When Nathaniel turned to look into the boulder field, he caught sight of what appeared to be a pavilion in the distance, perched on a small cliff. Its dome-like shape with its six open sides sparked his curiosity. The pavilion shaded pristine white benches on the outer three sides, and the round top consisted of a roof with a wire type design like something from an Old English countryside. It seemed the perfect place to bring a girl, possibly Juli; after all, she was his closest friend, and they had known each other since kindergarten.

  As he approached the pavilion, the landscape opened up, and he could see a vast mountain range in the distance that the trees, boulders, and pavilion had hidden before. When he reached the pavilion and peered down from where he stood inside, a sudden fear gripped his heart. The "small cliff" turned out to be a vertical drop to the bottom of a gorge several thousand feet below. When he squinted, he could just barely see the river threading through the boulders at the bottom of the ravine.

  Something caught his attention that he should have noticed right away: the entire valley was filled with floating orbs or balls of some sort, all of which seemed to have small, white, delicate shells on their top halves. Each was exactly the same size, as far as he could tell, and were all drawn and shaded using dots. They slowly dripped huge water droplets, one after another, and never shrank despite the constant drip, drip, drip. They bobbed up and down in no rhyme or rhythm, like weird little balloons. Some floated in place and never moved, as if pinned to the sky; others rose or fell at random.

  Nathaniel's best guess was that they were supposed to be rain clouds of some sort. Whatever the case, they lined the interior of the valley from as far north as he could see to all the way south as far as he could see. The slow oozing of the raindrops reminded him of the way the dregs drip from a bottle of maple syrup, held upside down and gently squeezed when it's almost empty.

  This went on for several minutes, and for some reason brought to mind the classical music his father sometimes played on Saturday mornings when he cooked breakfast or cleaned. As he watched the orbs go up and down, he heard in his mind the distant sound of a Mozart concerto. A faint key on the piano, then another note and another moved into a full ensemble of notes and instruments and orbs bobbing in the sky.

  As Mozart replayed in Nathaniel's mind, one orb went up to the sound of a high, wavering flute, and then an orb went down to the deeper sound of a trombone. Suddenly, he could see as well as hear the music in the bobbing rain-orbs as the notes came to life in his memory — until it was no longer just his memory. In no time at all, a full symphony was playing so loudly that it filled the entire valley with the sounds of violins, violas, cellos, clarinets, and bassoons; then the brass and drums and a distant harp all came alive in full song, and the orbs were no longer bouncing up and down haphazardly, if they ever had been, but in sync with the music.

  Nathaniel stood there in silence and awe for what seemed an eternity, wrapped in ecstasy at the sheer magnitude of the Valley of Musical Orbs and how they brought to life the music of one of history's greatest composers. Just when he thought it was over, another song began to play — Brahms? — and the orbs began drifting up and down in sync with that. Then came the voices; different orbs went high for the sopranos, steady for the mezzo-sopranos, and low for the altos. There were even orbs that went very low for the contralto voices.

  After a long while, the music began to fade, as if to go to another track; then the orbs began to vibrate wildly... as did the pebbles on the ground, like a sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. Another stampede? He pushed back into the pavilion as the pounding grew louder, and before long a herd of wild horses, more than he could count, swept past the pavilion — hundreds of horses at least. Some were drawn in black, some pure white, some in shades of gray; a few were fantastically dappled with all three, in patterns resembling tribal tattoo art of some kind. All were enormous, making Clydesdales look like children's ponies. They were followed by a herd of buffalo, which were followed by deer, then elk, then a host of many different animals mixed together: foxes, squirrels, rabbits, raccoons, opossums, minks, weasels, field mice, and more.

  He hoped this didn't mean there was a forest fire raging somewhere.

  Caught in the pavilion, Nathaniel stood with his hands over his ears, dividing his attention between the animals and the wild vibrating orbs, hoping this would soon be over. And suddenly it was, the sound of galloping hooves and pounding feet disappearing off to his left. No sooner had it faded that the rain-orbs reverted to their musical condition, this time plinking out Beethoven's Für Elise. Before Nathaniel could immerse himself in the music again, though, he saw trailing behind the stampede in the distance two big black birds that looked suspiciously like the eye-crow that had invaded his house.

  Following them were three large, black panther-people with furry, human-like arms tipped by sharp claws; they ran on two legs instead of four. Focused on Nathaniel, they began to spread out and close in on him from both sides and the middle, clambering through and over the boulders with great ease. The eye-crows cawed and croaked, egging on the panthers as they circled above the pavilion, squawking like vultures over a carcass.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Fearful, Nathaniel looked in every direction; which way could he run? He darted south from the pavilion, but only went about twenty yards before he saw a panther approaching from that direction. It seemed there was nothing to do but go back to the pavilion and hope for the best. He ran towards it, this time coming from a different angle — so that to his utter astonishment, when he stepped close to the pavilion, he actually stepped into a real-world room, no longer in the Inkworld!

