The Queen of Yesterday

by Rob Kinsman

  ‘The Separation of State and Monarchy. A Guide for the Uninitiated.’

  She didn’t bother reading any further; she had a fair idea what it would contain.

  It transpired that the maddening bureaucracy wasn’t restricted to Council for Interior Affairs. Every organisation Zoe stumbled across had the same impenetrable set of rules and regulations which conspired to prevent her going anywhere useful. No wonder they weren’t worried about letting her roam free: she had tried and failed to access the library (‘Reading tickets must be applied for 48 hours in advance. No exceptions.’), The Guild of Mages (‘For their own safety, non-sensitives are strictly forbidden. No exceptions’), and the dungeons (‘No visitors. No exceptions’).

  When curiosity lead to her asking something that the people on Earth had been speculated about – namely, why a castle at the top of an impenetrable mountain also had a completely unnecessary moat around it – the answer didn’t surprise her. It was the result of a ‘job creation’ scheme organised by the Royal Council to help keep the citizens feeling they were contributing towards the collective good. The fact that it was hundreds of feet up a mountainside and consequently useless didn’t seem to have bothered anyone.

  On her wanderings the one place Zoe did routinely find her way back to was the central square, mainly because all paths eventually led there. On her fourteenth or fifteenth visit she noticed something interesting: the floor was paved with hundreds of illustrated tiles depicting the history of the castle. With nothing better to do, she spent some considerable time trying to decipher the story it told.

  One thing that struck her was that the king was always identical in every picture, despite several centuries having passed since the castle first came into being. It was as if he was frozen in time, never ageing as he ruled over successive generations of loyal subjects. However, the various icons which represented his queen changed frequently. This wasn’t a comforting thought, especially as there was no clue as to what had happened to all the previous incumbents.

  Other inhabitants of the castle generally resembled those in a Lowry painting: indistinct, skeletal figures. Of especial interest were the tiles relating to the history of dreams, or sleep stories as everyone here referred to them as. People who experienced them were portrayed as freakish misfits, keeping the world around them in perpetual chaos. At some point during ancient history the castle came into being, almost overnight it seemed, and gradually civilisation and conformity was imposed on the feral dreamers.

  Zoe felt a shiver down her spine when she realised that this change was as the result of some kind of eugenics programme. Over centuries the ability to dream had been bred out of the population, the icons on the tiles gradually transformed from grotesque mutations into the indistinct stick figures of the present day. Zoe pondered whether this inability to dream had some bearing on the bureaucracy and petty rules that now held this society together. Perhaps people simply lacked the imagination to see how things could be any other way. Certainly everyone she had encountered tended to have a very black and white view of this world and their place within it.

  The more recent history of the castle held one last warning. Occasionally fate would throw up an individual capable of once again experiencing dreams. These throwbacks were seen as a dangerous and subversive element, wild creatures who were to be shunned and feared.

  Creatures like me.

  Just as she was getting the hang of deciphering this story, Nigel returned with a message. The king wanted to see her.

  The throne room had been designed to intimidate. It looked like the interior of a cathedral with all the pews removed, a gigantic aisle flanked by stone pillars. The throne itself sat at the head of the room, its jewels still glistening even in this subdued light. Nigel had left Zoe at the door, so she was forced to make the long journey down the aisle alone.

  Along the walls stood suits of armour wielding mighty axes and swords. Zoe remembered reading about this room in reports of one of the original dreams. In it the suits of armour had animated, but now Zoe saw them for herself she couldn’t tell whether they were held together by magic or if something lived within their shells.

  Even from the opposite end of the hall Zoe could see the king’s ancient eyes burning into her. She began walking towards him, forcing her chin proudly away from her chest. Her every footstep echoed around the stone walls.

  The king was still wearing the fine robes from earlier, his priceless crown balanced precariously above his temples. However, he looked weary, lacking the vigour he had shown during the execution. Despite the sorcery which held his body together, perhaps he was incapable of keeping up a display of vitality for any period of time.

  “Do you remember this place?”

  Zoe was so surprised to hear the king actually speak to her that she briefly forgot how to answer.

  “Speak the truth,” urged the king.

  “No,” replied Zoe.

  “This is not uncommon when passing between worlds.”

  “So there have been others who’ve done it?”

  “A few.”

  “What happened to them?”

  The king’s eyes became milky and distant, remembering events from who knew how long ago. He said nothing. Zoe quickly asked another question before her fragile confidence evaporated.

  “Why am I here?”

  “You are from this place. And now you have woken up.” The king let out a whisper, which may have been a sigh, before adding, “I gave you everything, and you betrayed me.”

  Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but Zoe could have sworn she saw a tear trying to will itself into existence in the corner of his eye. This wasn’t a scenario she had prepared for. She’d been expecting fire and brimstone, not hurt pride and a broken heart.

  “I don’t remember what I did.”

  She realised that she only had Nick’s word about why she had run. Perhaps she really had loved this man once, however unlikely it seemed. Her cousin Lynne had married an amateur magician, which proved that there really was no accounting for taste.

