Ship of Dreams

by Brian Lumley

  As to why Hero and Eldin were here in Bahama on the Isle of Oriab: well, why not? Hero had never visited here before, and the Wanderer had always told the most fabulous and outrageous tales of the place. Moreover, this was that island where loomed those hollow mountains whose roots went down to the underworld. Gytherik had been headed this way, and so they had been willing to go along with him. Alas, his impatience had precluded their own involvement in the rescue of his father; for having spent little more than a day with them aboard Limnar’s ship, Gytherik had said his farewells, mounted his great gaunt and departed with his grim—not to mention the shantak’s egg—to do the job on his own. Doubtless all had worked out as desired and both Mathur and his gaunt-master son were now back home in Nir. At least it suited Eldin’s purpose to think so.

  As for Limnar Dass: having put the adventurers ashore he, too, had taken his leave of them. He had his own woman in Serannian, whom he intended shortly to marry, and so would not allow himself to be tempted by Baharna’s fleshpots or the females who frequented them. And since Gytherik had long since gone off on his own … well, Limnar really had no excuse now for the avoidance of his new duties. And so he had sailed away from Oriab, and the last the adventurers had seen of him was his ship of dreams, far out on the Southern Sea, rising up from the water and cleaving for the clouds.

  As Eldin mulled over these not unpleasant, slightly poignant thoughts, Hero was involved with rather blacker visions. Namely, what he would like to do to a certain thief if only he knew who he was and where to find him. For only last night, in the absence of the adventurers and their lady friends, their rooms had been entered and most of their money stolen. This had been a not inconsiderable purse, a personal reward from Kuranes, and its loss might well have proved embarrassing. Fortunately they had been able to pay their bills with their golden medals of heroism, but to actually part with those hard-won honors had not at all been to their liking.

  Still, they were all paid up for once, and they still had a tond or two, their good new clothes, and the companionship of the lovely girls upstairs. But for that damned thief, they might easily have idled away another fortnight here. Hero pictured himself crushing the windpipe of their unknown malefactor.

  “Not if I got to him first,” said Eldin.

  Hero started. “Eh? Can you read minds then?”

  “You were growling to yourself,” the Wanderer pointed out. “And you were curling your lip a bit.”

  Hero was forced to give back a wry grin. “It’s just that being a thief,” he explained, “I hate being robbed! And talking about robbery, it was your turn to get the drinks two rounds ago.”

  Eldin nodded affably. “I thought you’d missed it,” he said. “Are you sure you want another? Ula and Una will be wondering where we are.”

  “They’ll not go off the boil,” Hero answered. “Damn me, I can’t understand how two such ladies retained their virginity for so long! Can you? I mean, they’re man-eaters. Why, I must have lost twenty pounds!”

  “I know,” Eldin grinned. “Wonderful, isn’t it? I’ll get the drinks.” He stood up and passed through bead curtains into the barroom, leaving Hero to return to his dire, vengeful imaginings.

  A minute or so later, just as Hero was settling back into his less than restful reverie, Eldin returned clutching a folded handbill. He was in something of a hurry and his face displayed a slightly lighter color than its norm. Puzzled, Hero asked, “Where’s my drink? And why the worried look?”

  Making a visible effort to remain calm, Eldin sat; and in answer to Hero’s questions he spread the poster on their table. It was a WANTED notice and told, more or less, the following tale:

  That the twin daughters of the merchant Ham Gidduf of Andahad, a small but rich seaport on the far side of Oriab, had been abducted from their home only ten days before they were to be presented to the twin Dukes of Isharra, who would be visiting the island in their search for suitable brides. The girls had spent the last six years in a nunnery on the mainland until their father could find the right match for them. Ham Gidduf—obviously a rich man—was hereby placing a reward for ten thousand tonds on the head of the abductor, dead or alive, or seven thousand on each head should there prove to be more than one. He also offered a fat reward for any conclusive information. The handbill was to be given wide circulation.

  “Where’d you get this?” Hero asked, his voice calm as his mind raced.

  “From a big, hard-looking bully-boy,” Eldin answered. “Half-a-dozen of them just came into the bar, all armed to the teeth. They look like freelance bounty hunters to me.” As Hero stood up, the Wanderer parted the bead curtains a little and peeped out. “Oh, oh!” he warned. “One of them is talking to the proprietor—and another is chatting with the old boy who has the room next to ours.”

  “Did they see you duck out here?” Hero asked, his voice tight now.

  “I don’t think so,” Eldin answered. “Why should they watch me? Do I look like … like an abductor? No, don’t answer that.” Still peering out through the curtains, he stiffened.

  “What is it?” Hero hissed.

  “That’s torn it!” Eldin answered. “The one who was talking to our next door neighbor is looking this way, and he’s got a sly grin on his face. And … yes, here he comes!”

  “Get behind the plant,” said Hero.

  As Eldin ducked behind a huge potted palm, Hero quickly seated himself facing the curtains. He sprawled casually in his chair and toyed with an empty tankard. A moment later the curtains parted to admit a short, brutish-looking thug with the build of a rhino. Straight up to Hero he stepped, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. “David Hero?” he growled.

