Seven Dreams

by English, Charlotte E.

  ‘They chose not to divulge that to me, my lord,’ said the butler with an apologetic bow. ‘The matter is, I gather, somewhat urgent.’

  The Baron gave the weariest of sighs and carefully closed his treasured book. ‘Let them come in,’ he instructed, and his butler discreetly withdrew.

  He had no notion at all what the Lokant Heritage Bureau might want with him, but it did not take him long to venture a guess. Perhaps he had inadvertently acquired something which was of interest to the Bureau, or possibly even of use. He could not consider selling any piece of his collection, of course, but it would be amusing to field — and summarily reject — a flattering offer. He waited in pleasant anticipation of such a treat, and soon enough he heard heavy footsteps approaching.

  No refinement at all, he thought with pleasant satisfaction. Only the very common walked with such a laboured tread. The two agents presented themselves at his door an instant later, and he took a few moments to observe them at his leisure.

  The first to enter was a female. She was of barely moderate height, with a thin, wiry frame. Her drab brown hair was cut unappealingly short, which he hated to see in women, and her features were unremarkable. She was clothed in the nearest thing the Bureau had to a uniform, namely a dark blue tunic and matching trousers, with a plain white shirt underneath, and black boots. She bowed to him with neither expression nor air, and stood with her hands behind her back.

  Her associate proved to be male, and much taller — taller even than the Baron himself, which he did not view with much favour. This fellow had a little more countenance, he thought. The man’s face was expressive, though his dark eyes bore the same bland expression as his colleague. He was a partial Lokant, judging from the pure white hair which crowned his head; though undoubtedly over forty, he was by no means old enough to have acquired such a colour by natural means.

  Overall, the Baron was not impressed. Such a colourless pair he had rarely seen, even among the Bureau. They scarcely possessed a memorable feature between them. He smiled upon them with gracious condescension, aware that to find themselves in such surroundings must feature as a high treat with them.

  ‘It is always a pleasure to welcome our excellent friends from the Bureau,’ he said mendaciously as he rose from his chair, setting his precious book carefully aside. ‘What is the nature of your business here?’

  The female was casting surreptitious looks around his study, he observed. He was pleased to note such an apparent interest in his treasures, though she could not be expected to know anything about them. ‘We come bearing a warning,’ she said, focusing her attention upon him. ‘We have received information that something among your recent acquisitions has attracted the attention of a Lokant of known criminal connections, and we believe that your house may stand at risk of a robbery.’

  This confident pronouncement somewhat took the Baron aback, especially since it was delivered without an ounce of the deference which ought to be due to his position. His brows snapped together, but before he could speak the woman’s associate stepped in.

  ‘Your house is very well secured, my lord, we can see that at a glance. Our superiors, however, judged it best to ensure you were aware of the increased risk, in case you would wish to make further arrangements.’

  This speech was much more satisfactory, and uttered together with a pleasing little bow. But the man’s superiority of manner did little to convince the Baron. ‘My good man, do you have the smallest idea how many objects of value are housed here?’ he demanded. ‘The combined worth of all my treasures would buy your life many times over, I make no doubt. It would not be the first time my beauties have drawn the avarice of low persons, and I have spared neither effort nor expense in protecting them. What, I ask you, do you imagine there is left to do?’

  ‘An upgrade to your security arrangements, perhaps,’ ventured the male one. ‘Alarms, locks, everything. Lokant technology can be difficult to defend against, and—’

  Here the Baron felt obliged to cut the man short. ‘My systems are upgraded every six months,’ he said with a dismissive wave of one manicured hand. ‘I employ the very best locksmiths, engineers and sorcerers, naturally. There is no more to be done there.’

  ‘Increased personnel,’ said the female. ‘Lokants are extremely adept at infiltration through arts we cannot match, and it’s hard to catch them—’

  ‘I have plenty of personnel,’ said the Baron.

