Dragon was exhausted. Sleep had eluded her most of the previous night, as she had tossed and turned, examining the mystery of the Foreman’s disappearance from every conceivable angle. https://margecutter.wordpress.com/2020/05/24/you-cant-get-there-from-here/ 
At breakfast, her head drooped, and she could barely keep her eyes open.
My Young Hero, sitting next to the huge beast, furrowed his brow and picked at his food. “Have you no further thoughts on how we might find the Foreman?”
Dragon shook her head.
Sorceress cleared her throat. “Mayhap I might be of service?”
Dragon did not respond; she merely regarded Sorceress through bloodshot eyes and waited for the magic user to explain.
“I thought . . . perchance . . . I might be able to find the Foreman by scrying.”
Dragon’s head shot up and she immediately brightened. “Yes! Yes, it might be possible.”
My Gypsy whooped. “That is an excellent idea! Why did I not think of it?”
Sorceress raised an eyebrow. “Because you are but a child, and not nearly as wise as I?” The twinkle in her eyes belied her sarcastic tone of voice.
Several other characters snickered at my Gypsy, and my Young Hero elbowed his friend in the ribs. My Gypsy responded with an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows. “But I thought I was born wise.”
Sorceress snorted, then turned serious. “Also, because your forte is Gypsy magic. Although I tutored you in the art of scrying, divination is not your strong suit. Therefore, your mind would not necessarily turn to thoughts of scrying when confronted with a situation like this.”
“Well, I am glad your mind turned in that direction. When do we start?” My Gypsy was already halfway out of his chair and several other characters were following suit.
I held up my hand in the fashion of a traffic cop. “Hold on! You can get started as soon as everyone has finished breakfast.”
There were a lot of muttered protests, and I glared at my characters. “You’re all going to need your strength, especially Sorceress. Scrying can wait a few minutes. Eat!”
“Eh, tha lass be right.” My Old Dwarf, already on his third helping of everything, reached for another apple. “We be needin’ ta be keepin’ up our strength!”
Sorceress reluctantly took another mouthful of cereal and quickly washed it down with some goat’s milk. She delicately dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her white linen napkin, then turned to me. “Will you and Master Miles be joining us?”
I nodded. “We will meet you in the conference room as soon as we have cleaned up the breakfast dishes. That should give you sufficient time to gather your materials.”
Less than an hour later, Miles and I walked into the conference room. Dragon had created a small amphitheater so we could all sit above and behind Sorceress and see into the scrying bowl.
Sorceress addressed us all as we were taking our seats. “You must remember to remain silent, no matter what you see. If I am distracted, I can easily lose the image.” She turned to my Old Dwarf. “Would you mind remaining outside the door, standing guard?”
“Nay, lass, I be havin’ no objection ta bein’ guard o tha door. It be me usual place.” He quickly took up his position in the hallway.
Checking that the rest of us were present and seated, Dragon closed the door and intoned an incantation. “This room is now warded against intrusions both physical and magical. Sorceress, you may proceed.”
Taking a deep breath, Sorceress unstoppered a flask, and poured the contents into the bowl. She began intoning the incantation that should allow us to see my Foreman, adding certain botanicals and other ingredients to the liquid as she chanted. Gradually, as Sorceress fell into the magic, we could see a change in the surface of the liquid.
First, the silvery liquid grew cloudy and began swirling lazily, counterclockwise. Beads of sweat formed on Sorceress’ forehead, and her breathing became labored as she worked to strengthen the spell.
Gradually, shadowy forms began to appear in the liquid. The vague outline of fences and horses appeared, with a wavering image that might have been my Foreman.
The lads squirmed on the edges of their seats, but a stern look from Dragon quieted them. My Gypsy did nudge my Young Hero and point to the images in the bowl. His thumbs up gesture seemed to indicate that he felt certain it was, indeed, my Foreman, and the other youngster nodded enthusiastically.
All of us watched with bated breath as the shadowy figure reached over the fence and patted a horse on the neck. Then we followed him as he walked along the lengthy expanse of fence and down a path toward a barn. The figure seemed the right height and build for my Foreman, and his bearing was similar. We looked toward Dragon for confirmation.
