by K Childs
Time slowed; a powerful ability. Beasts from the Ether used the slowing, or the perception of slowed time, to trap helpless prey. Slowing time in the Dreamscape was something only monsters did. If Oneironauts could perform such actions, no evidence of the art existed in any book I’d studied.
I fought through the miasma, palms sweaty, breathing harsh.
I ran through a twisting hall, flinging open doors.
“Follow my voice! I’m here! Don’t despair, I’m coming!” People without training panic in dreams like these. When you arrived in the Dreamscape, your mind struggled to find a way to control an environment suddenly beyond control. Creatures born from dark pits of unspeakable horror lived in the Ether, slipping into dreams to siphon the soul right out of you. I projected my voice. A small whisper of reassurance would go a long way to keeping an untrained mind from making terrible
decisions.
A roar came from the walls themselves. The hairs on the back of my neck rose in terror and I followed the ripple of sound.
Instinct screamed at me; I was going to die. I had to wake up. It wasn’t safe here. But I had a duty to His Majesty’s subjects to keep them safe from exactly this sort of horror.
I found my first shadowy outline running down a long corridor with a closing roiling umbra of snapping teeth and claws gaining. Untrained minds appeared in the Dreamscape as shadowy outlines of people, little more than a signboard silhouette. The dreamer made no progress, the floor warped and churned underfoot.
I grabbed the shadow’s hand. “It’s just a dream, now wake up!” I sliced the dreamer’s palm with my sword, forcing them from the Dreamscape with pain.
The dreamer blinked out of the hallway, leaving me alone in a nightmare with the hunting dragon snarling from the hall.
Green mist swirled around my feet, trying to pull me down.
I slashed it away with the silver sword, severing the mist from me and slicing the indistinct blur of the monster. “You won’t find him here, and soon it will be just you and me.”
The hunting claws and fangs ripped away from the corridor. Time resumed its flow and I turned in a slow circle.
The world shook with sudden silence.
I raced to a window. No green mist outside.
I spent the rest of the night making sure no dreamers were stuck in the Dreamscape, and they had made it out of the grip of the beast.
I found no more evidence of the monster in the Ether’s eddies and tides.
I’d scared the dragon away. Or hurt it with the silver sword. We could do this dance again, and next time I would win. I knew its weakness now.
I woke up covered in sweat. Light streamed through the windows and the bed covers twisted around my shins.
I got out of bed and splashed water on my face. There was no bathroom en suite; I’d have to find it in the hall. I threw my robe over my nightgown and padded to the bathroom on the freezing stone.
The light hurt my eyes. I stayed in the sunshine, forcing myself to endure it, leaning out the window to get the chilly air to cool the water on my face. Eventually the sting of the sunlight reduced.
It was past breakfast time; the men gathered in the garden and I saw the maid hurrying into the kitchen with a wicker basket of vegetables and bread, looking like she had been at the market.
I returned to my room and dressed, spraying a little lavender about my body to mask the smell of sweat.
I remade the bed and tied my hair back. By the time I was opening the door, the Duke was standing in front of it, hand raised to knock.
“Good morning, Your—Darrien.”
“It’s almost lunch time, Rose. I would have woken you sooner, but the Sergeant said not to.”
“Thank you,” I said.
He offered me his arm. “Will you take lunch with me in the garden?”
“If you wish.”
“I do.”
“Did you sleep well?” I asked.
“Yes, no nightmares at all.”
I decided to trust the Duke. The rest of the castle would not have been so lucky. But I had deterred the dragon this night. “I made good progress on the beast last night. I suspect I will have it in hand tonight. I know a weakness now.”
“Oh?”
“When I kill it in the Dreamscape, there is a chance it will survive and attack in some form in the physical world. Do you know the Animancy to enchant a weapon?”
“I suppose I could infuse a weapon with Anima; it depends on what you want it for. I mostly fought ghouls during the war—using the blood of the living in a blade or bullet is the best defence against them. Anima enchantments are rather specific.”
Oneirology worked best with specific wards as well. Enchantments were tricky things. I had hoped something generic existed in his own study, but it didn’t sound like it.
We stopped in the kitchen and Darrien picked up a readymade basket, then turned, resuming our walk outside. I expected to end up just outside the door, but he took me down to the river and to a pergola. We sat down under the shade and I took my cloche off, tying it to my neck so it wouldn’t fly away.
“What about dragon slaying?” I asked.
“I doubt it would be easy. For a dragon, I’d need something that was naturally against it. I’ve no idea what is opposite to a dragon.”
“Most breathe fire; would ice work?”
“Living, animate ice, surely. I’ve no idea how to get such a thing, if it exists. Given the magnitude of the situation, should I pursue that?”
I shook my head. “I can’t be sure it would work.”
“No, nor can I.” He began unpacking the basket. A platter of cold-cut sandwiches, freshly sliced bread and cheese, a small jar of pickled eggs and fresh cut apples.
I helped him and placed the bottle of red wine on the deck, pulling out the two glasses he’d packed. “I feel like you planned this lunch.”
