The Phantom Tollbooth: Chapters 9–12

“That’s true,” said the Humbug, who didn’t like to contradict anyone whose feet were that far off the ground.

“Oh yes, they live in a wonderful city called Reality,” he announced, smashing into one of the smaller trees and sending a cascade of nuts and leaves to the ground.

There were great crowds of people rushing along with their heads down, and they all appeared to know exactly where they were going as they darted down and around the nonexistent streets and in and out of the missing buildings.

There were at least a thousand musicians ranged in a great arc before them. To the left and right were the violins and cellos, whose bows moved in great waves, and behind them in numberless profusion the piccolos, flutes, clarinets, oboes, bassoons, horns, trumpets, trombones, and tubas were all playing at once.

The last colors slowly faded from the western sky, and, as they did, one by one the instruments stopped, until only the bass fiddles, in their somber slow movement, were left to play the night and a single set of silver bells brightened the constellations.

“I am Chroma the Great,” he continued, gesturing broadly with his hands, “conductor of color, maestro of pigment, and director of the entire spectrum.”

“Do you play all day long?” asked Milo when he had introduced himself.
“Ah yes, all day, every day,” he sang out, then pirouetted gracefully around the platform. “I rest only at night, and even then they play on.”

“And brought him here,” continued the exasperated Dischord, “where, despite his lack of shape or features, I trained—"

“I trained him as my assistant in the business of concocting and dispensing noise,” finished the doctor, mopping his brow with a handkerchief.

““When the neighbors are playing their radio too loud, late at night, what do you wish they’d turn down?”
“That awful din,” answered Tock.

“So, wherever the noise is, that’s where you’ll find me,” said the DYNNE with an appreciative smile; “and I must hurry along, for I understand that today there’s to be a screech, several loud crashes, and a bit of pandemonium.”

Many people thought it was the weather, and others blamed the moon, but the general consensus of opinion held that the trouble began at the time that Rhyme and Reason were banished.

Milo thought for just a moment and then, with a resolute “I shall,” volunteered to go.

In a moment the great portal swung open, and, as it closed behind him, a gentle voice sang out: “Right this way; I’m in the parlor.”

Milo was crestfallen. He had no idea how to steal a sound, even the smallest one, for the Soundkeeper always had at least one eye carefully focused on him.