Zoë started forward. Mist rose around them. Then, they walked through a forest of dark evergreens. It was eerily quiet. Zoë’s footfalls made no sound. Overhead hung the night sky—a different night sky from the one Rachel knew. It looked like black velvet bejeweled with lopsided, five-pointed stars.
Storm King Mountain loomed to the west. A river leapt merrily down its slopes, ending in a waterfall. Next to the falls, a gigantic old woman with long braids held what looked like the moon. She wore a long tunic decorated with porcupine quills and fringed trousers of deerskin. Mentally reviewing an encyclopedia she had once read, Rachel recalled this was a costume of the Lenni Lenape people, the tribe that had once roamed the Hudson Highlands.
The old Native American woman placed the moon into the night sky. Then, she picked up what looked like a smaller half-moon. In the way of dreams, Rachel understood that this was yesterday’s moon. With a flint knife, the old woman cut the glowing, white substance into stars. These she positioned on the velvety darkness overhead.
“Who’s that?” Rachel whispered.
“The local dream warden.” Zoë hefted Rachel, who had begun to slide.
“Hang on. Dreams have wardens?”
“Every area has its own. Or most places do, anyway. They kind of keep an eye on things. The good ones chase nightmares away. At least, some of the time.”
“Wow. I wonder what other dream wardens are like.”
“Back in New Zealand, the dream warden was the forest god, Tāne Mahuta, who is either a freaky masked guy or a seriously big tree, depending on whom you ask,” replied Zoë, shrugging. “In Japan, it was this enormous, gray, teddy bear-like forest spirit. In Michigan, it’s Paul Bunyan and his giant blue ox, Babe. Ah. Here we go.”
Mist drifted out of the waterfall, forming tall ribbons that undulated back and forth, like pale northern lights. Zoë walked through some of these wall-like mist-ribbons. The soft fog-stuff clung to Rachel’s face and hands. She caught a whiff that smelled like mingled plaster-of-Paris and lilacs, an odor she recognized. It was the scent that clung to newly-conjured things.
As Zoë and Rachel moved through the rolling mist-ribbons, each curve of the veils held a living diorama. They passed through a flying polo game where the ball was an armadillo; a chase scene in slow motion where the runners raced across a road-sized scroll of musical notation; a bedroom with large posters on the wall, where a boy whom Rachel had seen in the dining hall kissed a girl dressed in provocative red lingerie.
“What are these?” Rachel studiously averted her eyes. She tightened her hold on Zoë’s shoulders.
“Private dreams,” Zoë replied. “The dreams of the people asleep here at school.”
“Oh!” Rachel gazed around her with interest. Overlapping images spread away from her, like waves in a pool, images of people studying, singing, kissing, arguing.
“Best not to look too closely,” advised Zoë. “It can get freakarific.”
“Speaking of dreams,” said Rachel, who was not entirely certain what freakarific meant. “My father did tell me one thing—which would have gone a long way toward putting him back into my good graces, if he hadn’t commissioned Dread to turn my boyfriend into a sheep—does this mean our future children will have wooly hair or something? Did your uncle have children? Did they show signs of being turtle-like?—Anyway, Father told me a sorcerer is coming from New Zealand to put up dream protections here.”
“It’s probably Aperahama Whetu,” said Zoë.
“The shaman who made your slippers?” asked Rachel.
“That’s right. Good memory! He’s weird but nice,” said Zoë. “I am not aware of anyone else among the Wise of New Zealand who could set up dream protections on such a level.”
Rachel stared around her in fascination, temporarily distracted. A tall blond boy blew a great trumpet. A red-haired girl tried to rescue a drowning puppy from a lake. Glancing to the right, she recognized her dorm mate, Brunhilda Winters. Dressed in her old red and white cheerleader outfit, Hildy rode a winged horse across an American Football field.
“Whatever he does,” she murmured, “I hope it doesn’t stop your sandals.”
“Maybe I can talk to him first. Ask him if he can make an exception for them,” Zoë said. “I’d hate to not be able to use them for the next eight years. Ugh! What a horrible thought!”
