Laura extracted herself from the accommodating hollow he'd made in his body. She said thank you. She crawled out from under the keeper's cottage, picked stiff fragments of seaweed from her nightgown, and crept back to her cold bed.

At breakfast Laura's father asked her whether she'd written again to her friend Sandy.

"He didn't reply to my letter. It wasn't much of a letter, I'm afraid. I'm no good at writing them."

"Have you written again to Rose?"

"She's given up on me, Da."

"Don't be silly, Laura."

She scowled at her plate of oatmeal.

"You're just nursing a grudge," said her father. "Rose told you off. A telling-off isn't a real breach, darling."

"But I can't say what I need to say to Rose in a letter." Laura knew there was nothing she had to say to Rose before showing Nown to her. He'd still be her secret, even if she showed him to Rose. Rose was Rose. The only reason she hadn't told Rose everything was that she wasn't telling herself either.

Her father was saying, "I may be an invalid, but you're not. You aren't even a fugitive. No one can prove you had anything to do with-with anything. You can take up dreamhunting again. You can catch new and useful dreams, build a career, team up with your friend Sandy, boost each other and play the bigger venues. You're still in the world, Laura. You belong to the world. You don't belong with an invalid. You can't stay sequestered. You should be with people."

Laura nodded. "All right," she said. She gave his hand a squeeze. "But until I see Rose, I won't know what to say to her. And Sandy-Sandy prefers to tell people what to do rather than take suggestions."

"Fine. But you can be a dreamhunter. You can have friends. You can have a pretty dress made and go to the Presentation Ball with your cousin."

"And you can be poked and prodded by Uncle Chorley's expensive physicians."

6.

RACE WAS BUYING A NEW PACK AT AN OUTFITTER'S ON THE ISLE OF THE TEMPLE WHEN SHE RAN INTO SANDY MASON. He was picking up and putting down sale-price water bottles, working his way along a shelf. None of the bottles seemed to pa.s.s his inspection. He looked dubious and sour, as though he was suffering from indigestion.

"h.e.l.lo," said Grace. "How are you?" She wasn't just being polite, she really wanted to know. She was sure that Sandy had suffered some kind of trouble after taking a print of Buried Alive. She had. Her own suffering had taken the form of a marked dip in the popularity of her performances. She had been forced to catch old favorites and to travel with them to some of the smaller provincial dream palaces: The Beholder at Sisters Beach-before the summer season had filled it with its big audiences-and The Second Skin in Westport. She'd even sat up on an overnight train to the first sizable town south of The Corridor. Eventually Grace had returned to the Rainbow Opera for a performance at reduced rates; the Opera was paid but she wasn't. It had taken her weeks, and cost her money, but she had finally worked her way back into public confidence. Her audience had forgiven her.

Though Grace had recovered her old virtuosity, she found that she couldn't relax. When she was busy wooing back the public, she'd been able to put other thoughts and feelings out of her mind. Now these suppressed feelings had returned in force.

It had been written in newspapers: "Grace Tiebold should be ashamed of herself." She had read it, and imagined other people reading it-her neighbors, the workers at her favorite bakery, the man who trimmed her hair. She'd gone around with her eyes cast down for fear of finding herself looked at-not by those she had offended or disappointed but by people who had only heard it said: "Grace Tiebold should be ashamed of herself." She was afraid she'd see those people looking at her to discover how she was taking it.

Grace had done the hard work, had shown humility, and was back in favor. But now she wondered if she'd ever again feel her former happy confidence in her power to please people. And if she'd ever be able to forget the relish she'd sensed in her public scolding.

So when she asked Sandy Mason how he was, Grace wasn't just being polite but was genuinely concerned.

Sandy only grunted in reply. Then he looked guilty and tried again. "I'm fine now. There was a short period when I was catching poor quality dreams. St. Thomas's turned me away. I nearly had to give up my room, though Mrs. Lilley was good about waiting for my rent. All the other lodgers kept asking me about Laura, as though she was mine." Sandy had begun his account in a brisk, no-nonsense voice but ended sounding bitter. He was frowning at Grace. "Laura's room just stands there empty," he said.

"I can get a message to her, if you have one," Grace offered.

Sandy's frown deepened, he shuffled his feet. "I mean-it's wasteful to keep a room empty week after week."

"Never mind that," Grace said. She was puzzled by his behavior. He'd been so concerned about Laura after the riot. "I'm sure Laura would be interested to hear about your union plans," she said.

"Oh, that." Sandy sounded disgusted. "There was a meeting. We should have been talking about a charter and how to collect dues. Instead, it was an orgy of whining, dream-hunters slighting dream parlor managers, or complaining about the state of the dream trails. I saw how much had to be done. And I saw that, if I wanted it done, I was going to have to do it all myself. Besides"-Sandy paused-"I want to be a great dreamhunter. And I've got only seven months of my exclusive left on The Water Diviner. I don't have time to waste."

"Fair enough," said Grace. Then she persisted. "You could give me a letter and I'd pa.s.s it on to Laura. I'm going to see her at Christmas."

