Dream Quest

by Неизвестный

  But there was one bright spot in the silent room. An entire wall was filled, from floor to ceiling, with shelf after glorious shelf of books.

  "Come,"I said aloud--then jumped at the sound of my own voice. Shaking my head at my foolish reaction, I began again, even louder, "Come. I shall be comfortable, it's clear. And I shan't lack for books, so my poor dear father was right on that count, at least."

  At the thought of my father, left alone and unhappy without me, my spirits came near to failing. But I gave myself a shake, told myself that it was no good dwelling on things I could not change, and walked over to investigate the books.

  Well. If I had had the run of the king's library, and been told to take what I wished, I could not have chosen more to my liking. Rows of geography and travel, the literature of several countries, biographies and histories...it was an embarrassment of riches. I ran appreciative fingers over the rich leather bindings, breathed in their luscious smell, took a book down at random for closer observation. It was a biography of Sir Riccardo Bertone, a famous traveler who had discovered the source of the great river Nil, which originated deep in the jungles of the island of Aphricanus. I turned page after page, almost salivating as I caught a word here and there.

  "A book lover, I see."

  I turned. My heart was doing its old darting about and I fear my mouth hung open.

  A woman stood just inside the door to my room.

  A woman, but such a woman I had never seen. She was tall and sleek and dressed in elegant black, from the high-necked silk shirt that began at her chin to the tops of gleaming boots. Glossy hair as pale as moonlight billowed about her face.

  Or where her face should have been, that is. If face she had--and in my present state I would not have bet my life upon it--if face she had, I could not see it.

  She wore a silver mask.

  A mask, cold and rigid, inhuman in its beauty, frightening in its purity. Static, quiescent, yet somehow dancing and burgeoning with life. That life came not from the mask itself, but from the woman's eyes, eyes that glinted like emeralds through holes in the mask.

  Her eyes, burning like tiny green fires, were all that could be seen of her face.

  At once, the old woman's words came back to me. A fearsome ugly beast that ate young men for breakfast. That old woman was mad, no doubt about it...but why did this apparition wear a mask, then?

  I realized that I was staring, that she had asked me a question to which I had not replied, that I stood there with my mouth hanging open. I had no doubt that she was my...what? Hostess? Keeper?

  Jailer?

  "Uh...yes. I love books,"I managed to gasp out at last.

  A nod. The shadows of the room--When had the room become shadowed, I wondered vaguely?--danced over that silvery surface as though they had found a home. Behind me, the fire popped and crackled in the huge fireplace, but no glints of ruddy light broached the pristine silver mask. No, only shadows kept company on its planes of dull gray-white.

  "Good,"she said, and for the first time I noticed that her voice, instead of sounding muffled by the mask, was instead silvery clear. "I have not had the pleasure of entertaining a guest before who shared my love of books. We shall be friends. I am Arraine DuBois."She gave a short bow, a mere nod of her masked head.

  I answered her bow with a deeper one of my own. "Erik Linhoevre, at your service, my lady."

  Was it my imagination, or did I see a smile curve that impassive mask? I shook my head at my own fancies. But the mask had a smile indeed. I could see it now, a tiny thing lifting one carved corner. Odd that I had not noticed it before.

  "I suspect that you must be wondering why you are here?"

  I nodded. "You must admit, my lady, that this farce is not the most common way to repay a debt."

  "Debt,"she said, and I would swear that the smile on the mask was gone. "Debt? Is that how...? Ah, yes, your...father owes me money, does he not?"

  "He does."Her dismissive tone irritated me at once--or was it my fear that expressed itself so? "As you know quite well, I am sure. But why you have decided to be repaid in this odd fashion, I cannot understand."

  "You are not simply a man who is lost in his books and his fancies, but like to understand everything that goes on about you, I take it?"

  "I do,"I said; then I remembered the strange things that had gone on about me all that day, which I had perforce to accept as they happened. "That is, I prefer to...I mean I..."

