One Realm Beyond (32 page)

“I am Ponack. Toolooknaut is expecting you. You know this is dangerous, don’t you?” He didn’t allow them time to answer. “Oh, oh, oh. What we do every day is dangerous, but this? This goes beyond. This is perilous. That’s what it is. Risky business. Treacherous people. Precarious times. Hazardous to be coming and going. And still Toolooknaut persists.”

They turned a corner and followed the fussing man up a long flight of metal stairs. Their shoes clanked against the steps, and the rails rattled as they progressed.

The man looked back over his shoulder. “No need to hold on so tight, missy. If the stairs collapse, the rail will collapse along with it. It’ll all come down, so you needn’t think that holding on tight will save you. You can cling to the rail with
all your might, but you’ll be clinging to something that’s falling just as fast as you are. Don’t put your trust in rusty metal.”

Bixby exchanged a look with Totobee-Rodolow. Both ladies had their eyebrows raised. Bixby almost laughed. The dragon’s manufactured brows rose to great heights, looking like they might just disappear over her forehead, across her scalp, and down her back.

The stairs led to a platform circling the outer wall. Made out of the same metal, rusty and shaky, the whole thing felt like a catwalk. Bixby looked down at her feet, and through the slats she could see the floor far below.

As they followed the twittering and twitching escort, Bixby realized that they were not at the outer wall. Doors they passed evidently opened to offices. A few were open, but Bixby’s quick peeks inside revealed only dirty, dusty, unused desks and office furniture. Glancing ahead and to the left, she saw the rickety walkway had given way. Several sections clung together and dangled one after the other to the floor below. Bixby hoped Ponack would open one of the few doors left.

As if understanding her impatience, the nervous man stopped abruptly. He pushed at the door as he softly knocked. “Toolooknaut, they’re here.”

Bixby couldn’t distinguish the reply, but Ponack swung the door open, bowed to Totobee-Rodolow, and motioned for the ladies to enter. The dragon entered first, and as soon as Bixby went through the door, Ponack reached in, grabbed the doorknob, and pulled it shut. The breeze caused by the brisk motion fanned her dress, causing her ribbons to flutter.

An old man jumped up from his desk and came forward, a grin on his face and his arms stretched out to embrace
Totobee-Rodolow. “It’s so good to see you, and to see you looking as beautiful as ever.”

Bixby blinked as she realized Totobee-Rodolow had drawn herself in so that she was basically the same size as Toolooknaut. The dragon allowed the man to grasp her arms and kiss her on both cheeks. She, of course, looked glamorous, especially beside the gentleman dressed in wrinkled clothing, two sizes too big.

“Yes, darling, of course, I’ve kept up my style. It’s this that has paved my way in society.” She shook her head and tsked. “But it is
not
good to be back. I enjoy seeing my friends, but the state of our council is most distressing.” She turned slightly and indicated Bixby with a gesture. “This is Bixby D’Mazeline. I’m willing to let this next generation take up the cause.”

Toolooknaut nodded, acknowledging the introduction. But his attention riveted on the dragon. “You must not hide from your duty, Totobee-Rodolow. Surely you see that although the youngsters give us new energy, they need the wisdom of the older to make sure that the energy isn’t wasted.”

“Darling, today I am here, so let us deal with the business at hand.”

“Yes, of course.” Toolooknaut pulled two chairs closer to his desk and offered his company seats. “May I get you something? I have stale water from old pipes. We have tea made from reused teabags, and . . . well, I don’t think there are any other choices.”

Totobee-Rodolow raised an eyebrow Bixby’s way.

“Oh.” Bixby jumped to interpret the dragon’s thoughts. “I can provide refreshments. Forgive me for being so slow.” She faced Toolooknaut. “Do you prefer a hot beverage or cold?”

“Hot. Thank you, Princess Bixby.”

“I’m not a princess here.”

He steepled his hands in front of him and slowly nodded. “I see.”

Bixby wasn’t sure what he saw. “Would you like cakes? Cookies? Pastry?”

