What next step? Chuck almost asked aloud, but he answered his own question. He was thinking in two dimensions. Could he go for three?

He almost gasped as he reached into the picture and felt the tower top sharp against his fingertip. He grasped it and pulled upward. The Eiffel Tower rose to a height of six inches, the edges of the puzzle pieces that formed it as clearly defined as its girders. Nervously, he let it go. It stood on its own.

"Well done!" Bergold called, applauding. The other Dreamlanders clapped cheerfully. Chuck felt happy. He had learned to make something out of nothing, and change that something into something new. He was accomplishing something important.

"You learn very quickly," Mrs. Flannel said, patting her little hands together. "Just what we would expect from a Visitor. Don't we, Spot?" She cuddled her pet, now a large green lizard.

"Thanks," Chuck said, settling back into his seat. He glanced around at his fellow passengers. "I'm really sorry I almost changed you back there. I didn't know what I was doing."

"There's nothing to apologize for," Mr. Bolster said. "I hadn't realized you were new to this."

"Completely," Chuck said, hating himself for being an idiot in front of strangers. "Before I left home, I didn't know there was anything called influence."

The Dreamlanders looked astonished. "Really?" Mrs. Flannel asked. "Then how do you get anything done?"

"By hand, I suppose," Chuck said, not really certain how to explain. "Things in the Waking World can't be changed or moved directly by your mind. I mean to say, your mind tells your muscles to move, and they move things. It's indirect."

"Good heavens! How much work that must be!"

"Now, now, madam, there are people of little influence here that must accomplish things in the same way," Mr. Bolster said, gallantly. "Why, isn't that the case even in Elysia, Master Morit?"

Morit grumbled, though it sounded like assent.

"That puzzle you did is very good," Mistress Blanda said, with a kindly smile. "You seem to have a natural knack for our ways. We pride ourselves on being different all the time. You made it change, just the way one of us might think about doing."

Persemid, in the corner, looked envious at the compliment. Chuck felt a little sorry for her. He pushed the point of the tower back into the cardboard base, and drew it up again with his hands in full view above the puzzle.

"I did it like this," he said. "I can show you what Keir just taught me." Around his hands, detailed diagrams with arrows appeared on the air. Chuck was surprised, but they were accurate. He smiled up at Persemid, inviting her to take advantage of them. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I saw it," she snapped. "I don't need help." Annoyed, Chuck went back to his puzzle, changing the image into London's Tower Bridge, which he had once seen on a school trip. For a moment he stopped, hand in midair, pleased that he had recalled some memory from his ordinary life. He reached for more, but that was all, a single detail floating suspended in a sea of uncertainty. Never mind. He had the image in his mind. The top of the tower parted into two gatehouses. He stretched them out over a widening base, careful to leave the spans and long wires intact, and set them at opposite ends. It didn't look exactly like the real thing, but that was because his mind's eye refused to focus tightly. He didn't have a photograph to work from this time.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Persemid rolling up a small piece of matter from the arm of her chair and bending it into the shape of an architectural arch. Chuck grinned to himself, and continued to work with his hands visible at all times. Persemid was trying not to look as though she was watching him. She must not have tried manipulation very much when she had come here before. He wondered what she had been doing.

In the meantime, Chuck had moved on to a figure of the United States Capitol. The spans of the bridge had shrunk down and flattened into symmetrical white wings. The central tower rounded off into a familiar dome. He saw tiny specks in the air floating around the top in an irregular vortex.

Peering closely, he saw the small dots were pigeons. So the image of the Capitol must also be a memory, but it was in his hands instead of his head, because he couldn't recall ever having been to Washington.

"Ooh, that's good," Pipistrella said, watching with delight. "It's just like on the money."

"Try something!" Chuck encouraged her, charmed by the artless compliment.

"Oh, no," she protested, lifting her hands helplessly. "The signs aren't right yet." Sean snorted. She turned her huge eyes on him, but he wouldn't meet them. "Don't laugh like that. I have to wait until I'm guided." As if on cue, Keir drifted toward her, changing into his angelic persona, and settled down near her. A chorus of thin voices and organ music rose up about them, drowning out their low conversation.

"Hey, Mr. Draper, you try it," Chuck suggested, pitching his voice over the heavenly choir. "It's lots of fun." Sean glanced up at him with an expression of terror, all the more startling because his face literally drained of all color, leaving the slate-blue eyes stark in a sheer white face.