  “Um?” said Hero laconically. “Did you say something?”

  “I said, is your name Hero?” the other loudly repeated as Eldin slipped out from behind the palm and came up behind him.

  “That’s me,” said Hero, making as if to stand. The thug began to slide his sword from its scabbard but had moved it less than an inch when Eldin delivered a rabbit punch that would have felled a roc. Hero caught him as he fell and lowered him quietly to the floor. He turned to Eldin.

  “Right,” he said, “let’s go!” They stepped to the balustrade, swung their legs across and began to climb down toward the precarious roofs, spidery bridges and narrow, steeply-angled streets below.

  “Oh, let’s go by all means,” said Eldin. “But go where?” Hero made no answer.

  They climbed down onto a street narrow as a ledge and paused for a moment in friendly shadows. Suddenly, somewhere up above, the night came alive with muffled cries of astonishment rapidly turning to outrage. Moments later there came loud and grateful sobs of relief in well known female voices, and finally hoarsely shouted orders and clattering sounds of hot pursuit.

  “Now that the girls are no longer virgins,” Hero whispered, “I don’t suppose these Dukes of Isharra will be any too interested in them.”

  “That’s right,” Eldin agreed, “that’s what it was all about. The girls were simply using us, and I think I know why. I’ve heard of this Isharra. Its people are backward types and all ugly as hell, particularly the so-called aristocracy. There’s a goldmine there and the Dukes of Isharra—I’m not sure if they’re real Dukes or if that’s just their name—are the owners. The way I see it, Ula and Una have made damn sure they no longer qualify for the bridal procession! I imagine that when they were ‘abducted,’ they must have messed the place up and left Daddy a ransom note or some such. Now they’ll be able to go home to Andahad again and find themselves a couple of likely lads to fall in love with. If old man Gidduf has bags of money, they’ll manage that all right …”

  “You’re pretty shrewd for an old fool,” said Hero. “Those girls made fools of both of us.” He grinned mirthlessly.

  “Maybe for the first day or so,” Eldin nodded, “but after that … I think they would have liked to tell us.”

  “Except that would ruin the abducted bit, eh?” sai
d Hero cynically. “Well, speaking for myself, I reckon a man’s head is too high a price to pay for a mere maidenhead—especially when it was offered free of charge!”

  “That’s the difference between you and me,” said Eldin. “I have romance in my soul …”

  Hero snorted, then cocked his ear upward. Booted feet were running along the streets up there and someone was still shouting orders.

  “A romantic, are you?” said Hero. “Well, maybe you are.” He sighed. “I seem to remember that our recent adventures began with accusations of rape and other atrocities. If Ula and Una are telling the tale I think they’re telling right now, we’re about to be accused again!” He moved to the low wall, stepped over it, looked down once, and with the agility of a monkey began to descend.

  Close behind him, Eldin grunted, “Aye, and this time you can include abduction—and the dreamlands are full of bounty hunters these days. And … you still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

  “Going?” Hero replied as he nimbly jumped free of the rough stone face. The moon turned him to a fleeting silhouette in the instant before he lightly landed upon a fairly flattish roof. “Why—we’re going on, of course—we’re going on!”

  And together they fled into the night …

  This one is for Dave and Sandra Sutton,

  Steve Jones and Jo, Di and Mike Wathen,

  Carl (the Foulness) Ford, and Jon Harvey

  —Forces for Fantasy in the U.K., on and off,

  for nameless eons.

  And also for Win Taylor, with love,

  from a “wayward” nephew.

  Look for these Tor books by Brian Lumley

  In paperback:

  The DREAMLANDS series

  Hero of Dreams

  Ship of Dreams

  Mad Moon of Dreams

  Iced on Aran

  The PSCHYOMECH series

  Psychomech

  Psychosphere

  Psychamok

  The NECROSCOPE series

  Necroscope

  Vamphyri!

  The Source

  Deadspeak

  Deadspawn

  Demogorgon

  The House of Doors

  In hardcover:

  Blood Brothers

  Fruiting Bodies and Other Fungi

  The Last Aerie

  THE PIRATE RAID

  Hero wasted neither time nor opportunity but leapt at the closest pirate and sliced his cowl-hidden head clean from his body. Down went the man without a sound—without even a crimson spurt of blood—and another sprang to take his place. This one Hero stabbed in the heart, his sword passing through the fellow as if he were made of cheese … except that when Hero dragged the blade free the man failed to fall but kept right on fighting!

  Out of instinct and desperation Hero struck again, and this time his blade tore aside the pirate’s hood. Beneath it—

  —A fleshless skull leered with empty sockets and rotting teeth!

  He was fighting a corpse, a dead man who felt nothing and continued the battle secure in the knowledge that he could not die twice!

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

  SHIP OF DREAMS

  Copyright ©1986 by Brian Lumley

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  A Tor Book

  Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.

  175 Fifth Avenue

  New York, N.Y. 10010

  Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.

  Cover art by Tim Jacobs

  eISBN 9781466818682

  First eBook Edition : April 2012

  ISBN: 0-812-52420-9

  First Tor mass market printing: January 1994