Ship of Dreams

by Brian Lumley

  Or perhaps she had already guessed that her plot was discovered and her saboteurs liquidated. Perhaps sheer rage or madness prompted her to proceed with her attack. For now her ships were arrayed in a line all along the rim of the sky-island, their cannons turned inland, and as at a signal there came a concerted booming and shots began to pour into Kuranes’ ships where they stood between Serannian and the invaders.

  The effect of these massed salvoes was devastating. Those ships caught in the withering blast shuddered, keeled over, issued vile green gas from their shattered hulls and slid silently out of they sky. Many a brave sky-captain went down with his ship in this way, and the shores of dreamland’s lower realms would be scattered with grim relics of the aerial battle for many months to come.

  Zura’s cannons were also making their mark on the sky-island itself; for wherever her zombie marksmen missed their targets, still the shots smacked into Serannian’s pink marble walls or passed over them to whistle on into the city. Everywhere the green gas roiled, and as buildings crashed into rubble and the screams of the dying mounted amidst the roar of battle, so Kuranes was beside himself with rage and sorrow.

  By now the sun was well and truly up and its rays were warm on the beleaguered city. Gytherik, crouching in an armored bastion with Kuranes, Hero and Eldin, shook his head worriedly as his gaunts set out upon yet another foray. Tired now and weighted down with nets of firebombs, the weird creatures seemed visibly to flinch as the sunlight fell upon their clammy heads. The smallest of the beasts, flying far too low over the deck of a pirate, died in a tongue of fire from one of its own bombs.

  Seeing this, Gytherik said, “They can do no more. The sun will quickly dry them out. Lord Kings, I’m afraid you’ve lost their services. This must be their last run. See how badly they fly, so leaden and weary-looking?”

  Gytherik was right, but even so the gaunts put everything they had into their last assault. The sky rained fiery destruction on Zura’s ships until the Cerenerian Sea was aglow with incandescent hulks. Then, through a drifting screen of smoke, the observers saw a brave sight. One of Kuranes’ ships—sails tattered, hull leaking green gas from half-a-dozen gaping holes and decks a tangle of shattered timbers—bore down upon a pirate, obviously intending to ram the black ship.

  “Is-that The Gnorri?” gasped Kuranes.

  “Aye,” Eldin slitted his eyes against the drifting smoke. “That’s the name she bears, brave ship.”

  “That’s Dass!” Kuranes cried. “The Gnorri is his ship. He’s bound to go down with the pirate!”

  Hero grabbed Gytherik’s arms. “The gaunts,” he shouted above the renewed roar of battle. “Gytherik, can they make one more .pass? Can they put us aboard The Gnorri?”

  “What?” Gytherik yelled back. “Are you mad? Why not let them take Limnar off?”

  “Because he might not want to come,” Eldin gave the answer. “Not until the fighting’s done. Look—” And he pointed out over the sea.

  The Gnorri ploughed into the pirate and stove in her side, both ships locking together as timbers snapped, decks buckled and sails came crashing down. In the next moment a horde of zombies went swarming aboard The Gnorri, milling about a small knot of defenders at the base of her shattered mainmast.

  By now the gaunts were back, landing on the wall close to Kuranes’ command bastion, and Gytherik cried: “One more flight then, I agree—but only if I can come with you!”

  “You’re, on,” yelled Hero. “Let’s go!”

  The three climbed up onto the wall and Gytherik called to his gaunts. Moments later they were airborne, with the gaunt-master riding his great mount and each of the adventurers suspended between two of the lesser creatures. Not to be outdone and despite their obvious discomfort in sunlight, the rest of the gaunts accompanied the main body of the grim out to the crippled ships. And down they flopped onto the littered deck of The Gnorri, landing awkwardly among the debris of rigging and shattered timbers. Dismounting, Gytherik hastily waved the gaunts back toward the stern of the ship and ordered them to wait there. He turned from this task in time to catch a sword tossed by Eldin.

  “I hope you can make better use of it than he did,” the Wanderer grimly commented, kicking at a headless zombie corpse. “Right then—let’s be at it!” And the three rushed at the backs of Zura’s maggoty minions where they hacked away at The Gnorri’s brave defenders.

