Page 6 of In an Absent Dream

She walked toward the two girls, head cocked gently to the side as she took them in. “Who have you brought me, Moon?” she asked, and her voice was rough, rough as granite, rough as the bark of a tree.

“I don’t have her name and she knows better than to give it,” said Moon. Turning to Katherine, she said, “This is the Archivist. That’s not her name, either, but she knows the rules better than anybody, and she’s allowed to teach them to you, if you come to her without a debt on you. I saw you come and you’ll see me go, and you’re free and clear. Ask her what you need to know.”

“The first rule was ‘ask for nothing,’” said Katherine. Her body felt heavy, like she was wrapped in fog. It was becoming harder and harder to dismiss this as a dream, and if it wasn’t a dream, it was really happening, and if it was really happening, she was standing and talking to people who called themselves “Moon” and “the Archivist,” and she wasawfullyfar from home.

“I waive the first rule for the duration of this conversation and no further,” said the Archivist. “There will be no debt incurred by any questions you may ask: the only fair value I need is your understanding, so that your future debts will not come to darken my door. Moon, you may go.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” said Moon. She tipped a wink at Katherine. “See you around, new girl.” Then she was gone, running off into the trees with that preternatural speed, disappearing among the branches and the birds.

“Come with me,” said the Archivist, and offered Katherine her hand.

Lacking any other choice, Katherine took it. The Archivist led her into the house, as the birds in their cages shrieked and sang their mournful, captive songs.

4

FAIR VALUE

THE INSIDE OFthe Archivist’s house was as small as the outside, which came as something of a relief to Katherine, who had already encountered one major violation of the laws of physics since school let out, and wasn’t sure she could handle another one so soon. Every surface that could be commandeered to hold a bookshelf had been, and every shelf was packed to the point of bursting. Stacks of books covered the floor, too numerous to be contained. The only other furniture was a small wooden table with spindly legs and two matching chairs, tucked into the far corner of the room.

“Come,” said the Archivist, and walked to the table, settling herself in one of the chairs. She gestured to the other. “Sit.”

Katherine sat. The chair groaned under her weight, slight as it was. She thought the Archivist must have been the lightest person in the world to sit so comfortably on something so breakable.

“This is my home, and you are safe here, for now,” said the Archivist, in a calm, clear voice. “Do you know your name?”

Katherine started to answer. Then she caught herself, remembering her promise to Moon. She closed her mouth and nodded.

“Excellent,” said the Archivist. “Keep knowing it. If you forget or lose your name, you do the same to your self, and there are consequences for such things. But you’ll need a name you can use here, something that lacks the teeth of the name you wear every day. Something you’ll answer to that’s harder to use against you. It could be an attribute, or a thing you like very much, or a family name that isn’t exclusively yours. I can choose one for you, if you’d like.”

“Lundy,” said Katherine.

“Lundy.” The Archivist cocked her head again. “You’re not the first of that name to wander here. I can see him in the corners of your eyes. Welcome, Lundy, to the Goblin Market.”

Katherine—Lundy—who had never considered that her father must have been young once, might have gone on adventures of his own, frowned. “What’s the Goblin Market?”

“It is a place where dreamers go when they don’t fit in with the dreams their homes think worth dreaming. Doors lead here. Perhaps you found one.”

Lundy bit her lip, and said nothing.

“We began with a single peddler’s son who lost his way. He decided to set up camp and wait for his mother to come back. She didn’t. He found me, instead, and we were happy, for a time. But others came after him, and others after them, until we had a community. Until we needed rules—and borders, of a kind, since our doors are the type that may open a dozen times for the same person, rather than only once.” The Archivist leaned forward. Her face was kind. “Did you see the rules, when you came through the passage?”

“Yes,” said Lundy. Then, in a rush, “But I didn’t understand them. How can I follow them if I don’tunderstandthem?”

“A complicated question, to be sure, especially since the rules have a way of enforcing themselves. Moon pays some of her debts through me by watching for children like you. She wasn’t careful when she first started needing to provide fair value—she got here too young, and spent too long in a state of grace to understand what consequences were.”

“What happens if you don’t provide fair value?”

“Nothing you’d care to experience. Now. We’ve covered the second rule, but not the first. While you are here, you must ask for nothing. Work around the question. If you desire a drink of water, don’t say ‘may I have some water,’ say ‘I would like some water,’ or ‘I’m thirsty.’ Be prepared to hear a price quoted in return. It will take you a while to decide which prices are fair, so ask yourself, every time, whether the water is worth the loss of a sock, or a strand of hair, or a secret. One of those is fair value.”

“The sock?” guessed Lundy.

“The hair,” said the Archivist. “A strand isn’t enough to do anything to you, and some people enjoy weaving with it. Socks, unless you have a very strange schoolbag, only come two to a person, and your feet will get cold.”

It was a refreshingly logical way of looking at things. Lundy nodded. “What happens if I ask for something?”

“The way you’re doing now? Don’t look so alarmed; I gave you permission. If you ask outside this house, anyone you talk to could decide that you’re offering them a purchase, and once you’ve asked directly, it’s not a negotiation. Do you understand? Say ‘can I have a glass of water’ and I can say ‘that will be one sock,’ and if you don’t pay, you’ve broken rule three. You haven’t given fair value. Debt will follow.”

“What does debt mean, if you don’t pay for things with money?”

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