“I don’t know,” said David. “He just drove up and said, ‘Beautiful. I’ll take it.’ And handed me this.”
David opened his hand. In it was a twenty-dollar bill.
“Didn’t you recognize him?” asked the Wizard.
“Recognize him? Why should I recognize him?” asked David.
“That was our old friend of the table,” said the Wizard.
David’s face brightened a bit. “You’re right!”
“See, you do remember things,” said Leilah.
“Why, so I do—sometimes,” said the Wizard, quite pleased with himself. “And it wasn’t difficult either.”
“But what am I to do now?” asked David. “Before, I at least had a statue of D. Dog. Now I have nothing. Nothing at all.”
“What makes it worse,” the Wizard added, “is that with the statue I might have been able to do something.” He sighed and rubbed his left hand slowly with his right. “But without it, I’m afraid there is nothing I can do at all. It’s the touching, you know.”
“We could buy back the statue if we only knew where to find the man,” said Leilah. “But we don’t.”
“Oh yes we do,” said David. “He gave us his card, remember? The Wizard put it in his hat.”
“I did?” asked the Wizard.
“What a memory!” said David.
“Well, let’s look in his hat, then,” Leilah said.
The Wizard took off his hat and put his hand inside. He felt around for several moments. Then he pulled out a pickle, two rabbits, a white pigeon, three paper clips, a chewed-on pencil stub, a half-eaten chocolate bar, and five rubber bands.
“That’s it, I’m afraid,” said the Wizard.
“But where are today’s petition and the man’s card?” asked Leilah.
“I don’t know,” said the Wizard.
“Oh, fine,” said David.
“However, if we wait a week or two, they may turn up. Sometimes things get a bit lost in the hat. Something about a time differential. Take that pickle. It was from last Wednesday’s lunch. And the chocolate bar I put in there sometime in May. And it’s not even melted or stale. Imagine that!” the Wizard said as he unwrapped the bar and offered a bit to David and Leilah. When they refused, he took a bite and continued, “I’m sure nothing gets lost in the hat permanently.”
“But while we wait, the man might mail the statue to Australia, or drop it and break it, or anything,” said David.
“He’s right, you know,” said Leilah. And then in a scolding voice she added, “Besides, if you knew things get lost for days in your hat, why did you put the card in there?”
“How was I to know we were to need it today? And as for the petition—well, I forgot.”
“You sure do forget at the worst possible times,” said David.
Suddenly the Wizard looked jubilant. “But we don’t need the card as long as we have the tapestry in the warren,” he said. “I just remembered. We can watch from there.”
“What do you mean?” David and Leilah asked together.
“Never mind. It would take too long to explain. Just follow me.” And with that, the Wizard took off toward the Arch at a fast rolling trot.
David and Leilah had no difficulty this time keeping up with the Wizard. Even the twists of the dark tunnel were surprisingly familiar. They giggled as they passed the four signposts, and poked each other with their elbows at each turning. David was immensely pleased, even though he was afraid for D. Dog, for it suddenly occurred to him that this was, indeed, an adventure. Even if he was sharing it with a girl.
In less than three minutes they were at the door, which the Wizard opened by giving a large gold ring a hard tug.
“Name, rank, and serial number,” said the ring.
“I got it at army surplus,” explained the Wizard.
David ran immediately to the tapestry hanging on the wall but it was empty. Or rather, it had a delicate floral border but the center was just a field of royal blue with nothing on it.
“What happened to the pictures?” he asked. “The ones we saw yesterday?”
“Oh, I finished that story,” said the Wizard. “It was very dull, really. The ugly but brilliant prince married a lovely but rather simple princess and they lived affluently ever after. Not like the good old stories. Ah, the Middle Ages, those were the days!”
“What do you mean, ‘finished’?” asked Leilah, joining David at the tapestry.
“The tapestry will let you watch anyone you want to.”
“I want to see the man who stole my dog.”