Dragon cocked her head and studied the image in the swirling liquid. She leaned over the bowl, doing her best not to distract Sorceress. The big beast examined the image carefully, taking note of every shadowy detail. Finally, she rose and shook her head. “It is not enough. The man in the image is, I believe, the Foreman; but his location is uncertain. He could be anywhere. Can you expand the image, so we can look for any of the landmarks of the illusory world we created for him?”
As the image disappeared into the depths of the bowl, Sorceress fell back, exhausted. She shook her head and panted for breath as she spoke. “No. That was the best I could manage. But because the image was so shadowy, I think we can presume it to have been the illusory world. If the Foreman were here, in this world, the image should have been much sharper.”
Dragon nodded. “That makes sense.” She paced back and forth, turning from her usual vivid red to a pale blue. Smoke bubbles dripped from her nose as she considered the problem. Finally, she transformed again, her scales a brilliant red once more. “I will just have to return to the illusory world and search for him again.”
“We will come with you!” My Gypsy and my Young Hero spoke in unison as they jumped from their seats. “When do we leave?”
“We do not. I will leave immediately.” Dragon punctuated her comment with a puff of black smoke.
They lads immediately started to object, but Sorceress held up her hand and silenced them. Turning to Dragon, she crossed her arms over her chest and spoke firmly. “No, we will go. If you remember, it was not you alone who created the illusory world for the Foreman. All of us proficient in the use of magic helped, and all of us who helped should accompany you in this search.”
Dragon frowned, but before she could argue, my Arrogant One stepped forward. He drew himself up, rocked back on his heels, grasped his cloak with both hands, and scowled. “I have little desire to go traipsing off into that illusory world in search of a man for whom I hold no regard. However, Sorceress is correct. All of us who assisted you in the creation of that world should go.”
The others gaped at the elf. My Gypsy almost choked. “You are offering to go? Why? What possible benefit can you derive from helping us?”
My Arrogant One turned beet red. “I seek no gain from this expedition. But unless all who assisted in the creation of this illusory world now join in the effort to examine it, the task may well fail.”
Dragon studied the elf through narrowed eyes, black smoke spewing from her snout. Finally, she nodded. “Very well. If even the Arrogant One is willing to go, I capitulate. All of the magic users will go.”
Dragon turned toward the door and, with a few words and gestures, dismissed the wards on the room.
My Bounty Hunter stepped in front of the beast as she opened the door. “I will accompany the group, also. I have no magic, but my skills may be of use, nevertheless. I am most proficient at tracking.”
Still standing guard at the doorway, my Old Dwarf slapped the flat of his axe on the palm of his open hand. “Iffin I be hearin’ right, ye be mountin’ a search party. Do na be thinkin’ fer one minute thet ye be leavin’ me an’ me axe behind.”
My Young Hero protested. “I will not be the only one left behind! The Foreman is no less my friend than he is any of yours. There must be something I can do to help.”
Dragon shook her head, but the youth stood there defiantly, hands balled into fists, jaw jutted, eyes flashing. Finally, the beast sighed. “Very well, you may go with us.” Quickly rounding on Miles and me, she growled. “But you two do not even think of offering to come.”
“Don’t worry! The thought never entered my head.” Miles shuddered.
I scoffed. “I know we would be of no use to you in the illusory world. Miles and I will wait here for your return.”
Dragon lowered her voice. “It is not that you would be of no use, Mistress, although – truth be told – you would not. But I worry more of the danger to you and Master Miles should you venture into that world before we find the cause of your Foreman’s disappearance.”
I smiled warmly, and patted Dragon’s forearm. “I understand, my friend, and I am grateful for your concern. Just be careful yourself. The danger exists for you and the others as well.”
Dragon nodded. She turned quickly and gathered the others around her. “Go prepare. Magic users, gather whatever components you think you will need for spells of protection and spells of seeking. Cleric, bring as many of your healing herbs as you can carry. The rest of you, arm yourselves heavily, but discreetly. We may need to defend ourselves, but we do not want a show of arms initiating a fight that we could avoid.”
“An do na be forgittin’ ta be bringin’ vittles. We do na be knowin’ how long we be lookin’ afore we be comin’ back. Lookin’ be mighty hungry business.” My Old Dwarf rubbed his belly and nodded somberly.