“Do you have something with cinnamon?”

“Yes, both pastry and cookies.”

Totobee-Rodolow waved her hand. “Bixby, really! Just serve whatever you have and be quick about it.”

When Bixby started at the tone of voice, Totobee-Rodolow’s words entered her mind.
“I suspect we could be rudely interrupted at any time by those who would not like us giving information to Toolooknaut.”

Bixby nodded and went about pulling hampers out of hidden pockets in her skirts. She then rummaged through the hampers to produce plates and cups and napkins. In only a few moments, she had a kettle on a self-heating stone. After spooning into the cups a tea powder blend that would dissolve in hot water, she arranged cakes, cookies, and pastries on a serving platter.

Toolooknaut nodded when Bixby offered him tea. From his expression as he looked at the treats, she assumed it had been quite a while since he’d had a proper tea. Totobee-Rodolow continued to provide information about Effram as Toolooknaut juggled his cup, a plate of sugary tidbits, and a pad of paper on which he took notes.

Bixby took pity on the poor man and cleared some of the clutter off his desk so he could put things down. Again he just nodded to her, indicating he appreciated her help. His pencil moved much faster now. She refilled his cup once and his plate
twice while Totobee-Rodolow covered all the situations in Effram that warranted action by the Realm Walkers Council.

The list was long. Toolooknaut’s expression alternated between sincere concern and outrage, with brief flashes of glee. Undoubtedly, he relished the writing of this article, its publication, and the stir of excitement it would cause.

Totobee-Rodolow came to the end of her information and sipped her tea. Toolooknaut riffled through his pages of notes, ignoring his guests as he checked for clarity.

“I’ve got it.” He closed the pad of paper and patted the top page. “This is going to cause a stir.” His eyes blazed with the challenge of a good cause. “Here in Gilead, the realm walkers act pretty much as they’re supposed to. But when problems are considered on the floor of the forum, the doors are shut. I find it almost impossible to report on actions they’re taking.”

The fiery zeal in his eyes slipped away, replaced by sadness. “We constantly hear rumors of outrageous behavior where realm walkers were sent to secure peace. Corruption. Fraud. Duplicity. Treachery. Citizens are suffering. It’s high time the council received a cleansing.”

Bixby knew something of court intrigue, given her parents were king and queen of her homeland. “How can evil be rooted out if all are corrupt?”

Toolooknaut held up a finger. “Not all, girl. There are three out of the ninety-nine who still have some semblance of decency.”

“Perhaps we should go to them and tell them we’re available to help.”

The old man shook his head and snatched another cookie. “We have no names of the three.”

Bixby furrowed her brow. “Then how do you know there are three and not thirty-three?”

“Because whenever they have a closed vote — that means secret ballots — only three, and always three, vote against the core of corrupt officials.”

A scratch at the door announced Ponack’s entrance. “A runner, sir, with news. The council police are on the move. They’re searching for the printing press.”

“Well, they won’t find it.” Toolooknaut stood. “They’re more likely to find me. We must go to ground.”

He stuffed the pad of notes and a few other papers in his large pockets. With a look of regret at the tray of treats, he started toward the door.

He dashed back to bow over Totobee-Rodolow’s hand. “You must depart as well.”

“We will. We will, darling. Don’t worry for us.”

Toolooknaut nodded again to Bixby. Since he was back beside his desk again, he scooped a number of cookies into his hand and deposited them in a pocket as he headed for the door.

“Take care,” he called over his shoulder. “As Ponack no doubt told you, this is a dangerous affair.”

ROUNDS

H
olding a crumpled paper in his fist, Cantor knocked on Bixby’s door. Today life looked more doable. Obstacles of yesterday melted under the warm attention of Feymare, Dukmee, and Totobee-Rodolow. The first half of his night had been wrought with heavy thinking. Thinking? Ha! It was worrying, not thinking. Finally, Ahma’s teaching soothed his mind and helped him to reclaim his sanity. She’d said it often enough. “Worrying is a circle. Just like a dog chasing his tail, you get nowhere. Even if the dog catches the tip of its tail, it’s no better off than before it started its endeavor. Thinking leads to something other than your own backside.”

