Lady of Dreams

by W. R. Gingell

  Mwoh? Was I implying that you’re antisocial?

  I would never.

  As I was saying, it was one of my first Eppan parties that didn’t involve tortured artists, writers, and musicians grouped into antisocial little huddles with business managers and publishing staff, and I was as close to being delighted as I was capable of being. I had seen Eppans dressed for fun and frolic before, but I’d never seen so many all in one place. Nor had I seen so many gorgeously intricate male coiffures—or, for that matter, so many beautiful men. The women, with their dark flowing hair and brightly coloured skirts, were only barely more beautiful.

  I’m not sure why Eun-hee invited me. I’m not sure why Father remembered to send me, if it comes to that. But she did, and he did, and there I was—arranged on my couch in a corner of the room, only just able to see the dancers through the crowds of people talking and drinking lemonade. Just a little to my left was another couch where a very tiny, very beautiful woman sat, surrounded by men young and old alike.

  Not many people know this about Eun-hee, but her strength isn’t boundless. That first time I met her, she was watching the dancing, too. I suppose that to other people she may have looked bored, or as if she were holding a court of all her admirers without any desire to dance, but I saw the way she sat—the pillow that was propped in place behind the small of her back, the carefully maintained arch from her hip to the elbow that was leaning so apparently casually against the sofa arm—and I knew her at once. This lady was in pain—in a great deal of pain, if I knew anything about it.

  The question was, why did she continue to dance? Because I saw her later, whirling through the figures of a reel as if her life depended on it, her face alight and only the deepness of the shadowing below her eyes showing how much it cost her.

  It was so alien to me that I couldn’t help watching her even through the threads of the Dream that was calling to me. And later, when we were both alone for a moment and she recognised me for my father’s daughter, I even made an effort to reply to her questions. It probably would have been better if I hadn’t done that; it was shortly after that dance that Father told me for the first time that I would be visiting Eun-hee for a few months. It would have been less trouble for me if I’d simply allowed myself to be curious without concerning myself. But then, I’m not used to loving something so much that I’m willing to endure the kind of pain that Eun-hee experiences in the pursuance of it. I think that’s what I find so fascinating about Eun-hee: that reckless love of hers.

  Mwoh?

  I’m sorry, I was thinking.

  Nae. That’s what worries me sometimes. She has the same kind of love toward me.

  You think it doesn’t hurt her? Of course it does; I’m not deliberately cold, but I am cold. I forget to ask how she feels. I never remember her birthday. When she is hurting I never feel the ache in my heart that I get from Jessamy, or when I saw—

  Anyway, that’s why it’s no use loving me. What soul I do have belongs to Jessamy, and what’s left over after that isn’t enough to spread over a piece of toast.

  ***

  Dinnertime came and went. I watched Eun-hee’s guests at the table in a Dream, wishing I had something with which to fill my stomach, and waited. Se-ri, as good as her word, had arranged for the engagement announcement to be made, and Eun-hee allowed it with a sparkling smile that would have told only someone who knew her that she was unhappy about being used in a game of somebody else’s making. I saw her eyes follow Ae-jung when Ae-jung, white cheeked and quiet, slipped out of the room.

  “Never mind, Unni,” I murmured. “It can’t be avoided. We’ll help her tomorrow instead.”

  Eun-hee wasn’t the only one to notice Ae-jung’s exit; I saw Yong-hwa’s gaze on her as she left, and even Jessamy frowned at it. He was becoming more perceptive with love.

  Dong-wook may not have seen Ae-jung leave, but he had certainly seen Eun-hee’s reaction to it, and I wasn’t surprised when he found me in the conservatory before the others were quite done with their food.

  “Nuna? Oh, there you are.”

  “It’s all right,” I said, to that face of youthful worry. “I’m taking care of it—you can tell Eun-hee unni so, if you like.”

  The frown didn’t quite leave his face, but although it was a worried smile, still he smiled. “Komawoyo, Nuna. Shall I carry you back?”