He smiled, the winning, charming smile that I was pretty sure got him in to a great deal of trouble.
I didn’t know why we were so familiar with each other. It felt like I had known him months. Even his cheating on his fiancée felt like something of the past. It was disconcerting how calm and relaxed I was in his company. I was beginning to wonder if he were enchanted himself.
The Duke surprised me with an unexpected question. “What kind of woman was Charlotte Beaumont?”
I raised an eyebrow, uncorking the wine and setting it down to breathe. There were plates at the bottom of the basket, and I handed him one, taking one myself. “A strong woman, with a good head on her shoulders. She was good at her job, and was kind to animals and small children, and absolutely ruthless to criminals.”
I swallowed hard. “She was going to marry next year,” I added softly.
Charlotte had said she’d have a man soon enough. I knew she’d had a few suitors, but she’d been reticent to pick one to settle down with. Now she wouldn’t get the chance. The stabbing sensation in my chest was back. “Although she didn’t introduce me to the gentleman.”
I could recall the last conversation about her suitors, but Charlotte’s social circle and mine rarely overlapped. I didn’t go out for dinner parties or social shindigs with her. Now, all those nights spent alone felt like lost pieces of her life.
“I’m sorry,” Darrien said.
So was I. I started making my sandwich and looked up with a small smile. “Not at all.”
“You two look alike.”
I nodded. We did, pale blonde hair and thin frames. We might have been sisters. “We grew up together.” My voice wavered, and I cut off the words sharply, clenching my fist around the edge of the table.
Darrien laid a hand over my cold fingers, soft, understanding, gentle.
“You’re awfully good at this small talk, Your Grace.” I moved my hand. I didn’t want to be improper. The gesture was sweet. “You know, when you aren’t trying, you are much more charming, Darrien. Perhaps you should attempt to
be more yourself.”
I took a large bite of my sandwich and drank wine. I’d had a rough few days, wine for breakfast didn’t bother me as it ought to.
Mischievously, he said, “My mother would approve of you as a wife, you know?”
Not the impression her glower had given me. “I don’t think I’d want to marry her.”
He laughed. “I meant me.”
“I don’t think she would approve of that.”
“Would your father? Or your mother?”
“They would tell me to pull the other leg. I’m not noble-born, Darrien. And I’d not put up with you the way that Elizabeth does.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m a modern woman, Darrien. I don’t need a man to depend on financially, I live independently of my family and I afford my own luxuries. Wealth doesn’t interest me. I have position and privilege as a member of the Yard, so I don’t need a man to assure my social power. If I married, it would be for love.”
“Love?” He laughed.
“Love and only love. I imagine that is the word most conflicting to your circumstance.” I paused, wanting to say bluntly that he didn’t love either of the women he paraded around with, but after two days, even I could manage to merely imply it.
“You think I am a shallow cad?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to say it,” he snapped. Then he sighed. “Damn you, but you’re right.”
“I think Mary loves you, at least.”
“Lust and love are easily confused, I have found.”
“I’ve found that men learn to say one when they mean the other.”
“Women teach us that trick.”
“Men teach us to trust one of those. Do not blame women when you exploit our belief of your own doctrine.”
He placed a hand over his heart. “My God, you do not hold your punches.”
“Should I?”
“I’m beginning to see why you aren’t married yourself.”
“I don’t need marriage to validate myself.”
“And I don’t want to marry.”
I chuckled. He, like most other young bachelors, had been allowed to get away with sleeping with whomever he desired, consequence free, for too long.
“You think I have commitment issues? Go on, I’ve heard it enough times from my mother.”
“No, I think you want marriage for the same reason I do. Love.”
He threw his head back with a laugh. “Damn you are good. Yes, alright, yes. That is what I want. Would you love me and marry me?”
“You’ve got a fiancée and a wedding date already. And Mary will love you. Is that not enough?”
“I don’t want Mary.”
He was awfully close.
“You’ve known me all of three days, Darrien. I’m a fetching face, but there are more faces in your own peerage.”
“A wild mare of the most remote and exotic lands of the earth and you’d have me turn back to inbred thoroughbreds?”
“Women aren’t horses.”
“An analogy.”
“A poor one,” I said.
He touched my cheek, mischief in his eyes; he was liking this. “No one argues with me.”
“I didn’t think I was arguing. You made statements. I merely purport their inaccuracy.”
He laughed again. “Elizabeth would have started crying by now, telling me how I was bullying her.”
I hadn’t thought her that weak. I took a sip of my wine and raised an eyebrow. “Elizabeth is a Tenebrologist.”
“Your point?”
“She’s adept at masking her true emotions.” A thought struck me: Tenebrology was used for deception. Creating
shadows.
Like hiding the true shape of a monster. A smart beast would take measures to ensure that a hunter wouldn’t know its full form.
“What is it?” Darrien caught the sobering look on my face.
“Elizabeth… did she have a wound on her hand this
morning?”
“No, that was Mary…”
Mary had been the dreamer I’d forced out of the
Dreamscape then.
“Elizabeth… can’t be too happy that you chase every woman that isn’t her.”
