The Dream Master

by Theresa Breslin

  ‘No, truly,’ began Aten, ‘we write every day—’

  ‘Day . . .’ Cy spoke fast. ‘Day . . . te. Date, that is. Aten writes down every date in a diary . . . which he keeps . . . a sort of travel diary. It’s a project he’s doing, like a report he has to write.’

  ‘Do I?’ said Aten.

  ‘Yes,’ said Cy. He dragged Aten by the arm. ‘Let’s go and help Basra and Vicky get the costume rail and scenery from the stage cupboard.’

  ‘Tell them to be quick,’ Mrs Chalmers called after them. ‘No day-dreaming!’

  ‘Our teachers say the same words,’ said Aten as they crossed the hall. ‘But when my teacher is angry with me I tell him one of my jokes and that makes him smile.’

  ‘Does it really?’ said Cy. He began to help Basra drag out the huge cardboard pyramid which was their main prop for the play.

  ‘Yes,’ said Aten. ‘My friends all laugh when I tell my stories.’

  Basra peered round from behind the papier mâché mummy. He crossed his eyes at Cy. ‘I’m not surprised,’ he said.

  ‘I know a joke,’ said Vicky. ‘What do you call a dinosaur with sunglasses?’

  Aten narrowed his eyes. ‘Dino-saur . . . with . . . sunglasses . . .? I do not know. What is the answer?’

  ‘D’you-think-he-sawrus?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Aten. He glanced at Cy. ‘Em . . . Cool?’ He nodded slowly once or twice. ‘I too have a riddle,’ he said. ‘If your dog Sut has no tail, what do you call him?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Sut,’ said Aten.

  ‘Oh, ha-ha,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Egyptian humour is very funny,’ said Aten. ‘My uncle, who deals in ostrich feathers, knows many tales told by the traders in the slave markets of Nubia.’

  ‘Aten, you are very similar to Cy,’ said Mrs Chalmers, who had come over to hurry them up. ‘You have a powerful imagination.’ She smiled. ‘But you have to be careful, and not tell whoppers about trading slaves.’

  Aten opened his mouth, and then closed it quickly as he saw Cy frowning at him.

  ‘You can sit and watch us perform,’ said Mrs Chalmers, ‘or perhaps you might help with the music. Could you manage to play a simple instrument?’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ said Cy at once.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to join in?’ Mrs Chalmers asked Aten.

  ‘I would like that very much,’ said Aten.

  ‘You wouldn’t enjoy it,’ said Cy.

  ‘Yes, I would,’ said Aten.

  ‘No,’ said Cy.

  ‘Oh good. That’s settled then,’ said Mrs Chalmers. She handed Aten the triangle and stick. ‘Just give that a little rap now and then, when you think it appropriate.’ She clapped her hands. ‘Let’s start the Procession of the Pharaoh.’

  Cy was glad that he had a very minor part in the show, as it meant he could keep an eye on Aten standing at the side with the musicians. He had seen Chloe and Eddie glancing in their direction and talking together earlier. Cy knew that when the Mean Machines started whispering they were usually picking victims, and it was better to keep a low profile. Aten wasn’t helping with this at all. He was always doing something different. During rehearsal, when Mrs Chalmers pointed at him for his musical cue, instead of giving a quick ting on the triangle, he performed a little musical tune.

  ‘Oh, very good, Aten!’ cried Mrs Chalmers. Aten gave a little bow.

  ‘Oh, terrific!’ said Cy under his breath as he saw Chloe make a face at Eddie.

  At the end of the rehearsal Mrs Chalmers was very pleased. ‘Well done, everybody!’ she said. ‘Next Friday afternoon is going to be spectacular. There are only one or two minor things to sort out. And, of course, we still have to make the mask of King Tutankhamun. You know,’ Mrs Chalmers looked at Aten carefully, ‘your face would be an excellent model for it, Aten.’

  ‘I have not heard of this king, Tut-Ankh-Amun,’ said Aten.

  ‘He is one of the most very famous,’ said Vicky. ‘Although very young he was very wise. He was much more tolerant than previous rulers.’

  ‘He was not so young as we imagine,’ said Mrs Chalmers. ‘People matured much more quickly then. It was not uncommon to be married at twelve years old.’

  ‘No way!’ said Vicky.

  ‘Can you come to school tomorrow?’ Mrs Chalmers asked Aten. ‘And if you don’t mind, we could plaster cast your face for our golden mask.’

