After several hours in which he encountered nothing new, or rather, much that was new but only in the sense that it was variation on the scene he had been dropped into, Lesley gave up, found a bench, and sat down. Since nothing, apparently, was going to happen here, it might be well to take stock of things.
With Lesley Wu, "taking stock" meant taking inventory.
Despite his current martial arts getup, his hidden arsenal, which as always took up no apparent space in his clothing, appeared intact. But would it work in this dreamworld? His experiment earlier with the dark glasses would seem to argue otherwise. Besides which, as he reminded himself, on his last excursion into dream the arsenal had been little better than baggage, most of the time. Though of course Dream had been only one aspect of that adventure....
He contrived to test, one by one, several of his devices less obtrusive in their effects than others. The results, to say the least, were mixed. Some worked, some didn't, and some worked differently than they were supposed to. The portable hole, for instance, hadn't been supposed to explode half the floor when that branch from one of the ornamental ferns was dropped in....
He had moved on quickly in the wake of that disaster, which had finally bestirred the mall's dronelike activity into something more purposeful. He watched from a distance as security personel appeared and began questioning "witnesses," and as fire and policemen came on the scene and cordoned off the area. But again, these happenings had a rote or background feel about them, as if they were there because such things are supposed to happen rather than because there had been an explosion.
As before, no one took any particular note of him at all.
Finding another bench, and keeping a wary eye on the scene he had just quitted, Lesley commenced retesting the equipment (the vanished hole excepted) he had tested previously. Risking additional disasters with devices as yet untested did not seem like a good idea, but it might be well to determine whether he could count on consistency, at least, from those he had tested.
His very first experiment, in which the figureprint powder disolved the ashtray beside the bench, warned him that he couldn't.
Very well, then. Arsenal essentially useless here. What of his own powers? D.J. had cautioned him and the others that their abilities might have been weakened or been rendered unreliable when they had merged with their dream counterparts. Time to find out. Adjourning to a nearby restroom, he shut himself into a stall to practice.
Lesley Wu was a natural metamorph, able to take a variety of practiced shapes, and (with time and effort) other, less practiced ones. He could also shift gender -- indeed, though he manifested as male by preference he was not intrinsically either male or female.
This time his efforts were more satisfactory, though this meant consistent rather than truly satisfactory. He could, with effort, take any of his accustomed altershapes. He could not, as far as he could tell, take any other shapes no matter how much concentration he exerted. Nor could he make himself female. Odd, that -- perhaps it was because the dream counterpart with whom he had been merged, and whose shape he wore, was a man? No way of knowing....
Mulling these things over, Lesley emerged from the restroom. Nearly running right into the janitor, on the way in.
The janitor was not like the others. He was abnormally thin, for one thing, with limbs that looked like sticks. For another, his head was a pumpkin.
"Mervyn?" cried Lesley incredulously. "What are you doing here?"
"Where else would I be but Dream?" the pumpkinhead wisecracked. "Hiya, kid, howya doing? Rescue effort going well?"
"It's hard to say. My part of it, at least, seems to be going nowhere. I've lost track of my companions."
"Bummer. Can you use a break?"
"I'm sorry?"
"A break, you know, a breather, coffee-time, potty stop, whatever. I dunno, maybe you've just had the potty stop."
"I know what one is," said Lesley impatiently. "It's what you mean by it that I'm a little confused about."
Mervyn sidled up to him with a conspiratorial air. "She's asleep," he whispered. "Why else do ya think the boss would've had me seek you out? And you know what that means. Party time!"
"Asleep," Lesley breathed. "But -- how? It was broad daylight when we entered this dream. Surely we haven't been here that long."
The pumpkinhead shrugged. "That's more than I can tell you," he said. "But you know she's off on a jaunt with the siblings in other worlds, right? Dunno where she is in waking life, but I do know it's night where she is, and she's definitely here in dreamland. She's waiting for ya, chief. Just say the word, and she's in this dream."
Lesley struggled with himself for a long moment, then sighed. "No," he said. "This dream ... would be dangerous for her. It's dangerous for me, most likely. I won't expose her to that."
"I can take you to her too, you know."
"I can't. I'm on duty. I may not be doing much good here, but I can't leave this dream as long as the others -- or Zorlond -- might need me. Please convey my apologies, Mervyn. Another night, I hope."
"Suit yourself. But if you want my two cents, you're crazy, saying no to a dish like that."
"I know, I know. And we have so little time together as it is. If only we could be together waking...."
"Well, can't ya?"
"No. Long story, and I'm not inclined to go into it now. Just tell my wife why I can't be there, and extend my apologies, if you please."
"Sure thing. Your loss. Oh, and one other thing."
"Yes?"
Mervyn sidled close again. "Since you're not comin' with me, and you're the boss's pet, I guess I can tell ya," he hissed. "Ya know how you think there's nothing gonna happen in this place? Well, something's gonna happen."
"It is?" Lesley asked. "What?"
But Mervyn Pumpkinhead was gone, as if he had never been there at all.
Brooding, Lesley continued back out to the mall, alert for anything, if somewhat distracted and saddened by his lost opportunity.
Everything appeared as it had before....
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Wed Sep 15 13:25:29 2004
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