  ‘The Bureau would be more than happy to assign some of its best security operatives to this case,’ said the man. ‘They would be at your disposal upon indefinite secondment, and they are well trained in countering Lokant arts—’

  ‘Out of the question,’ said the Baron crisply. ‘I employ a great many security personnel, all of whom are chosen individually by my chief of security. I cannot countenance the admission of strangers into my private household, no matter who vouches for them. I am surprised it could be suggested.’

  He trusted that such a decided statement would silence their impertinent suggestions, but it did not! They had more to advance. The Baron became engrossed in the examination of his perfect fingernails and heard very little, until the word “key” caught his attention.

  ‘I possess no keys,’ said the Baron promptly. ‘Except those which open my own doors, of course, all of which are perfectly plain and ordinary.’

  His visitors exchanged an indecipherable look; protested; asked further questions, and made more suggestions. He had borne enough, he felt, with rising irritation, and he put a stop to any further communications with a few brusque words.

  He thanked the well-meaning persons civilly enough. He was a man of breeding, and would expect nothing less of himself. They were wise enough not to press the issue, and they took their leave soon after. The female one did not make him a bow even upon leaving, which deepened his displeasure considerably. He made a mental note to send a letter of complaint to Lady Glostrum at his earliest opportunity. She was a sensible woman, and if he just gave her a hint, he had no doubt she would act upon it at once.

  Teyo took off the white wig as soon as he had got beyond Baron Anserval’s spacious grounds. It made for a risky masquerade, as it did not take much for a true Lokant (or even a partial, sometimes) to realise that the white-haired pretender before them possessed no actual Lokant abilities. Besides, it made him feel conspicuous, and he had never appreciated that feeling.

  Egg stalked beside him, rigid with irritation. She had no patience for foolishness, and was easily riled when faced with such fatuousness as the Baron had displayed. But Teyo found it more amusing than annoying. Such incredible self-satisfaction was usually the product of a remarkable degree of ignorance, and he couldn’t help but marvel at it. At least the Baron seemed to be enjoying himself.

  Serena had been right to despair of the success of their errand, but she had also been right to insist upon it. The fool had been warned; if he chose to do nothing with their information, he could have no grounds to complain once he had lost the sought-after, if mysterious, artefact.

  And lose it he would. Serena was determined to prevent Halavere’s acquiring the key, whatever it was, but she had no interest in leaving it in the Baron’s possession either. She meant for the team to secure it themselves, and Teyo fully agreed with her. Whatever this key may be, and whatever it proposed to open, if it was of interest to the Unspeakables then it was of interest to them.

  The Baron’s emphatic declaration that he possessed no such key gave him pause. It had not appeared to him that Anserval was dissembling. Probably he was telling the truth, which mean that either he had lost touch with some parts of his collection, and had forgotten about a key; or that the key did not especially resemble a key, and might be mistaken for something else.

  Or that his information was incorrect, he thought sourly. His contacts were not always reliable. They meant well, or so he believed, but they could be mistaken. Or, perhaps, this key they spoke of was part of some other operation, and nothing at all to d
o with Dame Halavere.

  No matter. They had to proceed with the information at hand, and hope for the best. The fact that even the Baron had no idea which object Halavere might be after was a problem, though. Anserval’s house was stuffed to the rafters with trinkets; how could they possibly expect to identify which was the one Halavere wanted?

  ‘Pompous idiot,’ muttered Egg. Teyo grunted a wordless agreement.

  A carriage stood waiting for them in a side road just out of sight of Anserval’s imposing manor. Unlike Serena’s ladyship-coach, as she called it, this one was plain black and unmarked, and drawn by a plain, unremarkable pair of nivvens. Wendle sat comfortably sprawled upon the box, the reins held idly in one hand. He tipped his hat to Teyo and Egg as they got inside and shut the door behind them. Teyo realised belatedly that the footman perched unobtrusively at the back was their new teammate, Iyamar. He would have sworn that the footman was indeed a man, in spite of his prior knowledge; nothing at all would betray her true identity otherwise, save perhaps for the curious look she had given Teyo and Egg as they disappeared inside the carriage.