  ‘It would be an honour,’ said Aten.

  Mrs Chalmers organized the clearing up. ‘Musicians, take your instruments to the music base, everyone else carry something along to the classroom. Cy and Aten, would you please put the large props back in the cupboard under the stage?’

  Eddie and Chloe exchanged glances. ‘We’ll help with the mummy and the pyramid,’ said Eddie.

  Cy regarded him suspiciously. ‘There’s a first time for everything,’ he muttered under his breath. Then he saw Chloe nudge Eddie. ‘I’m not going under the stage with you two,’ Cy said firmly.

  Mrs Chalmers looked across from the other side of the hall. ‘Eddie, Chloe,’ she called, ‘why don’t you take these script sheets back to the classroom. I’m sure Aten and Cy will manage on their own.’

  Mrs Chalmers began to manoeuvre the big pyramid towards the stage cupboard as Eddie and Chloe left the hall. Then the school secretary put his head round the door. ‘There’s a telephone call for you, Mrs Chalmers,’ he said.

  ‘Righto.’ Mrs Chalmers spoke to Cy. ‘The final bell will go in a minute or two,’ she said. ‘I’m going to go and dismiss the rest of the class quickly. Can you manage the rest of the props?’ She hurried out of the hall.

  Cy bent low and pushed the costume clothes-rail ahead of him into the stage cupboard. Then he crawled in, dragging the mummy case behind him. ‘Can you push the pyramid in,’ he shouted over his shoulder at Aten. Aten knelt down, and cautiously pushing the cardboard pyramid ahead of him, he followed Cy under the stage.

  Unnoticed by either of them the door of the assembly hall opened a fraction and Chloe and Eddie slipped back in.

  Cy shuffled the mummy around to make more room.

  ‘I do not like to be in here,’ whispered Aten. ‘It reminds me of the tomb of the Pharaoh.’

  ‘Well let’s just shove the pyramid into that corner and we’ll go.’

  Cy reached round to help Aten. As he did so the light from main hall caught the polished silver surface of the ankh tied round his wrist and a wink of light reflected in the gloom.

  ‘Oh . . .’ breathed Aten. ‘You still wear my ankh. I had forgotten about it.’ He reached out to touch it.

  Cy blinked. ‘Look,’ he said hoarsely. The shaft of light touching the ankh seemed suddenly to burn more fiercely, and in doing so it lit up one side of the pyramid. Then, between the long blocks of stone, a door appeared.

  Aten clutched his throat. The door had begun to open slowly.

  ‘Come on!’ ordered the familiar voice of the Dream Master. ‘You have no idea of the amount of bending of non-dimensional space I’ve had to do in order to try and sort this out. Get yourselves over here.’

  Aten stared at Cy, and mouthed the words, ‘I do not want to.’

  ‘Er,’ said Cy. ‘Can we talk about this?’

  ‘There is nothing to talk about.’ The dwarf stood at the doorway into the pyramid, and pointed to Aten. ‘You have to return to your own time. That’s it. Zero Option. Non-Negotiable. Discussion Discounted.’

  Aten shook his head.

  ‘Aten would like to wait on here a bit longer,’ said Cy.

  The dwarf folded his arms. ‘Tell me,’ he demanded, ‘what part of the word “NO” is it that you don’t understand?’ He looked very hard at Aten. ‘Listen to me, Aten, and understand this. You must return to your appointed place. These things are . . . as these things are.’ The Dream Master held open his cloak. ‘Come.’

  Aten broke free of the Dream Master’s gaze and he turned to Cy. ‘I will take my a
nkh,’ he said.

  Cy looked from the Dream Master to Aten. Something had passed between them which he did not exactly understand. He held up the amulet and, without thinking, Cy spun the ankh in his hand. The beam of light wavered and dipped.

  ‘Watch what you’re doing with that!’ snapped the Dream Master.

  ‘Why?’ asked Cy. He held up his wrist and began to untie the ankh. ‘I must give it back to Aten.’ He shifted his position to lean across to Aten.

  ‘No, don’t do that,’ said the dwarf urgently. ‘Give it to me first, and I will return it to him. I will guard it until it is safely back in its own time.’

  Cy stopped. There was real fear in the eyes of the Dream Master. Cy looked again at the ankh. What power did it contain to make the Dream Master himself sound so scared?