  It would be nice to make my own way back before Carlin found me alone and helpless in the conservatory, so I nodded. Besides, Dong-wook doesn’t like to get too close to me, and an offer of help from him is a rarity that ought to be taken at its full value. He picked me up gingerly, Scandian-fashion—carried before him in his arms rather than on his back—and I held myself as still as possible. I was warmer than usual, thanks to Jessamy, but my limbs weren’t as warm as a normal human’s should be, and I knew exactly how Dong-wook would flinch if my skin came into contact with his. Fortunately, I was in one of my longer-sleeved frocks, so when my left arm went around Dong-wook’s neck, only the lace of my sleeve frothed over his collar to touch the skin there.

  We passed down the hall that I’d seen Hyun-jun and Se-ri tread in my Dreams, my stockinged feet brushing lightly against the panels here and there where Dong-wook conscientiously skirted too broadly around a vase-bearing stand or wall seat. I would have felt myself still Dreaming if it weren’t for the warmth of Dong-wook; I had travelled this hallway more often in my Dreams than in Reality. The lights were low, glowing Energy lights that softly brought out the richness of the panelled walls around us, and it wasn’t until we were almost at the curve that led to the foyer and the guest-level stairs that I saw Yong-hwa.

  It was impulse that made me turn my face into Dong-wook’s collar, my other arm going up and around his neck and legs dangling loose as though I were asleep; but it was a small, unfamiliar stirring of apprehension that made me stay like that when I came to myself. I knew when we passed Yong-hwa because Dong-wook turned a little sideways, touching my toes against the wood panels once more. I felt the light brush of warmth against my left shoulder; heard Yong-hwa’s voice murmuring an apology, then he was past us. I saw him vanishing into the conservatory when I raised my head cautiously from Dong-wook’s shoulder.

  “Nuna?” Dong-wook’s steps had slowed without my noticing, and now he stopped. He was looking down at me in concern, his eyes troubled. “Nuna, what’s wrong? I never saw you do that before.”

  I pulled away too quickly and grazed Dong-wook with the back of my right hand. He flinched, but it was only a flicker of discomfort, and the frown was still there between his brows.

  “Is that person bothering you, Nuna? Should I ask Eun-hee to make him leave?”

  “Aniya, Dong-wook-a,” I said, gazing up at him in faint wonder. “I just didn’t want him to remember me, that’s all.”

  “If you’re sure,” he said, with obvious reluctance. “But Nuna—”

  Feeling an unusual weight of crawling discomfort, I prevented any more questions by saying, “There’s something else I need to do before I go back to my room. Can you carry me to Ma Yong-hwa’s apartments?”

  Dong-wook, who knew me well enough, asked suspiciously, “What for?”

  “It’s to do with helping Ae-jung,” I said, and his face lightened immediately.

  He wasn’t particularly happy when he knew what it was I wanted him to do, but he did it anyway, softly opening the door into Yong-hwa’s rooms to smuggle in me and Ae-jung’s book. His face now had more of a hunted look than a worried one.

  “Nuna, is it really all right?”

  “These are Eun-hee’s rooms, after all,” I pointed out. “There’s something I need to make sure Yong-hwa gets. I don’t think it will be safe anywhere else.”

  “All right,” agreed Dong-wook reluctantly. “But can we do it quickly?”

  “I think so,” I murmured, looking languidly around the room. I was feeling unexpectedly heavy. Why was that? I hadn’t had physical contact with Jessamy since yesterday, and his effec
t had lessened considerably since then. It usually took a week or two before the cumulative effect of his presence had me heavy enough to walk even on the days when I didn’t see him. “There. That.”

  Dong-wook, in too much haste even for another worried look around the room, dropped to his knees beside Yong-hwa’s sheet-music case. “This? What do we want with papers?”

  I lifted the lid of the case with one heavy hand. “Nothing. We’re not taking something out; we’re putting something in.”

  “Mwoh?” Dong-wook watched in perplexed silence as I fumbled Ae-jung’s book out of my shawl and into Yong-hwa’s music case. I shuffled it under a few of the papers, just far enough in to be unnoticed for perhaps a day or two, unless Yong-hwa went searching for something in particular. “But Nuna! We just passed Yong-hwa-ssi in the hall! You could have given it to him then!”

  “I don’t want him to know I had it,” I said, reclasping the case. “Or that I gave it to him. This has to stay between us, Dong-wook-a. We can go now.”

  Dong-wook, very happy to leave the room, was up and out the door without hesitation. He hastily closed the door, and we turned to find ourselves face-to-face with Carlin, whose eyes were very narrow.