"I know where she is," Sandy said, so blunt he was almost brutal. "Not that she really meant to let me know." He emphasized the "me."

"Oh-well," Grace said. She picked up the pack and hoisted it onto her shoulder to test its empty weight.

Sandy seemed to be struggling with himself. Grace thought he might have realized that it was against his self-interest to be rude to the most famous dreamhunter. He began to talk again, stiff and expressionless. "I did set out to visit her. I caught a lift on a barge from Tarry Cove-you know, the last stop on the Sisters Beach line?"

"Where the fishing fleet anchors."

"And coal barges. I caught a lift on a barge going to Debt River, the mine at the base of So Long Spit."

"And?"

"And I thought about it as I went."

"You thought about going to see Laura?"

"I thought about whether I really wanted to see her."

"Oh, Sandy, what did she do to you? I mean, apart from-" Grace stopped, not wanting to talk out loud about Laura and the nightmare. She put her hand on his arm. "Was it you who copied out the letters for her?"

Sandy was startled. "What are you talking about? What letters? Laura sent me a letter-she wanted me to pa.s.s it on to some other person."

"Who?"

"The letter didn't say who. I was supposed to leave it somewhere. I didn't do it." Sandy was struggling to hold back the fury in his face and voice. He ended up looking prim. "She was trying to get me to be her go-between."

Grace looked around them. The outfitter's wasn't busy. They had an aisle to themselves. She lowered her voice, trying to encourage him to do so too. "Where is this letter now?"

"I tore it up. Shreds of it are still plastered to the gutter outside my bedroom window. A nice reminder of Laura, and my limited usefulness to her."

Grace touched his arm again, tentative. "Sandy, I want to apologize for Laura if she-"

"She's just a child," he said. "Self-centered, f.e.c.kless, and childish."

Grace shook her head. She had once thought that way about Laura, but Laura had changed.

"Anyway," Sandy said, "at least I didn't totally waste my time. When I got to Debt River, I met a ranger who was walking the border from Tricksie Bend, mostly on the outside, ducking In only at those earth ramps they use as lookouts. Do you know what I mean?"

Grace nodded. She'd seen the ramps on the border the few times she'd gone along it rather than heading straight In. They were ten to fifteen feet high and made of piled earth tamped down by spadework. Each ramp was a vantage point over the surrounding country.

"The ranger told me about a dream on Foreigner's North," Sandy said.

Grace knew that Foreigner's North was a landmark on maps of the Place. It was on the farthest western border, just Inside. It was in the north as well as the west-possibly also the farthest northern point of the invisible territory-she would have to check a map of Coal Bay to be sure. She had always presumed that it was a compa.s.s reference of some kind.

"The dream, Quake, is something only a few dreamhunters can catch. The ranger told me that it was alarming but not exactly a nightmare. No one has claimed it, because it isn't commercial-supposedly." Sandy looked smug. "Though I think I've uncovered its commercial potential." He laughed. "I saw that, Mrs. Tiebold, your eyes lit up."

"I'm intrigued," Grace said. "How can a dream be 'not exactly a nightmare'?"

"Well-if something alarming happens in it but the person whose point of view it is isn't alarmed. Quake is from the point of view of a child, like The Water Diviner. I'm wondering whether that's my affinity-dreams in which the audience gets to be a child again. The boy in The Water Diviner is about ten. This is a much younger child, maybe four or five."

"That's very unusual."

"Perhaps you'd like to come to my performance tonight? I've spent the last two days chewing Wakeful and getting together an audience-mostly scientists from the University. Geologists and so forth. I've rented a whole floor of a hotel here on the Isle. Eight bedrooms. I'm charging twenty dollars a head."

Grace was a little embarra.s.sed for Sandy-standing in the aisle of an outfitter's and advertising his prices. But she still asked for the name and address of the hotel, and at what time the doors closed before the performance.

"Will you come?" Sandy said, eager to impress her.

Grace considered. She closed one eye. She very much wanted to come and try Sandy's Quake. She hadn't been four or five since she was four or five, and she couldn't remember it very clearly. She'd been to a performance of The Water Diviner and had thought that, although Sandy's penumbra was still quite tight, his dream was very clear, and exact in all its details. He was promising, and he was catching new things, which the majority of dreamhunters didn't even try to do. She said, "If I attend, you'll be boosted."

"Then perhaps you could come at a reduced price."

"Reduced?" Grace didn't believe her ears. He was so brazen. He'd even folded his arms and tilted his head back. He was bargaining. He wasn't going to be flattered by her interest. She said, "A discount then, for me and my husband."

"Done," said Sandy.

"We're fashionable people, you know," Grace said.

"Yes, I do know. And I know I'm supposed to fawn upon all the fashionable people."

He was thinking of Laura, Grace thought. What had the girl done to him? What was in that letter he tore to pieces? She said, "We'll see you tonight then. I'm looking forward to it." She patted his arm and took her new pack up to the counter.

"A letter! And he destroyed it?" said Chorley. "Was it a letter to some man?"

"He didn't say it was to a man. You're jumping to conclusions-the conclusions you're always jumping to these days.One moment you're fretting about Laura and Sandy Mason, the next you're fretting about Sandy's supposed rival. Honestly, Chorley!"