“She’s like a sister to me. I’ve never considered her in a romantic way.”
“But it doesn’t make her happy, does it?”
“No.”
“And when she found out about Mary?” I had to ask the question.
He paled. “You can’t be serious?”
Her family was rich, very rich. Hoarders of gold, and she was a smart, well-educated woman with connections. How many times had she been rejected? How much could any woman take before she cracked?
I stood. “Your Grace, where is Elizabeth now?”
“She retired to her room—said she was going to crochet.”
“I need to get Ben and Simmons. We need to have another interview with her.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
“You cannot barge in and interrogate her like a common criminal. She’s still a peer. My God… you don’t really think she might be a dragon?”
“I’ve no idea if she was born one or transformed somehow. We need evidence. Proof that she is the beast. I need to be certain. Her family won’t stand for it if she’s arrested on anything less than solid evidence.”
“You will need to be absolutely sure, Inspector.” His tone was serious, using my rank to remind me that this was hardly the time for quick jumps.
“Alright, alright. You’re right. We need to think about this. Where is Ben? He’ll help us work out a plan.”
We left the pergola and headed indoors.
I found Ben in the Duke’s library.
He was reading a bible that took up half the desk. An old leather-bound affair with gold-leaf pressings and illustrations on each page. The text was worn, hand-written. It belonged in a museum.
“The story of Saint George?” I asked.
Ben said, “I don’t have much—this was the oldest bible in the house. His Grace allowed me to look at it.”
“The family bible,” The Duke said.
“I’ve been very careful with it,” Ben added.
I leaned against the desk. We’d shut the door behind us, but I kept my voice low. “Lady Winchester is shaping into my current suspect. What little we know of dragons… beasts with a hunger for gold, the creature we saw last night was cloaked in shadows, the lady is a Tenebrologist. She has a motive, means and opportunity.”
“I was rather leaning toward Alston,” Ben said, he inclined his head to the Duke who sat down on the settee, hard.
Darrien grew quiet and ashen faced.
“I admit, they both have similar traits, but Alston’s ignorance of the whole affair is too true for me. We’ll proceed with Lady Winchester as our suspect unless you have compelling evidence damning Alston?”
“Understood. What would you like me to do, Rose?”
I needed evidence. I needed total proof. That meant I needed to force Elizabeth Winchester to expose her true nature. She was motivated by rage; her fiancé was cheating on her. Perhaps it was love turned bitter with resentment and pain, but whatever she had once felt was now rage. If I could manipulate her into revealing herself, I would have my evidence.
“I think we all understand the motive. Lady Winchester is trying to salvage her pride and shattered love—she’s waited for His Grace most of her life and he’s been unfaithful. I think I know what to say to enrage her. I don’t suppose there is a woman that Elizabeth disapproves of your association with more than Mary?”
The Duke nodded glumly. “Lady Brighton.”
I knew of Lady Brighton. A leading figure in the fight for women’s suffrage; Darrien had a type. “Is she an old flame?”
“A few years ago, I wanted to marry her. Mother convinced me to wa
it a few weeks and Lady Brighton left me. I don’t have any proof, but I always suspected that Mother and Lisa drove her away. Lisa hates Lady Brighton. They were rivals for a long while in tennis. But it’s not just that. If you want someone to affect Lisa to anger, that’s the name to use.”
I was walking down the hall, composing my lines in my head as a good actress before an opening night, when the Duchess caught up to me.
She stepped out of a small drawing room. Today’s peahen green dress was no less elaborate than her glorious pink formal she had been wearing in London. Her wardrobe was extravagant and costly. Most of her dresses, however, seemed old to me. She was dressed for a gala that we weren’t to have. The woman turned her face as I was moving down the hall and just like that, I was trapped under her piercing blue gaze.
“Your Grace,” I bowed.
“Stay away from him.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard me.” She snapped her fan between gloved fingers and pointed it at my nose, “I won’t have him ensorcelled by you. Not when he’s set a date for the wedding.”
“Your Grace, I have no intention of showing undue affection toward your son.”
She snorted, “I’m not an idiot, girl. I see how he’s looking at you. Darrien likes strong women. And he might seem like a fine catch, a wild stallion still on the market, but I assure you, he is not.”
Fury curled in my stomach and I had to swallow a scathing remark, “Your Grace, I assure you I am a professional member of the police. Not a floozy your son picked up from some local.”
Her mouth twisted into a sneer. “Solve your bloody murder, then. It’s been three days. No wonder London is overrun with vagrants, foreigners and crime—if it takes you three days to figure out a simple murder!”
She strutted past me and went toward the kitchens.
I fought an urge to ask the chef to poison her dinner or pull out my shock-stick and teach her a little humility. The Duchess of Cardigan’s step-sister was the Queen. I did not, in any way, need that sort of scorn.
I shook the unpleasant encounter away and pulled my thoughts back to the game I had to play.
Entering the women’s parlour with a knock, the room before me set out in soothing blues and greys. The seats were freshly re-stuffed and the lacquer on the old dark wood ends had been applied recently. I could still smell it.
