“We must prove whether or not we exist unequivocally,” Brom intoned in a lecturer’s drone. “The Sleepers, if they do exist, maintain our reality in a ridiculously tentative manner. Sleeping, we are; waking, we are not. Would it not be better to know if we maintain being all the time? That such a tenuous condition does not stand between us and existence?”
“I do not want such an experiment made!” King Byron exclaimed, and the Great Hall shook at the sound of his voice.
“But that is dishonest, Your Majesty,” Brom pressed, not at all intimidated. “Surely, if you care for your realm and your subjects, you would wish to be reassured.”
“You are mad,” Bergold shouted, his face turning as red as his flimsy costume.
“Anyhow, you couldn’t possibly know where the Sleepers are,” the Royal Geographer protested.
“That, too, is a theory based upon practical knowledge.” Brom smirked. “Observations from the first, third, and fourth millennia, not to mention the eighth millennium, indicate that signs were recorded proving the location of the Hall of the Sleepers. We intend to travel along the most favorable route, avoiding certain geographical features. . . .” He turned to the Royal Geographer and reached for her map.
The map cringed away from his grasp. Romney protectively closed it up with a snap of her wrist. It contracted into a fist-sized ball. She stowed it in her belt pouch. Insulted, Brom turned away, waving his hand in dismissal.
“No matter. I don’t actually need your antiquated representation. We have our own charts. The Freedom of Information Act gives me full access to the historical archives, and we have been making use of them. We are ready to leave at once.”
“No, you can’t!” “You madman, what do you think you’re doing?”
A dozen ministers pressed in toward Brom, but he held them back with one hand, his eyes glittering. Roan felt the oppression of many minds attempting to create an influence to change Brom’s mind. He didn’t know what that would do; the scientist had already made it up.
“Silence!” the king thundered, his face red with anger. “You will not leave at once! You are not going! Put an end to that notion at once, Carodil!”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Carodil said, rounding on Brom. “I order you to abandon this . . . this menace. It doesn’t meet with my approval. I forbid you to continue in this research. Destroy this . . . this monstrosity.”
Brom looked as if he was going to deflate.
“Your Excellency,” the scientist began, raising a hand in appeal. He let it drop. “Well, I should have foreseen this
possibility. Of course, I defer to your authority. And yours, Your Majesty,” he said, making a deep and respectful bow. “I apologize for any distress I must have caused you.”
“You are forgiven,” the king said, mollified. “But let’s have no more talk about waking the Sleepers. That thing,” he pointed at the Alarm Clock, “will be disassembled at once.”
“Of course, my liege,” Brom said. He signaled to his minions, who veiled the device once again. The hulking shape hovered over their heads like doom. Roan found he didn’t even like looking at it that way.
“Roan, my good friend,” the king said, beckoning him forward. “We haven’t heard from you yet. Pray tell us of your explorations.”
“Call Master Roan!” the herald bellowed unnecessarily.
Startled by the blast of sound, the king hastily rid himself of his ear trumpet. Roan stepped forward.
“Your Majesty, august members of this court, I am pleased to report that the threatened Changeover in Somnus was only a rumor.”
The king settled back in his cushions with a contented expression. Many of the courtiers pressed forward so they could hear more clearly. Now that the crisis was averted, the room seemed to relax. They were ready to listen to someone else. “Those of you here from Somnus will be pleased to know I made an exhaustive investigation, and there are no signs of mass alteration.”
“Excellent, my friend!” the king said. “Then, what caused us to believe that disaster was imminent?”
Roan bowed, and half-turned to address the room. “Earth tremors, my lords and ladies! The earth there seems to shift now and again under its own volition. It would appear that this Creative One believes all things have their own consciousness and motive force. This belief has informed the earth and many other inanimate objects with a certain amount of autonomy.”
“Hah!” sputtered Fodsak, one of the scientists huddled around Carodil. “Balderdock. Poppycash.”
Roan glanced past the bulk of the chief researcher at the small man, who glared at him.
“Not at all, Master Fodsak,” Roan said. “Your own principles demand accurate report—” Something about Brom caught his eye. Roan forgot what he was going to say next, as a sudden thought seized the cuff of his mental pants-leg and worried at it. He turned to the king.
