Lady of Dreams

by W. R. Gingell

  “Oh, but Seonbae, aren’t you engaged to her?”

  “I told you about that, too.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “It’s the same as before,” said Hyun-jun. “It’s annoying and tiresome, but it’s only business. And don’t try to make up a story about not really loving me because you’re worried about your father, either, because I already know that. I don’t care. I love you and I want to know if you love me.”

  “Very masterly,” I said approvingly in Hyun-jun’s general direction. Yong-hwa was sitting very still, and I said to him, “You should walk away now, Oppa. Even if they hear you, you should walk away. You don’t want to listen to this.”

  As if he’d heard me, Yong-hwa rose slightly from his seat, but at just that moment, Ae-jung’s voice came through the hedge with devastating clarity. “All right,” she said. “I won’t pretend. I’ve been in love with you ever since I met you, and I thought that if I couldn’t have you, I’d rather shut myself away and work without having to watch you with her.”

  “There it is, at last,” I said, as Yong-hwa sank back rather blindly into his seat. “You both really are awkward.” I looked briefly into their Dream and found that Hyun-jun, from staring intently at Ae-jung, had progressed to kissing her.

  I sniffed a small laugh and went back to Yong-hwa, wincing when I saw his face. “Oh, poor baby,” I murmured. For the first time since I’d seen him, Yong-hwa looked cold—frosted over. He shouldn’t look like that. Yong-hwa was warm and mellow and fragrant, like a cup of tea. Even his lips were pale, a straight line of misery with no hint of the secret smile I’d become familiar with. Oh no. This wouldn’t do at all. I sat up straighter and said, “Carlin, are you there?” my Dream-sight clashing with my eyesight.

  There was a brief silence before Carlin said, “Yes, miss.”

  “Take a tea tray to the rose garden. Eppa Blue blend, no milk, in a red—red, do you hear?—teapot. You’ll find Ma Yong-hwa there.”

  Again there was the slightest of pauses before Carlin said, “Do I tell Ma Yong-hwa that you sent it?”

  “No,” I said, closing my eyes and sinking back on the couch. “It’s from no one. No one sent it. Don’t be noticed if you can help it.”

  He must have left the room at some point, but I wasn’t paying attention; my mind immediately sank back into sticky Dreams. Hyun-jun and Ae-jung had left their seat beneath the hedge and were walking slowly back toward the cottage, but my sight of them left as fleetly as it had come, and I was drawn back to Yong-hwa. This Dream was going to be one of the especially tenacious ones, and without Jessamy around to cling to, my legs had already lost all the strength they’d gained since yesterday. I batted that thought away impatiently and went back to watching Yong-hwa—or, rather, the entrance to the rose garden behind him. At length I saw Carlin bring in the tea, slipping into the rose garden with the practised invisibility he still showed on those occasions when he wasn’t deliberately being seen. He slid the tea tray onto the table beside Yong-hwa in one deft, silent movement and turned with such unobtrusive smoothness that I would have clapped my hands if I were able to do so.

  Yong-hwa didn’t seem to see him; he was leaning forward with his forearms against his knees now, gazing blindly at the deep-red display of roses in front of him. Beside him steam from the tea rose in coils of variegated light, the teapot a bright patch of red warmth against the greenery behind it.

  Perhaps Yong-hwa caught the scent of tea. He blinked, a faint line between his brows, and turned his head slowly. His elbow propped itself on one knee, palm supporting his chin, and he stared at the teapot in silence for a very long time.

  “Curious,” he said at last. He poured himself a cup, his long fingers pressed against the warmth of the teapot lid, and sat back with it. Something of the frozen look left his face as he sipped, his fingers curled around the bright-red bowl of the teacup. Though I didn’t see the smile come back to his lips, I thought his eyes began to thaw out above the rim of the teacup, and I saw them close once in what could have been contentment.

