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according to her expectation.
    She was getting closer to the wall-sized calliope. Its full
scope was now in view, no longer partially hidden by the buildings at the end of
the street. The fake band was arranged on two decks of a massive Dixie
riverboat, The Gladiator . Each character was holding an instrument, and
the mechanics that would force the fingers to move and the valves to be
depressed on the trumpets and saxophones were exposed with little attempt to
hide them; the mechanics, after all, were supposed to be part of the charm. Each
of the mannequins looked slightly off, as though pieces of different dummies
had been used to form a whole figure, resulting in the heads not quite matching
the body, and the hands not quite matching the arms.
    Eliza turned to look at the token box, waiting to receive two
of the metal discs, ready to breathe the display to life.
    No way, she thought, even though she had a half-dozen tokens in her pocket.
    She turned to her left, looking at the last house of the
street before the entrance to the next section. It was a lamp store, filled
with Tiffany-style lamps of different shapes and sizes. Once again she dropped
into the River, and this time was shocked to see several of the lamps
transform. One looked like an anvil, and another became a crusty wooden crate,
covered in dried mud.
    Oh my God! she thought, marveling at the transformation. Look at
that! Rachel was right!
    She heard movement behind her, and realized a couple had made
their way down the street and to the riverboat display while she’d been examining
the lamps. She could hear them dropping tokens into the box. She wanted to
leave the room before it started up, but she knew she’d never make it.
Immediately the wind of the bellows cranked up, filling with air in preparation
for the first notes. It took about five seconds, and the playing would begin.
    She turned, still in the River. The couple was young,
standing right in front of the display, their backs to her. They haven’t a
clue I’m in the River, she thought. They think I’m just another tourist,
looking into one of the shop windows.
    Then the sound began, revving up like a record trying to get
up to speed. It was loud, filling the formerly silent street with banging drums
and cymbals. She looked at the riverboat as the figures came to life, moved by
articulation arms in repetitive patterns.
    She glanced back down the street. No one else had entered the
room; it was just the three of them. She noticed little mechanical music box
displays, running up and down the street, small contraptions housed in wooden
frames with glass windows, tucked between each of the shops. She’d passed them
by while walking the street earlier, completely missing them, concentrating
more on the shop windows. There was a glow coming from several of them; a gypsy
fortune teller, whose arm was moving back and forth over a series of tarot
cards; a winter scene of skiers slowly sliding down a snow-covered mountain,
the mechanism returning them to the top for an endless loop; fishermen casting
rods into fake water and tugging to pull something up. They were all glowing in
an unnatural way, and she was just about to walk to them when the music from
the riverboat changed, dropping several steps, becoming louder, screeching like
fingernails on a chalkboard. She turned back to look at it, wondering if
something mechanical was breaking down; instead she saw figures moving between
the mannequins, reaching for the instruments. They were whitish-pale and
transparent, and she could see though them to the riverboat backdrop. As she
watched, one of them looked up, staring right at her. When they made eye
contact, the male figure smiled at her, and then lowered his eyesight to the
cello by his side. He reached down to slide his ghostly fingers along the
strings of the instrument, producing a loud wail that made Eliza want to hold
her ears. He looked back up at her, his smile growing as he watched