Dreaming Again

by Jack Dann

  ‘I said run.’ Bean’s voice filled his head.

  Ulmer ran. His fellow coppers, a half-dozen men, moved out of his way. He cursed them for it. That they should let him pass so unchallenged. That they should go to their deaths so easily.

  But he didn’t stop, didn’t look back. He ran up the stairs, his breath and his pounding heart roaring in his head, filling the space Bean’s voice had made.

  Behind him, in screams, and gunshots, and wet, horrible noises, the New Deal unfolded.

  AFTERWORD

  ‘The New Deal’ came about as a confluence of my desire to write something Noirish, a visiting exhibition of Egyptian relics, including shabtis, at the Queensland Museum, the Kevin Spacey/Bobby Darin biopic Beyond the Sea, and the introduction of new Australian Workplace Agreements. Proving, I suppose, you never know where a story’s going to come from.

  — Trent Jamieson

  <>

  CONQUIST

  DIRK STRASSER

  DIRK STRASSER has had over thirty adult and children’s books published. He won the Ditmar for Best Professional Achievement in 2002 (with Stephen Higgins) and has been shortlisted for the Aurealis and Ditmar Awards a number of times. His Ascension series of fantasy novels have been published in Australia and Germany, and he is the author of Graffiti, a children’s horror/fantasy novel.

  He has had SF/fantasy/horror short stories published in magazines and anthologies in Australia, the UK, the USA, and Germany, with several stories appearing in ‘Best of anthologies and lists in Australia and the United States. Some of these stories can be found in magazines and anthologies such as Universe Two, Borderlands 4, Metaworlds, and Alien Shores. He co-edited Aurealis magazine from 1990 to 2001 and founded the Aurealis Awards.

  Born in Germany in 1959, Strasser has lived most of his life in Australia. He is currently employed as a Senior Publisher tor Pearson Education Australia, and is living in Melbourne with his wife and two children.

  In the rich and elegant voyage of greed, discovery, and betrayal that follows, we travel to the New World with the Spanish conquistadors only to discover yet another new world…

  ‘You see, my men suffer from a disease of the heart which can only be assuaged by gold.’

  — Hernán Cortés

  ‘Even if the snows of the Andes turned to gold, still they would not be satisfied.’

  — Manco lnca

  The following is the first English translation of four fragments from an obviously much larger account that came to light in an archive in the Museo National de Arqueologia, Antropologia e Historia del Perú in Lima. Cristóbal de Varga is a verifiable historical figure, a distant cousin of both Hernán Cortés and Francisco Pizarro who, unlike Pizarro and many of the other conquistadors of his time, was highly literate. This very facility with words has lent credence to those that claim these fragments and the greater work from which they have been derived are merely the fevered imaginings of a man frustrated by his own lack of success in an age where others were making their fortunes.

  Translator’s note

  On the eve of the Holy Trinity in the year of Our Lord 1542, I, Cristóbal de Varga, humble servant of His Imperial Majesty Charles V, King of Spain and Holy Roman Emperor, led my four hundred conquistadors through an entrada into a new world. I have decided to write of the wonders of this world that lie beyond the wonders of New Spain in the hope that others who may also discover the entrada in the mountains of Peru will contemplate entering only with the full knowledge that I bring. Only thus will those who follow be able to complete what we have begun for the glory of Our Lord and for the Empire on whose horizon the sun never descends.

  Let me speak firstly of the moment of passing through to this new and beautiful world whose strangeness far surpasses even that of New Spain. We knew at once that the very air had conspired to change as we urged our horses and dogs through the shimmering curtain that hung in vertical folds like thin veils of snow across the narrow pass. We all reported a sensation which infused the familiar deep Andean cold with an alien bitterness that sliced for a moment into the marrow of our bones. Then, in an instant, it seemed we had entered a landscape over which a new sun shone, for the sky had turned a strikingly deep crimson. And while the same mountains towered around us as they had done, the snows had receded from the peaks, as if we had suddenly lost a season, and smoke and bright sparks issued forth from the summits and hidden crevices.