“Then,” said the Wizard, “you have to sit in that chair.” He pointed to the oak chair he had been sitting in when the children had first entered the warren on Saturday. This time they noticed that it had a cushion covered in the same royal blue material of the tapestry.
David sat down in the chair. He felt that he was sinking, sinking deep into the chair… that the chair would take care of him, love him, and cherish him. He felt that, in turn, he loved and cherished the chair.
“It does that to you the first time,” said the Wizard when he noticed the sweet smile on David’s face. “It likes to try to overwhelm you.”
“You talk about the chair the same way you talk about your walking table,” observed Leilah.
“Of course. They’re in the same family. First cousins, actually. So they have a lot in common.” The Wizard chuckled. “You should have seen their grandsire. A real brute of an oak.”
“Hey, what about my statue?” said David in a small, faraway voice. He was still slightly overcome by the chair’s maternal authority.
“Just think about the man and about your statue. What they look like. How and where you last saw them,” said the Wizard. “But whatever you do, don’t look at the tapestry until the signal is given. That particular chair is very bashful about showing half-finished work. If you peek, it might be weeks before it will show anyone anything again.”
“But what’s the signal?” asked David.
“Oh you’ll know it when you hear it,” said the Wizard. “It’s different for everyone.”
So David concentrated on the statue of D. Dog, the polished marble surface of the little terrier, the tiny dandelion sticking out of its mouth. And he thought about the man, too, his skinny face with the monocle and the waxed moustache. He pictured in his mind the taxi driving up Fifth Avenue with the man’s skinny head looking straight in front of him, and the tips of his moustache sticking out on either side.
As David sat there thinking about all this, he felt tiny fingers probing at his mind as if tearing off little pieces of memory gently, oh so gently. It was a kind of brain tickle, and he started to giggle.
Suddenly he heard a familiar voice right in his own head—it was his mother’s voice. It said, “You may look now, David.”
And he looked.
There on the tapestry was the skinny man riding in the taxi. Balanced on his lap was the statue of D. Dog. The man was looking very angry and was shaking his fist at the driver, who had his shoulders hoisted in a shrug. Traffic, it seemed, was very slow. David could just make out a street sign. It said “58th Street.”
“Will it show us anything more?” asked David. “I mean, that’s not much help really.”
“Only if you don’t watch it change.”
So David and Leilah and the Wizard turned away for a few moments. And when they turned back, the tapestry showed the man getting out of the taxi. Obviously he had given a very small tip. This time the driver was shaking his fist.
The three watchers turned away again. When they turned back, quickly this time, they saw the man going into a shop that said J. Pickwell. VIP Interiors. 190 East 58th Street. He carried the statue under his arm.
“That’s it. I remember now,” said Leilah. “Joseph Pickwell.”
“He certainly is well named,” commented the Wizard.
“Pickleface Pickwell,” said David, jumping out of the chair, “here I come. Ready or not. I’m com
ing to get my dog!”
The Irt
“WAIT FOR ME,” SAID Leilah to David. He stopped at the door with his hand almost on the terra-cotta knob. The knob had an eye drawn on it. It blinked as David’s hand touched it and two big tears squeezed out.
“I’m afraid you are hurting the knob,” said the Wizard.
“Everything around here gets hurt too easily,” said David. “Chairs, table, doorknobs. And they get plenty of sympathy. But I’m in real trouble. Or my dog is. That’s kind of the same thing. The least you could do is offer to help.”
“You mean, you need me?” asked the Wizard in a peculiar voice.
David looked puzzled.
“Of course he does,” said Leilah quickly.
“I’ve done it. I’ve done it. I’ve done it!” cried the Wizard. “I’ve found someone who needs me.”
“Well, stop shouting and clicking your heels,” said David, for the Wizard was doing just that. “And come on along. I suppose I need you. I need all the help I can get.”
“Oh, but that will be impossible,” said the Wizard.
“What do you mean, impossible?” asked David. “A minute ago you were excited about helping. So help.”