“We will leave within the hour.” Dragon herded everyone out of the room to make their preparations.
Miles put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed tight. “Don’t worry, honey. They know what they’re doing. They’ll return, safe and sound, and they’ll bring your Foreman with them.”
I sighed. “I would like to think so. But if they really knew what they were doing, would my Foreman be missing in the first place?”
Will my other characters find and retrieve my Foreman? Or will they all be lost forever in the illusory world they created for him? And how does one get lost in an illusion, anyway? Be sure to come back next week and see what happens. I’ll leave the porch light on for you.
Miles and I were sitting down to dinner with my characters. Apart from my missing Foreman, they had all arrived, silent and subdued. Last to take their seats were my Old Dwarf and Dragon.
“No, Mistress. I have searched through every reference work I have. I can find no explanation for your Foreman becoming lost within an illusory world. One simply can not get lost within an illusion. There is no way for it to happen.” The big beast heaved a huge sigh. Smoke bubbles dripped from her nose as her scales faded from fiery red to pale blue, as often happened when she was confused.
Miles furrowed his brow. “And you still say it would be dangerous to simply terminate the illusion?”
“Absolutely, Master Miles. Until I know with what we are dealing, I dare not terminate the spell.” The smoke bubbles began flowing from Dragon’s snout at an alarming rate.
“Then how, exactly, do you propose finding him and returning him to this reality?” My Bounty Hunter spoke softly, but his tone danced between smug and curious.
“There, there, Beastie! Do na be gittin’ yerself so upset. Ye be findin’ a way ta be bringin’ ’em back.” My Old Dwarf patted his friend on her scaly forearm and tried to reassure her. “Now, ye mus’ be eatin’ summat. Ye be needin’ ta be keepin’ yer strength.”
The Foreman entered the illusory world I and my colleagues created for him. He was in the company of the lads, who returned to this reality unscathed. The Foreman did not return as promised to sup with us that day, nor have we seen him return since. When we entered the illusory world looking for him, we could find no sign of him. When asked, the illusory inhabitants of that world claimed no knowledge of him.
It is impossible to become lost within an illusion. Therefore, how has the Foreman become lost within an illusion? Is he lost within that illusion? Is he even still in that illusory world? Did he leave the illusion and return to this reality without telling any of us, only to wander off somewhere within this world? Or, mayhap has someone interfered with the illusion? Has he somehow been taken into another world?
Slowly, Tor opened his eyes. It was too dark to see his surroundings, but he was aware of lying on his side on a cold, hard surface. In his befuddled mind, it took him back to the smooth cobblestone walkways of his youth, and he drifted back to those times in his dreams.
Tor did not stay long in his dreams; pain quickly brought him back. As he slowly regained his senses, Tor moaned. His head felt as if it had exploded. He tried to reach for the back of his head, where the pain seemed the worst, but found he was restrained. His arms had been pulled behind him and were lashed tightly at the wrists.
Tor tried to remember what had happened to him. The pain in his head made it hard to think. He recalled a horse farm, so big and beautiful and full of magnificent horses, much like the one he had managed in the past, in a different world . . . a different lifetime. His thoughts started drifting to that long-ago place.
Tor shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts and bring himself back to this world. No! This horse farm was here, in this world. He remembered a farrier, and someone called the boss. And there was another person. He furrowed his brow.
Yes, another person. The stable lad who had sent him into the barn to speak with the boss. It must have been the stable lad who had snuck up behind him and walloped him over the head.
Tor smiled to himself. That is your first mistake, Master Boss.
Opening his eyes just a slit, Tor was glad to see it was lighter now, and he could see. He judged the distance between himself and the lad. Steeling himself against the pain he knew would come with a sudden movement, Tor grabbed a length of his former tether, bunched his muscles, and sprang at the stable lad with the speed of a cheetah. Before the young thug knew what was happening, Tor had the rope around the boy’s neck.
“I’m the boss. He’s one a my stable hands.” The man’s smug smile did not reach his eyes, which remained cold and hard.
“Well, I have decided. I am leaving this place and returning whence I came.” Tor loosened the rope around the boy’s neck, slid it down over his shoulders and pinned the boy’s arms to his sides. “You will show me the way back to the barn where we met, and I will release you. I can find my way back home from there.”
