by Brian Lumley
“Strangely,” said Eldin, pausing before an open cabinet of cut rubies as big as pigeon’s eggs, “I feel a sort of affinity with this place. Curious, eh?”
“What’s strange or curious about it?” asked Hero. “You’re a damned thief, right? And this place is crammed with goodies!”
“No, it’s not that,” Eldin answered with a frown, “though granted I do find these baubles attractive. No, it’s something else, but I don’t quite know what. I rather fancy I must have been an erudite, scholarly sort of chap in the waking world. A haunter of museums or some such.”
“Is that right?” said Hero, frowning a pseudo-serious frown. “Well, perhaps you’d tell me, learned haunted one, if you’ve noticed anything else strange about this place?”
“Hmm?” Eldin cocked his head on one side.
“There’s no security,” said Hero. “These treasures—why, we could just walk right out of here with them! It completely contradicts what our good friend here, Captain Limnar Dass, told us.”
“I told you the Museum was safe,” said Dass. “And so it is. You’d know what I meant if you could see the Curator. But you probably won’t. He’s here somewhere, but very rarely seen. Usually he only puts in an appearance if someone tries to steal something.”
“But how could the Curator know?” asked Hero.
Dass shrugged. “He always does,” he answered.
“Something else!” cried Eldin, snapping his fingers. “I knew something was puzzling me. There are no labels, notes, histories of the exhibits. There are exhibits—” he licked his lips “—indeed there are—but nothing to tell us anything about them.”
“Only the fact,” said Dass, “that everything is very rare, very beautiful, or very precious. I’ll tell you what I know of the Curator, if you wish; not that it amounts to a lot, but—”
But at that moment, coming toward them through a crowd of visitors from a dozen different regions of the dreamlands, Dass spied a small whiskered man dressed in the livery of the waking world. “Ah!” the captain said. “One of the King’s retainers. It looks like Kuranes has finally sent for you.”
The captain was right. The whiskered man introduced himself as Lord Kuranes’ No. 3 Butler, and he asked Dass and his wards to go at once to the manor house. They followed him out under the stone archway and onto the causeway, but halfway across there was someone—something—waiting for them. Something which brought them to an abrupt halt.
The Curator was vaguely manlike, thin, tall, spiky, lumpy, shiny and tough-looking, many-armed, and he had glittering crystal eyes. He was built of metal, which was rather noisy when he moved, but apart from that he was silent. He was silent now as he confronted Kuranes’ butler, Dass and the two adventurers.
“Now what’s all this about?” wondered Hero out loud as the gangling metal being clanked to one side and let the butler pass.
“Perhaps he’s been somewhere and only just returned?” Dass suggested.
“No,” said Hero through clenched teeth, his eyes narrowing as he turned them on Eldin where he had fallen back to bring up the rear. “No, I think he’s here on business—but not with you and me.”
As if in agreement with the younger adventurer’s words, the metal man once more stood aside to let first Dass, then Hero pass; but when a rather pale Eldin shuffled forward, the Curator clankingly blocked the way. His crystal eyes glittered palely and faint beams of light flickered of the Wanderer’s drawn face. From somewhere deep inside Eldin managed to summon up a mirthless grin. He tried to squeeze past the Curator …
Quick as thought the robot shot out incredibly thin arms to lift Eldin clear of the causeway and hold him out over the wall. Looking straight down, Eldin saw clouds scudding by, and far below them a shore of dreamland washed by gently foaming waves. Knowing he was about to be dropped, the Wanderer sought for words with which to protest his end. They stuck in his tinder-dry throat, unspoken, as on the causeway Hero hurled himself upon the Curator’s flank.
“Damn you, you metal dog!” he cried. “If you drop him, I swear I’ll see to it that you rust in some ferrous metal hell!”
The Curator said nothing, but one of his many metal arms grasped Hero by the hair and shoved him out to arm’s length, lifting him until he danced on tiptoe. With Hero held in this painful position, Eldin was brought back from eternity and set down upon the causeway. Weakly he leaned against the wall as the Curator pointed a metal hand at his jacket pocket.
