Sandman IX: The Kindly Ones

These quotes are taken from Neil Gaiman's the Sandman, a most excellent comic book.
He owns the words.


Sandman: the Kindly Ones (IX)

Lucien: The Library of Dream is the largest library there never was. I’m sure all your books are in here. What’s that you say? You haven’t written any books? Of course you have. Here’s one. It’s called “The Best-selling Romantic Spy Thriller I used to think about on the bus that would sell a billion copies and mean I’d never have to work again”. Not exactly the catchiest of titles, is it?

Morpheus: A dark mirror. Imagine that you woke in the night and rose, and seemed to see before you another person, whom slowly you perceived to be yourself. Someone had entered in the night and placed a mirror in your sleeping place, made from black metal. You had been frightened only of your own reflection. But then the reflection slowly raised one hand, while your own hand stayed still.

An interjection: At this time, certain other things were happening. For example, it was then that Destiny found himself trailing ghost-books in his wake. It was shortly after that Destiny caught sight of himself, while wandering the garden that was his realm. This was no surprise to him; it was written in his book that he would see himself, but still, it gave him a chill to see himself there.
It was then that Desire closed off its realm. The silver heart in its sibling’s galleries was replaced by a dark void, signifying Desire’s unwillingness to give or receive communication of any kind. The threshold, Desire’s home, a flesh and blood citadel higher than mountains, closed its eyes; and Desire wandered the pathways of its body, in the darkness, alone.
It was then that Despair, noticing the missing heart in her gallery, sat making small noises in the mirrored mist; her rats ran over her naked body, nipping at her flesh to attract her attention.
It was then that Delirium noticed she had absent-mindedly transformed into a hundred and eleven perfect, tiny multicolored fish. Each fish sang a different song. And as she put herself back together again, unable for the moment to remember whether the silver flecks went into the blue eye or the green one, she decided that a dog would be a nice thing to have. And then it occurred to her that there had been a dog around at some point, hadn’t there? A nice doggie . . . and off she went to look for it, trailing occasional fish.

Unknown traveler: My true love’s imprisoned in a high tower, and I have to set him free. I’ve a brass fish that will sing his guardians to sleep, an acorn that will grow a ladder in a moment, if I plant it and water it with my own tears, a comb that will turn into a forest if they pursue us.

Unknown monster: I’m under an enchantment. Have to wait here until the seventh son of a seventh son comes by, carrying a white rose and a golden whistle. Only then will I return to my true form, to be reunited with my seven poor sons, and my faithless husband the king.

Unknown catwoman: I’m on my way to that castle. It’s owned by a shape-changing ogre. I intend to wager the silver collar around my neck that the ogre cannot change itself into three things that I shall name for it. (The third shape shall be a mouse).

Abudah: Ayuh.

Morpheus: It has always been the prerogative of children and half-wits to point out that the emperor has no clothes. But the half-wit remains a half-wit, and the emperor remains an emperor.

Loki: I am the mother to Odin’s stallion, Sleipnir. I am the father of Fenrir, Sun-eater, and of Hel Half-rotted and of Jormungund the World-serpent. I am Loki Scar-lip, Loki Skywalker, Loki Giant’s child, Loki Lie-smith. I am Loki, who is fire and wit and hate. I am Loki. And I will be under an obligation to no one.

Odin: I am called Grim, the Death-blinder, the High One, the Gallows-god. I am called Gondlir the Wand-bearer, and I am Grimnir the Hooded One, the Terrible, the Wakeful. You know me; I am Odin, Bor’s son.

Larissa: So it’s wash off the blood and sleep on the floor, or skip the bath and sleep in the tub. Choices . . . always choices.

On Moonday, the King of Dreams gave an audience to five small children, who had traveled a long way, seeking their lost mother. He met them in a hall filled with scarecrows, who whispered among themselves in the voices of the silent stars of the silver screen. Dancing salamanders brought the children silver plates piled with exotic ice-creams of various flavors, and with fruits they had never seen before and would never see again . . . although they would dream of them, on rare occasions, until they died. Gravely, the Lord of Dreams listened to each child plead and beg; and then, at the end, he drew a door in the air with his finger, and the children walked through it, into the rest of their story. And on Moonday, he arbitrated in a dispute between the Knight of Clouds and the Body Politic. He awarded the Magic Lantern Show to the Knight of Clouds, although he permitted the Body Politic to retain custody of the Six Screaming Stones and the Snows of Yesterday. He walked from his castle to the dreams of a small boy in Hong Kong. He remained there for some minutes, observing quietly. Then he left. He ate in the dream of the head chef in the best hotel in Sri Lanka, a dream of a certain meal described to the chef by his grandfather. The meal consisted of almost fifty separate courses, and over two hundred dishes. The King of Dreams tasted sparingly of a vegetable dish, and a little plain rice, and was contented by the perfection of each. He had been asked to permit the sending of a dream of warning to a teenaged girl in South Africa. With this dream to drive her, the girl would grow up to take charge of the country, to unite all divided factions; without it, she would become a nurse. He came to his own decision, and relayed it to the tribal gods from whom the request had come. His decision brooked no argument, had no appeal. And then, to conclude the day’s work, he gave an elderly tortoise, alone on her island these past two centuries, a dream of her love, roasted by passing sailors long since for his rich green flesh.

He rode a black horse across the Lake of Dawn; and rode a white horse through the Mandrake Wood; and rode a screech-owl over the Via Lacrimae. He walked through the Love Fields, and from there he walked on into Nightmare.

(Truesday, Wodinsday, Thirstday, Fire’s Day, Satyrday, Son’sday)

Delirium: Down the road I go. I am following my fishie. La la laa. Because my fish knows where to go. My fish is the Borghal Rantipole who I made look like a fishie because I am so clever and I can do things like that if I want . . . la la la . . . I am so clever. . . la la la . . . it knows many thingummies. The Borghal Rantipole, that is. And now it is inconspicuous too as well. La la laa. I am following my fishie. Hello, pretty lady. I am following my fish. Looking for my doggie. Both. At the same time. If you don’t let me in, I will turn you into a demon half-face waitress nightclub-lady with a crush on her boss, and I’ll make it so you’ve been that from the beginning of time to now and you’ll never know if you were anything else and it will itch inside your head worse than little bugses.

It begins as a carriage, pulled by two black horses pounding across the waters of night, their hooves striking sparks of tiny stars, splashing through the wet darkness in a wild, tireless gallop. As it reaches the sands that border the Dreaming the carriage becomes, without slowing, a train. Such a train it becomes, oh! A gleaming black and silver deco dream of a train that clacks along the silver tracks with the unchanging rhythm of a nursery rhyme; and perhaps, if you listened hard enough, you could imagine that you could tease words from the pulsing clatter . . .
all around me
darkness gathers,
fading is the
sun that shone;
we must speak
of other matters:
you can be me
when I’m gone . . .

Delirium: So far we’ve found lots of clues. Here’s a little swan made of ice . . . and a toffee . . . and a tongue-stud. And a word that means red or green at the same time. Oh. This is the Borghal Rantipole. Borghal Rantipole, this is a lady I don’t know either.


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