6

'Our young visitor again, Jakob,' said the one with the seasoned, kindly face.

'And behind him, is there not another little Geist?' 'He has never been curious before, that one.' 'He has never had his brave brother's help before.' Both of them laid down their pens and looked inquisitively at Tom, but Tom did not move forward. He was aware of Del stretching on tiptoed behind him, trying to see over his shoulder. Instead of the cluttered, cozy workroom in which he had seen them earlier, the two men in the frock coats and elaborate neckwear were surrounded by a more barren and purposeful but equally cluttered room. The walls were earthen, crumbling here and there; nails had been driven into the packed earth, and from the nails hung khaki jackets, peaked hats, and tin helmets. Complicated green-and-white maps hung on a wide board. A clumsy box with a crank and a headpiece sat on a trestle table which also supported rolled maps, bundles of paper tied with shoelaces, more military headgear, a fleece-lined jacket, and a kerosene lamp. Stark wooden chairs surrounded it. In this curious setting, the two men sat at their ornate desks. A soldier's room, was all that Tom could make of this. Staff room?

'Yes, little one,' said Wilhelm. 'They let us work here.'

'For our work g-s on,' said Jakob, standing up and beckoning the two boys into the room.

Tom stepped forward and smelled the close loamy odor of earth; the trace of cigars. Del came alongside him. From far off, what could have been miles away, came the booming of big guns.

'And on and on. For the stories' sake.'

'Where are you supposed to be now?' asked Tom.

'Shadowland,' both brothers answered. 'It is always Shadowland.'

'I mean, France? Germany?'

'Things are getting dark,' said Jakob. 'We may have to move again, and take our work and our families with us. But still the stories continue.'

'Even though Europe is dying, brother.'

'The sparrows have given up their voices.'

'Their choice.'

Del was looking at the brothers with a rapt face. 'Are you always here?'

Wilhelm nodded. 'Always. We know you, boy.'

'I want to ask you something,' Tom said, and the brothers turned their faces, kindly and businesslike, to him. Outside, the shelling continued, far off and resonant.

'That is why you have found us,' said Jakob.

Tom hesitated. 'Do you know the expression 'put a hurtin' on' something?'

'It is not one of our expressions, but we know it,' said Jakob. His expression said: Follow this line, boy.

'Okay. Did Del's uncle put a hurtin' on that train? Did he make it crash?'

'Of course,' said Jakob. 'Aren't you a bright boy? He put a hurtin' on it - he made it crash. For the sake of the story in which you find yourself.'

Tom realized that he was trembling; two shells exploded very near, and dust drifted off the earthen walls.

'I have one more question,' Tom said.

'Of course you do, child,' said Jakob. 'You want to know about the Collector.'

'That's right,' Tom said. 'Is the Collector Skeleton Ridpath?' He saw the other one, Wilhelm, suppress a smile.

'For the sake of your story,' said Jakob. 'For the sake of your story, he is.'

'Wait a second,' Del said. 'I don't understand. The Collector is Skeleton Ridpath? It's just a kind of a toy - kind of a joke - it's been here for years.'

'Anybody can be collected at any time,' said Wilhelm.

'But it's just a joke,' Del insisted. 'And I don't believe that my uncle caused that train to wreck. He wouldn't do a thing like that.'

Wilhelm asked, 'Do you know our story 'The Boy Who Could Not Shiver'? It too is a kind of a joke. But it is full of the most frightening things ever encountered. Many frightening things conceal jokes, and many jokes have ice in their hearts.'

Tom suddenly felt afraid. The men were so large, and most of the friendliness had faded from their faces.

'As for your second remark,' said Jakob, 'do the two of you know the mouse's song to the rabbit?'

They shook their heads.

'Listen.' The brothers moved together in front of their desks, crouched slightly at the knees, tilted back their heads and sang:

Way way way way down in the dump

I found a tin can and I found a sugar lump.

I ate the one and I kicked the other,

And I had a real good time.

Way way way way down in the dump…

The lights suddenly died: a half-second later came the boom of an enormous explosion. Tom felt dirt showering down on his head. The whole room shook, and he momentarily lost his balance. A pair of rough hands shoved at his chest, knocking him back into Del.

He smelled sausage, smoke, sour breath beneath brandy: someone was whispering in his ear. 'Did the mouse put a hurtin' on the sugar lump, boyo? Or did the mouse put a hurtin' on the rabbit?' The hands pressed him back. Del, stumbling behind him, kicked his shins. Rattling and banging: things were falling off the walls, the hails shredding out of the dirt. The hands, Jakob's or Wilhelm's, continued to push him back. The man's face must have been only inches from Tom's. 'Way way way way down in the dump, I found a little boy… and nobody ever saw either one of us again.'

Vacancy felt more than seen opened up before him: he heard a confusion of retreating footsteps.

'I'm getting out of here,' Del said, sounding panicky.

Then the door was open and he was backing through it. Tom reached for the knob, but Del caught his elbow: the door slammed shut.

'You crazy?' Del said. His face was as green as an army blanket.

'I wanted to see,' Tom said. 'That's what this is all about. For once, I wanted to see more than he wanted us to.'

'You can't fight him,' Del said. 'You're not supposed to.'

'Oh, Del.'

'Well, I don't want him to see us out here.'

Tom thought that he too did not want Collins to see him outside the door. Del already was lost: fright glinted in his eyes. 'All right. Let's go upstairs.'

'I don't need your permission.'