  I stayed with Yong-hwa until the red came back to his lips. The tea didn’t warm him completely; there was still a chilled sort of look to his eyes, and the mouth that I had come to expect to be slightly smiling was utterly serious. He didn’t know I was there, of course, and my companionship wasn’t strictly companionship, but somehow I stayed there anyway. And by the time he rose to leave, his gayageum once more strapped to his back, there had sprung to my mind a plan, fully fledged. Ae-jung was to stay at the cottage for the next couple of months at least, and Hyun-jun, Jessamy, and Yong-hwa would be nearby at the manor. I had already done what I could for Jessamy, and as far as I could see, Hyun-jun stood in no need of any help. Moreover, I was quite sure that as little as I wanted Jessamy wandering the grounds with a broken heart, just so little did I want Yong-hwa wandering the grounds with that expression of chilled hurt.

  The tea I had tried to provide with some semblance of lack of agency, but I didn’t think that strategy would be so useful to Yong-hwa as the one I was now contemplating. If Yong-hwa liked anything beside Ae-jung and Jessamy, it was a good game. That being so, I would make sure that he had a game to play—something to distract him. This time it wouldn’t be a game of his own making, however.

  I schemed through the night to decide my first move, unable to quite break free from the Dream, and unable to sleep. That Yong-hwa discover someone was playing with him was unavoidable; that he discover it was I playing with him was more avoidable. It would be far more useful if he did find out someone was playing with him, if it came to that. I had an idea that Yong-hwa aroused to seek out a trickster would be both safe from boredom and distracted from his hurt.

  By the time Carlin brought my breakfast the next morning, I had already achieved most of the things I needed to achieve, and my eyes were heavy. Jessamy had come to see me late the previous night and, among other things, had left with me the useful information that there was a walk proposed for today: Hyun-jun, Jessamy, and Yong-hwa would all walk out to the village in search of amusement.

  Judging from Carlin’s reaction to my appearance that morning, my late-night planning and early-morning Dreaming had both left their ravages. He tsk-tsked as he moved me from my bed to my chaise longue, a hum of discontent in the background as I tried to pull myself far enough out of Dreams to coordinate the remainder of my first sally.

  At last, as Carlin was arranging an entirely unnecessary shawl over my knees, I managed to say quietly, “Stop complaining, you.”

  He grinned at me. “You are in there, miss! I thought you were off again.”

  “Not yet,” I said.

  “You didn’t sleep, miss.” There was an edge of disapproval there.

  “Do you think I did it on purpose, Carlin?”

  “I never know,” he said, noncommittally.

  “Well, I didn’t. Oh, before I forget, there are some things I need you to do.”

  Carlin’s face brightened. “Yes, miss!” He always does like helping out in my plans. He thinks he’s helping to bring about preordained futures—and maybe he is, but if so, I’m the one doing the preordaining.

  “Did you pack my canister of Chajin tea?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “Very good.” I remembered Yong-hwa’s warm, content face as he sipped Chajin blend at the café with Ae-jung, and discovered that I was smiling. It was lucky I hadn’t drunk the last of my supply. To Carlin I said, “There’s an old, grand ruin above the road into the town, isn’t there? Three pillars fronting the road?”

  “Yes,” said Carlin, with the same wondering look he had displayed the first time I proved to have outside knowledge that I couldn’t possibly have had. He hadn’t ever lost that look, and it always amused me. “What about it?”

  “All right,” I said. “And there’s quite often a tea stand there, too? A little man with banners hanging from the pillars? Good. This is what I need you to do.”

  There was much hilarity at
the breakfast table that morning. I attended in spirit, though not in body, and was able to witness firsthand the effects of my work.

  Jessamy was the first guest to arrive at the breakfast table; arrayed in a blue coat and soft brown trousers, he was clearly dressed for a day in the village. Hyun-jun arrived next, and though his coat was a different cut from Jessamy’s, the fact that it was also blue and his trousers also soft brown brought a faint line to his brows. That pleased me in a small, mischievous—or perhaps it was spiteful—way. Hyun-jun was so obliviously arrogant in his airs that it was nice to see his serene superiority shaken. His confidence was understandable enough: he was a very handsome man, and, made more attractive by the mysteriousness attaching to an author, he had been very much courted and flirted with. It was rather hard not to be spoiled by that kind of behaviour. Even Yong-hwa, beautiful as he was, hadn’t escaped some spoiling. He might not be so obviously arrogant about his looks as was Hyun-jun, but he was just as careful with his clothing, and where Hyun-jun had become loftily confident, Yong-hwa had become bored, though just as comfortable with his beauty.

