For only the dogs barked, in terror; yiping, off they ran, as if pelted with rocks.
A man came around the corner.
A policeman.
"Who's this?" muttered Mr. Dark.
"Mr. Kolb," said Jim.
"Mr. Kolb!" said Will.
"Darning-needle," whispered Mr. Dark. "Dragonfly."
Pain stabbed Will's ears. Moss stuffed his eyes. Gum glued hi
s teeth. He felt a multitudinous tapping, shuttling, weaving, about his face, all numb again.
"Say hello to Mr. Kolb."
"Hello," said Jim.
"... Kolb ..." said the dreaming Will.
"Hello, boys. Gentlemen."
"Turn here," said Mr. Dark.
They turned.
Away toward meadow country, away from warm lights, good town, safe streets, the drumless march progressed.
Chapter 46
STRETCHED OUT over a mile of territory the straggling parade now moved as follows: At the edge of the carnival midway, stumping the grass with their dead feet, Jim and Will paced friends who constandy retold the wondrous uses of darning-needle dragonflies.
Behind, a good half mile, trying to catch up, walking mysteriously wounded, the Gypsy, who whorl-symboled the dust.
And yet farther back came the janitor-father, now slowing himself with remembrances of age, now pacing swiftly young with thoughts of the brief first encounter and victory, carrying his left hand patted to his chest, chewing medicines as he went.
At the midway rim, Mr. Dark looked back as if an inner voice had named the stragglers in his widely separated maneuver. But the voice failed, he was unsure. He nodded briskly, and Dwarf, Skeleton, Jim, Will thrust through the crowd.
Jim felt the river of bright people wash by all around but not touching. Will heard waterfall laughter here, there, and him walking through the downpour. An explosion of fireflies blossomed on the sky; the ferns wheel, exultant as a titanic fireworks, dilated above them.
Then they were at the Mirror Maze and sidling, colliding, bumping, careening through the unfolded ice ponds where stricken spider-stung boys much like themselves appeared, vanished a thousand times over.
That's me! thought Jim.
But I can't help me, thought Will, no matter how many of me there are!
And crowd of boys, plus crowd of reflected Mr. Dark's illustrations, for he had taken off his coat and shirt now, crammed and crushed through to the Waxworks at the end of the maze.
"Sit," said Mr. Dark. "Stay."
Among the wax figures of murdered, gunshot, guillotined, garroted men and women the two boys sat like Egyptian cats, unblinked, untwitched, un-swallowing.
Some late visitors passed through, laughing. They commented on all the wax figures.
They did not notice the thin line of saliva crept from the corner of one "wax" boy's mouth.