CHAPTER FIVE: THE MIRROR ROAD

Driving along that twisting road through the dark forest was like riding one of the attractions at Disneyland except that he was entirely in control. He felt very grown-up and responsible; driving was way cool and he could not help grinning.

Floyd-Bob slept for a while, and then he harrumphed and carefully straightened his shoulders. “So,” he said, “what are you doing way out here?”

So much had happened to Albert lately that the trouble he’d had with his family seemed to have happened weeks ago. He was surprised to find that he actually missed them, even Lily. “I needed to get away for a while,” he said, “to be by myself.”

“You did that, all right,” Floyd-Bob agreed. “What kind of place is the Valley of Enchantment?”

Albert explained about how his father liked to make good time, and described the Site, and explained about the Redwood National Forest. Floyd-Bob made a loud wood-sawing noise. Albert glanced at him and saw he was asleep again. He shut up and kept driving, focusing on enjoying the experience.

A few minutes later, Albert was surprised to find the truck approaching the crossroads again. He slowed to a stop and looked around. Before him was Brillig’s burned-out step van, and the humps of dirt where the members of Floyd-Bob’s dead army had buried themselves. Albert did not understand how they had returned to exactly the place from which they had started.

He looked over at Floyd-Bob and saw that he was still sleeping, and Albert didn’t feel right about awakening him—not yet, anyway. He backed up and once again set out on the road in the direction Floyd-Bob had indicated.

Albert concentrated on staying on the road. He was doing so well for so long that he was confident that they would approach the place where Vorpal lived any time now. But a moment later, he turned a sudden corner and found himself nearly crashing into the remains of the step van. He stopped the truck with a jerk, causing the engine to die, and throwing them both forward.

Floyd-Bob caught himself just before knocking his head against the dashboard, and looked around in confusion.

“Where are we?” he exclaimed. “I thought you wanted to visit Old Vorpal.”

“I did. I do. But I keep running into the place where we started.”

“Didn’t you make the turn?”

“What turn?” Albert asked, entirely bewildered.

“Maybe I’m still a little woozy, but I thought you said you know how to drive.”

“On a normal road I do.”

“Okay, don’t get huffy. This is a mirror highway. Don’t they have mirror highways where you come from?”

Albert sighed. “I guess not,” he admitted. “What’s a mirror highway?”

Floyd-Bob shook his head, then gathered himself together and explained. “You know how if you walk toward a mirror, your image walks the other way, toward you and whatever is behind you? This road works the same way.”

Albert thought through Floyd-Bob’s explanation. He seemed to be speaking English, but that didn’t mean Albert understood. “I still don’t get it,” he said.

“I can’t make it any clearer,” Floyd-Bob said. “I’ll just have to show you. Go ahead. Drive that way. I’ll show you where to make the turn.”

Albert started the truck and following Floyd-Bob’s directions, backed onto the road and took off as he had before.

“Make a sharp left here,” Floyd-Bob cried when they had not gone far.

“You don’t have to shout in my ear,” Albert grumbled as he did as Floyd-Bob directed. It now seemed to him that they were going back to Brillig’s crossroads. But after booming along for a while and not reaching it, Albert thought he might be wrong. It was hard to tell—the forest always looked pretty much the same.

After an hour or so the shadows were so deep beneath the trees that Albert had to pull on the headlights. Even with the headlights on, he almost missed the finger sign that pointed into the forest. It said, “Vorpal’s Cabin—Trespassers Will be Sorry.” Despite the content of the message, Albert wondered why a guy who wanted to be a hermit would put up a sign at all. He couldn’t be very sincere.

“See?” Floyd-Bob said. “Mirror Highway.”

“I see that it works,” Albert said, “but I still don’t understand how.”

“It’s kind of technical,” Floyd-Bob said.

I’ll bet, Albert thought.