“Forgive me for digressing, Your Majesty, but if I had put so much effort, thought, energy, and heart into a project, I would be loath to let it go.”
“What? What is this?” the king asked, frowning.
“The Alarm Project,” Roan said, urgently. “My king, after devoting what must have taken years of my life and countless hours of mental effort, I’d hate to have to put the fruits of it aside. When I was so near to proving my theorem I’d do almost anything to continue.”
“So would I,” Carodil said, shrugging her shoulders magnificently. “What of it?” She turned a cold and fishy eye to Roan.
“I’ve given my command,” King Byron said, lowering his eyebrows. “This fool project is to stop, at once, and it has.”
“Of course!” Carodil agreed, bowing to the king. “Brom has given me his promise to cease.” She turned to Brom, stretching out a hand to touch his shoulder. “Haven’t you, my friend?”
But the friendly gesture had a most unexpected effect. At the point of contact Brom started to waver. Crackly lines appeared on his face and body.
“He’s breaking up,” Thomasen said, alarmed. “What is this?”
In a twinkling, the broad, tall figure was reduced to thin, glassy shards that dissolved in the air. Carodil lunged for the Alarm Clock, but it, too, was insubstantial. When she touched the edge of the litter, the whole thing burst with a pop like a huge soap bubble. Carodil threw herself backward, covering her eyes. Everyone in the hall began to shout at once.
“They are not really here,” Roan shouted over the hubbub. “They’re already on their way. What he said about combined intellect is true. Using the crucible they’ve managed to create fully coherent images of Brom and his device. The real man is gone, and all his people with him! They must have left as soon as they finished their presentation.”
“Gone?” the king demanded. “Gone where?”
“Toward the Hall of the Sleepers,” Bergold gasped, his eyes huge with dismay.
“But we don’t know where that is!” Olmus said, pounding the floor with his stick. “No one does.”
“They must think they do,” Thomasen said, stroking his chin. “More than just a good guess. He must have foreseen that the king would forbid the endeavor, and we’d try to stop him. He knows he would be stopped as soon as he was found out. Brom wouldn’t risk his one chance on failure.”
“How about these?” Spar, chief of the guard, stepped forward and grabbed Fodsak’s arm. His men-at-arms crowded around the scientists. “They’re solid!”
“Only Brom was an illusion,” Roan said. “He’s the only one important enough to have to be in two places at once. These men and women remained behind probably because they haven’t got the stamina for such an undertaking.”
“They have defied my command?” Byron snapped, straightening up and staring at Carodil, who had shrunk a foot in height, and was losing stature even as Roan watched. “They intend to destroy our homeland for an experiment?”
“Your Majesty, I had no idea,” Carodil said. She was now only four feet high, and her voice was turning shrill. “I allow my peop
le autonomy, so they will give their minds free rein.”
“So they could plot the destruction of us all?” the king asked.
The room became suddenly very cold. People huddled together. A sharp wind swirled brown leaves through the air. One whipped against Roan’s cheek, and he shivered, breaking the spell of immobility that had fallen over him. The tiny, futile motion of a leaf, helpless to control its own actions in the face of the wind, reminded him that he was not helpless.
“We’ll find them, my lord,” Roan said. All eyes turned to him, filled with sudden hope. “They can’t have gotten far.” He spun to hurry out of the audience chamber. The crowd parted before him.
“Stop them now, before any harm can be done!” the king called after him.
Chapter 5
Roan knew even before he passed the great doors that the party of scientists and their burden would be already out of sight. He exploded into the courtyard, looking about for a sight of Brom and his minions. The pigeons scattered, hooting their alarm. The clap of their wings sounded unnaturally loud in the silence.
Roan’s pupils contracted painfully in the hot sun as he squinted in every direction. The heat shimmer radiating off the stony ground made everything look as if it was moving. What a time for the courtyard to be deserted! Normally, it was heaving with people on business with the crown or one of the ministers: courtiers, lobbyists, merchants, ostlers, beggars, hangers-on, and servants. Where were they when the very existence of the Dreamland was in danger? Now that he thought about it, where were the sentries? The posts next to the castle doors were empty. He couldn’t even see the men who had challenged him on his way into the castle.