  As, single file, my cavalry, foot soldiers and crossbowmen emerged from the entrada, it appeared from where we stood on the earth of the strange world that these men were being miraculously conjured from nothing. We could see no white veiled curtain once we had passed through, and one disembodied horse head after the other seemed to float momentarily before it was conjoined with its body. And it was for good reason, on that day, that we named this curtain an ‘entrada’, for once we had crossed that veiled bridge, we could not return. When the last of my soldiers and horses had emerged, I sought to reconnoitre momentarily to the Andes of New Spain, wanting to explore the nature of what I perceived as a gate, only to discover that it was not in truth a gate, but only an entrance in the one direction.

  Those who hear my story may believe that a deep fear entered the hearts of these humble servants of the Empire at this moment. And yet I, Cristóbal de Varga, must tell you that those who would believe this do not know the true heart of a conquistador. We have hearts that feel fear, only a fool would deny this most human of emotions, but the heart of a conquistador will hone this fear into action. It was the conquistador heart that led my countryman Hernán Cortés to scupper his own fleet and overcome the evil sacrifices of the Aztecs Motecuhozuma and Guatemoc, and it was the conquistador heart which gave Francisco Pizarro the courage to conquer the Empire of Atahuallpa and Manco Inca with a smaller company than I commanded. And it was the conquistador heart that now drove us, for the glory of God, to embrace the unknown and wondrous rather than seek to escape it.

  Under my directions, my most loyal captain, Luis Velásquez, staked the Cross of Burgundy standard into the harsh ground and I declared this land, in the name of the Emperor, as a Viceroyalty of New Spain, and claimed for His Majesty Charles V a fifth of the gold that my expedition would find. My carpenters fashioned a large cross and we placed it on the site where the entrada had led us to this new world. Our padre, Bartolomé Núñez, blessed the site, though he feared it could be the work of the devil, and we began our trek into the unknown and to forge deep into this strange land.

  On the third day we were set upon by a large party of high-helmeted enanos, thickset dwarven men with wild beards and dark eyes. They thrust at us with three-pronged horcas, lances of dark shining steel that could pierce our armour, and were it not for their obvious fear of our horses and the sting of our muskets, our tale could have ended at that first encounter. We fought against this new assailant, who was so unlike any of the Indians of New Spain, with fury and skill, and managed to capture one before those that remained alive fled into the smoking mountain crevices from which they had erupted.

  The captive enano would not speak at first, offering us only stares and silences from behind his beard, and Padre Núñez expressed his fear that he and his people were demons. I implored, in the name of Our Lord, that we only sought peace and proffered this dwarven man maize cakes, salt pork and beads as a sign of our good will towards him. After he finally chose to eat, he began to speak in a tone like a growling dog. The Inca translators that travelled with our company said the language was neither Quechua nor Aymara, nor anything related to these two Incan tongues. We knew then that we were truly in a new world beyond the New World.

  I examined the dwarf’s plumed helmet and to my joy saw it inlaid with what appeared to be the highest quality gold. I held it up to him, saying, ‘Oro, oro,’ hoping that he would understand the Spanish word for gold. He appeared to comprehend me almost immediately, but then turned away from me, refusing to meet my eyes. I took this to mean that he knew what we s
ought, and he knew its value. It was from that moment that I was certain that we had found a source of gold that would exceed the wealth found by Pizarro in the Incan capital of Cuzco.

  We took this enano, who we later learned was called Halin, with us as we continued our expedition. Although he was swift to learn Spanish, he never lost his fear of horses and dogs, and would never march near them. We treated him well, hoping to gain his trust so he would be able to aid us in our quest, but though we spoke freely at times, he remained surly and would never speak on the subject of gold.

  I was most intent on discovering who ruled in this land, which we simply called Nueva Tierra, and whether it contained any great cities and powerful kings. Halin spoke of kings as if they only existed in the past, and was wary when I spoke of His Majesty. The dwarf told us of the two peoples of Nueva Tierra, using Spanish words to denote them for he held the pagan superstition that true names should never be divulged. The enanos, those dwarven like himself, built their homes into mountainsides in hidden valleys and deep under the ground. The other peoples, the duendes, were taller than Spaniards and were, in Halin’s words, ‘of light and wing’. The two races seemed in an unrelenting state of conflict with no resolution, although in recent times they had lapsed into an ill-defined truce.