After turning in the direction the sign indicated, the truck’s headlights picked out a narrow dirt road. They bounced along it for a few hundred yards and came to a clearing. Only a few golden spots of sunlight made it through the trees to dot the ground. At one side was a sundial with a lot of twigs piled up at the base, and on the other was what must have been the cabin, though it was fancier than Albert had expected. It had windows and a brick chimney and a short flight of stairs leading from the ground up to a big solid-looking front door. A light was on over the door as if they were expected.

“Yikes!” Albert cried.

A slender beast with a long corkscrew nose surprised him by looking in the window at him with small black button eyes, and yipping like a Chihuahua.

“Damned toves,” Floyd-Bob complained. “Nasty animals.”

A man came out of the cabin and stood at the top of the stairs with a rifle in his hands. He was square built, and had gray hair and a gray beard shot through with black. He wore a workman’s dark pants and heavy shoes, as well as a gray parka with the hood down—it was unzipped to reveal a t-shirt that said Eskimo Taco on it. Altogether, he looked more reliable and businesslike than dangerous. And though there was no actual resemblance, he reminded Albert of his father.

“Down, Baskerville!” the man cried, and fired his rifle into the air.

The tove yipped and slipped away to hide among the twigs at the base of the sundial.

“You can come out now,” the man said. “It’s safe.”

Albert held up his hands. “Just a minute,” he called. He turned to Floyd-Bob. “Can you drive? Will you be all right?”

“Sure,” Floyd-Bob said, but he closed his eyes and didn’t move.

“What’s the problem?” the man from the cabin said.

Albert opened the truck’s door and stood on the running board while he explained that Floyd-Bob had been badly injured in a fire fight with a jabberwock, and couldn’t drive home.

“Broken bones?” the man asked.

“I don’t know. Mostly bruises, I guess. He’s in a lot of pain when he moves.”

“Oh, pain,” the man said as if it were nothing. He went back into the cabin and returned a moment later carrying a small bottle with a tag around its neck that said DRINK ME. “This should get you home if you don’t make any stops,” he said as he handed the bottle to Floyd-Bob. Inside was a thick swirl of purple smoke.

Floyd-Bob lifted the bottle but Albert put his hand on his arm. “That stuff won’t make him shrink, will it?” Albert asked the man. “He won’t be able to reach the pedals.

“It never has before,” the man said.

That was not the answer Albert had been hoping for, but he took his hand away, and Floyd-Bob drank down the contents. He smacked his lips and smiled. “That’s the real stuff,” he said with pleasure as he slid over under the wheel, pushing Albert out of the truck. The tove stood up, and his spiral snout quivered, but he didn’t come any closer.

“Thanks for everything,” Albert said.

“No problema,” Floyd-Bob said. He gunned the engine, circled the clearing, and was roaring back up the trail when Albert and the man heard heavy breathing from the sky.

“Whiffling!” Albert cried, and saw a jabberwock floating toward them, steering and balancing with its great wings and its long reptilian tail. It opened its mouth and gave out an angry burble. In the sunlight above the trees it was even more frightening than it had been in the darkness the previous evening. On the end of its long serpentine neck was a head with great bulbous eyes that glowed, and a face like the ugliest catfish ever. It looked too big and ungainly to fly let alone float like a feather, but there it was. Albert was surprised that it wore a vest that buttoned up the front. Could it be intelligent? Could it be somebody’s pet?

The man went back into the house, and Albert feared that he was on his own, but a moment later the man emerged carrying a sword. As the jabberwock descended closer the man waved the sword around like a big stick. Albert didn’t see what good that would do but the jabberwock backflapped, whiffling for all it was worth to stop himself, and hung just out of reach of the sword, burbling and grasping the air with its big spidery hands. Then it apparently heard something and flew off in the direction Floyd-Bob had gone in his truck. A moment later, it dived in among the trees, and immediately soared out again carrying Floyd-Bob’s truck in both hands. The truck flared once with reflected sunlight.

“It’s got Floyd-Bob!” Albert cried.

“Good observation,” the man said.

“Let’s do something.”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

But by now the jabberwock and the truck were just a dot in the sky.

“Come in,” the man said. “I’ll make a nice glass tea to go with the honey cake while we talk.”