“Just in case, we should think of interesting experiments to do before he gets here. Gaius can help us with that, if we get him back. He wants to be a scientist. They’re good at thinking up experiments.” Rachel said. To her left, the red-head and the puppy were now zooming down some rapids on a yellow-duck raft. “Do sheep dream?”
Zoë did not answer. She had stopped to peer off into the distance, her hand shading her eyes, perhaps trying to pick one diorama from among the hundreds.
Standing amidst the curling mists, Rachel marshaled her thoughts. Despite her fear for her new boyfriend, she felt secretly eager for the upcoming confrontation. This was her chance to show Von Dread she was not just another foolish little girl. Like a general reviewing his troops before the battle, she considered which subjects might be of interest to the Prince of Bavaria.
“Ah. Here we are,” said Zoë.
Zoë walked them around a curve in the mist-walls and stepped into the dreamscape beyond. The rest of the dream lands receded. They seemed to be walking down one of the underground tunnels beneath Roanoke Hall. Rachel recognized them because she had glanced down one during her initial tour of the campus, the day she arrived. Zoë opened a door marked Custodial Office. The janitor, Umberto Sarpento, sat behind a desk talking to a woman with bushy ginger hair—and nothing else.
The woman was not wearing a single strip of clothing.
Rachel’s jaw dropped. “That’s Scarlett MacDannan! Naked! But she’s…married! Oh, wait. This is someone’s dream, isn’t it?”
“Yep. Sarpy knows where everything in the school is. But there’s always a naked woman in here.” Zoë sighed. “At least, this time, it’s not one of the college girls—”
“Ew! Yuck!” Rachel cried, belatedly remembering to avert her gaze.
“Hey, it’s a dream.” Zoë shrugged. “People can’t help what they dream about. I’ve seen a lot of naked people. I think I’m getting used to it.” She gave a mock shudder. “Scary.”
Zoë rapped the janitor on the forehead. “Sarpy! You’ve seen Dread’s room, right?”
The janitor looked to the right. A solid oak door appeared in the previously blank wall.
“You ready, Griffin?” asked Zoë.
“I hope no one’s in their underwear. Or worse,” Rachel whispered back, trying very hard not to giggle. The sight of the naked Agent had discombobulated her. That, combined with the emotional roller coaster of the day’s events, was beginning to make her feel punch-drunk, not a good state for facing down the imperious prince. “Hopefully, Dread sleeps in his royal pajamas.”
“I don’t know,” Zoë drawled. “I might enjoy seeing Dread naked. Ready?”
Zoë walked through the door. The chamber snapped into focus. Rachel realized the previous version had been fuzzy, indistinct. The air became colder. Shivering, she slid down from Zoë’s back and straightened her robes.
They stood in a nice-sized chamber with three doors, each of which led to a bedroom. Pale blue curtains billowed in the chilly night breeze. In two of the bedrooms, young men lay asleep in their beds. In the third, Dread sat on his bed in a long shirt and sweatpants, reading a book. As they approached the door, his gaze flickered to the two girls.
“Forrest. Griffin. This is not an acceptable way to approach me.”
Rachel’s insides quivered with fear. All desire to be flippant withered away. There was an undercurrent of unbroachable authority to his calm voice. She shifted onto the balls of her feet, poised to flee. There was no way she could talk to this looming bully. He was as intimidating as if…
As if he had shouted Boo? Rachel nearly smiled. He was like her grandfa
ther. Despite the shakiness of her legs, she straightened her backbone and walked to his doorway, looking him directly in the eye.
“Quite true.” Rachel inclined her head solemnly. “But we could think of no other way of reaching you. Is there another place we can talk where no one will be disturbed?”
“Say your piece.” He gestured toward the other rooms. “It is one fifty-seven a.m. My suitemates will not awaken. Just keep your voices down.”
He closed his book. His wand lay on his desk, but he made no move to pick it up.
Rachel walked into his room and stood in front of his bed. “Mr. Von Dread, I believe you are aware of the princess’s vision—the one that foretold your death—and of the efforts we made to save your life and those of your comrades. An effort that has earned us detention, among other things. Would you be willing to grant a request, in return for my part in saving you?”