“I can’t go out of my territory. And my territory is the Village. It’s very specific. It’s in my contract. Once you settle in a territory, you have to stick. I might get in the way of another wizard.”
“You mean there are other second-class wizards running around New York City?” asked Leilah.
“No,” said the Wizard.
“Then what’s stopping you?” asked David.
“It’s the rule. Rule number two, that is. Rule number one is the Rule of Need. And rule number two is the Rule of Territory.”
“Well, if there are no more wizards in New York, it’s a stupid rule,” said David impatiently.
“It’s a very old rule,” said the Wizard. “It was made in the days when there were a great many wizards and the New World had not yet been discovered. Nor a good deal of the Old either, for that matter. And like many rules, it has outlived its usefulness, I’m afraid.”
“Then you should change the rule,” said David.
“Yes,” said Leilah. “Protest. March against it.”
The Wizard sighed. “If I were younger, I might. I think I’m too old and too second-class to try.”
“So how can you help David?” asked Leilah. “I mean, it’s one thing to know he needs you and another—and more important—to help. Rules or no rules.”
“I’ll watch you on the tapestry and check my books and mix up a good-speed spell. Or is it a God-speed? Perhaps it makes a difference with the kind of gods you believe in. Once there was no problem. We all believed in the same thing. You do believe in something, don’t you?”
“I don’t believe in you,” mumbled David under his breath as he went out the door. He was tired of arguing. Every minute was precious to him.
But Leilah turned and said sweetly, “Of course we do.”
“Well, then, you two hurry along. And take the turning to the IRT. It’s probably fastest. And don’t get lost.”
“Don’t worry,” said Leilah. “I’d hate to end up in the dragonry by mistake.”
“Oh—that!” said the Wizard and he started to laugh, his face wrinkling like a white raisin. “There are no dragons here. That’s just a sign I brought with me from the Old Country. No, that tunnel leads to the New York City sewer system.”
“That’s a relief,” said Leilah. “I sure wouldn’t have wanted to meet up with a dragon,” and she ran out after David.
The Wizard closed the door after them, muttering absent-mindedly, “No—no dragons at all. Just the great white alligators that live in the sewer.”
But David and Leilah were already far down the tunnel and didn’t hear what he said.
When Leilah caught up with David, she explained, “We’ll take the turning to the IRT and go by subway. It’s the fastest way there.”
“Are you sure?” asked David. “After all, we wasted so much time arguing with that forgetful old fraud back there.”
“I’m sure. And he’s not a fraud. Look what he can do: change signs and take white pigeons from his hat. Why, I’ve never even seen a white pigeon before. All the pigeons in New York are a kind of filthy gray. Anyone who can do that must be magic.”
They turned to the right at the signs and walked quite a way before they finally found themselves at a door that opened onto a ledge above the subway rails. They had to walk about fifty steps before they came at last to the crowded station.
“Isn’t that funny,” said Leilah. “I’ve always noticed these strange doors in the subway tunnel when I rode on the trains. But it never occurred to me that they might be connected to a wizard’s walkway.”
David didn’t answer. Instead he kept glancing nervously down the track, trying to see whether a subway train was coming. He stood first on one leg and then on the other. He didn’t want to admit to Leilah that he was scared. After all, he had never ridden on a subway before. And Leilah was as calm as could be. But David had to admit to himself that he was uneasy as he heard a faint rumbling in the distance. He glanced down the track again.
“Not that way, silly. It’s coming from the other way,” said Leilah.
David felt so stupid that he forgot his fears as the subway train drew closer. It did not even bother him that the crowd behind them began to push them toward the tracks. Suddenly the entire station seemed to shake as the red and green lights on the first car came hurtling down the track into the station. The train filled the entire subway stop with its screeching, rocking, rattling presence. Before he could think, David had been pushed through the wide-open doors, against people fighting to get out, and on into the train. He looked around frantically and saw Leilah wiggle through a small opening between an enormous lady carrying two brown shopping bags, and a man with a drooping moustache, carrying a black leather portfolio.