  It was with something approaching eagerness, therefore, that I saw Yong-hwa descending the stairs, quietly beautiful in a gorgeously cut coat of blue over soft brown trousers. I think Carlin must have heard my sudden giggle, because there was a Carlin-shaped bubble of sound that disturbed the surface of my Dream. Poor Carlin. He wasn’t used to me giggling. If it came to that, I wasn’t used to me giggling. My emotions were rarely strong enough to evoke more than a faint smile or frown.

  I pushed away the questioning Carlin-bubble and let myself sink deeper as Yong-hwa approached the breakfast room, a brightness of anticipation gilding the Dream. But as he drew nearer to the room, I saw him stop, a questioning look to the brown eyes that were looking past the open door and into the room. Had he seen Hyun-jun and Jessamy?

  He had. A faint smile touched Yong-hwa’s lips, and his cane tapped lightly against the floor once, then twice. He caught the servant who was exiting the room with a dish and, after a low-voiced conversation, lightly ran back up the stairs to his room.

  Hyun-jun was still glaring at the grinning Jessamy when Yong-hwa returned and entered the breakfast room, freshly clothed in a yellow coat and bottle-green trousers.

  “What a shame!” said Jessamy. “If you’d been better aligned with your friends, you could have been part of our matched set as well, Hyung.”

  “I shall change,” Hyun-jun said, abruptly rising from his seat.

  “Too late now!” sang Jessamy. “We’ll be late, Hyungnim. And there’s no time for breakfast, either, Yong-hwa hyung; you should have come down earlier. Let’s go—Ae-jung is waiting!”

  Hyun-jun, still protesting, was borne away on one side by the grinning Jessamy and on the other by a now rather pale Yong-hwa, who obviously hadn’t been aware that Ae-jung was the first goal of their walk. Hyun-jun, by contrast, stopped his complaints surprisingly quickly; he was evidently unwilling to surrender any time with Ae-jung. I felt my brows rise, because if he wasn’t to be deterred even by matching clothes, Hyun-jun was obviously a changed man in love. I smiled at that, too, and watched them leave the house with another sparkling touch of anticipation fluttering in my chest. Had I been too subtle? Not for Yong-hwa, I was sure. But would he be interested enough to break out of the silent paleness that had overtaken him again at the mention of Ae-jung’s name?

  It was a fine day for walking, cool enough to make it a pleasure instead of a penance, and I drifted gently along behind the strolling men. They were talking happily enough—well, Jessamy was talking without pause and Hyun-jun was no longer scowling—and I was content to listen to their conversation without paying too much attention to the passing countryside. I would have missed the temple ruins, in fact, if it hadn’t been for the fact that I was watching Yong-hwa when he first saw them.

  Following his eyes, I looked around. Ah. There it was: an open-air, gypsy-type teahouse. It had banners strung from the three remaining pillars of an ancient dwelling that must have once thrown open its doors to the morning sun.

  Yong-hwa ceased to walk, his face still and preoccupied. “Tea again,” he said.

  “What’s wrong, Hyung?” asked Jessamy, arriving at Yong-hwa’s side with a careless bound. “You’re slow today. What are you looking at?”

  “Something interesting,” said Yong-hwa.

  Jessamy, seeing the direction of his eyes, also looked; and, looking, began to laugh until I thought he would cry.

  “What’s wrong with him?” asked Hyun-jun, drawing near—but not too near—and watching Jessamy with a kind of fascinated revulsion.

  “Hyungnim!” gasped Jessamy, his face flushed and his eyes bright with tears of laughter. “Hyungnim, look! We make a full set now, even without Yong-hwa hyung!”

  Hyun-jun followed his pointing finger to the banners on the hill above, resplendent in their blue-and-tan glory, and his face darkened. He strode onward again without a backward glance.

  “Aigoo, isn’t he elegant!” giggled Jessamy, unabashed. “Hyung, you and he should be good friends.”

  “I’m content with those I already have,” said Yong-hwa. “Jessamy-a, go ahead. I have a sudden fancy for tea.”

  “All right,” agreed Jessamy cheerfully. “I’ll see you after, Hyung. Oh, wait until I tell Nuna about this! What a pity you didn’t match yourself to us!”