"No! No, thank you." The tall man quickly folded his hands under his arms lest they suddenly produce international landmarks, and huddled into his seat. Chuck turned to Hiramus, who gave a sharp little shake of his head, and continued to stare straight ahead. The man never wasted a single movement. Chuck shrugged, and went back to playing with his puzzle.

He wondered if it would keep changing if he separated some of the pieces. He took the cupola off the dome and tried to reshape the image into the Temple of Good Harvest. The cupola became a gold knob that fit right back on top of the round, tiled roof of the Chinese landmark. Chuck grinned.

"Hey, it worked!" he exclaimed.

"Bravo," Bergold said, with a smile. "You have discovered another fundamental tenet of dreamstuff, the law of contagion."

Chuck pulled his hands away from the puzzle. "It's got some kind of disease?" The bright knob tarnished visibly, and the tiles began to pull away from the rafters.

"No, not at all," Bergold assured him, poking at the sagging walls. "Don't ruin such a pretty thing with your worries. I mean that if you separate one thing into sections, they continue to affect one another no matter where they are. It's a way of keeping track of something that is distant from you."

Chuck eyed his creation. As though the sun came out from behind a cloud, the gold brightened, and the paint looked more brilliant than ever before. It was beautiful. He loved it. He wanted to keep it forever. He couldn't wait to see what else he could make out of it.

Chapter 6.

In his dreams Chuck had seen things change over and over again, fascinated by each alteration, yet emotionally untouched by the phenomenon. The joy of this activity was that he was awake, aware and doing this with his own hands. He really felt the changes, sensing that not only was the shape different, but so was the soul. The Eiffel Tower had felt French. The Capitol had been pompous and argumentative. The Parthenon was majestic and reverent. The Great Pyramid was old and serene.

Chuck made the changes go faster now, clicking from sight to sight like a three-dimensional slide show, as many images as he could recall from travels he'd made, shows he'd seen, pictures in books.

Each shift was accompanied by applause from the Dreamlanders around him and that unseen audience.

If what he'd done was good in their eyes, he must really be a natural. The puzzle narrowed between his hands into a cheeselike wedge.

"Watch this," he said, as he reached way into his memory for a building he'd seen as a child: the New York Flatiron, complete with bronzework and cornices. The invisible crowd went wild. He felt like getting up to bow. He was on his way.

"You've really accomplished something there," Kenner said, with a wink, "like you've done it all your life."

"Thank you," Chuck said, sitting back with his hands clasped behind his head. He crossed his feet in front of him. In her corner, Persemid snorted.

"Big so what?" she said, deflatingly, whisking a hand at the puzzle. "So you've learned to color - inside the lines. It still doesn't change you in any way."

Crestfallen, Chuck realized she was correct. What good was this, even if it was fun, if it didn't help him in his quest? The hollow misery inside of him was unabated. All at once the new toy lost its luster.

His Flatiron Building sagged over like a fallen loaf of bread.

"You enjoy taking the fun out of things for other people, don't you?" Sean Draper asked, his brows drawn down fiercely as he rounded on her. "I might not want to try this stuff myself, but I don't see why Chuck Meadows shouldn't enjoy it if he wants to."

Persemid shrugged. "Just being honest," she said, unapologetically. "He's been grousing since we got started that he's here to achieve a higher plane. This is nursery school stuff."

"Nursery school!" Sean sputtered. "It's black sorcery!"

"It's nothing," Persemid said. "It's natural here. I've been watching the locals-everyone does it, even the kids. Right?" she asked Bergold.

"She is correct, sir," the historian said. "This is the way that we interact with our surroundings."

Persemid rounded on Sean. "See? Focusing on surface stuff misses the point!" She glared at Chuck.

"What you're doing has no more depth than the picture you're playing with. You want deep, dig deep!"

At that moment Chuck really didn't like her, but she was right. He'd wasted too much time playing.

It was time to get back to business. He turned the puzzle back into a flat image and put it in his pocket, not without regret. Playing with influence was fun, but he wouldn't do it in front of Persemid any more. When Keir floated away from holding confessional with Pipistrella, Chuck caught hold of the angel's sleeve, which immediately roughened to gray homespun.

"How long before we get to the place where we start my quest?" Chuck asked. "I don't mean to keep nagging, but the night won't last forever, um, where I am."