“I’ll show you where we get off,” Leilah shouted above the din of the train. But it was too noisy to hear anything, so they rode to Fifty-ninth Street without talking further.
Leilah had to drag David off when they reached their stop. He had become mesmerized by the constant shaking and banging of the train and might have ridden all day if she hadn’t grabbed his hand. She pulled him up the stairs and pointed them both in the right direction. David was delighted to see daylight again.
They took off down the avenue at a gallop, kicking their heels like ponies let out to pasture, barely missing a little old lady with an umbrella she was using against the sun and a beggar who wore a sign proclaiming that he was blind though he stepped quickly and expertly out of their way, lifting his dark glasses to watch them as they passed.
As they came to Fifty-eighth Street, Leilah pointed across the street. In the middle of the block they saw the same sign they had seen in the tapestry: J. Pickwell. VIP Interiors. David and Leilah crossed over without paying any attention to the light. Luckily it was green.
“Look,” said Leilah.
David looked. There in the window, standing rigidly on the top of a graceful Hepplewhite table, was the marble statue of D. Dog. And Mr. Pickwell was reaching over to pick it up and show it to a customer.
A Priceless Possession
“THIS STATUE IS PRICELESS,” Mr. Pickwell was saying to a woman in a mink coat and her husband as David and Leilah burst into his store.
“Nonsense,” said the lady. “The price is right on it. Two hundred dollars.”
“Rather than priceless, I’d call it overpriced,” her husband added.
“Overpriced!” said Pickwell, his Adam’s apple bobbing indignantly. “For a genuine sixteenth-century Italian marble statue? Over four hundred years old? Why, at that price it’s a steal!”
“It sure is,” shouted David breathlessly. “And you stole it from me. That’s my dog. And he isn’t any four hundred years old. He’s seven and a half. And here is the twenty dollars you gave me for him
.”
With that, David grabbed D. Dog, threw the money down on the table, and raced out. Leilah was right behind him.
“Stop, you little thief!” cried Pickwell. “Come back!”
If David and Leilah heard him, they gave no sign, but ran down the block without looking right or left, straight into a great big blue stomach that was attached to a six-foot-three policeman.
“Now hold on there, youngsters,” said the policeman. “And where are you going in such a hurry?”
Just then Pickwell came out of his store, shouting. When he saw the patrolman with David and Leilah, he ran over and grabbed the statue from David’s hands. “Thank goodness you caught them, Sergeant. They were trying to steal this from my store.”
“Is that true?” the policeman asked the children, but gently, for he had a son and daughter just their age at home.
“It’s my dog,” said David tearfully. “He stole it from me first. I was just stealing it back.”
“The boy must have this dog confused with some other,” said Pickwell smoothly. “I’m Joseph Pickwell of VIP Interiors,” he said, and insinuated his calling card into the policeman’s hand. “Why, this statue is one of my most priceless possessions. I even display it in my shop with some trepidation. What on earth would a boy like this be doing with a sixteenth-century dog by Bonetelli, the famous Florentine sculptor?” When he said “Bonetelli,” Mr. Pickwell’s eyeglasses popped from his nose and his waxed moustache quivered.
“That’s not Bonetelli’s dog. That’s mine,” said David. “At least it was until the Wizard changed it into a statue this morning. And he can’t change it back unless I bring it to his warren.” When he saw the policeman looking bewildered, he added, “It’s the touching that counts.”
The policeman smiled sympathetically at David while he patted him on the head, and winked at Mr. Pickwell. Then he took David and Leilah by the hand. “Now you two children had better go home. And don’t let me catch you around here again. If I do, I’m afraid I’ll have to take you to juvenile court. And I really wouldn’t like to do that.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” said Mr. Pickwell, though he knew very well the policeman was only a patrolman. “I can see you are a man of discretion and understanding.” And with a tight little smile, he adjusted his eyeglasses on his nose again and hurried back into his shop.