  Only two of the latter remained on their feet now, bloodied and battered but still defiant, and one of them was Limnar Dass. His face lit up like a lamp as the three newcomers smashed into the backs of the remaining zombies, and now Limnar was able to witness at first hand the sword-wizardry of these adventurers he was proud to call his friends.

  But while Hero and Eldin were marvelous to watch, Gytherik, too, took his toll of Zura’s zombies; so that the deck about the shattered mainmast was soon littered with dismembered and beheaded corpses. Sadly, even as Hero hacked the head from the last invader, so that creature’s word struck the life from the man at Limnar’s side. Then it was over and the deck beneath their feet gave a warning, shuddering lurch as the locked hulls began to sink into the green-stained Cerenerian.

  Gytherik hastily called up his gaunts, and as The Gnorri and her victim fell from the sky the grim carried its human charges safely back to Serannian’s wall. There they landed behind a screen of drifting smoke, and as a tearful Kuranes hugged his brave sky-captain, so there came a totally unexpected diversion.

  At the eastern extreme of the sky-island, several of Zura’s ships were blazing away at the Museum where it perched on its rugged promontory. This had been going on for some minutes when suddenly, from a ground floor window, a pencil-slim beam of golden light struck out and across the smoke- and gas-wreathed Cerenerian. For a single instant only, that beam played upon its pirate target—which then capitulated in a ball of white-hot fire!

  And out from his Museum strode the Curator, clanking across the causeway, pausing now and then to gaze curiously, perhaps angrily at Zura’s black vessels. And each time he paused, so a hot yellow gleam would come into his crystal eyes and the golden ray would strike forth, and another pirate would evaporate in a glaring white flash. Never once did he strike at Kuranes’ ships, for they had not threatened the Museum. But as for the invaders—

  All along the wall strode the Curator, cheered on by Serannian’s defenders, his clanking footsteps echoing a final doom on Zura’s mad schemes. And whenever he paused to look out across that fantastic ocean of the upper air, so the golden beam would strike out at the invader’s heart, until soon only a handful of black ships remained. These fell at last under a concerted hail of boulders from dozens of ballistae, and only then did the Curator turn on his metal heel and make his way back to the Museum.

  The battle was over, and away across the sky a lone pirate turned tail and set course for the east. Kuranes saw the running ship and placed his spyglass to his eye. “The Cadaver,” he said.

  “Zura!” snarled Eldin. “Is the witch to escape, then?”

  Kuranes turned sad, wise eyes upon the Wanderer. “Aye,” he said, “let her go. Life to such as that Priestess of Darkness must be far more monstrous than any death we could ever devise.” No one could deny the King this final sentiment, and with that the thing was over …

  At noon Serennian’s dignitaries and as many of the city’s ordinary citizens as possible crowded themselves into the great Hall of Proclamation, which stood at the city’s center. Kuranes had many immediate honors to confer. Later, when sufficient time had elapsed for the collection and corroboration of various tales of heroism, there would be many more. Alas, too many of the latter would be posthumous; but for the present, the majority of today’s recipients were very much alive.

  First were the members of Chelos Smith’s rescue teams (all of whom, with two sad exceptions, were present) and also the councillors who had masterminded the mission, Smith himself and Allain Marrinay. There were the chemists whose firebombs had been used to such devastating ef
fect, and the designers of the ballistae on the walls, now in the early stages of dismantling. Many awards and honors, taking up a good deal of time in their conferring.

  Hero and Eldin were there (strangely shy now that their heroics were about to be made public), Limnar Dass and Gytherik Imniss, too. Indeed, the latter had already collected one set of ribboned medals—for Conspicuous Bravery—on behalf of his gaunts! The legend of dreamland would never again be the same once the word had spread abroad that gaunts were not necessarily the nighted things of dark myth which they had always been supposed. No, it all depended upon who directed them.

  Finally it was the turn of the adventurers, Hero and Eldin themselves, stepping awkwardly forward to tremendous applause to accept their awards: Lifelong Freedom of the City of Serannian, and election to the Roll of Heroes. The latter, without doubt, was the greatest honor Kuranes could confer. Limnar Dass was then promoted to Admiral of the King’s Fleet, and Gytherik—this time proceeding to the podium on his own account—became dreamland’s first official Grand Master of Gaunts; and the names of both men were likewise entered on the Roll of Heroes. So the award-giving went on.