  “I’ve been looking for you all day,” he said. “Miss. Have you been in there the whole time? Are you all right?”

  “I’ve been under the curtains in the conservatory,” I said, releasing Dong-wook’s neck so he could transfer me into Carlin’s waiting arms. “There was something I had to do in Ma Yong-hwa’s rooms.”

  “I would have taken you there,” said Carlin stiffly. Dong-wook, looking from me to Carlin and back again, beat a hasty retreat for the second time.

  “I know,” I said. “But I have something else for you to do.”

  Carlin allowed himself to become slightly less stiff. “Yes, miss?”

  “I need you to go to Jessamy for me,” I said. “I want him to give the letter to Ae-jung now.”

  “Now? This very minute?”

  “As close as he can manage. And then he’ll need to arrange the lane puffer to take her to the cottage in the village, and carry her bags down for her. Tell him to stay there for a week or so to ease her into place.”

  “What about you?” asked Carlin, shouldering through the door to my apartments with the ease of long practise.

  “Put me on the chaise,” I said. “The Dreams are about to start up again. I won’t need you.”

  “You—” Carlin stopped, then finished in a huff, “You haven’t eaten yet.”

  “Too late now,” I sighed, feeling the undeniable pull of a Dream that was trying to haul me in Ae-jung’s direction. I could see her faint outline against the starlit glass of the windows. “Go to Jessamy, Carlin.”

  I was fairly in the Dream before I heard his reply, slipping into Ae-jung’s modestly sized room just in time to see her close her trunk and belt it tightly. She wasn’t crying, but she had a white, miserable look that was more worrying than tears. I felt a little bit pleased with myself, because I’d calculated correctly: she was planning on going home. What was she planning on telling my father? Perhaps she was simply too overwhelmed to think about that now. I watched her until Jessamy arrived with my letter, pondering on the strength of those emotions that had led Hyun-jun to make himself miserable for Ae-jung’s sake—the same ones that made Ae-jung miserable as a result.

  “So exhausting,” I said to myself, comfortable in my own relatively emotionless state. Ae-jung was reading over the note I had signed with my father’s name and stamped with his seal. Behind her, just as curiously, Jessamy was reading it over her shoulder. I saw him grin once, but by the time Ae-jung looked up from the note he was serious again.

  She gave a token refusal, but Jessamy didn’t pay any attention. He was too busy wrestling her trunk out the door—and, when one of Eun-hee’s footmen was called to carry it down, in ushering Ae-jung herself out—and by the time they were both in the lane puffer, Ae-jung was not only resigned, but smiling faintly.

  “Komawoyo, Jessamy-a,” she said, when the lane puffer started down the driveway.

  “Don’t thank me, thank C—that is, thank Abeoji,” said Jessamy, very pleased with himself for catching his mistake in time. “There are so many manuscripts at the cottage that he should have sent an army of typists. We bought it from the estate of Jin-ga, with all the handwritten memoirs of his travels to the outer Icelands; Abeoji keeps saying he’ll get them sorted and compiled when he has someone free. Now he does.”

  “Still,” said Ae-jung, sighing a little, “thank you.”

  I spent four weary days Dreaming of Jessamy and Ae-jung before I capitulated and nudged Eun-hee into taking me with her on a visit to the cottage. Yong-hwa had visited Ae-jung for the first two days, taking her out for walks in the cottage gardens when she had been sitting for too long, but for the last two days he had remained at the manor. He found Ae-jung’s book in his sheet music the second day of her absence, and I wasn’t sure if he kept to his rooms because he was writing music or because he was silently puzzling about who had put it there for him. Perhaps he was doing both; he did have his stave paper in front of him, but he spent more time gazing out into the garden than he did in actual writing. In either case, it was more worrisome than soothing to be pulled into his Dreams, no matter how compelling they were.

  It was a fine day for a visit—bright sunshine and very little breeze—and despite the fact that I couldn’t even sit up properly by myself, I smiled as Carlin carried me to the lane puffer.

  “You shouldn’t have sent him away if you were going to miss him,” said Eun-hee, climbing in after me and crowding onto the same seat. She saw me looking at her in surprise and said without a blush, “I don’t feel like facing backward today.”