  ‘Cy,’ said the Dream Master, ‘I move through TimeSpace using my dreamcloak. There are other ways, more random, unpredictable. The ankh, which has been taken from its own time, could be used to bend dimensions. But if that happens, then I will not be there.’ The dwarf held Cy’s gaze. ‘It would be very dangerous.’

  Cy hesitated, and for a moment the silver amulet swung loosely in the air. The next instant he was roughly pushed aside. A hand reached from behind him, grabbed the ankh and snatched it from his grasp. Then the stage cupboard door slammed shut and they heard the catch being dropped into place.

  Chapter 14

  Aten let out the most awful howl. ‘Shhh!’ yelled Cy.

  ‘We are trapped in the tomb!’ cried Aten.

  ‘No, we aren’t,’ said Cy, trying to sound braver than he felt. ‘We are in the cupboard under the stage. Someone has closed the cupboard door on us, and it doesn’t take a genius to work out who.’

  Aten looked at the pyramid. ‘Where is he who summoned us?’

  ‘I’ll explain later,’ said Cy. ‘If I ever work it out myself,’ he added under his breath. ‘Now,’ he groped his way in the semi-darkness towards the door, ‘let’s see if we can open this up.’

  Cy pushed his shoulder hard against the stage cupboard door. There were small chinks of light coming through round the outside edge, and through the wood panelling where it didn’t fit properly.

  ‘We will never get out,’ moaned Aten.

  ‘Yes, we will. The cleaners come in later and we’ll just shout for help. But we might not have to wait that long.’ Cy started to search in his pockets and then feel about on the floor.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ asked Aten.

  ‘The door is fastened with a loop-over catch. If we find a thin piece of wood or something we could slip it through the gap and open it.’

  ‘Something like this?’ asked Aten. He held up the stick which went with the triangle. ‘I put it in my pocket,’ he explained.

  By the time they got into the playground it was almost empty. There was no sign of Eddie or Chloe.

  ‘They have my ankh,’ Aten said in a worried voice. ‘It is not a good thing that people like that should hold my spirit in their hands.’

  ‘I know,’ said Cy. ‘But it’s more likely that they’ve hidden it somewhere. When they nick things now they never keep them, ever since the last time something went missing and Mrs Chalmers made everybody turn out their pockets. I’ll ask Grampa what we should do to get it back.’

  It occurred to Cy that he had rather a lot to ask Grampa tonight. He looked around and frowned. Grampa wasn’t waiting in his usual spot.

  Cy walked slowly back from the school gates and into the playground. There were very few people around now, and none of them was Grampa. He went inside the school and had a quick glance about, and then came out again. He looked up and down the street.

  ‘I don’t understand it,’ he told Aten. ‘He usually comes early so that we can have a chat with Mrs Turner at the crossing.’

  ‘Why don’t we ask the cross lady?’ suggested Aten.

  ‘Who? Oh, I see,’ said Cy. He walked over and called to Mrs Turner who was on the other side of the road. ‘Have you seen my Grampa?’

  Mrs Turner came over to speak to Cy. ‘No, I didn’t,’ she said. ‘But he might have slipped past without me spotting him. It was very busy today.’

  ‘I wonder where he is,’ said Cy.

  Occasionally Grampa was a few minutes late. But never more than four or five. Cy checked his watch. It was now over twenty minutes since school had finished.

  ‘Here comes Mrs Fortune with the twins,’ said Mrs Turner. ‘She lives just along the road from your Grampa. We’ll ask her.’

  Mrs Fortune shook her head. ‘No,’ she replied, as she reached the little group. ‘I didn’t see him at all today. He usually passes my house in the morning when he goes for his paper, but I was a bit rushed earlier on. I had to take Paula to the dentist.’ She smiled at Cy. ‘Maybe your Grampa had an appointment, and you are supposed to meet him somewhere else?’

  Cy tried to remember. Had Grampa told him that he wouldn’t be at school to pick him up this afternoon? Cy frequently forgot things. If he was asked at home to fetch something, by the time he got to his room he often hadn’t a clue what he was looking for. Once he even forgot that he was actually on an errand. He had been sent to get the car keys from upstairs, and been told to run as fast as he could. Everyone was waiting in the driveway, and they were already late for Uncle Jim’s wedding. When Cy got to the top of the stairs the spare room door was open so he had gone in. Then he had just sat down, switched on the computer, and started playing a game. His dad and mum had been furious with him. They were always saying that he didn’t listen properly, too busy day-dreaming. He did try. Though sometimes the more he tried to concentrate, the worse it became.