  In my discussions with Halin I tried to uncover the source of the conflict between the enanos and duendes, for I knew we would be able to use this to our advantage. I had learnt the lessons of Cortés and Pizarro, and attempted daily to extract information I could use, but Halin spoke as if words were coins and he did not wish to pay more than he had to. Padre Bartolomé Núñez spoke to Halin of the need to surrender to God’s will, accept the mercy of Christ our Lord, and cast down any idols that he worshipped. Though Halin showed interest in the padre’s words, he did not accept them as the truth, and claimed he did not worship any idols.

  On the twentieth day under the crimson sky of Nueva Tierra, we entered a steep-sided valley and, as night started to fall, we discovered we were suddenly encircled on both slopes by the flames of ten thousand torches. Through the fearful silence that fell upon us, we heard the booming of a single drum. While the courage of my men was beyond question, we all began to tremble at the sound of that forlorn drumbeat in a valley far from New Spain. Our horses reared, their breath clouding in the bitter dusk, and our dogs cowered and whimpered like pups.

  We drew our swords and loaded our muskets and crossbows. I gave the order for our cannons to be primed with powder as the drums sounded through the sinistering sky. I commanded Halin to shout words of peace at what we could now see in the gleaming torchlight was an army of his people, fully armoured and brandishing their gleaming trident horcas. His voice echoed through the valley, but while he had rapidly learnt Spanish, none of us knew enough of the enano tongue to be certain of what his message was.

  ‘They wish you to return to your lands,’ reported Halin once a response had been shouted to us from the darkness.

  My reply was that we bring greetings from our king and that we wished only to pay our respects to their leaders and trade for gold. I offered gifts and honour to a delegation of enanos to discuss our presence in their lands.

  As the night drew further into blackness, the drumbeat finally ceased and several of the lights on the eastern slope began to move towards us. The enano delegation insisted on meeting us far from our horses and dogs. The leader, Tagón, whose face was almost entirely enveloped by a coarse beard, wore a peaked helmet that towered above the others, and he carried a three-pronged horca that reached almost twice his height.

  After both of us claimed, through the interpreter Halin, to be people of honour, I spoke again of friendship from a powerful distant king and of our desire to trade for gold. Tagón said there was little his people valued more than gold, and that there could be only conflict if the strangers sought it in their lands. I understood then, watching this dwarf’s wild eyes as he spoke, that were we to satisfy our mission, there was no choice for us here but to take the gold of this world by force, prising from the grasping hands of each enano. This conclusion gave me no pleasure, other than the pleasure of certainty, for I am no uncivilised savage and my sole motivations were the glory of Spain and Our Lord.

  Padre Núñez then came to Tagón, holding a crucifix in one hand and a bible in the other, saying the enanos must submit to the truth of the Word of God in this Book and denounce their gods. The interpreter Halin said that he would attempt to impart the meaning of the padre’s words to Tagón, but that the words God and gods could not be translated accurately into their language. Padre Núñez placed the Holy Script into Tagón’s hands, demanding that he repent his sins and declare his love for Our Lord. Tagón opened the bible and squinted in the torchlight at several pages. He declared that these words said nothing to him and held out the book for the padre to take. When Padre Núñez refused to accept its return, staring instead into the eyes of the enano, the two remained locked as if in mortal, unmoving, combat, until Tagón finally released his hold on the bible and let it fall to the ground.

  Padre Núñez pronounced the enanos to be demons, as he had suspected, and beyond salvation. I had no choice but to order the immediate capture of the delegation. It was fortunate that the enanos did not expect us to break the agreement of our meeting, for their slow reaction to our attack enabled us to avoid any bloodshed.

  In an effort to avert a pitched battle, I commanded that my most loyal captain, Luis Velásquez, shoot a cannonball into a bare hillock at the entrance to the valley as a show of our power. A thunderous roar echoed through the valley and the acrid smell of gunpowder permeated the air. Through Halin, I offered peace and called on the enanos to submit to our king.