  I broke off in confusion. I could feel my face burning. I turned away and faced the fire, the book I had forgotten until that instant once more heavy in my hand. I took several deep breaths. It would not do to anger this woman with expressions of my discomfort, not at least until I had found out exactly what her plans for me were.

  "I confess that strange things, for which I have no explanation, have occurred today. But you cannot think that I will simply--"I said, turning to face her, a stiff smile plastered on my face.

  "I think that you will live here, in as much comfort as I can provide, and keep me company when I wish it,"the lady said. There was no emotion in her voice. "That is what I think."

  "When you wish it?"My smile was frozen to my face.

  "Is that too much to ask, in payment of this 'debt' of yours?"Now her voice was cool and amused and her eyes were shards of emerald set in silver.

  I turned away from her, dismissed that false smile from my lips, and strove to control my rising anger--was it anger or fear? "No, it is not too much,"I admitted. "In fact, some might think it too little, in view of the amount of money involved. If you--"I turned back yet again, my anger in check, not wishing to offend her on our first meeting.

  Arraine DuBois no longer stood inside the room.

  The door was closed. It had been closed, so far as I knew, since it had shut behind me on my first entering this room.

  But the woman had been there. The image of her mask was burned on my eyes, and I could still feel the heat of the anger her tone and her words had engendered within my breast.

  "Well,"I said aloud, feeling and sounding as helpless as I was. I collapsed into an armchair "This is going to be interesting."

  * * *

  This set the pattern of my succeeding days. I would be in my bedroom, or in the library, or on the veranda, or in the snug sitting room where I was served my meals, just off the library--and Arraine DuBois would appear when my eyes were focused somewhere else, or my back was turned. She would inevitably make me angry in some way, then disappear.

  Other than this, I had the run of the mansion, servants who attended to my every need, and the books in my room were but a fraction of those in the rest of the house. Meals were plentiful and delightful, my old clothes disappeared my first night there and were never seen again, replaced by rich and elegant attire, and I had nothing to do but what pleased me--so long as I did not try to go beyond the high stone walls that encircled the premises.

  This I had attempted on the next morning after I had made the acquaintance of Arraine DuBois. I had breakfasted both well and alone, and had wandered out of the sitting room onto the veranda. The gardens that encircled the manor were lush and fragrant, containing many plants that I had never seen, and some that I had read about and would not have believed could live in our clime. Heavy vines bearing huge red blossoms, their odor a heady mixture of perfume and rot, were intertwined and jumbled across trees and bushes, though some spots were inexplicably bare.

  I was going over the few words I had exchanged with my hostess the evening before as I walked along an overgrown gravel path that twisted and turned through the gardens. I took turnings without thought, without regard as to where they were leading me, passing statues of strange mythical beasts and oddly deformed beings, all green with moss. The way became more and more overgrown, the pathway rutted and cluttered with stones.

  At last I reached an end to the path. Before me reared a massive wall of dry stacked stone, reaching far above my head and, like the statues, green with moss and mold. I eye
d it absently for a time, my head cocked to one side.

  "Your pardon, Master Erik."

  Startled, I turned. Behind me in the shade of a huge oak stood Germain, a subservient smile on his face, his black livery blending with the shadows.

  "Germain,"I said weakly.

  "At your service, sir."He gave a deep bow.

  "Really, you people have to start making more noise, or I shall die of an apoplexy,"I said.

  "Oh, surely not, sir,"came his smooth reply. "Why, a gentleman of your age and habits will live for many a long year yet."

  For some reason, this did not give me the most comforting of feelings.

  "Yes, no doubt,"I replied. "But you must admit, it can be a bit, er, surprising to have someone pop up and speak when you think you're alone."

  "Indeed, sir? Is any of us ever really alone, sir?"he asked.

  "Well, I suppose if you wish to get metaphysical about it, one might say that we are not. But I would like to believe that, if I think I am alone, I am. Privacy, you understand, Germain--privacy."