Hat in hand, Tor turned to trace his steps back to the spot where he could leave this illusory world and return to the real world. But the road did not go in the right direction. Tor looked down the road one way, then the other. Nothing looked familiar.
As the man laughed uncontrollably, a smile tugged at Tor’s lips. That is your second mistake. Tor barreled into him, knocked him over, and tied him up like the cowboys he had watched on Mistress Writer’s magic box she called a television – cowboys competing in something called calf roping. Tor stepped back and admired his own work – two wraps and a half-hitch, and he had the other man’s limbs immobilized.
Dragon studied the scroll carefully, then shook her head and placed the parchment back in the cubbyhole in the desk from which she had taken it. She looked around the room and sighed, a large puff of black smoke drifting from her snout.
Many years ago, the Foreman, Dragon, and seven other characters had fallen out of a manuscript into this world, the world Mistress Writer termed the real world. Before that, in their own world, the Foreman had been manager of the largest, most successful, and most prestigious equestrian breeding and training facility in the kingdom in which he had lived.
Here in this world, Dragon had created illusory horses and a small illusory stable for the Foreman and his fellow horsemen, the Young Hero and the Gypsy. But trotting around the modest illusory riding arena and drilling the lads in their equestrian skills whenever the harsh Minnesota weather would allow was hardly a substitute for the position the Foreman had held back in their world.
For several months, Dragon and her fellow characters had been aware of the Foreman’s growing discontent. Once, his depression could be relieved by those times spent riding his illusory horse. No more. He was bored by his role in this world, little more than a go-fer, if Dragon recalled the local vernacular, fetching and toting for Mistress Writer and Master Miles, and helping his fellow characters whenever they had need.
When the Foreman did not return that night, everyone figured he was enjoying himself so much, he had lost track of time. When he still had not returned within the week, Dragon and the other characters had entered the illusory world to retrieve him, but he was nowhere to be found. No one with whom the characters spoke had any knowledge of the Foreman. He seemed to be lost in an illusory world, something that Dragon knew to be impossible.
“Beastie? Be ye al’right, beastie?” The Old Dwarf banged on the door of the conference room he had been tasked with guarding. When Dragon did not answer immediately, the stout dwarf raised his axe, thinking to splinter the door and rescue his friend.
The dwarf nodded and blushed a deeper red. “Ye be knowin’ full well I couldna e’er be lettin’ anythin’ be happenin’ ta ye, beastie.” He shot the large creature a look full of warmth and affection.
Tears of gratitude stung Dragon’s eyes as she remembered back to that time. “I do remember, old friend,” she said softly as she placed her reptilian hands on the dwarf’s shoulders. “I will never forget.” She smiled warmly, and they stood there for a few moments, enjoying each other’s companionship and basking in their mutual devotion. Then Dragon stepped back and sighed again.
“Look at those horses!” The Young Hero’s eyes grew big and round as he stared at the herd of magnificent animals pasturing behind the gleaming white fence. “I have not seen the likes of them since we left our world.”
“Do not forget. Calling yourself the Foreman could lead to confusion and misunderstanding here.” The Gypsy clapped the older man on his shoulder, and the two lads turned and walked off toward the spot where they could return to the real world.
Arriving at the stable an hour later, Tor found a stable lad lounging in the yard and introduced himself. “I am called Tor. I seek employment.”
Entering the barn, Tor approached the man he assumed was the boss, a fussy-looking older man who looked rather out-of-place supervising the shoeing of a stallion. The man looked up and frowned. “Waddya want?”
Tor did not move. The blacksmith’s actions had caught his attention. “Be careful, smithy! Do not trim a horse’s hoof so short!”
The blacksmith looked up. “Boss, you gonna get rid of this guy, or am I?”
“What?” I gaped at my characters, my brain unable to wrap itself around their revelation.
Finally, Dragon – still pale blue and dripping smoke bubbles from her snout – spoke. Her voice was so soft I had to strain to hear her. “We knew how unhappy your Foreman has been recently. We were just trying to help.” She hung her head, and a tear slipped down her reptilian cheek.
“We really meant no harm.” My Gypsy gave me a guilty look. “As Dragon said, we were just trying to help.”