  Now that the limelight was centered on persons outside the ken of Hero and company, they made their way out of the crush and to one side of the hall, where they could talk in something approaching privacy. “Something puzzles me,” said Hero. “What of the poor brave lads who died during the battle? Are they destined to end up in Zura’s Charnel Gardens?”

  Limnar shook his head. “Oh, no, not them. They died willingly, bravely, not in horror. They were worthy warriors, dying as warriors have always died. No, Zura has no claim on them. Besides, Serannian bums her dead. There’s little enough room on the sky-island for the living, let alone the dead.”

  “Huh!” grunted Eldin. “There’s not so much damned room for David Hero and Eldin the Wanderer, either! I mean, what use is the freedom of the city to us? The longer we stay here, the sooner we’ll come face to face with the Curator. We were damned lucky he didn’t spot us today. And now that we know what he’s capable of …”

  “How come he’s not here, anyway?” asked Gytherik. “I should have thought he was the greatest hero of us all?”

  “Oh, but the Curator wasn’t protecting Serannian,” Limnar explained. “He was protecting the Museum. As for honoring him: would he come if we asked him? Doubtful. Would he even understand? No one can say. The Curator is … the Curator.”

  “Damn right he is,” Eldin agreed, “and he’s bloody dangerous!”

  Done with the handing out of the more important awards and having passed on his duties to Serannian’s mayor, Kuranes spied the group of four where they stood in quiet conversation. He immediately made his way through the crowd toward them. “So there you are,” he said, smiling. “I wondered where you’d got to. Tonight I’m having a few friends round to may place. You’re invited.”

  “Ah!” said Hero. “As your Majesty knows, we’re not much at polite conversation, Eldin and I, and—”

  “It’s in your honor,” Kuranes quickly shut him up, “and you’ll come. All of you.”

  Gytherik shook his head. “Lord Kuranes, such as I’d like to, I can’t come,” and he went on to explain his mission. “So you see,” he finished, “while Hero, Eldin and Limnar here are finished with their quest, mine is only just beginning. When my gaunts are fully rested, then I’ll be off.”

  “We were thinking of going with him,” added Eldin.

  “Me, too,” Limnar Dass hastily put in, “er—with your permission, of course.”

  “The egg of a shantak-bird, eh?” Kuranes scratched his ear thoughtfully. “Far Inquanok, you say? That’s very interesting. It’s also a shame—that you should have to go so far, I mean—when there’s a shantak’s egg much closer than that.”

  “There is!” Gytherik had to restrain himself from physically grabbing hold of the King. “But where?”

  “Most people,” said Kuranes, “when visiting the Museum, get no farther than the ground floor. Men being what they are, they would rather gaze upon treasures than the wonders and beauties of Nature.”

  “There’s a shantak’s egg in the Museum!” gasped Gytherik.

  The King nodded. “On the top floor, where the windows face in the direction of Oriab. Twelve inches long and dark red in color, it’s quite unmistakable …”

  The four glanced at each other with eyes that were suddenly bright under raised, speculative eyebrows. Then, as the King began to speak again, they quickly assumed looks of bland innocence.

  “But perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” Kuranes continued, “for of course there’s no possible way you could get hold of it. Why, the greatest thieves in all the dreamlands couldn’t do it!” He gave a wry chuckle, then quickly sobered. “As for tonight: very well, Gytherik, I shan’t expect to see you. Neither you nor your friends, Hero and Eldin.” He turned to an agitated Limnar Dass and smiled. “It would be a matter of serious ingratitude if we should allow benefactors such as these to proceed unaided, wouldn’t you say, Limnar? Can you scrape a crew together before the fall of night?”

  “Majesty,” said the other, “with your permission … I’ve already done so!” And all of them, including Kuranes, burst into glad laughter.

  The Curator stood in night-black shadows on the top floor of the dark and silent Museum and gazed west at the fabulous city of Serannian. Ineffably strange and monstrously metallic, he was motionless as some suit of alien armor.