"Young men can't be trusted with girls."

"This is the voice of experience, I suppose?"

"Rather remote experience, but still."

"You're turning into such a reactionary. It's that old man with the beard-your new best friend."

There was a scorched silence from Chorley. He put his coat on over his silk robe. He put boots on over his ta.s.seled slippers. He fumed. "The Grand Patriarch is not a replacement for Tziga," he said.

"I'm sorry, dear. But you can be so silly about Laura. She's no more likely to be seduced than Rose is. Less likely, since she's sequestered on So Long Spit. Conveniently," Grace added. "Till I cool off."

Chorley ignored this remark. "Laura doesn't have many barriers left in her behavior. That seems to be something dreams do to some dreamhunters. And-let me remind you-I was right to worry about Tziga."

"You weren't worried that he'd be seduced."

"I was worried that none of us, and nothing he had, would ever be enough for him."

"I'm like that too," Grace said.

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am. The only difference between me and Tziga is that I love all the dreams I catch. I love them. And without them I'd be nothing. I'd be a withered apple on a windowsill." Grace pulled her image from a dream, one of her sad ones, in which a widow returned home after her husband's funeral, and a short time staying in the houses of relatives, to find nothing much changed, but her house empty and stale, and her stored apples withered.

Grace said, "I love being borne up by my big audiences-everyone breathing together, breathing in time with my breathing. It's not just that I enjoy what I do, or that I'm proud of how good at it I am. It's this-when I'm carried up on the high tide of a full house at the Rainbow Opera, when I'm not myself, that's when I'm most fully alive."

Chorley put his arms around his wife and kissed her. He said, "Dear, none of that is under threat. Your audience fell off for a time, but you got them back again. You had a bad patch, but it's over."

They quietly held each other. Then Grace said, "Shall we go see what this boy has, then?"

Sandy's twelve guests gathered in the larger suite to have a drink before they retired. They pulled dining chairs into the s.p.a.ce before the hearth, around the sofa and armchairs already there. A waiter wheeled in a trolley with hot chocolate and cakes, port and brandy.

It fell to Grace to play hostess-she was the only woman present, and the collection of crusty geologists was clearly used to being waited on. She poured hot chocolate, handed around cups and gla.s.ses, and spooned cream onto slices of cake. Then she gathered her white silk robe around her bright yellow silk pajamas and sat down with her own cup of chocolate.

Sandy stood with one arm on the mantelpiece and one foot up on the hearth. He was giving an account of his journey. He seemed to be enjoying himself, speaking well and with a natural authority.

Chorley leaned toward his wife to whisper. "How old is he?"

"Eighteen or nineteen, I believe-he Tried late."

Chorley nodded and continued his haughty scrutiny of the boy Rose referred to, jokingly, as "Laura's suitor."

"The farther west I went, the poorer the land was. When we think of Coal Bay, we think about Sisters Beach or the dairy flats around Whynew Stream. But beyond Whynew Stream there are only wet paddocks rusty with dock leaf. I slept where it was dry, just Inside the border. But I didn't walk along on the Inside. It's pointless to do that."

"Yes!" One geologist removed his pipe from his teeth with a loud clack. "I read about those experiments. The ratio of Inside to outside is miles to yards, I gather. He put his pipe back in his mouth with another punctuating clack of tooth enamel on polished walnut. "It's simply incredible."

Sandy said, "Because the Place is so vast, its explorers have tried to make landmarks, as well as record the landmarks they find. One of the first explorers was a legendary figure-legendary among rangers at least-a man known as the Foreigner."

"He was French," said Grace.

"He tried to walk the border before anyone else," said Sandy. "The first mapmakers kept finding his marks. Foreigner's North is a landmark. A compa.s.s mark on the border, at the point farthest north and west, though I understand his west is somewhere else."

Grace said, "It's because of his west that they suppose he's a foreigner-west is 'ouest' in French."

Sandy said, "A ranger took me to Foreigner's North. The dream Quake is right on top of it. The compa.s.s mark-a big N-looks like it's been hit by a quake too. It's cracked all the way across."

"There was a sizable earthquake in Coal Bay in 1886," a geologist said. "That's what first uncovered the coal at Debt River. Lumps of it washed downstream and began to turn up on the tide. The forest is very thick in the northwest, but prospectors went in and found the slip, and the seam of coal. Of course folks had already found coal at Whynew Stream over a hundred years before. But that seam was soon exhausted. However, that's where the name-Coal Bay-comes from."

"The quake was twenty years ago?" asked Chorley.

The geologist nodded, then turned to Sandy and asked, "Is the quake in the dream a good-sized one?"

Sandy straightened and took his arm off the mantelpiece. "Shall we go and see?"

The boy was practicing his violin on the porch of the cottage when he saw something pouring out of the dead tree trunk in the yard. He put down his violin-his child's violin, a fine thing, as precious and clever as he was himself-and brushed his itching jaw against his shoulder. The rosin made a mark on his shirt. He stepped off the porch and wandered across the yard to look at the flood of-what? Sap?