  “I brought order and civilisation to this land. We have been at peace for centuries. And you threatened that.”

  “How?”

  “You created a new world.”

  Zoe felt a chink of sunlight on her soul.

  “Does it still exist? Without me there.”

  “That is the gift the Night Rangers gave you: to give your imaginings corporeal existence.” Zoe realised she was smiling. “But I will tame the savages who live in your creation.”

  Zoe stopped smiling.

  She wanted to put up a defence of her people. They were flawed, yes; but savages? Hers was a species which had created the music of Mozart, the plays of Shakespeare and put a man on the moon. On the other hand they’d also been responsible for Apartheid, two World Wars and Celebrity Fit Club, so maybe he had a point. She wondered if all that history had been created in an instant, simply the details necessary for her dream to function.

  “What will you do to them?”

  The king’s eyes brightened.

  “Come closer.”

  Every survival instinct in Zoe’s body was telling her to stay where she was, but she knew it would only be delaying the inevitable. Zoe tentatively stepped towards the king. He reached out a withered hand and touched her cheek.

  And then, for the first time, she experienced the same dream as everyone else on Earth.

  Twenty Four

  It started in the throne room. The king was alone, mighty and imposing. He welcomed the dreamers, telling them that they finally had the opportunity to join his kingdom. They could leave their old lives behind and spend their days in the luxury of the castle, a place untouched by war or disease.

  The king, who now had the power to control the images like an ethereal film director, went on to tell the dreamers that they were being rewarded for returning his queen to them. She had been abducted by rogue elements, but was now safely back where she belonged. To prove th
e point, the dream shifted focus and showed the queen in the central square, smiling.

  Watching this, Zoe could see that the image of her joy had been taken out of context: it actually showed her delight at decrypting the history of the castle from the painted tiles. For everyone on Earth, however, it was just a picture of someone relieved to finally be back home. When reporting this episode, fashion columnists were quick to point out that for some reason she was dressed like Dick Whittington.

  By now most people on Earth knew that Zoe had been killed, brutally stabbed by her ex-lover shortly before he had taken his own life. Her flame had burned briefly but oh so brightly. The discovery that she has moved into the next life filled even hardened atheists with the hope of immortality. All religions tried to claim it as proof of their own beliefs, but any system which relied on faith was inadequate in the face of almost tangible proof.

  The king acknowledged people’s fears. Yes, they would have to leave their old lives behind, but then they would become a part of his utopian kingdom. The brief pain of passing would soon fade. Families would never be parted by grief again.

  One of the first people to test this theory did it very publicly. Thomas Knight, head of the now global Waking Dream organisation, announced that he would take his own life on live television to show the truth of the king’s claim. Channel 4 quickly snapped up the rights to this controversial event. It was the television event of the decade, trouncing the viewing figures for the rival BBC, who bizarrely decide to schedule a repeat of Dad’s Army against it. Lawyers and police got involved, but Knight shrewdly committed the fatal act in a secret location known only to the small, trusted camera crew.

  When the moment came, Thomas Knight swallowed a cocktail of drugs. While the world waited for him to die Channel 4 sneaked in an inappropriate commercial break because someone has to pay the bills. When the adverts for a revolutionary brand of toilet bleach had finished, the coverage returned to the mystery location where a doctor was certifying that the star of the show was, indeed, dead.

  That evening saw a boost in the consumption of sleeping tablets, the whole world desperate to begin dreaming and see if the king has spoken true. They weren’t disappointed. That night they dreamt of the throne room, where Thomas Knight was now standing beside the king and his astonished queen. Knight, sensing the dreamers presence hovering over him, announced that he had felt no pain. He urged his followers to join him.

  The dream ended abruptly that night, waking people up less than an hour after they had drifted off. Sales of bleach from 24-hour stores rocketed, and a trickle soon turned into a flood as people begin swallowing it in the hope of taking their place at the king’s side.

  Twenty Five

  “Welcome back,” said the king to Thomas Knight.

  Zoe was still staring in astonishment at the man who had just materialised in front of her. The dream had been disorientating enough, without this.

  “I hope I have served you well,” said the newcomer. The king hummed with satisfaction.

  While witnessing the dream Zoe had also been able to see the other dreamers’ reaction, the way they had mindlessly rushed to obey the king’s command. Time had passed at different rates: several days on Earth had only been a few minutes in Nocturnia. And now another person from one reality had bled through into the other. This wasn’t a good day for the laws of physics.

  Thomas bowed his head respectfully towards Zoe. “Your Highness.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Zoe, fearing this might become her catchphrase.

  Thomas looked to his master, not wishing to speak out of turn.

  “The knight is part of this world. Like you, he returned home when his existence in your fantasy ended.”

  Zoe felt a flush of anger.

  “You killed Sid,” she said in a low growl, rounding on Thomas Knight.

  “He was a traitor. I returned him here to face punishment.”

  The puzzle was gradually taking shape in Zoe’s head. She’d didn’t like what she saw.