  This coach was roomy inside, though never quite roomy enough for their purposes. Teyo swapped his white wig for a plain, straw-blonde one he dug out of one of the boxes stashed between the carriage’s seats. His Bureau tunic and trousers came off, to be stuffed hastily inside the costume box. He donned in their place the unobtrusive, neat browns of a gardener. It would be better to pose as a footman for this task, but Anserval was one of those who insisted on purchasing a special, highly distinctive uniform for his indoor staff, and they hadn’t had time to have a copy made.

  ‘Prosing prat,’ continued Egg, as she rapidly swapped her own costume for the whites of a housemaid, exchanged her wig for a brown one with a neat chignon, and dusted a blush of pink onto her cheeks. By the time she was finished, her whole demeanour had changed – everything from her posture to her movements, gestures, accent. Everything. Teyo always marvelled at her remarkable ability to turn into someone else entirely at a moment’s notice, a talent she shared with Serena and Fabian. She even seemed to be taller than she had a few moments ago. His own abilities in that direction were much more limited. He was never fully able to hide such distinctive features as his height and broad shoulders, and even his shaggy hair resented its orders to disappear properly beneath a wig.

  It was fortunate that he possessed other talents.

  Once they were ready, Teyo thumped on the roof of the carriage. Wendle, ever reliable, moved off at once, and within minutes they had arrived near the rear of the manor. Egg exited the carriage first, Teyo following behind.

  They were obliged to walk a little way to reach the house. Egg led the way, routing them behind a tall hedge. Teyo did his best to keep his head down, though he was uncertain of his success. Baron Anserval’s country mansion was almost as impressive from the rear as it was from the front. If anything it looked even larger without the complementary setting of ornamental gardens. Little decoration adorned the back; this space was taken up mostly with the stables, workshops, brewery, buttery, dairy and other outbuildings. The house itself was built from a luxurious golden stone, but the outbuildings were made from a mere grey substance which Teyo found most unattractive. It was of a piece with the Baron’s general character, he reflected; the man cared mostly for show.

  Teyo stood watch as Egg made her way into the house. She nimbly avoided the notice of those few staff who occasionally strayed into the rear courtyard. Her objective was to locate the Baron’s library, study and gallery and divide her attention between them. She would acquire the accoutrements of a housemaid’s trade on her way and devote herself to dusting, most assiduously, every item of the Baron’s collection she could reach. If she found the supposed key, she would secure it and leave.

  Teyo’s task was a little different. He took Jisp out of his pocket and laid her gently onto the floor. Then, taking a deep, slow, breath, he assembled in his mind a vision of a similar creature, albeit of more modest colours. His version of Jisp sported dark, woody brown scales with subtle bronze highlights to its tail, and a cream underbelly. He satisfied himself about the colours before he proceeded any further, for it would not do to wander the corridors of a fine house in a suit of clashing colours. When he was satisfied, he focused his thoughts upon his vision and allowed his body to change.

  As a shapeshifter, he was not limited to either his human or his draykon forms. He could shift into virtually any shape he pleased, provided that it was a living being. It was an ability his team had long found useful, and as such, he was not surprised that Serena had leapt to recruit Iyamar when she’d had the chance. To have one shapeshifter on the team was an advantage; to have two would be an asset indeed. He suspected, however, that she would encounter some trouble there.

  It was not something to ponder over now, he cautioned himself. Focus on the job at hand. His large human form rapidly diminished, changing as it did into the skinny, four-legged, scaled and nimble shape he had chosen for himself. When he was finished, he eyed Jisp from his new vantage with some interest. They were approximately the same size, now, and he noticed myriad shades and hues among her orange-and-yellow hide that he could not see with his human eyes. She really was a most attractive young beastie, he thought with some discomfort. It was always disconcerting to take this shape.

  Off we go, he told her. Be careful.

  She returned only a profound sense of deepest derision to this last, and scampered off. He followed at a cautious distance, watching to see that she was not observed. She was not, of course. By this time, Jisp was almost as well-trained and practiced as the human members of their team. She had long since mastered the demands of sneaking, and had even learned to alter the colours of her hide on occasion, if she wished to blend in. She did that now, muting the violent orange hue of her scales to a drab brown that barely stood out against the stone-paved courtyard.