  He waved a careless goodbye, and though he looked back once or twice at Yong-hwa, it wasn’t in Jessamy’s nature to worry. He soon caught up with Hyun-jun—presumably for the sole purpose of annoying him, since Hyun-jun’s shoulders immediately stiffened.

  Yong-hwa, left alone, gazed up at the three tan-and-blue pillars for so long that I thought he wasn’t going to take the bait. I found myself holding a nonexistent breath and forced myself to relax. Was I actually anxious? That was unusual. Come to think of it, I was feeling a bit heavier than usual, too. What was wrong with me today?

  At last, Yong-hwa’s lips lifted in the ghost of a smile, and he took the first step up the embankment. I began to be able to hear the insistent sound of Carlin’s voice through the fabric of the Dream.

  “Miss? Miss.”

  I sighed softly. “What is it, Carlin?”

  “It’s—That is, are you all right, miss? Are you in pain?”

  “What pain would I be in, Carlin?” I asked him, faintly amused.

  “You—I don’t know,” said Carlin. “But your hands . . .”

  I looked down at them. “Ah.” They were pressed tightly to my chest as if my heart hurt, or as if I were breathless. “I’m not in pain. But we’re going to have to be very clever from now on, Carlin.”

  10

  You said that you’ve met the Spy. How do you know him?

  Mwoh? Pemil?

  What do you mean, it’s a secret? I’ve answered all your questions until now; it’s your turn to talk.

  Question for question, then.

  Why do I do what I do with my Dreams? Well, why does the Spy do what he does? Why does the Fat Man? I did all that I thought was possible to do with them. It wasn’t until I met you that I found I could make the Dreams go where I wanted them to go, or start a whole new series of them by my own will. We can’t help the Dreams being there; even Jessamy can never stop them fully. He can help me push them away for a little while, and sometimes it feels as if I’ve escaped, but they’re always there waiting for me when he goes away again. You could say that with such a gift I ought to do something great and grand—help Scandia’s Intelligence Force, for example, or prevent wars from starting—but you see how well that worked out for the Spy. Instead of using his Dreams as he sees fit, he uses them as someone else sees fit. We’re mostly emotionless, but it doesn’t follow that our Dreams are better used by people who are led by their emotions. The Spy is dangerous not because he Dreams, but because of the people who use those Dreams.

  The Fat Man, now—I suppose he’s fairly easy to read. He loves money, and he loves co
mfort. So he uses his Dreams selfishly, but he doesn’t hurt anyone.

  And as for me . . .

  Well, I’m always bored. It amuses me to play with people. What else would I do with the Dreams? I don’t want to end up like the Spy, or the Fat Man.

  Mwoh? Aniyo. You can’t say that I do what I do because I like to help people. Don’t try to attach virtues to me. I play with my Dreams and my Dream people because I’m bored and it’s something to do.

  Then why did I—

  I’m not going to answer that. Question for question, you said. It’s your turn to answer.

  ***

  Hyun-jun and Jessamy brought Ae-jung back to the manor with them. I suppose I should have expected it, but I didn’t. Jessamy was still cheerful, though I saw a certain puppylike wistfulness in his eyes once or twice when he looked at her, and Hyun-jun in his happiness was as close to being a reasonable person as I’d ever seen him. They walked with Jessamy between them, presenting a façade of separateness that might have convinced me they were nothing more than employer and employee if I hadn’t Dreamed them yesterday. The reason was easy enough to work out: as little as either of them might relish it, Hyun-jun’s contractual engagement with Se-ri would prevent them from publicly displaying, let alone announcing, their real relationship.

  I caught their Dream as it came alongside the one that held Yong-hwa. His Dream had held me fast since he sat down in the tea shop, and I hadn’t tried to get away, content to watch the outcome of my plan for him. He was still sitting in the tea shop, leaning back in one of the low seats there with one leg crossed over the other, his eyes on the far horizon and a slight breeze ruffling his hair. He had hardly moved since he sat down, except to order more of the Chajin tea with which Carlin had provided the vendor.

  His eyes flickered to the three on the road below for the barest moment, but he looked away again almost immediately and called to the vendor, “Another pot, please, Ahjusshi.”