Yesterday's Tomorrows
(Monday, August 8, 2016)
Chapter 7: The Magic Words
"Not believe in Magic! Why, those ladies and gentlemen who cannot believe in Magic are to be pitied, and watched, and guarded against; for, the first thing one knows, such Beings may easily be tempted to evil ends, and are even apt to begin believing in things we all know are not really so, such as Politics!" –Charles Dickens
"The magic word is 'please,' isn't it?" Wendy asked, nudging Dipper with an elbow.
Dipper shook his head. "I thought of that, but no. Can't be. Bill said magic words, plural, remember? I don't think he's trying to deceive us, exactly. I mean, he's probably telling us at least a version of the truth. Bill's always cryptic—but what he really means, well, people have to figure that out by knowing all the twists and turns of Bill's mind. And another reason that it can't be 'please' is that I think Bill's like Grunkle Stan—that word kind of sticks in his throat!"'
Wendy thought that over. "Yeah, I remember Stan getting heartburn when he used to have to say that word. I guess you may have a point there. So plural. Words, huh? 'Please and thank you,' then."
Dipper still disagreed. "No, don't think so. Thank you is something that Bill's at least as allergic to as please. But I might be wrong."
Wendy took a deep, uneasy breath. "Then wouldn't it be better to wait until you're sure? I mean, seriously, what happens to us if you guess the wrong magic words, Dip? Do we get dumped way back in the Mesozoic or some deal?"
"Probably not. Grunkle Ford thinks that Bill first noticed Earth in the Mindscape about six or seven thousand years ago, and that his first visit was to Ancient Egypt. I'm thinking he wouldn't send us back farther in time than that. And in the cave—well, maybe he couldn't toss us back past the era when the Chinook people made the pictographs."
"Wait, Bill didn't make them?" Wendy asked.
"He couldn't have. No physical form, remember? He probably designed them though, and passed the designs on to Modoc during his dream-time visits. I'm not sure, though. This is all supposition."
"So maybe like pioneer days, or maybe Ancient Egypt, huh?" Wendy asked. "Egypt. Well, that could explain the Pyramids, I guess! Seriously, though, would the wrong words really mess us up in time or in some other way?"
Dipper considered the question. "I can only tell you what I think, Wen. Since Bill has specific words in mind, the Prognosticator probably wouldn't react to anything else. Wouldn't hear them as magic words, I mean, and probably they wouldn't affect it. Like, you know, voice-recognition on your phone. You have to say something like 'Siri' to wake it up,a nd it won't react to anything else. Probably the same thing applies here. I'd say we're safe enough. Anyway, I'm pretty confident I know the words Bill meant. Over the years I've kinda learned how he thinks. Trust me, Magic Girl?"
She kissed his cheek. "Every time, Big Dipper. If you think you're right—then I say go for it."
Dipper swallowed, wishing he had the same kind of confidence in his sharpness that Wendy had. "Wish us luck, then. Are you ready?"
"As I'll ever be," Wendy said. "Hold my hand."
"OK. Here we go." Dipper clasped Wendy's right hand with his left one, and with his right hand, he pocketed the flashlight. In the dark he hesitated just for a moment, reached up and found the stone bowtie by touch, counted one, two, three in his head, and then said out loud, "The magic words."
He heard Wendy's surprised giggle. And then he turned the bowtie.
It grated, clicked into place, and—the cave showed up in foggy dim illumination.
"Woohoo!" Wendy said, letting go of his hand to punch the air. Because there they were, or their images, like watching a closed-circuit TV shot of themselves, Wendy Corduroy, caught in the very act of punching the air, and Dipper Pines, his right hand on the bow tie. "You got it, Dip! Bill told you to say the magic words, and that's exactly what the little chunk of masonry meant! You rule, man!"
Dipper realized he had been holding his breath and exhaled in relief. "That's it! The image—look, it waves when I wave! That's what Billy Sheaffer told us to look for. OK, Wendy, get ready to run for the exit." He reached for his pocket. "Wait, though—here, you take the flashlight. Turn it on. All right, get ready to run for the exit. Here we go." He tapped the bowtie with his fist, it clicked, the image went dark, and they sprinted for the crevice.
"You first, you first!" Dipper said. They flattened themselves and squeezed into the uncomfortably narrow passage. He could tell that Wendy was anxious—she was trying to rush it, impatiently pushing past rock projections and tight places that really called for care, squirming, and a certain amount of breath control.
"Something chasing us?" Wendy asked, sounding alarmed.
"No, but what if the spell has a limited time to work?"
"Gotcha!" she sped up.
Their apprehensiveness made exiting much harder than coming in had been. Wendy had the light and the lead, and she kept pausing, grunting, and then pushing through regardless. Several times Dipper heard fabric ripping, and once or twice his clothes got snagged, too.
"Gah!" Wendy said. "Thank God! Here, let me help you." She reached back and all but dragged him out of the passage.
She had burst into the outer cavern. No one was there, not Mabel, not Billy. Without pausing, the teens crossed it and dropped to hands and knees for the last long crawl out.
Dipper's mind raced with worry and self-doubt: What if I guessed wrong? What if the image we just saw was some kind of dirty trick of Bill's, some unfunny practical joke? He tried to reassure himself—they hadn't emerged into the outer cave to find an elderly Mabel and Billy, after all, and the passageway to the outside world had not been artificially tunneled out, as it had when they'd encountered Mabel.
The going was still slow. Sometimes the passage ceiling dipped down, and they had to drop down onto their stomachs and try to worm their way out. The bare rock under their knees wasn't sharp, but it was irregular and, most of all, hard. Dipper's hands were scuffing, and he could feel his knees aching as if he'd seriously overdone a track practice.
Ahead of him, Wendy scrambled along, occasionally muttering a low, mild curse as she bumped her head or had to duck down even lower. "It's getting lighter!" she said. "The exit must be right around the next little bend."
The crawl-tunnel was so low and narrow, though, that Wendy's body blocked Dipper's vision for another twenty feet. Then he glimpsed the gray light of day. At that moment, Wendy stopped abruptly, and he plowed headfirst right into her butt.. "You're gettin' to like that, aren't you?" she asked. "Whoa, no—no—no—don't do it!"
Where have we come out? wondered Dipper. And when?