Now he had proof in his hand that Primen worked where no man could see. And today they would attend the biggest sanctuary on Plane Dairine.

“Bixby, you’re going to have to get up if you want time for breakfast before Sanctuary.”

The door opened, and Bixby greeted him with a smile.
“Totobee-Rodolow doesn’t do mornings until eleven o’clock.” She leaned back and reached, snagging her purse from someplace out of his line of vision. She quietly pulled the door closed.

“What’s that you have in your hand?”

Cantor straightened the page and handed it to her. He enjoyed her reaction to the printed news of happenings in Effram.

Her large blue eyes grew larger and her mouth stretched in an incredulous grin. “He did it. Toolooknaut did it.”

Impatient at her lagging pace as she read, Cantor took hold of her elbow, then slid his hand down to clasp hers. He sprinted down the hall, dragging her along. She tried to read the paper as she hustled along beside him.

As they came to the stairs, Cantor slowed down. He didn’t want her to fall while reading Toolooknaut’s article. He opened the door and guided her into the stairwell. “We need to meet Dukmee for breakfast.”

That caught her attention. “Dukmee? Wonderful! You got to go with him yesterday.”

They ran down the stairwell. Their footsteps echoed off the walls.

Bixby kept up with him. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are we meeting Dukmee?”

Cantor put a finger to his lips and shushed her, adding a wink to soften the command. Once they opened the door to the outside, Cantor put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

His whisper blew corkscrew blonde tendrils away from her ear. “We’re going to sit at a sidewalk café and listen to
the chatter from those who’ve read this.” He tapped the paper Bixby held.

Five minutes’ walk took them to a busy street where the clientele of small eateries provided the foot traffic. The aroma of coffee and baked bread tinged the air with an enticing lure.

Bixby handed the paper back to Cantor, and he stuffed it inside his tunic. “You’re awfully chipper this morning.”

He grinned, reaching over to pinch one of her wild curls and giving it a tiny tug. “I started counting all the things that are going right for us, instead of those things still off kilter. Feymare is going to help find Ahma and Odem. People are waiting to help whoever steps forward to bring Primen’s principles back to the front of our council. And Totobee-Rodolow knows who they are and how to reach them. And” — he paused for a moment with his finger in the air — “We are the ones these helpers will help.”

Cantor looked ahead of them, through the crowd of people enjoying the Sunday morning social scene. He didn’t yet see the café Dukmee had described. “And Dukmee, Bixby. Dukmee takes us seriously. We’re not tagging along. We’re part of the big picture.”

She stretched to see over the taller people all around her. “Do you see him?”

“No, but Bridger came here while I fetched you. We’ll find them.”

A clatter of dishes breaking reached their ears. Men shouted and a dog barked. Female squeals and protests added to the hullabaloo.

Bixby and Cantor exchanged a look.

Bixby grinned. “I bet Bridger is in the middle of that.”

“Should we go restore order, or shall we slink away and pretend we don’t know him?”

“I’m sure Dukmee can handle whatever it is.”

Cantor pinched his lips together, then shook his head. “No, that’s the coward’s way. And we aren’t cowards, right?”

Bixby laughed. “No, ‘coward’ is not listed among our credentials.”

“Right.” Cantor took her hand again and shouldered his way through a crowd of people and dragons gawking at a scene ahead. When they passed through the inner circle, they saw Bridger mopping the face of a disheveled man. His limp victim sat in a wrought iron chair with what looked like a bucket of whipped cream spilled over his head and chest. Jesha sat at his feet catching drips with her tongue. Dukmee stood back against the outside wall of the café, watching.

Employees streamed out of the door, bringing mops, dishtowels, and brooms. Cantor glanced down at the floor and saw a pink, foamy liquid spreading under the tables. The occupants at the tables stood and scattered as the flood grew near.