  Let there be no doubt that we feared annihilation since for every one noble conquistador, there stood a hundred enanos, tridents in hand on the eastern and western slopes that towered above us. I myself trembled like a child and could barely hold my crossbow. Yet our strength lay in the certainty of Our Lord and the unshakable conviction that we were performing His Will.

  And when the solitary drum recommenced its mournful, sonorous beat, we knew that our lives were now held in God’s hands. We said our prayers to the Almighty as the lights of the enanos began to crowd down the slopes towards us, and their raw battle cries tore at our hearts like jagged blades.

  Our crossbowmen hit countless marks, but it was our muskets that gave us an advantage during the initial attack. The enanos clearly had no understanding of how to defend themselves against guns, and these weapons destroyed their front ranks, making it difficult for those pressing behind them to break through. Our cannons wreaked a thunderous havoc on the dense clusters of enanos, although the advantage of our artillery diminished the closer the enanos drew.

  Once the first of the dwarfs reached us, our advantages were significantly diminished. They fought with the fury and strength of the demons we now believed them to be, wielding their sharp-bladed horcas with powerful arms and brutal determination. Their armour was at least the strength of ours, and we resorted to thrusting our swords at the exposed portions of their helmeted faces and attempting to wound their legs. If it were not for the dogs and horses, we would not have withstood the first pitch of blade-on-blade battle. The enanos who appeared so fearless against us, quaked at the sight of our war-hounds. And our steeds allowed our cavalry to charge and retreat countless times in a tactic that destroyed any battle rhythm the enanos could muster.

  Although we, thanks be to God, defended ourselves with skill and bravery in the face of that initial onslaught, we were so grossly outnumbered that we could launch no counter thrust, lest our defences be left weakened and we were forced to parry from our exposed position in the middle of the valley. As the deaths of our attackers mounted, we realised we had their measure and grew bolder in our blade work. Though these dwarven men were as courageous as any soldiers I had encountered, they clearly could not change their tactics mid-battle, and we beat off the attack before dawn, but w
ere too exhausted to chase those enanos who retreated carrying their dead from the valley.

  We buried our own dead and staunched our wounds and those of our horses with the fat of the fallen enanos who had not been taken, for our dressing supplies were limited and we feared that the campaign could be a long one. We had lost twenty-four good men and two hounds during the attack, but could only guess at the casualties of the dwarfs. After Padre Núñez had performed the blessings for our fallen comrades and we had erected a cross, we prayed for the strength to continue. With Luis Velásquez and my other captains, I spoke to the captured leader Tagón who assured us through Halin that his kinsmen would not make peace if we marched further into their lands, and that they would learn from their losses and strike again. I took this, at first, to be merely the pride of a captured leader speaking, but Halin confirmed that his were a stubborn people who would continue on a course of action even when that course appeared the most horrific folly.

  Three of my captains counselled that we should be seeking a return to New Spain, but agreed in the face of my arguments that we did not yet know anything of the other people of this land, the duendes, and that an alliance with them was the path forward. I then questioned Tagón on these tall people who Halin had described as ‘of light and wing’. He informed me that they lived in the regions beyond these mountains and that, unlike his people, their minds shifted constantly and they could not be trusted. I asked him if they possessed carved objects of gold, and he said that they had many such objects and that they were valued for their spiritual power rather than for the gold itself. I spoke to him of the greatness of Our Lord and God, but the only word he could find in his language for a god was closer to the Spanish word mago or wizard.

  We moved from the valley the next day because we feared another encirclement on the eastern and western slopes. The more I spoke with Tagón, who was eager to learn of our people and our God, the more I felt in him a kindred spirit. I sensed that all I had to do was explain fully our beliefs and he would consent to a baptism in the name of Our Lord. Padre Núñez remained suspicious, claiming the enanos as demons had no capacity for accepting Christ as their Saviour, and that Tagón was only seeking to discover our weaknesses through his questioning of our customs and beliefs.