  “Were you the man Nick was talking to? Outside my house, near the end.” Zoe saw a shadow of a smile pass across the knight’s face. “Did you make a deal with him? To…” The words caught in her mouth. “To kill me?”

  “Your lover came to me with an offer. He said he would help return you home.”

  “In exchange for what?”

  “His freedom, of course.”

  “But he’s here. He’s a prisoner.”

  The king interjected. “We don’t make deals with traitors.”

  Zoe turned away, not wanting them to see the emotion flooding across her face.

  “Where are the others?” She spoke slowly to try and steady her voice. “What happened to the other people who killed themselves trying to follow you? Why aren’t they here as well?”

  There was no answer. Bracing herself as best she could, Zoe swiped a tear from her cheek and turned back to face them.

  “Tell me!”

  “You and I, the rogue, the jester, we are all from this world,” said the knight. “When we died in your sleep story we simply woke up back here. But the others…”

  “What about them?”

  “They were never real. When their lives end they simply cease to exist.”

  He offered Zoe a conciliatory smile, which sickened her to the pit of her stomach.

  “But they’re killing themselves because they think it will bring them here! You can’t let them do that.”

  Thomas was unmoved.

  “We already have.”

  No amount of protesting could dissuade the king from his macabre entertainment, and eventually Zoe was dragged, kicking and screaming, back to her quarters.

  She paced and raged and screamed, but no help came. When she was spent she lay staring numbly at the ceiling, trying to rationalise the king’s unspeakable crime. The people on Earth had all started out as a figment of Zoe imagination. Magic may have given them substance, but it surely hadn’t given them souls. When they faded away to nothing was it really any different to losing a tree or a cup or anything else she had imagined into existence?

  Of course it was. Zoe didn’t like kids, and never found it adorable when the little shits threw food at strangers or rubbed their own faeces into the carpet, but the people on Earth were her children and she would protect them like any mother would. They were her responsibility.

  Shit, what about my parents? They saw me here. They know I crossed over.

  Ruth and George weren’t her real parents, of course. They probably hadn’t even existed until the instant Zoe appeared in their ready-formed lives; a whole childhood of memories conjured up as the dream of Earth began. Zoe had never given a thought as to who her real parents were. It didn’t matter. It was Ruth and George that Zoe cared about – loved – and she was damned if she was going to let them die in the futile hope of joining her here.

  She just had no idea how to stop them.

  Once it struck her, the idea grew quickly. She wouldn’t go so far as to call it a plan – that would require having quite a few more details in place than she could honestly claim – but it was all she had. With fresh fire in her belly, Zoe pulled open the door to the corridor. There were two guards posted outside.

  “Can I help, Your Highness?” asked one. Zoe impulsively nicknamed him Starsky.

  “I need to go outside.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible, on the orders of His Majesty,” replied the other guard, a.k.a. Hutch.

  “I am your queen.”

  The guards looked unimpressed. Zoe decided to rely on the most sophisticated ruse she could muster at short notice.

  “Look! A badger!” she cried, pointing. By lucky coincidence badgers were fearsome, twelve-foot high beasts of legend in this world, so both guards turned with icy fear in their hearts.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Zoe darted past them and skipped down the stairs two at a time. The guards gave chase, moments behind her. She knew she wouldn’t get far
, but that didn’t matter. All she needed to do was reach the central square.

  She burst through the door and into the serene heart of the castle. A few passers-by caught sight of the disturbance, surprised to see their queen being chased by Starsky and Hutch.

  “I have sleep stories,” yelled Zoe at the top of her voice.

  The guards kept a guiding hand on her upper arms as they escorted Zoe back down to the torture chamber. Nigel had warned her that she would be returned here if she admitted her sin in public, and she was pleased to discover that he had spoken the truth.

  The room was as dark and hostile as she remembered it, the rack dripping with fresh blood. There was movement from the cell in the corner. Nick, resting on the bed, sat upright as they entered. Zoe took great care not to react to his presence. Once she was securely locked back in the adjacent cell they would have plenty of time to talk.

  This, in essence, was her optimistically named ‘plan’. Together they had escaped this king once before, perhaps they could do it again. Getting herself arrested was Zoe’s cunning ruse for bypassing the bureaucracy and getting close to Nick. The hope was that he would know how they could break free: given his history in both worlds, his skillset surely included breaking and entering. Or, in this case, exiting.

  Seeing him behind bars, Zoe rather belatedly started to realise a few obvious flaws in this scheme, such as why he was still there if he was so good at escaping. It was further proof, it were needed, of why Zoe had never been a spontaneous kind of person. Some people can jet off round the world with a moment’s notice and discover life-changing adventures along the way. By contrast, Zoe’s one attempt at living wild and free had led to a miserable 16 hours driving round Cornwall unable to find a guest house which wasn’t booked up for the rest of eternity. From that point on she’d accepted that fate basically hated her, and so wouldn’t leave the house without every minute of every trip being booked and confirmed in writing.

  “Through here,” snapped Starsky, indicating the heavy door on the far side of the room.