Shadowland

    Del nodded. 'I was sort of hoping I'd see her today. But the whole day vanished.'

    'Well, that's just it,' Tom said. 'It vanished. It was ten in the morning, about an hour went by, and now it's eleven at night. He stole thirteen hours away from us.'

    Del looked at him, uncertain as a puppy.

    'What I mean is, what's to stop him from taking a week away from us? Or a month? What does he do, put us to sleep?'

    'I don't think so,' Del said. 'I think everything just sort of speeds up around us.'

    'That doesn't make sense.'

    'It doesn't make sense to say that you met the Brothers Grimm, either.' Del's tone was wistful, but his face momentarily turned bitter, 'I should have.'

    'Well, I never met Humphrey Bogart and Marilyn Monroe.'

    'Uncle Cole said I had to watch out for your jealousy,' Del blurted out. 'I mean . . . he just said that once when we were alone. He said that one day it would hit you, and you would want Shadowland for yourself.'

    Tom fought down the impulse to tell exactly what Collins had said about his nephew. 'That's crazy. He wants to break up our friendship.'

    'No, he doesn't.' Del was adamant. 'He just said — '

    'That I'd be jealous. Okay.' Tom was reflecting that Collins had after all been right: though it was not Shadowland that made him jealous, but Rose Armstrong. 'Tell you what. Do you really want to meet the Brothers Grimm?'

    'Right now?' Del was suspicious.

    'Right now.'

    'Are you sure it's all right?'

    'I'm not sure of anything. Maybe they're not even there.'

    'Where?'

    'You'll see.'

    Del shrugged. 'Sure. I'd like to,'

    'Come on, then.'

    Del gave a worried look down at the beach: Collins had disappeared into the boat house. Then he followed Tom through the sliding doors into the living room.

    'I guess we really ought to be in bed,' Del said a little nervously.

    'You can go to bed if you want to.' Then he felt sorry for being so abrupt. 'Are you tired?'

    'Not really.'

    'Me neither. I think it's eleven-ten in the morning.'

    This was said in defiance of all the physical evidence. All Shadowland seemed put to bed, even if the principal occupants were still out of theirs. One lamp burned beside a couch; the carpet showed the tracks of a vacuum cleaner. On the end tables, the ashtrays sparkled. Tom marched through the dim, quiet room, almost hoping to see Elena silently buffing the furniture.

    'Upstairs?' Del asked.

    'Nope.' Tom turned into the hall. One of the recessed lights gave a pumpkin-colored illumination.

    'In the Little Theater?'

    'Nope.' Tom stopped where the short hallway intersected the main hall to the theaters.

    'Oh, no,' Del said. 'We can't.'

    'I already did.'

    'And he saw you?'

    'He was waiting for me when I came out.'

    'Was he mad?'

    'I guess so. But nothing happened. You saw how he was today. Maybe he even forgot it. He was pretty drunk.

    He wants us to see them, Del. That's why they're there.' 'Do they just sit there? Or can you talk to them?' 'They'll talk your ears off,' Tom said. 'Come on. I

    want to ask them some questions.' He turned into the

    short hallway and pulled open the heavy door.

6

'Our young visitor again, Jakob,' said the one with the seasoned, kindly face.

    'And behind him, is there not another little Geist?' 'He has never been curious before, that one.' 'He has never had his brave brother's help before.' Both of them laid down their pens and looked inquisitively at Tom, but Tom did nbt move forward. He was aware of Del stretching on tiptoe behind him, trying to see over his shoulder. Instead of the cluttered, cozy workroom in which he had seen them earlier, the two men in the frock coats and elaborate neckwear were surrounded by a more barren and purposeful but equally cluttered room. The walls were earthen, crumbling here and there; nails had been driven into the packed earth, and from the nails hung khaki jackets, peaked hats, and tin helmets. Complicated green-and-white maps hung on a wide board. A clumsy box with a crank and a headpiece sat on a trestle table which also supported rolled maps, bundles of paper tied with shoelaces, more military headgear, a fleece-lined jacket, and a kerosene lamp. Stark wooden chairs surrounded it. In this curious setting, the two men sat at their ornate desks. A soldier's room, was all that Tom could make of this. Staff room?

'Yes, little one,' said Wilhelm. 'They let us work here.'

    'For our work goes on,' said Jakob, standing up and beckoning the two boys into the room.

    Tom stepped forward and smelled the close loamy odor of earth; the trace of cigars. Del came alongside him. From far off, what could have been miles away, came the booming of big guns.

    'And on and on. For the stories' sake.'

    'Where are you supposed to be now?' asked Tom.

    'Shadowland,' both brothers answered. 'It is always Shadowland.'

    'I mean, France? Germany?'

    'Things are getting dark,' said Jakob. 'We may have to move again, and take our work and our families with us. But still the stories continue.'

    'Even though Europe is dying, brother.'

    'The sparrows have given up their voices.'

    'Their choice.'

    Del was looking at the brothers with a rapt face. 'Are you always here?'

    Wilhelm nodded. 'Always. We know you, boy.'

    'I want to ask you something,' Tom said, and the brothers turned their faces, kindly and businesslike, to him. Outside, the shelling continued, far off and resonant.

    'That is why you have found us,' said Jakob.

    Tom hesitated. 'Do you know the expression 'put a hurtin' on' something?'

    'It is not one of our expressions, but we know it,' said Jakob. His expression said: Follow this line, boy.

'Okay. Did Del's uncle put a hurtin' on that train? Did he make it crash?'

    'Of course,' said Jakob. 'Aren't you a bright boy? He put a hurtin' on it — he made it crash. For the sake of the story in which you find yourself.'

    Tom realized that he was trembling; two shells exploded very near, and dust drifted off the earthen walls.

    'I have one more question,' Tom said.

    'Of course you do, child,' said Jakob. 'You want to know about the Collector.'

    'That's right,' Tom said. 'Is the Collector Skeleton Ridpath?' He saw the other one, Wilhelm, suppress a smile.

    'For the sake of your story,' said Jakob. 'For the sake of your story, he is.'

    'Wait a second,' Del said. 'I don't understand. The Collector is Skeleton Ridpath? It's just a kind of a toy — kind of a joke — it's been here for years.'

    'Anybody can be collected at any time,' said Wilhelm.

    'But it's just a joke,' Del insisted. 'And I don't believe that my uncle caused that train to wreck. He wouldn't do a thing like that.'

    Wilhelm asked, 'Do you know our story 'The Boy Who Could Not Shiver'? It too is a kind of a joke. But it is full of the most frightening things ever encountered. Many frightening things conceal jokes, and many jokes have ice in their hearts.'

    Tom suddenly felt afraid. The men were so large, and most of the friendliness had faded from their faces.