  “Unni, your lying is a lot better these days,” I said. I was glad to have her there, propping me up. It felt as though it would take very little for me to slither onto the floor today. Carlin must have been satisfied, too, because he didn’t gaze anxiously at me through the window as he normally does; he leaped lightly into his usual spot behind us and wedged himself in beside my chaise longue.

  Eun-hee gave a tiny pleased sniff at that and slipped her hand through my arm. “I told him to pack your overnight case,” she said. “I thought you could stay overnight.”

  “Getting rid of me, Unni?” But I smiled a little anyway. If Eun-hee and Carlin took to working together like this often, they would be very hard to resist. Their quiet antagonism was one of the constants I counted on to get my own way as often as I did.

  “We can walk in the garden when you get back,” said Eun-hee, declining to answer outright. “Besides, Dong-wook told me that you’re helping that poor girl. I thought it might be easier from the cottage.”

  “Nae,” I agreed. It would also be useful for getting me away from Hyun-jun’s wild and nowadays very frightening gaze. Unlike Yong-hwa, he hadn’t thought to enquire after Jessamy’s whereabouts in order to discover Ae-jung’s, and he had spent the last four days alternately brooding in odd corners and sweeping about the manor like a particularly dangerous storm front, chilling and slightly stunning anyone with whom he came into contact. Even Se-ri had stayed out of his way, though not so assiduously as either Yong-hwa or I. Neither of us wanted to be pressed to reveal where Ae-jung was, and although Hyun-jun wasn’t as clever as Yong-hwa it was bound to occur to him eventually that either of us was likely to know something. I didn’t spend much time speculating on why Yong-hwa preferred to keep Hyun-jun away from Ae-jung; it was likely that there was more than one reason, and it was also likely that those reasons were just mixed enough to make it difficult for him to know how much was selfish and how much selfless. It was for Yong-hwa to work out his own motives; I didn’t want to concern myself with them.

  I woke late the next morning in the cottage, heavy and slightly claustrophobic. Jessamy had gone to sleep on the bed beside me, his arms and legs thrown out, like the puppy Yong-hwa had declared him to be. Unusually e
nough, given the heaviness of my limbs and Jessamy’s presence, there was a Dream lingering at the edges of my mind: Yong-hwa straightening his hair at the foyer mirror in the manor.

  I huffed a soft laugh at his vanity, but the laugh caught in my throat when I saw that he carried a very book-shaped parcel in his other hand. Where was he going with that? The day he’d found it, he had sat and stared at it for so long that I hadn’t thought it would leave the manor without equal consideration. Perhaps that was what he had been doing while he was meant to be writing music these last few days: staring at the book. I watched him thoughtfully, wriggling the toes of my body back in Reality, and escaped the Dream only when Yong-hwa, rolling along smoothly in his Energy vehicle, reached the turning into the lane. Then Jessamy began to stir and make muffled remarks about the coolness of the morning.

  “That’s because you slept on top of the covers,” I said. “Jessamy-a, your hands are like ice! Do you want to get sick?”

  “I don’t get sick,” mumbled Jessamy, pawing at his eyes and yawning hugely. “Nuna, why do you take up so much space? You’re so skinny.”

  I rapped his head with my knuckles, which made him grimace and then grin. “Are you busy this morning, Jessamy-a?”

  Jessamy froze midyawn. Was he blushing? “Well, a little bit,” he said cautiously. “That is, there’s something I have to do today.”

  “Then we’ll walk down the lane to the cherry trees this evening,” I said, hiding my smile in my hair as I sat up.

  “All right, Nuna,” said Jessamy happily. “Oh! Nuna! What time is it?”

  “A little after ten,” I said, remembering the clock in the manor’s foyer.

  Jessamy leaped from the bed at once, hastily combing his fingers through his hair and tugging at his hopelessly rumpled coat. “I’m going to be late!” he said in dismay. “Do I look all right? Oh! Can you walk?”

  “You look just like yourself,” I said, a burr of amusement in my throat. “And yes, I think I’ll walk quite well today.”

  “Aish! I should have gotten up earlier,” said Jessamy, dashing his fingers through his hair one last time. “I’ll come back after dinner, Nuna. I’ll call the Carlin-automaton for you.”