My magic users pushed my other characters aside. The adepts all started talking at once, each trying to be heard over the other. I held up my hand to silence them. “One at a time! One at a time!” I glared at them until they quieted down. “Okay. Let’s start at the beginning. First, whose idea was this?”
My Old Dwarf pushed to the front of the group again and gave me a sheepish look. “Wale, I be guessin’ thet would be me.” Seeing my frown, he hastened to point out, “Wale, ye dinna be doin’ nuttin ta be helpin’ yer Foreman, an’ anyone could be seein’ he be feelin’ lower ’en a blue-nosied, two-toesied Tunnel Terror!”
The old reprobate waved me off and blustered at me. “It do na be makin’ no nevermind wat it be. Yer Foreman be lower ’en it! He be walkin’ aboot tha hoose liken he be walkin’ in ’is sleep. ’Is head be hangin’, ’is shoulders be slumped, an’ he jus’ be starin’ oot inta nothin’-ness. Ye dinna be doin’ nuttin, so I been thinkin’ o a way ta be helpin’ ’em.” His eyes flashed with anger and his face was flushed.
My Young Hero stepped forward and placed his hand on my Old Dwarf’s shoulder. “Do not blame him, Mistress. We could all see how miserable your Foreman was. Your Gypsy and I had told you some time ago that your Foreman no longer even took pleasure in riding his illusory horse.” He paused, his brow furrowed. “As the dwarf said, someone had to do something.”
Dragon stepped forward. She had stopped dribbling smoke bubbles and had returned to her normal coloring. Her voice was still a bit shaky, however. “The . . . the dwarf approached me with an idea. He . . . he remembered how much fun we all had on our illusory trip. He wanted to know if . . . if it were possible to do something along those lines for your Foreman, to . . . to create a scenario wherein your Foreman could have the same duties and responsibilities he held in our world.”
Sorceress stepped forward primly and spoke in clipped tones. “We all agreed it would be no great feat to accomplish. Dragon created the illusion, and we assisted her. When it was completed, the lads fetched your Foreman and accompanied him into the illusory world.”
“It was spectacular!” My Young Hero sighed. “We were tempted to remain there with him. The stable reminded me of my father’s place. Hundreds of magnificent horses grazed in lush pastures surrounded by miles of lime-washed fencing.” As he stood there, remembering, I could see the longing in his eyes.
“To be fair, time in the illusory world can pass at a much different rate than time in the real world.” My Arrogant One nodded toward Dragon. “Even you, beast, were not aware of how much time had passed when we were on our illusory trip at the beginning of this year. You thought we had been gone only a few days, when we actually had been gone for more than five weeks.”
Finally, my Bounty Hunter spoke. “When your Foreman did not return after a time, we entered the illusory world and searched for him. Not only was he nowhere to be found, no one to whom we spoke there had ever seen or heard of him.”
My husband cleared his throat. “Ah, just a thought . . . why don’t you just dispel the illusion? Wouldn’t the Foreman return to reality, and pop back into the conference room?”
Dragon shook her head. “Normally, I would say yes. But the fact that we could not find the Foreman in the illusory world, the fact that no one within the illusory world has seen him, nor heard of him . . . well, that changes things. It could be dangerous to just dispel the illusion. We could lose him for all time.”
Long, anxious hours passed. My Old Dwarf stood guard in front of the conference room door as Dragon worked within, trying to find the solution to this problem and bring my Foreman back.
“That sounds like a great idea. I’m not that good with a camera, so I’ll bring out some refreshments for you. Then I can come in and prepare tonight’s dinner.” Miles smiled.
My Gypsy was the first to spot a bird. “Look!” He started whistling, and a beautiful male American Goldfinch in bright breeding plumage hopped through the branches of a nearby tree until he was close enough to photograph.
My Gypsy looked, then shook his head. “That is a White-breasted Nuthatch. See how he walks down the trunk of the tree, head-first?”
As the Downies flew off, another bird took its place at the suet. My Arrogant One studied it carefully. “That is a Red-bellied Woodpecker, correct?”
Sorceress pointed to a bird in the nearby tree. “That appears to be a woodpecker, also. It looks like the Downy Woodpecker, but it is almost as large as the Red-bellied Woodpecker.”