  He whirled around and saw a large pen-and-ink drawing, like the ones in PaPa's basement except a little bigger, hanging low on a plaster wall. This Masterpiece displayed a lovely white silk pavilion, perched on a sheer cliff with the one-raindrop/musical note clouds scattered over the entire valley. Nathaniel wasted no time in taking the Masterpiece off the wall and laying it face-down on the wooden floor, then arranging articles of furniture across it. He set a small three-legged table on one corner, a chair on another, a rolled-up carpet over the middle, and a wooden bureau across one short end.

  Then he crouched in the corner of the room, behind a small sofa, and watched the Masterpiece carefully. Several minutes went by and nothing happened, so he climbed over the couch, sat down, and tried to calm himself. When he went to rub his eyes, he finally noticed that he was covered in a sticky film. What's this? he wondered, peeling it off his arms and face and out of his hair. It kind of looked like what you got when you let Elmer's glue dry on your skin.

  "This is just too weird," he uttered as he pulled the stuff away, rolling it into a ball. When he had enough of it off himself to be comfortable, he took a good look around for the first time. Bright skylights pierced the ceiling, lighting up the entire room. Dozens of paintings of all sizes hung on the walls, most of which appeared to be the English countryside, but there were also studies of the same beautiful woman. There were many different renderings of her, some in chalk, some painted with acrylics, and others with watercolors.

  He realized, finally, that he was in a large, one-room art studio. All the walls were of old brick, and it was furnished with a bed, sink, bathroom, and small refrigerator — everything one would need for day-to-day survival. In that sense, it reminded him of the hidden basement room in Papa’s house, though this room was much larger and completely unfamiliar.

  Nathaniel got up and walked over to an iron railing that paralleled a staircase that went down to a floor ending at the front door. "Wonder where that goes." There were curtains covering a small window. He slowly pulled the curtain open so he could get some idea where he was. Across the street was an old brick building with architecture similar to Boston, but different. "Oh, I know…"

  He got out his phone and checked where he was on his GPS, and to his utter surprise, it showed that he was located on Wren Road in London, England.

  "Oh my God, what the heck am I doing in London?" he exclaimed. Panic began to set in. "This is impossible. There's no way I can be in London." He looked outside again, and nothing had changed.

  He closed the curtain and leaned against the wall. After taking a deep breath, he called out, "Hello? Is anybody here? I didn't mean to intrude, I promise! My name is Nathaniel Hancock, and I'm kinda sorta lost. Hello, is anyone there?"

  There was no answer. Apparently, he had the place all to himself — but he didn't want to stay too long, for fear that someone might show up and think he was trying to rip off their artwork. "So," he said softly, "I came here through a Masterpiece drawing just like the one I drew. I guess mine's not the only one that's active." Nathaniel reached into his backpack to the special pocket where he kept the Pen, mumbling, "So, Mr. Fine, can you tell me what in the world is going on? Did you draw that?" He flipped the bottom right corner of the drawing over and saw that it was signed Masterpiece – M.H.

  "M.H. I wonder if that means Martin Hancock, PaPa's dad. He did live in London, and PaPa always bragged about how he loved to draw and paint. But he's been dead forever..."

  Thoughtful, Nathaniel walked all around the studio; and the longer he stayed, the more at home he felt. He slowly became sure that this must have been PaPa's father's art studio. But why was this drawing active, unlike the ones down in the basement at the manor house?

  He soon rolled his eyes at his naivety. "Oh. How could I be so stupid? I bet the drawings in the basement do the same thing when they're not sealed in glass." Nathaniel became animated, "'Seal the drawing, Nathaniel, it uses special ink, you don’t want to spend too much time admiring it.' Now I know, now I know why he said that…"

  Close to the Masterpiece — on the table he'd set on top of it, actually — was a brush and glass jar with a faded label that looked like some type of old ink sealant. That explained how the drawing had been protected from fading, and why he was covered with the sticky stuff. But that just raised another question: Why was this one sealed with that goo, while the ones in PaPa's basement were sealed in glass?

  Nathaniel explored the entire studio, peeking in drawers, cupboards, and in the antique desk. It became increasingly evident that this was, in fact, his great-great-grandfather's studio. He found love letters between Martin and his wife, and read a couple. He also discovered one cabinet full of hundreds of letters to and from many people, which he left alone. Then he opened a small drawer and there, on a small sheet of fragile old paper, was written:

  IN THIS LIFE WE CAN LET OUR IMAGINATIONS INFLUENCE THE WORLD — OR WE CAN LET THE WORLD INFLUENCE OUR IMAGINATIONS. – A.H. (T.N.)

  "The same quote I found in PaPa's basement."

  He looked up and around the room, and saw that the same thing was painted on the back wall of the room, near the ceiling, above all the paintings.