“I’ve already promised you a service in return for your efforts,” he replied curtly. “While I am not thoroughly convinced this vision would have come to pass, I am not so foolish as to question the direction of the occurrences of the afternoon. Make your request.”
“I propose an alliance between your group and ours.” Rachel continued to meet the intensity of his gaze full-on, despite her mounting desire to quail. “To share information for the purpose of discerning the current threat to our world and stopping it, along with any lesser threats we might discover. My group has access to a great deal of information. Yours has greater experience and ability.
“What is more, in my opinion,” she added, “you are the only person who truly takes this danger seriously—other than myself. I believe it would be to our advantage to work together.”
“Are you proposing an alliance?” He frowned. “Or making a request?”
“Both. Here is the request,” Rachel plunged forward, speaking rapidly. “Before our alliance can go forward, I must ask you to return Mr. Valiant to his proper shape, provide him with a new wand, and restore him to his previous place in your esteem.”
She waited, too tense to draw breath. Still, she felt particularly clever for having thought to add the last part.
“Ordinarily, I would cast aside your request, due to the nature of the offense against myself by Valiant,” Dread replied. “But, considering the present danger to our reality, and my lack of reliable seers, I will agree. Before I release Valiant, however, I must have your word that we will either share our direct sources or offer assurances that our information is reliable.”
Rachel drew herself up until she stood as regally as a queen. “Mr. Von Dread, I may not be a princess, but I am of the English Top Ten Thousand. The Griffins can trace our ancestors back to the time of the Roman republic, which makes my family older than any existing dynasty on earth—even the long-reigning Danish and Japanese courts. I would not dishonor my family by breaking a promise once given.” Her eyes glittered intently. “I give you my word.”
He nodded.
Rachel regarded him, taking in the red highlights in his dark wavy hair and his well-defined jaw line. The thin cloth of his shirt did little to conceal his broad shoulders and washboard stomach. Nor did his sweatpants hide the firm muscles of his thighs. Suddenly, she found herself uncomfortably aware of just how very masculine he was. This notion, and the accompanying unfamiliar sensations it produced in her body, alarmed her.
Quickly, she glanced away.
Von Dread’s desk was well-organized. Metals, bronze, silver, and gold, hung on the wall above his trunk. Looking farther, her heart skipped a beat. In the partially-opened wardrobe, she caught a glimpse of a cloak of sable swan feathers—just like the one the Swan King wore in the princess’s vision.
Thinking of other images she had seen in mirrors recently, she had an idea.
“Speaking of secret sources,” Rachel said suddenly. “I happen to know what Valiant said to the Agents under the influence of the Spell of True Recitation. I will tell you, because it might make it easier for you to forgive him.” Word for word, she repeated what Gaius had told the Agents about why he respected Von Dread more than anyone else.
“Interesting.” Von Dread’s face remained impassive.
She paused, moistening her dry lips, and marshaled her best arguments on Gaius’s behalf. “My grandfather was a brilliant man, Mr. Von Dread. He fought against Hitler’s dark magicians and lost fewer men during World War II than any other sorcery cadre. He may not have been as powerful as your family, but he was wise and an excellent leader of men.”
“I knew General Blaise Griffin, The Tenth Duke of Devon,” stated Dread. “He freed our capital from the Nazis.”
Of course! Verhängnisburg, the city her grandfather had liberated, was the capital of Bavaria. Rachel had seen photos of it, a picturesque valley in the Alps with Svartschwanstein Castle towering above it on the mountainside.
“I once heard my grandfather explain why he kept stallions in his stable,” Rachel continued gravely. “Stallions are harder to handle than geldings, and apt, especially when young, to chase after mares.” She flushed at the implied analogy but pressed onward. “But, he said, no other horse was as effective at crossing the intervening territory to reach the enemy.
“I am sure you are too wise a prince to let anger come between yourself and someone as loyal, brave, and intelligent as Gaius—just because his head has been turned by a girl.”
Von Dread nodded, indicating that he understood her words. His expression did not change. She had no idea what he was thinking.