“Yes, you’re right, damn you!” Eldin gasped, and with a trembling hand he took out a single large ruby and held it up. Now the Curator released Hero and pointed back across the causeway to the Museum. People made way as Eldin turned and walked unsteadily back to the archway and beneath it, with the Curator clanking along behind him.
Hero made to follow but Dass stopped him. “Your large friend is lucky,” he said breathlessly. “The Curator has been known to kill would-be thieves outright—out of hand. And you may be sure your threat didn’t worry him. I doubt if he even heard or understood it.”
They waited on the causeway like a pair of pariahs while the rest of the Museum’s visitors hurriedly departed, and in a few seconds Eldin reappeared and joined them. He turned back to stare into the shadows under the archway, where now the bizarre figure of the Curator silently stood, his crystal eyes full on the three.
Eldin shuddered involuntarily. “If ever he lays eyes on me again,” he said, “he’ll kill me. And I’m sorry but … I think the same goes for you two. He didn’t say so—said nothing—but I got that impression.” “Oh?” snarled Hero as he and Dass ushered Eldin over the causeway. “And what did we do to annoy him?”
“You were with me,” the Wanderer answered. “That’s enough.”
“Eldin,” Limnar Dass softly called when they were off the causeway and safely out of sight of the Museum. As Eldin turned toward him he continued: “Never do anything like that again, not in my company. For if you do—big man as you are—I swear I’ll knock your head off!”
“I’m a thief,” growled Eldin. “I couldn’t resist it.”
“Next time—if ever there is one—resist it,” Dass advised. “It certainly won’t help your cause where Kuranes is concerned. His No. 3 Butler, who by now will be halfway to his master’s manor house, is bound to tell him.”
They found a railed square where several bikes were parked near shrubs and fountains. The bikes had engaged/vacant indicators set centrally on their handlebars. They took three vacant bikes and set off, Limnar Dass leading, straight across the sky-island and through the inner streets of the city. Vague memories lingered, of bike-rides in the waking world; and so the adventurers soon got used to free-wheeling and their riding quickly became less wobbly and erratic as they rode the Tilt through Serannian.
Half an hour later, leaving the busier streets behind them and coming out into the suburbs on the western side of the city, the two adventurers drew level with Limnar Dass and after a while the captain began to talk to them. His friendly grin told them that Eldin’s instinctive thievery was forgiven—by him at least. This prompted the Wanderer to ask:
“Limnar, about the Museum and its Curator: what’s it all about? I mean, that’s no ordinary museum, and as for the Curator—”
“Both the Museum and the Curator have been here since long before Serannian. Ever since there was a sky-island. What he is and why he brought his collection here, nobody knows. There are theories, of course, but no one knows for sure. He does no harm—within certain limits—and the Museum does contain many marvelous things. Kuranes goes there often …”
“And speaking of Kuranes,” said Hero ominously as he spied an ivied tower rising above the distant copse, “that must be his manor house. Right?”
“Correct,” answered Dass, and he sensed the tenseness of the pair. “Listen,” he said, “if you’re thinking of making a run for it, forget it. There’s nowhere to run.”
After a moment of silence, Hero answered: “Don’t worry, we can take what�
�s coming to us.”
“Good! But let’s make a little more speed, shall we? Evening’s drawing in and I do believe it’s going to rain.” He put his feet down onto the cobbled lane and urged his bike ahead into deepening gloom. Overhead, lowering clouds opened and the evening’s first raindrops came pattering down …
CHAPTER VII
Kuranes’ Quest
They rode through great iron gates into a large-cobbled courtyard, at the back of which stood the manor house itself, with its tower of gray stone rising above. Mist swirled in ghostly tendrils from gardens of ancient, ivy-grown oaks and green-shining shrubbery. The rain was falling steadily now, so that the three were almost glad to hand over their bikes to a squad of pikemen before venturing into the stone-flagged entrance hall.
Perhaps “venturing into” gives the wrong impression; in fact they were guided into the hall at the gleaming points of a half-dozen pikeheads. At least, Hero and Eldin were. Limnar Dass went of his own accord.