“And there is the largest woodpecker you will see here.” I pointed to a bird on a tree stump at the back of the neighboring yard. “That is a female Pileated Woodpecker.” I took a quick photo of her before looking for her mate. “And there is the male.” We watched as he flew from a tree to the suet logs. “They both have red crests, but he has a red stripe on his cheek while she has a black stripe.”
My Gypsy nodded. “And the adult males in breeding plumage have the bright shoulder epaulettes that they display to the females during courting, and to other males during disputes over mates, territories, and food.”
My Young Hero smiled. “I always wished I could whistle like the birds. Could you imitate the call of that Yellow-rumped Warbler?” He pointed to a bird sitting in a neighbor’s tree.
My Gypsy obliged, then started imitating the gentle cooing of a Mourning Dove, who answered from its perch on a feeder pole in the middle of the yard.
My Young Hero smiled again. “It is truly amazing how you can mimic the birds.” He cocked his head for a moment. “Do you hear that? It sounds like a Northern Cardinal.” He scanned the treetops. “There he is! Can you mimic him?”
Still standing in front of the open refrigerator, my Old Dwarf harrumphed. “Wale, it do na be lookin’ like ye been doin’ much good, lass. Yer Foreman be lookin’ more down in the mouf now than afore ye been tryin’ ta cheer ’em up.” He shook his head and tsk-tsked at me before going back to checking out the contents of the refrigerator.
I scowled at the dwarf, but the problem was, he was right. I hadn’t been very successful cheering up my Foreman. At least I had a better understanding of the problem now, though. My Foreman wasn’t just missing his world. He was, in his own words, missing who he was in his world. He was suffering a combination of boredom and feeling undervalued here in this world. I just didn’t know what I could do about it.
Several days later, I was in my office, answering some e-mails and trying to start the rough draft for my next blog post. My Old Dwarf barged in, munching an apple and giving me the stink-eye. “Ye still do na be doin’ nuttin’ fer yer Foreman. He still be draggin’ around, lookin’ lower than a blue-nosied, two-toesied Tunnel Terror!”
My Old Dwarf chuckled, then scooted out of the room without another word or a backward glance. As I watched him go, I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I wonder what that old rascal is up to now.
Saturday morning breakfast was subdued. The normal chatter between my characters was missing. Yet, subdued is not the right word. While the only conversation at the table was between my husband and me, my eight characters taking their meal with us were anything but subdued. Although silent, they seemed more jittery than subdued. Other than my Old Dwarf, who ate enough for ten stout dwarves and half a dozen portly men, my characters picked at their food and exchanged furtive glances all through the meal.
I nodded and was about to answer him when my characters jumped up en masse and made to leave the kitchen. Their efforts turned into an epic comedic performance. They bumbled and stumbled about, pushing and shoving and tripping over each other. They kept glancing surreptitiously at Miles and me, while frantically whispering and gesturing amongst themselves.
“As good as Abbott and Costello?” I cited my husband’s favorite comedy duo.
My Old Dwarf stepped forward and blustered at me. “There be nuttin’ wat be goin’ on, lass. Wat be ye talkin’ aboot? We all jus’ be havin’ a lot ta be doin’ taday. Now, iffin ye be excusin’ us, we all be needin’ ta be gittin’ on our way.”
Dragon gave me an imperious look. “It is as the dwarf stated – we all have a lot to accomplish this day and need to commence our many tasks.”
I narrowed my eyes and stared at them. Finally, Dragon started to shiver and change colors. In a moment, her color had morphed to a pale blue, and smoke bubbles dripped from her snout, as often happened when she was confused or embarrassed.
Before Dragon could say anything, my Old Dwarf stepped up again. Giving me his most innocent look, he replied, “Wale, I do na be knowin’ where exactly thet Tarnation place be, or wat exactly be goin’ on there, but I be tellin’ ye true, lass, there be nuttin goin’ on here.” He nodded and then studied his fingernails, regarding me from the corner of his eye.
Cleric was the first to break. “Oh, Mistress, we were only trying to help!”
“Are you suggesting it is anyone’s fault but his own?” My Arrogant One drew himself up, rocked back on his heels, grasped his cloak with both hands, and scowled.