Keir gave him a quizzical look. "You're on your vision quest, son."

"No, I'm not. I'm on a train. You can't have a mystical experience on a train."

"Certainly you can!" the guide said, sitting down. "It's all a matter of perspective. To the people here in the Dreamland, this is a train that they use to go from place to place, as it would be for you, too, if you were asleep and dreaming. For you it is an ongoing transport through different phases of your mind: imagination, memory, psyche, anxieties, all battling it out to produce the calm, well-adjusted person you need to become. Don't worry so much about what comes when! We'll visit a lot of fascinating places. We've got a few days, or maybe several."

"Which is it?" Chuck asked, peevishly. "How will I know when it's over?"

"You'll go home when the moon reaches the west horizon." Keir patted him on the hand. Chuck saw prickles spring up on his skin out of irritation, but they didn't bother the guide at all. "Relax, and you'll enjoy it." He stood up. "Ladies and gentlemen, I wanted to go over some of the itinerary with you. Chuck here asked, and he's right: we haven't talked about where we're going. I mean, we know where we want to end up eventually, but paying attention to the journey-not just the destination-is part of your education." Chuck sat back, pleased, ready to be instructed. Keir still wore the guise of the little old man, Chuck guessed, because he was still answering one of his questions. "Here. You'll all want to see this." He shook out a folded map and held it up for everyone to see.

"This place has a map?" Sean Draper asked.

"Of course! How else will we know where we're going? This will show us the main points that the train will be passing through, and some of our stops along the way," Keir replied. He handed it to Chuck. "Here. Have a look and pass it around. I don't need it back."

Chuck took the map gingerly. As much as he liked trains, he would have preferred something more in the chant-and-meditate school of internal contemplation. Sean Draper peered politely over the top, but Persemid shoved her way in between Hiramus and Chuck to have a good look. Pipistrella seemed not to care.

Nothing about the map suggested that it was the chart of another plane of existence. Chuck found it disappointingly ordinary. Shouldn't the map itself have been luminous, or diaphanous, or even make strange noises when he unfolded it? But, no; it crinkled like a motor club road map, the kind they handed out free with an 8-gallon fill-up at the pumps. With a sigh, he spread it out flat and studied the topographical layout.

The Dreamland was more or less round in shape. No surprise that they were seeing mountains out the window; the whole country-continent?-was ringed with them. There were two very large bodies of water indicated, one in the center and one in the southwest, and one tremendous river with lots of small tributaries marked with thin blue lines that wound around the whole map. Forests were indicated by irregular, green blobs, except for one marked out in scary black. The detail was amazingly good and seemingly endless. The closer Chuck peered, the more intricate were the representations of towns and highways. In the second-largest metropolis, he could see a church steeple and count dots representing houses. He fancied that if he could focus down far enough, he might be able to see people and cars.

Some of the names listed were so weird. One of the provinces was called "Wocabaht." What did that mean? He found Rem on the map. It was almost exactly at the top, or north edge, in the shadow of the mountains named Deep Mysteries.

Keir was talking while Chuck read. "I think you'll all enjoy the tour that's been planned for you.

Many things to see. Many experiences to have. Many places to go, some familiar to you, some not. We have just departed Rem, as you might have guessed from the sign in the station. That was the main town in the province, also called Rem. This province appears to have the greatest concentration of ancient creatures and beasts that we know in the Waking World as mythological. All of them have had a reality in the Collective Unconscious, so they exist here. You may or may not see one, but keep looking. If you don't now, you may later on in your dreams." The little man's eyes twinkled. "I'm looking forward to sharing some of my favorite places with you. This train skirts the perimeter of the Dreamland, much as you are skirting the edge of sleep, but we will not lack fascinating places to visit for all that we won't be cutting inland. It's all relative anyhow."

The other passengers were nodding and looking wise. Chuck felt confused, but he didn't say anything. Keir waved toward the map in his hands. "Our first stop will be in the Meditation Gardens.

Very scenic. Another place I've always enjoyed is the Rock of Ages. Quite a historical location. On a clear day you can see forever, experience visions of all the dreams that ever were. We won't be staying long, or some of you might go mad."

"That sounds bad," Sean Draper said, interested in spite of himself. "Why go at all, then, if it's so dangerous?"

