“Okay. This is weird.” But so far it didn’t seem dangerous. Even the rain was letting up.
There were ships at nearly all the docks, most of them clippers and brigantines, but he saw at least two modern vessels as well. So which were out of the ordinary? While he stood there, undecided, someone bumped him from behind, muttered an apology, and kept moving.
Dean turned to see a heavily muscled man in an old-fashioned naval uniform, carrying a human leg over one massive shoulder, weave his way through the crowd on the thoroughfare and enter a windowless green building on the other side. The sign on the building read “Man-made Sausages.”
No one else, from the little girl selling matches to the one-eyed, peg-legged street artist with a hook, seemed to think anything of it.
“Don’t eat or drink while you’re in there.…”
“Not much danger of that,” he muttered. “I’ll just find the boss….”
From somewhere in town came the enraged roar of an Industrial Light and Magic special effect followed closely by a woman’s scream.
“Claire!”
His work boots slipping on the wet cobblestones, Dean raced away from the harbor through a rabbit warren of narrow streets, all of them steeply angled regardless of the direction he was running.
The roar sounded again. Closer.
Just when he thought he was hopelessly lost, he pounded out from between two empty storefronts and into the intersection at Brock and King, across from the old city library.
In the center of the intersection, stomping jerkily about like one of the old stop-motion models, was a dinosaur. A T-Rex. Off to one side, were the squashed and nearly unidentifiable remains…
Dean clutched at his chest.
…of a 1957 Corvette.
“Oh, God, no!” Eyes wide behind his glasses, he staggered forward, hands outstretched. He was almost at the wreck when he felt the ground move, felt hot breath on the back of his neck, and had the sudden uncomfortable feeling he was a secondary character in a Saturday morning movie matinee.
He dove out of the way just in time. Rolled immediately thereafter to avoid being smacked by the massive tail. Leaped over a crumpled fender…
Sitting in the library, surrounded by reference material and a few of the more pungent if less literate clientele, Claire heard someone call her name. Loudly. One could almost say desperately.
The voice, even in extremis, sounded very familiar.
She’d been inside since the Historian’s new pet had shown up, figuring sooner or later it would get bored and wander off and, if it didn’t, she’d just go back out through the library door and home. Then, looking for a map, she’d gotten engrossed in the books. She had no idea how long she’d been in there.
“CLAIRE!”
“Dean?” Running her tongue over dry lips, she walked over to the window, wondering how the Historian had been able to copy Dean’s voice so exactly. She felt her jaw actually drop when she realized she was hearing the original. “Dean!”
Had the T-Rex been animated better, Dean knew he’d have been dead and partially digested by now. Dodging a grotesque, chickenlike peck of the huge head, he found himself at the foot of the library steps.
The massive tail whipped around.
He jumped, cleared the tail, made a bad landing, stumbled back, and fell.
About a dozen stairs behind and above him, he heard the library door open and, at the same time, a small herd of pigs appeared on the other side of the intersection squealing loud enough to wake the dead.
Or attract the attention of the dinosaur.
As T-Rex lumbered toward the pork, something grabbed Dean by the shirt and tried to haul him backward up the stairs with no notable success. Before the pressure of the seams across his armpits cut off all circulation in his arms, he managed to get his feet under him and stand.
Claire released both handfuls of fabric as he turned to face her. Two steps apart, they were eye to eye. She went up one more step. “What are you doing here?”
Struggling to catch his breath, Dean gasped, “I came in to save you.”
“To save me? Oh, for…Whose bright idea was that?”
Since she was obviously not thrilled by the thought of a rescue attempt, he squared his shoulders. “Mine.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Claire snorted. “It was Austin, wasn’t it? That cat is fussier than…”
A roar from the T-Rex jerked their attention back into the intersection. Ludicrously small arms raked the air, then it charged.
“Come on!” Grabbing another handful of Dean’s shirt, Claire ran for the library door.
“It didn’t take long with the pigs.”
“That’s because they weren’t real. Only the Historian can do substance in here, all I can manage is illusion.”
“Oh, great, so you’ve pissed it off?”
“Try to remember who’s saving whose ass.”
The solid stone steps shuddered as the dinosaur started up after them.
“Think about the bedroom!” Claire yelled as they reached the top step. Still clutching his shirt, she thumbed the latch and dragged him through the door after her.
The wardrobe shuddered to a mighty impact as they flung themselves out into the worried presence of Austin and Jacques.
Breathing heavily, Claire lay where she’d fallen, staring under the bed at a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers that weren’t hers. Four paws, propelled by a ten-pound cat, landed on her kidneys and a moment later Austin’s face peered into hers from over her right shoulder.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. I’m just a little thirsty.” She rolled over, cradled him in her arms, and sat up. Dean had gotten to his feet and was busy trying to pull his T-shirt back into shape. “What,” she asked the cat, “was the idea of sending him in after me? If I hadn’t shown up in time, he’d have been killed.”
“I heard roaring.”
“You’ve heard worse.”
“You’d been gone for over an hour.”
“I lost track of time. I was reading.”
“Reading?” Austin repeated, squirming free and jumping up onto the bed. “You were reading!”
About to mention the dinosaur,