“Do na be blamin’ tha beastie. It do na be her fault. I be the one wat be talkin’ ’er inta it.” The rapscallion came to his old friend’s defense.
Seeing her friend unable to reply, Sorceress blurted, “We helped Dragon create an illusory world for your Foreman, where he could once again manage a large and prestigious stable.”
My Bounty Hunter shrugged. “That is where he has been for the past three days.”
“What?”
I sat across the kitchen table from my Foreman. He drained his mug of hazelnut coffee and poured himself another. I sipped my raspberry tea and waited.
Several minutes later, he shrugged and continued in his soft voice. “Of course, I miss my world. All nine of us, your characters who fell from your manuscript, miss our world. It has been a monumental and formidable task to learn to live in your world.”
Finally, he began. “Take Dragon. She is, as she was in our world, a dragon. She still has all the abilities of a dragon – her immense magical power, her ability to shapeshift and change size. And she uses these abilities here in this world all the time.” He searched my face for some sign that I understood.
He squirmed in his seat but continued. “Your Arrogant One was a renowned illusionist in our world. He continues to practice his art and sharpen his skills in this world. And Sorceress and Cleric gather their herbs and botanicals, distill their potions, and cast their spells, just as they did before. Cleric has maintained her ability as a healer, often using her herbs and aptitude to treat a malady or mend a scrape for one of us. She also still has her ability to communicate with animals. She has used this gift to help coax wildlife closer so you and the others can capture better images of them with your magic boxes you call cameras. She has also helped our friend, Colton, by communicating with Peaches, whom we knew as Mystery, and later with Blue.”
Your Gypsy remembers the magic he learned at his grandmother’s knee. He continues to dabble in it in this world, assisting your other magic users in their ventures, but he does not pursue it with any passion. Both lads vividly remember their lives with the horses. Your Young Hero’s father owned the horse breeding facility I managed, and your Gypsy – who grew up around horses and horse people in his own country – worked as a stable lad at that same farm. In this world, away from their beloved horses, they were unhappy – as was I – until Dragon magically created the illusory horses for us. That was enough for them.”
I was managing the largest and most prestigious horse breeding and training facility in the kingdom. I hired people, I fired people, I trained people, I trained horses, I made schedules, I did the accounting and met the payroll and ordered the feed and supplies, 
I found and cultivated clients, I made decisions regarding breeding and bloodlines, I doctored sick and injured horses . . . I had so much diverse responsibility. I thrived on a workday that always started before dawn and often stretched to midnight or later. My work was hard, physical labor combined with intellectual tasks.”
I was about to say something more, but my Old Dwarf chose that precise moment to return to the kitchen. “Be ye two still here? I been thinkin’ ye be all done yer chin-waggin’ and jaw-flappin’ by now. It be almos’ lunchtime!” He headed for the refrigerator. “San-whichies agin taday?”
“Wale, it do na be lookin’ like ye been doin’ much good, lass. Yer Foreman be lookin’ more depressed now than afore ye been tryin’ ta cheer ’em up.” He shook his head and tsk-tsked at me before going back to checking out the contents of the refrigerator.
“I know the people in your world have a fascination with the notion of snow at Christmas. You even have a song about dreaming of a white Christmas. But a white Easter? I thought Easter was supposed to be sunny and warm, so everyone could parade in their Easter bonnets and other frippery. How can anyone parade in this?” Dray,
Dragon’s alter ego, gestured dramatically at the white landscape and the large flakes swirling outside the conference room window, a huge scowl on her face. Then, without waiting for an answer, she shapeshifted into her true form and curled up, growling and spewing black smoke, in front of her illusory fireplace.
But the next three days brought more snow and the following couple of days were overcast and slow to warm. It wasn’t until Saturday afternoon that the temperatures rose, the snow melted, Dragon stopped shivering and emerged from the conference room, and the lads headed for the barn and their horses.
It was the next morning before I tracked down my Foreman. He was standing in the living room, cattycorner to the window, a faraway look in his unfocused eyes. My brow furrowed as I studied the man. He had lost weight over the past few weeks of missed meals, and his face had become far more lined and careworn than I had previously realized. It was obvious to me that something was eating at him.