  "Yes, sir. Will you return to the house now, sir?"

  "Why should I? I've only just left. And if you and Marta are going to feed me every day as you have so far, I shall need a great deal of exercise,"I said with a smile, hoping to call some sort of response from the imperturbable Germain.

  "Indeed, sir. There is a lovely walk this way,"he motioned to my left, "and an even better one that way,"to my right, "and of course, others. But this is not, perhaps, the best way to go. As you have no doubt noticed, the path is not cared for, and the wall here is unstable."

  Unstable? I turned to look. Yes, there were some fallen stones, and a statue of a wolf suckling her litter had been broken in two by a flat rock that must have fallen from the top of the wall.

  "Very well, Germain,"I sighed. "Let us return by one of these pleasant walks of yours."

  "Sir,"he said.

  I proceeded off to my right, turned to ask him a question--and he was no longer there.

  "Really,"I said in some irritation, "people here are most extraordinary."

  * * *

  One evening during my second week at the manor, after a day spent exploring some portion of the grounds, I was ravenous. A particularly good supper was set before me by Marta, and Germain refilled my wine glass much more often than I was accustomed. I then retired to the huge library and selected a book from the shelves, seating myself in one of the two chairs that flanked the fireplace. I soon found myself nodding over my book before the clock struck nine.

  I sat up straight in my chair, stretched my arms and came near to dislocating my jaw with a massive yawn.

  "A busy day?"

  I started. My book fell from my lap to the hearthrug.

  Arraine DuBois sat in the chair opposite me.

  "Uh...yes,"I said, determined that I would not show how her sudden appearance startled me. Really, one would think that I'd be used to it by now. "And yours?"

  "Not...so busy,"she said.

  She was comfortably settled in the chair, her long booted legs stretched out before her, dressed in her usual plain black clothing. She looked as though she had been there for some time, and I wondered if I had been dozing.

  "Er...well,"I replied.

  There was silence for a time as I scouted about for something to discuss. Then I ventured to remark, "You have a magnificent library. You must truly love books as much as I do."

  "Yes. One must have something to love."Arraine DuBois was deep in the wing- backed chair, but the firelight limned her mask. Tonight I could detect no smile on its cold impassive surface.

  "You must read a great deal?"I asked, fighting down what felt like panic.

  "I do. It is one pleasure that never fails."

  "Yes,"I cried, glad to know that we shared common passion, for I had never met her in the library before and was beginning to think she did not care for books as much as she had said. "Yes indeed! When my poor father lost everything and we had to move to the cottage, the only thing I missed was our library. I was only able to save a few books from the estate sale, and those few became my solace in my loneliness."

  "Solace,"she murmured. "Yes. And loneliness needs solace, does it not?"

  "It does,"and I did not think she was still talking about books, "it does. But for all my love of reading, sometimes I pine for someone with whom to talk of what I've read, to discuss and argue, to wonder over ancient times and foreign lands."

  "Do you think that is why I've brought you here?"she asked, and I will swear that her mask was smiling now. "To chat of an evening beside the fire, talking of distant lands and strange beasts?"

  "You must understand that I have no explanation of your actions,"I said, a strange excitement building in my breast. "Why did you have me brought here?"

  "Why, because your father owes me money. Is that not the reason, the only reason? What else could there be?"

  Now the mask had lost its smile. Instead it snarled at me from the dimness of the depths of her chair. I was reminded again of the words of that strange old woman who had whispered in my ear.

  "Perhaps you've brought me here to eat me for your breakfast,"I muttered with a weak laugh that died a'borning. "Perhaps you're fattening me up, with all this wonderful food, and keeping me chained to your wonderful library so I shan't grow tough and muscular."

  She said nothing for so long I wondered if she'd heard my foolish words. Then: "Where did you hear such nonsense?"she asked in a voice as icy as a winter's morn.

