Shadowland

    At dinner that night the magician complimented him on his recovery. 'I feared we might lose you, my boy. What do you think it was? Touch of the flu?'

    'Something like that,' Tom said. And shied from the magician's glowing eyes.

    'Would have been a terrible irony if you died, don't you think?'

    'I can't see it that objectively.'

    Collins smiled and sipped at his wine. 'At any rate, you look splendid now. Don't you think he looks splendid, Del?'

    Del mumbled assent.

    'Simply splendid. Has a look of the young Houdini about him, wouldn't you agree? Bursting with strength and health and craft. Unassailable. Do you feel unassail­able, Tom?'

    'I feel pretty good,' Tom said, hating that Collins could make him feel like a fool.

    'Superb. Wonderful.' The last of the wine went past his lips. 'Since you have been resurrected to us, tomor­row you shall have the penultimate episode of my life story. Do you feel up to it, little bird?'

    'Sure,' Tom said.

    'Tomorrow, then. Not at the regular time. Ten at night, I think. By the sixth light. I'll look for you there.'

10

Tom tested and strengthened his muscles by swimming; besides the exercise, which he needed, it gave him solitude. Collins was nearing the end of his unburdening. As the story neared its end, so did their time at Shadowland. Tom hoped every hour for a message from Rose. He prayed that she would not actually delay their escape until the day of the final performance. Now that Del was at least theoretically prepared to desert his uncle, the sooner they left, the better.

    The weather was still warm, but the moisture in the air had concentrated and darkened. Fog hung over the middle of the lake and stole out of the forest. The air seemed to melt indivisibly into cloud. Against his skin, the water was almost bath-warm.

    Sounds of hammering came to him: tock-tock-tock: each blow of the hammer threatened to nail him into Shadowland.

    Knowing it was in vain, he hoped that Rose would get word to them this afternoon.

Instead of that, he saw her. She came alone out of the woods in a curl of fog, unbuttoned a plaid shirt which engulfed her like a serape, and in the black bathing suit waded into the water like a doe.

    He swam toward her, his heart half-sick with love.

    Rose heard him splashing — emotion made his swim­ming even less expert — and retreated into water shallow enough for her to stand. Tom plowed toward her through heavy warm water. Only her head and neck were visible above the surface.

    'Thanks for coming to visit me,' he said. 'I remember seeing you there a couple of times.'

    'Well, I would have been there all the time, but I didn't want to upset Mr. Collins.' Rose was looking directly into his eyes with a quiet, deadly frankness.

    Tom pushed his way through the water closer to her. 'It's so good to see you,' he said, and her face tightened down into itself again. She said, 'Me too.'

    'Can't we get out of here soon? Today, maybe? He's going to tell us some more of his story tonight — it kind of makes me nervous.'

    'They'd catch us today,' she said. 'Those men are all over the place. It's too early. Anyhow, you're okay until the big performance. Just be patient. I'm doing what I can.'

    'I trust you, Rose,' he said. 'It's just that I'm getting . . . I don't know. This waiting is driving me crazy. I think that's why I got sick.'

    Her hands, warmed by the water, lifted and rested on his shoulders. She linked her hands behind his neck. 'You won't be foolish when you see me tonight, will you?'

    'Tonight?'

    'During his story. I'm supposed to do some work then.'

    'Oh. One of those scenes.'

    'Sort of. But don't . . . you know. Say anything.'

    'I won't,' he said. He was trembling.

    Her face swam closer; the touch of her mouth ex­tinguished his words. Then she spoke again. 'Tom, don't listen to anything he says about me. I think he knows I love you. You can't hide anything from him. But if he talks about me, it'll all be lies. Everything here is a lie.'

    Rose hugged him tightly, and then gave him a comradely little pat on the back. 'Be patient,' she said. 'I have to go now.' Her head went under water, her body jackknifed, and she executed a smooth strong stroke which carried her away from him.

    Tom turned around, his heart full, and saw a tall lean figure standing on the pier looking straight toward him. Coleman Collins. He glanced back to find Rose, but she was still under water. Tom felt a sudden unreasonable terror, as if the tiny figure on the dock had overheard what he and Rose had said. Collins was beckoning to him. He began to sidestroke back to Shadowland through the warm water.

Collins motioned him toward the pier, chopping with his hand. When Tom was only a few feet from the pier, he looked up at the magician's steely face. 'So you know our little Rose better than any of us realized,' Collins said. 'Come up here.'

    'I just met her by accident,' Tom said. 'Get on the pier.'

    Tom dog-paddled nearer, and Collins bent and reached down. Tom raised his own hand, and the magician lifted him onto the pier as if he weighed nothing. Dripping and frightened, Tom stood before him.

    'I cannot recommend any distractions for you at this time,' Collins said.

    It took Tom a moment to understand what he meant. 'In fact, excessive distraction from your task could prove dangerous, Tom. Do you understand? I will need your entire concentration.' 'Yes, sir.'

    ''Yes, sir.' Like a little schoolboy. Is it possible that you still do not understand the seriousness of what you are involved in?'

    'I think I understand,' Tom said. The magician ap­peared sober but very angry.

    'You think you do. I hope you know that you cannot put any credence in any word Rose utters. She is not — repeat — not — to be trusted. If you allow yourself to be led astray by that girl, you will be ruined. Is that clear?' Tom nodded. 'I see you still do not understand. So I will tell you one of my secrets. That delightful child you were embracing in the water has never seen the town of Hilly Vale. She has no grandmother, and she never had parents. She is my creation. She has no notion of morality, and less of love.'

    Tom looked at him sullenly, hating him.

    'Oh, dear me. I see I better tell you a story,' the magician said. 'Sit down and listen.'

11

'The Mermaid'

Many years ago, when we all lived in the forest and nobody lived anywhere else, a lonely old king lived by the side of a lake in a drafty castle which had seen better days. Once it had been the most beautiful castle, and he the most powerful king, in the entire forest, which covered half the continent. Once tapestries had glowed from the walls, gold plates had shone from the table, and all of the castle had seemed to sparkle with a light which was the image of the great king's glory. But the queen had died, and the princesses had married princes from lands far away, other kings in the forest had taken territory in battles, and the old king lived alone and bitter, without glory or affections. His army had died of old age or been taken from him or simply faded into the forest, and so he could not increase his treasury by conquest. Only a few woodsmen and hunters remained to pay his taxes, and they paid chiefly out of loyalty to what had once been.

    One of the old king's few pleasures was to walk at evening along the shore of the lake near the castle. The water was deep and blue, and from time to time he could see a bass jump, disturbing the gloomy quiet with a splash loud as cannon fire and causing ripples to spread all the way to the shore. At such times, the king would mourn, remembering when his own power was such that its rumors and effects rippled and widened a hundred miles in every direction. The old times of love and power — how he ached for them!

    One night, taking his melancholy walk beside the lake, he saw a mighty bass leap out of the water, and