Chapter Twelve

 

 

DREAMLAND OPENED ITS doors in 1904, the result of three and half million dollars—a staggering sum in those days—and a desire on the part of its owner, William H. Reynolds, to outdo the neighbouring attractions of Luna Park. It closed seven years later after a fire destroyed the majority of it. The fire was caused by an upturned bucket of pitch igniting the Hell Gate ride. The infernal irony was thicker than the insurance pay out and Dreamland dreamed no more.

In those intervening seven years it had seen zoos, freaks shows, thrill rides, dancing and drama. It was the very epitome of the American Dream, beautiful, aspirational, grotesque and ambitious.

Post-Change it had reoccupied its previous location off Surf Avenue, a fluctuating dream of a dream. A fifteen acre plot built on the fantasies and fears of every visitor who had ever danced in the ballroom, splashed in the lagoon or gazed in unashamed wonder at the diminutive residents of the Lilliputian village known as Midget City. It was the ultimate expression of how The Change had brought the architecture of the world to life, brought flesh to thoughts, horror to the mundane.

And Grace and God were going to go inside.

‘Dreamland?’ asked the owner of the Cyclone, a man they now knew as Ken Dante, onetime short-order chef and occasional petty crook. ‘Nobody with an ounce of sense would set foot in there.’

‘So everyone keeps telling me,’ Grace replied, washing another plate and handing it to God to dry.

‘You’ll both be dead before the day’s out,’ Dante clarified, should they have been unsure as to his opinion on the place. ‘No doubt about it.’

‘And we’re spending our last night on earth washing up your dishes,’ she said.

‘A debt’s a debt,’ he replied, ‘but I appreciate it. If you’d decided to leave it until after your mission for the Queen I’d likely have been down on the deal.’

‘I could just wave my hand,’ said God, ‘and they would all be clean. But sometimes...’

‘It’s good to experience things as mortals do,’ finished Grace.

‘Precisely,’ he agreed. ‘It gives me an excellent sense of perspective.’

‘He’s mad,’ Dante whispered to Grace, ‘you do know that don’t you?’

‘Who cares?’ she replied. ‘Do you know somewhere we might be able to sleep for the night? Apparently it’s even more dangerous if we go into Dreamland at night so we’re supposed to wait until first thing tomorrow.’

‘I can probably hook you up, it’ll cost you...’ He stopped himself. ‘What’s the point? You’ll never be able to repay me. I’ll look on it as an act of charity.’

‘You’re too kind.’

‘Hell, once we’re done I’ll even throw in a night out. The condemned deserve a good farewell.’

‘What sort of night out?’ God asked. ‘I mean, I’m pretty open-minded, whatever some people think, but still, I have to watch my reputation. God can’t be seen living it up in a strip-joint.’

‘Nothing wrong with a creator admiring his creation,’ said Dante, ‘but nah... there’s a party going on over at Edina’s, I was going to look in anyway so I may as well take you two along.’