wore frilly dresses and tried to do something about my abysmal hair. I blushed for no reason and laughed at no provocation, at least when I was talking to one of the boys I admired. For the first time in my life, I really, really, really wished to be someone other than who I was.

  Chase Beerin was the handsomest man I had ever met.

  The first night he stayed with us, I honestly didn’t think I’d be able to breathe if he looked at me. I was afraid to serve him dinner because I thought I might accidentally touch his hand, and then I would start with mortification, and then I would drop the entire tureen of soup in his lap, and then I would have to die. When he asked me simple questions—about the price of the accommodations, the layout of the town—I turned a hot red and found it difficult to answer.