It was the other side of the door back home.
She turned around desperately.
“Please!” she shouted. It wasn’t a request to anyone special. She just needed to shout. “Rob? William? Wullie? Wentworth?”
Away toward the forest there was the barking of the grimhounds.
“Got to get out,” muttered Tiffany. “Got to get away.”
She grabbed Roland by the collar and dragged him toward the door. At least he slid better on snow.
No one and nothing tried to stop her. The snow spilled a little way through the doorway between the stones and onto the turf, but the air was warm and alive with nighttime insect noises. Under a real moon, under a real sky, she pulled the boy over to a fallen stone and sat him up against it. She sat down next to him, exhausted to the bone, and tried to get her breath back.
Her dress was soaked and smelled of the sea.
She could hear her own thoughts, a long way off:
They could still be alive. It was a dream, after all. There must be a way back. All I have to do is find it. I’ve got to go back in there.
The dogs sounded very loud.
She stood up again, although what she really wanted to do was sleep.
The three stones of the door were a black shape against the stars.
And as she watched, they fell down. The one on the left slipped over, slowly, and the other two ended up leaning against it.
She ran over and hauled at the tons of stone. She prodded the air around them in case the doorway was still there. She squinted madly, trying to see it.
Tiffany stood under the stars, alone, and tried not to cry.
“What a shame,” said the Queen. “You’ve let everybody down, haven’t you?”
CHAPTER 13
Land Under Wave
The Queen walked over the turf toward Tiffany. Where she’d trodden, frost gleamed for a moment. The little part of Tiffany that was still thinking thought: That grass will be dead in the morning. She’s killing my turf.
“The whole of life is but a dream, when you come to think of it,” said the Queen in the same infuriatingly calm, pleasant voice. She sat down on the fallen stones. “You humans are such dreamers. You dream that you’re clever. You dream that you’re important. You dream that you’re special. You know, you’re almost better than dromes. You’re certainly more imaginative. I have to thank you.”
“What for?” said Tiffany, looking at her boots. Terror clamped her body in red-hot wires. There wasn’t anywhere to run to.
“I never realized how wonderful your world is,” said the Queen. “I mean, the dromes…well, they’re not much more than a kind of walking sponge, really. Their world is ancient. It’s nearly dead. They’re not really creative anymore. With a little help from me, your people could be a lot better. Because, you see, you dream all the time. You, especially, dream all the time. Your picture of the world is a landscape with you in the middle of it, isn’t it? Wonderful. Look at you, in that rather horrible dress and those clumpy boots. You dreamed you could invade my world with a frying pan. You had this dream about Brave Girl Rescuing Little Brother. You thought you were the heroine of a story. And then you left him behind. You know, I think being hit by a billion tons of seawater must be like having a mountain of iron drop on your head, don’t you?”
o;What about drunk?” said Tiffany, dragging Roland toward the lighthouse.
“We’ve ne’er been lost in oour lives! Is that no’ the case, lads?” said Rob Anybody. There was a murmur of resentful agreement. “The words lost and Nac Mac Feegle shouldna turn up in the same sentence!”
“And drunk?” said Tiffany again, laying Roland down on the beach.
“Gettin’ lost is something that happens to other people!” declared Rob Anybody. “I want to make that point perfectly clear!”
“Well, at least there shouldn’t have been anything to drink in a lighthouse,” said Tiffany. She laughed. “Unless you drank the lamp oil, and no one would dare do that!”
The pictsies suddenly fell silent.
“What would that be, then?” said Daft Wullie in a slow, careful voice. “Would it be the stuff in a kind o’ big bottle kind o’ thingie?”