  He knew that there were human beings in the city with designs on certain of his possessions, knew also that they were on their way here even now. Out on the face of the Cerenerian, less than a mile away and lightless as a pirate, one of Kuranes’ ships lay in wait; and this also the Curator knew. He knew many things, this anomaly in Earth’s dreamland, including the difference between good and evil, between right and wrong. The difference between a shantak’s bird’s egg and a giant ruby …

  Now, with the very faintest whir of miniature mechanisms, his head tilted to gaze skyward. Black as night that sky, and cloudy, but bright as day to the Curator. Four gaunts silently circling, and others keeping their distance. And the four were burdened with a pair of black-garbed human figures. A strange blue gleam came into the Curator’s crystal eyes.

  After a moment or two there came the very lightest of bumps upon the Museum’s roof, as if a pair of doves had alighted there, but the Curator knew their purpose—knew even their weight, the temperature of their skins, the number of hairs standing excitedly erect upon their necks. And he waited silently in the shadows as they lowered themselves from the roof and in through a hole blown in the Museum’s wall by one of Zura’s cannon balls.

  In another moment the pair were tip-toeing down the length of the Museum’s upper hall, and now they paused at that massive open cabinet wherein a thousand eggs—from that of the tiniest hummingbird of jungled Kled to that of the great roc of Hnareth—were housed in all their diverse beauty. All except the egg of the shantak-bird!

  Confounded, the adventurers turned to one another. Frowning, Eldin jerked his thumb toward the huge cabinet and raised his eyebrows in puzzled inquiry. Hero shrugged and cast about large-eyed and anxious in the darkness. And silently, unseen, the Curator glided forward, his crystal eyes glowing a metallic blue and firmly centered upon the pair who stood wrapped in indecision and black disappointment.

  With a second shrug, Hero turned to the windows where they looked toward the southeast. Eldin joined him and they vainly searched for a latch or some other form of fastening. While they were thus occupied, the Curator loomed gleamingly large out of the shadows behind them. And in the same instant, finally the two sensed his presence. Hair standing on end, they whirled, gazed into blue-glowing crystal eyes, reached suddenly spastic fingers toward swords—

  —And froze as the blue glow bathed them in waves of light!

  The Curator had no need of stealth now. He clanked around the pair and stepped up to the window, which slid eas
ily to one side at his approach. The adventurers saw him clearly—saw every move he made—but were completely incapable of movement. Only their eyes were alive in bodies utterly bereft of will.

  Now the Curator’s gaze went out across the Cerenerian and found Limnar’s ship where she rocked gently in darkness. The light in his eyes turned shimmering silver, shot out from his face and lit the ship in a blinding glory …

  High over the Museum where he rode his great gaunt in cool night air, Gytherik was dazzled by the light. For a moment he jerked his gaze away, then slitted his eyes to look again. Two tiny figures were moving rapidly, automatically along the silvery beam from Museum to ship, their speed slowing as, at the end of their ride, they were gently deposited upon the deck. Then the silver beam blinked out.

  By the time the gaunt-master set his grim down on the deck of Limnar’s ship, Hero and Eldin were just beginning to recover from their paralysis. Limnar and his crew, still astonished, surrounded the pair where they sat in an unbelieving daze. Then Gytherik saw the large, pear-shaped object which Hero held in his trembling hands and pounced upon it with a joyful whoop.

  For of course it was the dark red egg of shantak-bird …

  An Epilogue, of Sorts

  Two men sat in bamboo chairs on the porphyry balcony of a rather exclusive tavern high over the harbor of Bahama. Below them, haphazardly terraced, the many flights and levels of the town went steeply down to the wharves, beyond which the night stars floated on the mirror surface of the harbor. Sweet scents of summer suppers, cooked outdoors in the warmth of early night, floated up to them where they sat lost in reverie.

  Eldin’s mind gentled thoughts of the girls he and Hero had found on their first night in the town, virgin twins well educated—and well past the marrying age—who had fallen in with the adventurers with a willingness previously outside the Wanderer’s experience. It had been as if they deliberately sought defloration, and of course neither he nor Hero had anything special against that. For one idyllic week they had played escorts and lovers to these beauties, but always with the faint suspicion that there was something mercenary or at the very least dilettantish in the attitudes of those ladies. Even now the twins, Ula and Una, were taking scented baths in apartments paid for by the adventurers, and soon that wily pair of worthies would put aside their exotic drinks and go up to them.