“And, finally,” she plowed ahead, “as a gesture of good faith, I will share our first secret—a secret that may be of some practical value.”
“Indeed?” Von Dread crossed his arms. “Proceed.”
Here was the moment for which Rachel had been waiting: the chance to share the secrets she had so painstakingly gathered. As she spoke, she watched his face carefully, searching for some sign as to whether her words were making an impression.
“You may have heard about the Raven, who is said to be the omen of the doom of worlds?” she said. “This Raven occasionally flies around the school grounds. When he gets near Smith’s dragon, it becomes a dumb animal, like dragons on this world.” Was it her imagination? Or was there the slightest glint of interest in his dark eyes.
Now for her brilliant idea. “If you could harness this power: get its help? Snag a feather? You might be able to shut off the new magic—such as Lucky the Dragon, the magic paper that ensorcelled Miss Iscariot, the extreme speed and toughness of Mr. Chanson. Maybe even Zoë’s sandals.”
“Thanks a lot.” Zoë stuck out her tongue.
Rachel could see her in her peripheral vision; however, she did not look away from Von Dread’s face. She would apologize later. “In order to investigate the Raven, you have to find it. As far as I know, I am the only person at school who can tell when it is present. I am willing to help you…so long as Valiant is with us. He has promised to protect me from it.”
“Very well,” replied Dread. “I may have need of the Guardian. If you can locate it, perhaps we can convince it to speak.”
The Guardian?
If he had hauled off and punched her in the solar plexus, she could not have been more shocked. Von Dread knew more about the Raven than she did? More than Mr. Badger and Master Warder Nighthawk? So much for impressing him. Rachel schooled her expression, but she could not keep her pupils from widening.
“Yes, Miss Griffin, I know what the bird is,” Von Dread continued grimly. “It protects this world from external threats. It seems it has been negligent in its duties. Powers have been crossing the borders into this place for decades. Some long enough for generations to pass.” He looked at her long and hard.
Rachel swallowed. Was he implying her family had come from Outside?
“Forrest,” Von Dread turned to Zoë, “you will want to bring Miss Griffin away from here. I cannot promise my suitemates will be well-mannered after I am gone.” Crossing the room, he picked up his w
and from the desk. He swirled it above his head. A ruby-colored mist curled about him. His shirt and sweat pants transformed into robes.
He fixed his gaze on both girls. “You will not repeat this, ladies. It is a secret between us.” Raising his hands, he performed three quick gestures. “Libra orbeathe Roanoke: venjelrian. Kalu.”
With a flash of light, Vladimir Von Dread disappeared.
Chapter Sixteen:
Waylaying Peter
Kataang!
Thunder cracked across the sky, jolting Rachel from her sleep. Dull gray clouds hung low over the campus. Steady drizzle pattered against her window. Her bedroom was as dim and gloomy as pre-dawn, except when a lightning bolt lit the heavens.
Peering blearily at the clock, Rachel yelped and leapt out of bed. She had overslept and was about to miss breakfast. She was up and in her robes before she remembered that it was Saturday. Breakfast ran a half an hour later. Still, she would need to hurry.
She ran down the stairs of the dormitory, holding onto her mortarboard hat to keep it from blowing off. As she reached the final staircase, her brother Peter came in the front door, chafing his arms to warm them. Rage gripped Rachel. Tossing the tassel of her cap to one side, she marched up to him and crossed her arms. The tassel fell back across her eyes.
She shouted, “You said bad stuff to Father about Gaius, didn’t you?”
Ordinarily, Peter was a calm, quiet fellow who spent his free time reading stories of the Knights of King Arthur. Now, however, he visibly bristled.
“Listen, little sister.” Peter stepped so close that she had to crane her head to see him. She suspected he wished to appear intimidating, but he did not have much experience. He looked about as threatening as a dachshund in a top hat. “It’s my job to watch out for you. My job to make sure you don’t get picked up by some idiot who’s only dating you to piss me off.”
The Raven, The Elf, and Rachel (A Book of Unexpected Enlightenment 2) Page 18