  Grampa had thought out a strategy for him involving a big old-fashioned brass curtain ring. When the curtain ring was in one of his pockets then Cy knew that there was something he was supposed to do, or something important to remember. If Grampa had changed the school pick-up time or place, then he would have told Cy to put the ring in one of his pockets. Cy searched his clothing. There was no brass ring.

  Cy shook his head. ‘No,’ he told Mrs Fortune and Mrs Turner. ‘Grampa didn’t say he was going somewhere else.’

  ‘Then he’s probably on his way here,’ said Mrs Turner reassuringly.

  ‘Why don’t you boys walk on?’ said Mrs Fortune. ‘I’m at number 24. If he’s not at home go to my door and wait for me. I’ve a prescription to collect so I won’t be long behind you. Then we’ll phone your mum or dad and find out what’s what.’

  ‘Very likely you’ll meet him on the road,’ said Mrs Turner, and she put her hand on Cy’s shoulder as she saw them across.

  ‘You are worried?’ asked Aten as the boys began to walk down the main road together.

  ‘A bit,’ admitted Cy. ‘It’s not like him to be late. He was in the army for most of his life and he has a set routine for everything, even eating and sleeping.’

  ‘My uncle Horemheb is a military man,’ said Aten. ‘He is in the army of the Pharaoh. All things are done by command, including walking and breathing.’ Aten began to strut along in front swinging his arms and stamping his feet.

  Cy laughed. ‘Grampa’s not quite like that.’ But Cy knew that Grampa did walk very straight with his head held high. Now Cy had a clear view of the road all the way down to the traffic lights and there was no sign of a tall figure with white hair.

  It was the same about ten minutes later when they got to Grampa’s street. The long avenue with trees on either side stretched away before them. It was empty. Cy opened the little wooden gate into the neatly kept garden. He led Aten round to the back of the house and tried the back door.

  ‘It’s locked,’ said Cy. He stared at the door. ‘He hardly ever locks his door.’

  ‘One should always fasten one’s door,’ said Aten. ‘There are many thieves about.’

  Cy managed to smile. ‘So you too have that problem in Ancient Egypt? Our local police say that “Theft is the scourge of the modern age”.’ Cy quoted
from the crimewatch talk which the community policeman had given his class a few months ago.

  Cy tried the door again. ‘It feels as though he’s got the bolt on. He only does that when he’s going to bed. Let’s try the front.’

  They rang the front door bell, peered through the letter-box, and knocked on the windows.

  ‘It’s kind of creepy,’ said Cy uneasily. He stood back and gazed at the house. The potted plants stood silently in rows on the window-sills, the curtains hung still. ‘I think there’s something wrong.’

  ‘Perhaps we could go in there,’ said Aten, and pointed to the side of the house. High up on the wall the bathroom window stood open.

  ‘We could never climb up so high,’ said Cy.

  ‘I might be able to,’ said Aten. ‘Look.’ Beside the house grew a birch tree, tall and silvery-smooth it stretched up and up, with the top branches brushing against the roof. ‘It is no higher than a palm tree.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Cy doubtfully.

  As Cy hesitated Aten scuffed his trainers off, then hugging the tree-trunk loosely with his arms, he placed the soles of his feet flat against the bark. Crouching almost double he scuttled rapidly up the tree, then swung along a branch and clambered in through the bathroom window.

  In a few moments Aten had unbolted the back door and the two boys were in the house.

  ‘Grampa,’ called Cy, as he went from room to room.

  It only took a minute to find him. He was lying just inside his bedroom door, where he had fallen while getting out of bed. One arm was stretched out and one was twisted underneath him.

  ‘Grampa.’ Cy’s voice was no more than a whisper. He knelt down and touched his Grampa’s face. The old man’s eyelids flickered.

  Aten squatted down beside Cy. ‘Tell me where to go to fetch the doctor.’

  ‘Doctor?’ Cy’s heart was thudding so hard that it was sore in his chest. ‘Doctor,’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes.’ Aten spoke clearly. ‘Keep calm and tell me where the doctor lives.’

  Cy looked into Aten’s brown eyes. His own eyes were going blurry, the way they always did when he was worried, or scared, or stressed. Like when he was trying to do neat writing, or remember something important he had been told. ‘Doctor,’ he said again. Aten nodded.