  Soon they reached the house, and split up. Their joint task was one of reconnaissance. They would endeavour to visit every room in the house by some means or another, and they would cover walls, floors, ceilings, shelves, windows and everything else in their attempts to locate either the key which Halavere sought, or any sign of imminent intrusion by the same lady — or anybody else, for that matter. Teyo scurried through the kitchens, dodging the feet of the slaving kitchen staff, and up the stairs into the hall as Jisp dashed her way towards the grand stairway and the first floor. If he didn’t miss his guess, it was just about time for Serena and Fabian to arrive, and he was relying upon them to keep the Baron busy.

  Serena donned the role of Lady Fenella Chartre with pleasure as she was helped down from the ladyship-coach by a liveried footman. But her good feelings soon began to give way to exasperation as she observed the footman’s uniform. The poor man was dressed in a crimson jacket and trousers with gold ornaments, gold braid, gold embroidery and even polished gold leather boots! Nothing could exceed the pure ostentation of such a uniform for a mere footman, and she knew that the majority of the Baron’s numerous staff wore similar attire. Combined with the overly imposing frontage of the golden mansion which towered above her and the plethora of gold-leaved shrubs, hedges and trees with which the Baron had decorated his garden, the effect was almost prostrating. Serena eyed it with vast distaste, but as the Baron himself stepped out of the front door at that moment and came hastening towards her, she was obliged to conceal her disapprobation behind Lady Fenella’s bright smile and enthusiastic manner.

  ‘My lord!’ she gushed with suitable rapture, ‘I declare, the gardens are more beautiful every time I come here! How do you contrive it?’

  The Baron, revolting man, caught hold of her hands and kissed them both, leaving Serena to conceal a faint shudder of distaste. It was not that he wasn’t handsome; though rather older than her twenty-nine years, he was in excellent shape, and though he was only of moderate height he displayed a fine figure. His hair and moustache may be greying, but his features were hand
some, and his green eyes were decidedly fine.

  It was his manner which revolted, together with his taste. Both were inferior and encroaching. She was glad of Fabian’s presence as he stepped down from the carriage behind her. The Baron may view Lord Bastavere’s appearance with poorly concealed impatience, but Serena had insisted on his accompanying her. As committed as she was to the job, nothing could persuade her to undertake her distasteful role as the Baron’s entertainment without support. He had a detestable way of getting her alone at every opportunity, and his behaviour when he succeeded was not such as to inspire Serena with confidence. She had a secret hope that today, just for once, she might contrive to escape from the Baron’s clutches without having to field another proposal of marriage.

  A faint hope, she realised with an inward sigh, as she observed the twinkle in his eye which he no doubt considered roguish. Still, she had Fabian to play the desirable role of fifth wheel, and as long as the Baron was focused upon her, he would not notice the extra housemaid who was wandering the halls of his house, or the pair of suspiciously lively lizards currently sticking their sticky feet all over his walls. She hoped that her team had managed to infiltrate the house without any problems, and also that Iyamar, left with the costume coach, was getting along suitably with Wendle.

  Their primary objective was to find the key, or whatever it was, before Halavere arrived to claim it. She had some hopes that Egg, with her natural inquisitiveness and her eye for the unusual, might manage to identify it. Failing that, perhaps Teyo’s unusual draykon senses might reveal it, should the thing prove to be unremarkable to the eye. Either way, they would need time. The house was enormous, of course, and much of it was littered with collectibles.

  She exchanged some lively nothings with the Baron for a few minutes, allowing herself to be conducted over the gardens. Fabian said nothing at all as Serena exclaimed rapturously over every single violently golden bush or tree or flower which her tiresome companion chose to show her; he merely followed in silence. It was part of his role, of course. Lord Bastavere was snobbish in the extreme, and not at all shy of showing his contempt. She might wish, though, that he would talk a little, and share the burden of entertaining the Baron, even if he could only be rude. Were some of these bushes painted gold? They were. They absolutely were. Serena averted her gaze with a strong shudder, and plastered back on her smile.