Inside, a fire roared in an open fireplace, with Kuranes’ No. 3 Butler standing close by. He beckoned to Dass and offered him a chair by the fire, but at sight of Hero and Eldin—especially the latter—his nose went up in the air and his back visibly stiffened. A man of Celephais or Ilek-Vad he most certainly was, but he played the part of an English butler extraordinarily well.
“Tattletale!” Eldin hissed at him over his shoulder as the pikemen warily prodded him and his younger companion on down the length of the hall toward heavy, oak-paneled doors. The doors swung silently open at their approach and they passed through, but the pikemen remained behind in the entrance hall. Two more whiskered, liveried butlers—doubtless Nos. 1 and 2—were waiting within to close the doors and bow to the pair, however superciliously. Not to be outdone, Hero and Eldin followed suit. For their pains they were directed down a narrow strip of green carpet across the huge, high-ceilinged room to where a lone figure sat at a desk so massive that it utterly dwarfed him.
This was Kuranes, who now called out, “Come forward, you two. Please come forward.”
“Eldin,” whispered Hero to his bulky companion as they moved to obey, “this man is no mere magistrate. What we say to him can make or break us. That’s if we’re not already broken. So let’s keep it very polite, right?”
“Right,” Eldin whispered back. “Damn it, David, I wish I hadn’t tried to lift that ruby. But if only I’d managed it, eh? Why, we’d have lived like kings for five years on that one stone!”
“We still will live like kings,” Hero answered out of the corner of his mouth, “if we get out of this intact,” With a nervous grin he added: “You’re not the only thief in Earth’s dreamland, you know … and by no means the best!”
“What?” Eldin gasped. “D’you mean to tell me that—”
“Shh!” hissed Hero. “It’ll keep.”
They marched the last few paces in line and came to a halt, with a little less than military precision, before Kuranes’ desk. And now the Lord of Serannian gazed steadily, curiously at them where they stood, while they in turn looked back at him.
Slightly built but regally robed, gray-bearded but bright-eyed, Kuranes wore the unmistakable characteristics of a waking-worlder. There was that realness about him which set him apart—as it did all men of the waking world—from the indigenous denizens of Earth’s dreamland. It was there in his voice, too: that thrilling reminder of days long forgotten, days spent in lands outside or higher than the so-called subconscious.
“So you are the men of whom I’ve recently heard so much, are you? A pair of brawlers, braggarts and thieves. And you—” he turned piercing eyes upon Eldin, “you even dared to bring your thieving habits into Serannian!”
“My Lord,” Eldin uncomfortably began, “I—”
“Hear me out,” Kuranes held up his hand. “I will list the crimes of which you have been accused—both of you—since your arrival in Celephais right up to the present moment. When I am done I will ask if you are innocent or guilty. You will answer, with one word, and then we shall see what we shall see. Agreed?”
Hero wordlessly nodded, Eldin less certainly.
Quickly their sins tripped off Kuranes’ tongue, his voice empty of emotion, his eyes staring first at Hero, then Eldin, then back to Hero, until he was done. He missed nothing out, and Eldin’s worst fears were realized when the attempted theft of the great ruby brought the King’s catalog of their crimes to a conclusion. Now Kuranes leaned back in his great chair and tapped the top of his desk with his fingernails.
“Well?” he said. “Are you innocent? … Or guilty?”
“I—” began Eldin.
“Guilty,” Hero growled it out low, cutting his companion short.
Eldin gritted his teeth but held his head up high. “Aye,” he said, “guilty. Me especially.”
“Very well,” said the King after a moment’s pause. “And now I must decide what to do with you. Criminals you are, but I’ve yet to meet a criminal who is all bad … or have I?” And he gazed at Eldin. “Let it pass—there are things on your side.” He stood up and walked round the great desk, his scarlet, gold-hemmed dressing gown belling with his movement.