Roan dropped to his haunches and searched the ground for any sign that would show which way Brom and his Alarm Clock had gone. The light-gray gravel revealed hundreds of wheel ruts going in every direction. And not a single means of transportation anywhere. Brom’s attention to detail, again. Before they had left, the scientists must have scattered all the bicycles. Not one steed, not one carriage, nor any other conveyance remained. Brom had meant to delay pursuit as long as possible.
A slight breeze sprang up, and Roan got to his feet. He spotted a distant glimmer of color in the sky to the north, and strained to make it out. Could that be a hot-air balloon? An airship would be the simplest way to transport a heavy load a long way.
The rumble of an engine alerted Roan just in time. A white sports car screamed into the courtyard, heading straight for the palace doors.
“Hey!” Roan shouted, as the shiny chrome bumper missed him by a hair. At the wheel was a man wearing dark goggles. In the seat beside him was a dog, its face in the wind, its tongue lolling with foolish joy. The car described a tight circle. Roan waved his arms at the driver.
“An emergency, friend! Help, please!”
The car wheeled. Midway through its turn, it became a white charger pawing at the ground, wearing a gold-braided saddlecloth that bore the royal sigil. The man, clad now in shining plate armor, held aloft on his wrist a small hawk that had been the dog. Its tongue was still out.
“How may I be of assistance?” the man asked, raising his pointed visor. “I am a king’s messenger and a Night of the Dreamland. My name is Sir Osprey.”
Roan crossed to him in a few steps and caught hold of the horse’s bridle. “Sir Night, have you seen a group of people leaving the castle in haste in the last few minutes? Carrying a heavy burden? In the king’s name, it’s urgent. They could be endangering all of the Dreamland. They want to wake the Sleepers!”
“I’ve seen no one,” the Night said, his eyes wide with alarm. “Shall I go and try to find them?”
Roan nodded gratefully. “If you can just find their trail, return here and notify His Majesty. I thought I saw an airship just now, headed northward, but that may have been an illusion. They might be on foot.”
“I am on my way,” the Night said, and lifted his arm aloft. “My dog will go after this airship. We shall report back as soon as we may. Rely upon us.”
“My thanks, friend,” Roan said. He had to jump out of the way as the Night turned his steed to thunder out of the castle gate. The hawk bated, beating its wings on the air, and arrowed out of sight to the north. Roan watched after them with gratitude. He couldn’t catch Brom alone. He needed help, but time was flitting away. He strode back into the castle.
The great hall was in an uproar. Men and women clutched at Roan’s sleeves as he passed, asking anxious questions. He pulled away from them firmly but kindly, making his way to the throne.
King Byron leaned forward, his noble eyes full of concern. Roan shook his head, and the king sighed. Roan explained what he had found.
“They must be stopped, Roan,” the king said. “You must go after them.”
“I will, Your Majesty,” Roan said. “I will follow Brom at once on foot. The steeds will come back soon, but we cannot risk waiting. I’ll try and pick up the trail.” He started to shift out of his colorful court robes and back into a practical traveling suit. “It’s a good thing I didn’t unpack yet.” He felt in his pocket for his all-purpose knife.
“Go,” Byron said, his noble brow creased with worry. “I and the whole of the Dreamland are relying on you!”
Roan bowed. He was honored to be trusted, but his thoughts were troubled. He was already thinking ahead.
“You’ll need help,” Bergold said gravely, appearing at his elbow. His floating clothes became a sensible tweed suit with a gored skirt, and his silk slippers turned into brown leather brogues. “I’d better get some traveling things together. Bless me! What does one pack to save the world?”
“Everything,” said Thomasen, throwing up his hands in a rare show of agitation. “Great Night! I don’t know what to do! How many of them were there? Should we send men-at-arms?”
“The radar on the roof shows nothing,” a guard panted. “I ran up to look, but they haven’t seen a thing.”