  "Well, what can you expect me to think?"I almost shouted. "What, am I to ignore the magical things that are always happening here? What are you? What is this place? Am I asleep, dreaming? Are you spirit, or are you flesh?"

  "I am darkness. I am despair."

  There was such pain in her whispering voice that at once I was sorry I had spoken so; I would have given worlds to call back my thoughtless words. But they, wild animals, had escaped the prison of my tongue, and I was helpless to restrain them.

  "I regret that I have pained you,"I began awkwardly. "I would that we were friends, and that my stay here be a pleasure for us both."

  Arraine DuBois rose to her feet. As tall as I, she towered over me in my chair.

  "No, Master Linhoevre,"she said, and I would swear that her mask was twisted in a grimace of pain. "I fear that your visit here will be the death of one of us."

  Then she stalked from the room.

  If my thoughts had not been in such turmoil, I might have been happy that, at least for once, I had seen her leave the room instead of simply disappear when my back was turned.

  * * *

  Despair, Arraine DuBois had named herself. Darkness.

  I could not understand how or why she said such things. I could not...but I wondered mightily.

  Day followed day, one much like another. I read, I walked, I wandered the house and grounds, I spoke with Marta and with Germain.

  And I thought of my poor father. How was he coping, this least coping of men? Did he miss me, did he think of me in the endless reaches of the night?

  At last, I knew what I must do.

  That evening, I waited with growing impatience for the nightly visit by Arraine DuBois. The library was warm and inviting, the books beamed down on me like old friends, but I ignored them as I awaited her nightly appearance.

  "You are troubled?"

  There she was, sitting in the chair opposite me; she'd materialized between two blinks of an eye. But I did not even start, so used to her sudden appearances had I become.

  "Yes, I am. I'm worried about my father."

  "He is well. He has all that he could wish."

  "All but someone who loves him,"I snapped. "All but that, and what is everything else in all the world, when love is missing?"

  Arraine sat, her mask a silver pain. "That is...true, Master Linhoevre. But what of your promise? To stay here, to never see him again...Will you break your word?"

  I shook my head. "Is it a word that should
be kept, forced from me as it was?"

  "Sometimes we are forced into things that we do not wish, but these things become paramount in our lives. We are not always given a choice."

  I fell to my knees before her, grasped her hands in my own. Her fingers lay icy and unresponsive within mine. I thought I heard her gasp, but I must have been mistaken.

  "Please,"I begged, "please let me see that my father is well, wants for nothing. Please, let me see him but once, and I will never ask you again."

  I watched her emerald eyes, peering down at me from their silver prison. Was it my imagination, or did they begin to take on a crimson glow, as if the firelight was taking up home there?

  "No!"shouted Arraine DuBois, jerking her hands from mine and springing to her feet; her voice was harsh and bitter. "No! Why should you have your heart's desire? Why should you and not...."

  I scrambled to my feet, held out a placating hand, but she pushed me aside and ran from the room.

  * * *

  Well, as you might imagine, I was more than a little troubled as I made my lonely way up to my bedchamber. I shut the door behind me and thought for a brief instant of locking it, but even if I had had a key, there was no keyhole. I glanced around for something to block it, then shrugged my shoulders and gave a bitter laugh.

  Of what use would locking or blocking be, in a house where folk appeared and disappeared at will? I knew, I could not help but know, that strange forces were at large in this house, inexplicable powers that were impossible for me to withstand. If I were destined to die--as what Arraine had once said to me did appear to indicate--then a barricaded door would be no hindrance to approaching death.

  I removed my boots, flung myself onto the bed without undressing and closed my eyes, thoughts swirling across my tired mind. The image of that strange silver mask changing its expression, of emerald eyes turning crimson, haunted me.

  I must have fallen asleep almost at once. The effects of a busy day, a heavy meal and more wine than usual negated my mental turmoil, though I had been convinced that I would toss and turn for hours. But I knew I was asleep, for I began to dream.