Now he steepled his hands, turned his back on the pair and began to pace the floor. “You are dreamers,” he said, “or at least you were. We cannot call you dreamers when you ar no longer able to wake up! Men once of the waking world, then, who now abide in dreams. Well, there we have something in common at least. That’s a point in your favor. Some of my best friends were once waking-worlders …
“Also,” the King eventually went on, “You are brave men. I could have you thrown in jail—indeed, I could have you hurled down from Serannian’s rim!—which you must know. And knowing it, still you admitted your guilt. I suppose it could be argued that failing to do so would have been to condemn yourselves, for of course I know you are guilty of many of the charges. Still, I note that none of your accusers call you liars. You bend the truth occasionally, perhaps often, but you do not seem to lie harmfully. Not that I have been able to discover.
“Furthermore, you are daring. To attempt to steal from the Museum—that was to be daring to the point of reckless! I would hate to think that your daring springs from sheer foolishness …” He stopped pacing, faced them squarely, frowned, and finally nodded; and they saw that he had made up his mind about something.
“The choice shall be yours,” Kuranes said at last. “To be transported back to Celephais and there remain for five years in one of Leewas Nith’s dungeons … Or—”
“Or?” urged Hero, when the pause grew so long as to be unbearable. “You were about to say, your Majesty?”
“You have qualities—should we call them skills?—which I can use,” said Kuranes. “As my agents you would have my protection, access to the means at my disposal—eventually my pardon.”
“Your agents?” said Hero, frowning.
Kuranes nodded. “There’s a quest I would have you undertake,” he said.
“A quest!” cried Eldin. “Why, we’re your men, Sir—for there never were questers like Eldin the Wanderer and Hero of Dreams!”
“The dangers may well be terrific,” warned Kuranes.
“We laugh at danger.” Eldin assumed what he supposed to be a rakish pose.
“There will be no reward other than a pardon for your past crimes,” said the King.
“What more could we wish for than to do the King’s work?” asked Hero, wide-eyed and innocent.
“The quest will set you against powers which could destroy your immortal souls, let alone your subconscious minds. There’s black wizardry involved, demonic horror, nightmares which only a madman could dream, and—”
“Whoa!” cried Eldin. “Er, excuse me, Lord, but are you trying to enlist us or unman us? Damn me, five years in old Leewas Nith’s dungeons are beginning to sound like a veritable holiday!”
Kuranes nodded. “Well they might,” he agreed, “but as I said before, the choice is yours.”
“Can’t you tell us more about this quest of yours?” asked Hero. “Before we make up our minds?”
Kuranes shook his head. “You make your decision now,” he answered.
“Then we have no option,” Eldin growled. “We accept.”
Hero nodded. “Aye,” he said, “we’re your men. We’ll go questing for you, Lord Kuranes.”
Now Kuranes sighed a great sigh and it was as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Very well. Now come, sit down. Have you eaten? No matter, you could manage a leg of chicken, I’m sure. And a glass of wine? Good!” He clapped his hands and the butlers, who had approached as the three took their seats at the great desk, bowed and left the room through a door in a curtained alcove.
In a few moments they were back with a tray of chicken joints, a bottle of wine and three glasses. When they had served the King and his guests, they retired to the ends of the huge desk where they remained, motionless, like guardsmen at the gates of a palace. Kuranes’ appetite was good as he tucked into his evening repast; but the two adventurers, already well fed, merely picked at their meat and sipped a little wine as they waited for him to have done.
Finally, dabbing at his lips with a handkerchief, he sat back and gazed afresh at the pair. “Let me first tell you,” he began, “what is likely to happen if your work for me is not successful. Can you picture Serannian, the entire sky-island, sinking into the Cerenerian Sea, picking up speed, breaking into pieces as it crashes to the world below? And all those thousands of people, screaming as they tumble through space, crushed by falling masonry—bursting like plums as the city slams down into oblivion!”
Hero and Eldin looked at each other with raised eyebrows for a moment, then the younger man turned back to Kuranes and asked: “And is that it? We’re to go questing for a means to save Serannian? Fair enough. But surely, before there’s an effect there’s a cause. What makes you think the sky-island is doomed? You’ve hinted that the threat is of a supernatural nature. Well, then, what’s its source?”
