A low hum, a gentle rumble, and the almost choking smell of hot coal. A faint, reddish light. The heat of a furnace. He thought it was the darkness of that strange void, but it was just a darkened room. He started to walk forward and a clang that coincided with a sudden headache warned him too late of the large pipe in his way.

"Look out," Ghost Writer said helpfully.

Danny rolled his eyes. "Gee, thanks."

Credence Clearwater Revival. His parents had a few of their CDs, and that might have been the only reason he knew exactly what song he heard. More of the human-shape fog drifted in and out among the machinery of a huge engine room, and as they worked, they sang Proud Mary. "Where are we?" Danny muttered.

"Well, there's a door," his unseen companion pointed out. "Go find out."

The workers didn't seem to notice the ghost boy creeping past them, but continued shoveling coal into the huge furnace. He might have been invisible for all they reacted when he tentatively shoved the metal hatch open and slipped out. There was a long, empty hall on the other side that led to a set of stairs and another door. A blast of cold air and the muddy fish smell of a river was potent enough to stop him in his tracks.

It was a boat.

"Steamship," Ghost Writer corrected.

Danny felt himself move forward and look around, and sighed internally. "Would you quit that?" A snicker was his only response. "I thought steamships ran on rivers…"

"Some do."

The boy decided not to pursue the issue. It may have been a river, but he couldn't see the shore. The fog people drifted around or leaned against the railing. A few fog children ran past his feet to bounce up and down in delight at the huge paddlewheel. Turning, he thought he saw Puck disappear up a stairway and ran after him. He followed flashes of a small green vest into the passenger cabin area, down a few more halls, and finally, through a door where he was met by a small, white creature that resembled a cat crossed with a teddy bear.

"Greetings," the being said, spreading its arms. "Welcome to the Core of the World!"

Danny blinked. "The core of the world?" he repeated dubiously. The little creature pointed to the wall behind him, and he turned to see that a picture hung there, next to the door. A faceless crew in some nameless port stood before what had to be the ship he was on. Painted across the side, in big bold letters, were the words, "PS Core of the World."

"The core of which world?" Ghost Writer asked after a moment. The boy was about to point out that it was just the name of the ship when their host laughed.

"Bright, aren't you?" In a seeming change of subject, it continued. "I have many names, but I suppose that you may call me Charon."

The name sounded familiar. "The ferryman?" Danny began hesitantly. "You carry the souls of the dead?"

Charon laughed again. "Oh, no. I carry the souls of those yet to be born as we seek port. You shouldn't be here."

"We're looking for Lament."

"Yes, I know."

There was a pause. "We were told she was here."

"I know that, too."

There was another pause. "Do you know where?"

"Yes," the little creature responded, grinning. At that point, Danny realized that Charon was toying with him, and he probably wasn't going to get any helpful answers. "No, probably not."

Tired of everyone reading his mind, he headed for the door. "Okay, well. We're just going to go find her, now."

"Have fun," Charon called.

"Well, that was essentially pointless," Ghost Writer announced. "Although…" He went silent for several seconds until Danny prompted him to continue. "I'm not sure. Keep looking. Let me think for a minute."

"All this just to find Lament…" the boy grumbled. "I should have just stayed home. It's not like she was hurting anything."

"Speak for yourself! If I had to listen to those stupid roses singing any longer…bad things would have happened. Very…bad things…" Danny repressed a chuckle at his tone and started up another set of stairs. He had just found his way onto the balcony of some grand hall when the author said, "I think I've figured something out. We didn't see Charon in that picture. Or I didn't. Did you?"

"Um, no?" Danny replied, staring up at the chandelier. He idly wondered if the foyer actually fit inside the ship.

"Exactly," Ghost Writer continued. "And those were the passenger cabins, which means that he's not the captain of this vessel."

"You think Lament is?"

"I think it's worth looking."

Danny nodded and took one last look at all the waltzing fog people. "Souls yet to be born," Charon had called them. It was almost transcendental. Then a monkey screeched nearby, and, with a sigh of regret, he turned to follow. He wouldn't have minded watching them further, and he almost regretted not letting Valerie come.

Jumping across the light fixtures, Puck led the way through yet more winding halls. Periodically, they passed fog people in uniform, singing or humming Proud Mary. After a while, he became aware of someone whistling the song and passed through a door into the pilothouse. Even the captain was one of the fog people, but that didn't matter anymore. Danny stared at Lament, playing some kind of harp.

"It's a lyre," Ghost Writer corrected.

"Whatever."

Puck chattered, bouncing up and down; apparently, he thought that was funny. Lament inclined her head in greeting. "Welcome, mon ami. I see you've finally come for me. But you disappoint me, Ghost Writer. You're a poet, not a fighter."

"I'll fight when I need to," he retorted. Then, not to be outdone, added, "Your downfall is long overdue."

"Oh, not you, too…" Danny groaned.

The muse stood and made a grand bow that would have put Kat to shame. "Very well, young master. I bow to your will. Only ask it, and I shall be still. You're a worthy opponent, and my time is done. But can you really say you've had no fun?"

The boy thought back to the day before and his impromptu date with Valerie. It probably wouldn't have happened on a normal day. And it had been an education in comedy, watching everyone happily sing and dance, although some of the singing left a great deal to be desired. And he had gotten some nice video of the event, which he would be sure to bring out at the worst possible moment. And, of course, the sight of Ghost Writer with a potted daisy sitting on his head was just priceless.

"Hey!"

Danny snickered. "Okay, it has been pretty fun," he allowed. "But it's time to stop now."

Lament bowed again and gestured him to precede her through the door. The second he crossed the threshold, there was a flash of light, and he was back in Ghost Writer's library.

"…potted daisy…" the author grumbled quietly. He attempted to glare, though the expression didn't quite counter the good humor in his eyes. "Go on, then," he said, waving the boy off. "Before I decide to make you the star of my latest work."

Danny cringed and raced for the door, then paused. "Thanks," he called before slipping back out.