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_Henry Slesar, young New York advertising executive and by now no longer a new-comer to either this magazine or to this field, describes a strange little town that you, yourself, may blunder into one of these evenings. But, if you do, beware--beware of the Knights!_
dream town
_by ... HENRY SLESAR_
The woman in the doorway looked so harmless. Who was to tell she had some rather startling interests?
The woman in the doorway looked like Mom in the homier politicalcartoons. She was plump, apple-cheeked, white-haired. She wore a fussy,old-fashioned nightgown, and was busily clutching a worn house-robearound her expansive middle. She blinked at Sol Becker's rain-flattenedhair and hang-dog expression, and said: "What is it? What do you want?"
"I'm sorry--" Sol's voice was pained. "The man in the diner saidyou might put me up. I had my car stolen: a hitchhiker; going toSalinas ..." He was puffing.
"Hitchhiker? I don't understand." She clucked at the sight of the poolof water he was creating in her foyer. "Well, come inside, for heaven'ssake. You're soaking!"
"Thanks," Sol said gratefully.
With the door firmly shut behind him, the warm interior of the littlehouse covered him like a blanket. He shivered, and let the warmth seepover him. "I'm terribly sorry. I know how late it is." He looked at hiswatch, but the face was too misty to make out the hour.
"Must be nearly three," the woman sniffed. "You couldn't have come at aworse time. I was just on my way to court--"
The words slid by him. "If I could just stay overnight. Until themorning. I could call some friends in San Fernando. I'm very susceptibleto head colds," he added inanely.
"Well, take those shoes off, first," the woman grumbled. "You canundress in the parlor, if you'll keep off the rug. You won't mind usingthe sofa?"
"No, of course not. I'd be happy to pay--"
"Oh, tush, nobody's asking you to pay. This isn't a hotel. You mind if Igo back upstairs? They're gonna miss me at the palace."
"No, of course not," Sol said. He followed her into the darkened parlor,and watched as she turned the screw on a hurricane-style lamp, sheddinga yellow pool of light over half a flowery sofa and a doily-covered wingchair. "You go on up. I'll be perfectly fine."
"Guess you can use a towel, though. I'll get you one, then I'm going up.We wake pretty early in this house. Breakfast's at seven; you'll have tobe up if you want any."
"I really can't thank you enough--"
"Tush," the woman said. She scurried out, and returned a moment laterwith a thick bath towel. "Sorry I can't give you any bedding. But you'llfind it nice and warm in here." She squinted at the dim face of aship's-wheel clock on the mantle, and made a noise with her tongue."Three-thirty!" she exclaimed. "I'll miss the whole execution ..."
"The what?"
"Goodnight, young man," Mom said firmly.
She padded off, leaving Sol holding the towel. He patted his face, andthen scrubbed the wet tangle of brown hair. Carefully, he stepped offthe carpet and onto the stone floor in front of the fireplace. Heremoved his drenched coat and suit jacket, and squeezed water out overthe ashes.
He stripped down to his underwear, wondering about next morning'spossible embarrassment, and decided to use the damp bath towel as ablanket. The sofa was downy and comfortable. He curled up under thetowel, shivered once, and closed his eyes.
* * * * *
He was tired and very sleepy, and his customary nightly review waslimited to a few detached thoughts about the wedding he was supposed toattend in Salinas that weekend ... the hoodlum who had responded to hisgood-nature by dumping him out of his own car ... the slogging walk tothe village ... the little round woman who was hurrying off, like theWhite Rabbit, to some mysterious appointment on the upper floor ...
Then he went to sleep.
A voice awoke him, shrill and questioning.
"Are you _nakkid_?"
His eyes flew open, and he pulled the towel protectively around his bodyand glared at the little girl with the rust-red pigtails.
"Huh, mister?" she said, pushing a finger against her freckled nose."Are you?"
"No," he said angrily. "I'm not naked. Will you please go away?"
"Sally!" It was Mom, appearing in the doorway of the parlor. "You leavethe gentleman alone." She went off again.
"Yes," Sol said. "Please let me get dressed. If you don't mind." Thegirl didn't move. "What time is it?"
"Dunno," Sally shrugged. "I like poached eggs. They're my favorite eggsin the whole world."
"That's good," Sol said desperately. "Now why don't you be a good girland eat your poached eggs. In the kitchen."
"Ain't ready yet. You going to stay for breakfast?"
"I'm not going to do anything until you get out of here."
She put the end of a pigtail in her mouth and sat down on the chairopposite. "I went to the palace last night. They had an exelution."
"Please," Sol groaned. "Be a good girl, Sally. If you let me getdressed, I'll show you how to take your thumb off."
"Oh, that's an old trick. Did you ever see an exelution?"
"No. Did you ever see a little girl with her hide tanned?"
"Huh?"
"_Sally!_" Mom again, sterner. "You get out of there, oryou-know-what ..."
"Okay," the girl said blithely. "I'm goin' to the palace again. If Ibrush my teeth. Aren't you _ever_ gonna get up?" She skipped out of theroom, and Sol hastily sat up and reached for his trousers.
When he had dressed, the clothes still damp and unpleasant against hisskin, he went out of the parlor and found the kitchen. Mom was busy atthe stove. He said: "Good morning."
"Breakfast in ten minutes," she said cheerfully. "You like poachedeggs?"
"Sure. Do you have a telephone?"
"In the hallway. Party line, so you may have to wait."
He tried for fifteen minutes to get through, but there was a woman onthe line who was terribly upset about a cotton dress she had orderedfrom Sears, and was telling the world about it.
Finally, he got his call through to Salinas, and a sleepy-voiced Fred,his old Army buddy, listened somewhat indifferently to his tale of woe."I might miss the wedding," Sol said unhappily. "I'm awfully sorry."Fred didn't seem to be half as sorry as he was. When Sol hung up, he wasfeeling more despondent than ever.
A man, tall and rangy, with a bobbing Adam's apple and a lined face,came into the hallway. "Hullo?" he said inquiringly. "You the fella hadthe car stolen?"
"Yes."
The man scratched his ear. "Take you over to Sheriff Coogan afterbreakfast. He'll let the Stateys know about it. My name's Dawes."
Sol accepted a careful handshake.
"Don't get many people comin' into town," Dawes said, looking at himcuriously. "Ain't seen a stranger in years. But you look like the restof us." He chuckled.
Mom called out: "Breakfast!"
* * * * *
At the table, Dawes asked his destination.
"Wedding in Salinas," he explained. "Old Army friend of mine. I pickedthis hitchhiker up about two miles from here. He _seemed_ okay."
"Never can tell," Dawes said placidly, munching egg. "Hey, Ma. That whyyou were so late comin' to court last night?"
"That's right, Pa." She poured the blackest coffee Sol had ever seen."Didn't miss much, though."
"What court is that?" Sol asked politely, his mouth full.
"Umagum," Sally said, a piece of toast sticking out from the side of hermouth. "Don't you know _nothin'_?"
"_Arma_gon," Dawes corrected. He looked sheepishly at the stranger."Don't expect Mister--" He cocked an eyebro
w. "What's the name?"
"Becker."
"Don't expect Mr. Becker knows anything about Armagon. It's just adream, you know." He smiled apologetically.
"Dream? You mean this--Armagon is a place you dream about?"
"Yep," Dawes said. He lifted cup to lip. "Great