“They’ve pulled reality around themselves with the crucible,” Roan said. “They’re going to make it as hard as possible to find them.”
“But where are they going?” demanded Micah, wringing his hands around the head of his staff. “I have no records for the Hall of the Sleepers. Brom has made his assumptions from innuendo, not fact.”
“May we see the map?” Roan asked the Royal Geographer. She opened up the huge chart, and they scanned it.
“I see nothing that indicates the location of the Hall,” Micah said, elbowing between Roan and Romney. “What is it that Brom thinks he sees here?”
“We must stop them long before they get there,” Captain Spar said. “You can ask Brom where it is when I haul him back in chains.”
“You, you, and you, prepare food, supplies, tents, and weapons,” the king said, pointing at his guards. “This is a serious act of premeditated mayhem. We do not know how far they are prepared to go to defend this unspeakable behavior. I will welcome volunteers to accompany Roan.” There was a chorus of voices, and dozens came forward. Princess Leonora stood up, too, towering above the others on her pedestal.
“I want to go, Daddy,” she said.
“No!” Roan exclaimed, then realized by the startled look on her face that he had failed in tact. A storm began brewing in her eyes, changing them from hazel to a darkly dangerous gray. Roan had to defuse her temper, and quickly. He had embarrassed her before her parents and her people. He knew she would not stand for that.
“Your Highness,” he began, stressing her title and bowing deeply before her, “it’s too dangerous for you to abandon the capital. You’re the heir to the kingdom.”
“One that won’t exist for me to inherit if Brom and his idiots destroy it!” Leonora said, dismissing danger with an angry wave of her hand. She appealed to her father. “Daddy, please! I want to help.”
“Your Majesty,” Roan said, equally insistent, “there’s no time.”
“My dear, you can’t go,” the king said, reaching up and taking his daughter’s hand. “
It’s impossible.”
Leonora looked from one to the other, disengaged her hand from her father’s. The marble pedestal shrank into the floor, and she stalked off it, her face a stiff mask. She threw open the silk curtains and marched through them. Her train of courtiers bustled away behind her. The king and queen exchanged glances, and Her Majesty slipped off her throne to follow her daughter, clucking maternally to herself as she went. Her doctors and ladies streamed away in her wake.
Roan’s heart sank. He knew he’d have to face a flood of recrimination and accusations of overprotective chauvinism when he returned, but he couldn’t let the one he loved so dearly risk her life on a rash venture. He was expendable, and she was not. She had no experience in tracking, combat, or indeed, sleeping rough. If there had been time, and if he had dared think such an icon would want to acquire rude skills like those, he would have been honored to teach her. In the meantime, the kingdom had to be preserved, even at the cost of his personal happiness. The king met his eyes, and gave him a sympathetic look. He understood his daughter and her suitor’s dilemma.
“With your permission, I had better go now,” Roan said, grateful for the king’s kindness, but his mind was already back on the problem at hand. Inspiration struck him, and he made his way through to the fountain. Scooping up handfuls of the small colored stones that lined the bottom, he filled his pockets.
“I’ll leave these as I go,” Roan called out. “Anyone who is willing to come along, follow my trail as soon as you are ready.” The crowd closed in on itself behind him, shouting plans to one another. Roan hurried toward the door. He could imagine the land itself urging him forward.
Chapter 6
Roan began to reexamine the courtyard with more care. He doubted Brom and his minions had set off underground, because no one had sensed any seismic disturbance, neither in the midst of the crucible’s demonstration, nor in the uproar that followed. Carrying the Alarm Clock, they had to have taken the train, flown, or walked. If they went by train, it would be no trouble to send a message ahead and have the locomotive stopped at once, so Roan knew Brom would never risk that mode of transportation. If the scientists had chosen air, he should be able to find the spot where their trail ended as they boarded their craft. Signs of their departure must be here for him to discover. All he had to do was put the clues together. They had to pull reality around themselves to hide, but he was sure they hadn’t thought to hide their footprints. As soon as their clouding influence had passed, such things would emerge. He walked, bent over, scanning the expanse of crushed stone.
Waking in Dreamland Page 5