"Because it's fascinating and mind-stretching. Most minds won't stretch; they tear. They lose a great deal of elasticity after childhood," the guide said.

"Let's not go there," Pipistrella said, sounding alarmed. "I don't want to lose my mind!"

Chuck almost said something scornful, but worried about his own state of sanity. For just a moment Keir looked angelic. The beautiful face was strong and stern. "You will not. I will prevent it from - happening."

Pipistrella calmed down at once, looking up at him with trust in her eyes. Feeling that confidence radiating from Keir, Chuck lost his fear, too. All right, he'd brave this Rock of Ages, and risk his sanity for a glimpse of history. It would make good telling when he got home . . . if he ever told anyone how he'd spent this night. Most people still wouldn't understand.

"After that, we'll be passing through Yore, Ephemer, Frustrata . . . ." Keir's voice faded into a meaningless babble as Chuck fell into a perusal of the chart. All these places he would not see, maybe never would see. He felt an inexplicable longing to see Reverie. Or all those other names that sounded so interesting. Lark. Codswallop. Birdlip. Conundrum. Wandering.

". . . If it's out that far when we go by we might see a part of the Nightmare Forest," Keir continued.

"In the Dreamland, as you might guess, all things are subject to change without notice. And we'll be - going across the Sea of Dreams, a place of marvelous beauty. We'll see some of the islands, each with a character all its own. I'm fond of the Friendly Islands. They're most welcoming. Trouble is, they don't want you to go! They're not all a walk on the beach, either. Some of them are dangerous, but they are all interesting. It'll be well worth our time."

"Wait," Chuck said, catching sight of a name on the map. He pointed it out to the guide "There's a place called Enlightenment right there, just west of us. Right there. Is it . . . ? It can't be, not really.

Could it?"

"Oh, but it is," Keir assured him, nodding. "True Enlightenment. The real thing."

"But it's behind us," Chuck said practically. He stood up. "Stop the train! We're going the wrong way. Let's get off and take one that goes straight to Enlightenment."

"You can't start out there, son," Keir said patiently, looking up at him. "You have to pass through a lot of other places before you get there. It could take you a lifetime. All your reading must have told you the same thing."

Chuck frowned. He knew what Keir was saying, but he didn't want to know it.

"Well, yes, that's what the books say," he said, trying to sound reasonable and persuasive, "but we're here now, and it's so close! It just seems like the obvious thing to do, since it's possible. It will save us a lot of time."

"That's right," Pipistrella said, opening large blue eyes at the guide, who turned angelic in response to her regard. "Why can't we just go back? Why can't we just picture ourselves there, and be in the - moment?"

"It isn't the right way," Keir told her. "Look here, my dear Pipistrella, we are going to a lot of very interesting places. You wouldn't want to eat dessert first, would you?"

"Sometimes I do," Pipistrella said, her very large, blue eyes wide open with reproach as the others scoffed. "Well, I do. Don't you?" She looked around at them. "I bet you do."

"I don't eat dessert," Persemid growled. Pipistrella turned the blue searchlamps on her.

"That's sad," she said with genuine sympathy. "You ought to, just a little. I think dessert rounds out a meal, even if it's just a grape."

"And what's dinner? A lettuce leaf?"

Pipistrella ignored her and focused on Keir, who obligingly assumed halo and wings. "I don't understand why we can't just turn around."

"Because you'll find that Enlightenment isn't there any longer," Keir said.

"What?" Chuck asked. He searched the map. Keir was right. The spot on the map had vanished from its place to the west of Rem. He looked up into the guide's bright black eyes, now fixed on him.

"Where did it go?"

"Where people are prepared to experience it," Keir said, as if that was obvious.

Chuck flopped back in his seat, trying not to feel as though he was sulking. What bothered him was only Pipistrella agreed with him out loud. The others must be more experienced travelers, or too canny to say what they were thinking. He was the one dumb enough to open his mouth and ask.

"So where is Enlightenment now?" Chuck asked. "The next province?"

Keir chuckled. "Everywhere and nowhere. You'll see it when you're ready, not before. The glimpse you just had was to tease you." Chuck frowned.

"So, what is in the next province?"

"Wocabaht has some interesting geographic features, several cities, waterfalls, mountains, scenic overlooks, fairs. Probably the most notable item is that the seasons are reversed. When it's spring in Wocabaht, it's fall in all of the others. You'll see when we cross the border."