Waking in Dreamland

by Jody Lynne Nye

  “Look at this,” he said, holding out a handful of dried flowers. Roan took it from him. It was the daisy chain Leonora kept in her locket. There was no mistaking it.

  “That’s hers,” he said, definitely. He tucked it very carefully into his watch pocket. It was one of her treasures. She’d want it back.

  “She had to be out of the water to drop it here,” Bergold cheered. “She’s alive! I told you so, my boy.”

  Roan smiled. The ton weight on his heart fell away. He looked around. “But where did she go? She ought to be waiting here for us.”

  “Probably started walking,” Felan said. “We’ve got her steed. We’ll catch up with her in no time.”

  “Which way?” Colenna asked.

  “There’s no prints on this road to show,” Lum said.

  “But she had to come up here from somewhere,” Roan said. “Help me find the place. We’ll trace her steps back. There must be a clue.”

  Spar called his guards back. With renewed hope, everyone began to search the edge of the road. It was Misha who found the torn clump of grass at the edge of the bluff, and Hutchings a patch of gravel that showed signs of having been disturbed.

  “Here!” he shouted. Lum came running to investigate.

  “This is it, sir,” he said. “I see footprints. Right there!”

  “Are they Leonora’s?” Roan asked.

  The corporal sprang off his steed and knelt on the ground in the tangle of weeds. He looked up and his face was shining. “It looks like the shoes she was wearing today, sir. Flat bottoms and just a short heel. They were very wet, sir, but they’re pretty clear. She came up out of the water there.” Lum pointed at a spot at the edge of the bluff where the weeds were tangled and torn.

  Colenna clutched her hands to her heart. “She’s all right, then? Where is she?”

  “Those aren’t a woman’s prints,” Spar growled, pointing at other marks in the rough, sandy soil.

  “No, sir,” Lum said. “They’re riding boots. A big man’s. It looks like he helped pull her up. There’s signs of some active movement, then the woman’s prints stop. Must be carrying her.”

  “Heavens,” Colenna said, alarmed. “I hope she’s all right.”

  “There’s a lot of footprints. Might be more than one other person, but it’s hard to tell.” Lum walked along hunched over, reading the signs. Roan followed him, his heart full of hope. “The prints end at the surfaced road, of course, sir.”

  Bergold smacked one flipper into another. “That messenger, Osprey. He must have caught up with us. Depend upon it, he discovered her prank and came after her to complete his assignment. He must have carried her to his vehicle. There you are, lad. She’s been carried off to the capital, just as we hoped.”

  Roan was still troubled. “Why didn’t she leave us a message?” he asked. “Why throw out the daisy chain? If the Night has taken her, she would have had time to write a proper note and pin it to a tree.”

  Bergold rolled an amused eye. “She gave him the slip the last time he let her have a moment alone, didn’t she? He probably took off at once so she wouldn’t do it again. That beast of his can fly, can’t it?”

  “Yes, it can,” Roan said, relieved. His sense of purpose came flooding back. “So, she’s going home. Thank the Sleepers. I will borrow some of your writing materials later, Felan, so we can send her reassurances that the rest of us are all right.”

  “Of course,” Felan said. He had a thoughtful look on his face as they helped boost Bergold into his saddle. The steed had obligingly become a broad-backed donkey, wide enough to carry the seal comfortably. “Roan, I’m happy for you.”

  “Thank you, my friend,” Roan said, touched. “Now, let’s get back on the trail of the Alarm Clock.”

  Lum swung onto his steed. “That way, sir,” he said.

  The distortion had fused the road into a shiny, curved, glass ribbon that made it difficult for the steeds to keep their balance. They went single file slowly along the center with Lum at the lead. Within a few hundred yards, the young corporal let out a wordless exclamation, and held up his hand to signal the others to halt.

  He jumped off his steed, and tottered unsteadily to pick something off the road. He brought it back to Roan.

  “Is this hers, too?” he asked. It was the miniature portrait of the King and Queen. Roan frowned over it.

  “Yes, it is. She keeps it in her locket.”

  “Well, well,” Bergold honked. “It’s another sign she came this way. She’s leaving us breadcrumbs to help us follow the trail.”

  “But she would never throw this away so casually,” Roan said, growing more worried. A little farther along, Lum picked up a blue silk scarf that Roan had also seen in Leonora’s possession. And a bottle of perfume, her favorite scent. The conclusion that she had gone along willingly with her rescuer diminished in likeliness with every new discovery.

  “She’s in danger,” Roan said, touching the pocket where he had stowed the small treasures as if he could feel her thoughts through them. “She’s dropping these things to let us know she’s in trouble. She doesn’t dare to do anything more open, such as making these into SOS messages.”

  “Nonsense,” Felan said. “She’s left that locket open, that’s all. It probably broke when she climbed up the riverbank, and she’s spilling things out without knowing.”

  “No,” Roan said, positively. “She loves these things. If they fell, she would notice. I know she’s in trouble. Those male footprints—they must belong to one of Brom’s people. They watched us fall into the water, and they took Leonora when she came ashore.”

  Bergold’s whiskers turned downward. “Then we have a double purpose in catching up with Brom.”

  Roan nodded, his lips set. His confused feelings jelled into fierce determination. They would catch up with Brom, and they would put an end to him and his monstrous machine.

  More of Leonora’s treasures turned up farther down the road, and Roan put them in his pocket with the others. But the folding knife he had given her was not among them. Had he missed it? No, he was certain he had not. She must have kept it. It was a powerful symbol of her fellowship in the company of those going to save the Dreamland, and a most useful tool which Brom would not suspect she had. Even under duress, she kept her wits about her. Roan was more determined than ever to find her and make her safe.

  “Your Ephemeral Highness,” Brom said, ballooning into his portly court self just for a moment as he bowed before Leonora. He deflated at once into his gaunt traveling form. “This is a pleasure.” When Leonora mouthed a furious comment at him, he turned to Taboret.

  “You may release her voice,” he said. “She can do no harm here.”

  “Yes, sir,” Taboret said, with a heavy heart.

  “. . . Dare you, sir!” Leonora said, erupting into sound with the intensity of a steam valve. “My father will have you imprisoned in a rote dream for three eternities for your treason!”

  “Treason?” Brom affected an innocent face, but his eyes flared with red fire. Leonora saw that and backed up a pace, bumping into Maniune, who put a restraining hand on her shoulder. Taboret didn’t blame her a bit for recoiling. “Not at all, dear madam. As I saw it through the eyes of my subordinate here,” he indicated Taboret, “we rescued you from certain doom. Isn’t that so?”

  “Yeah,” Acton said.

  “And now,” Brom continued, his eyelids half-closing, “we offer you our hospitality and care. You are so obviously in shock after your ordeal. You will travel with us until . . .”

  “Until what?” Leonora demanded. She sounded brave, but she was trembling.

  “Until the end,” Brom said, simply.

  “This plan of yours is monstrous,” Leonora said, her own eyes shooting sparks of fury. “You take a half-baked theory that endangers the lives of millions, and sneak away like thieves, when my royal father tells you not to do it. . . .”

  Brom snapped his fingers, and Leonora’s voice stopped. She continued to
glare at him. If she’d been capable of telepathy, Brom would have gotten a mindful, Taboret was certain.

  “Enough!” Brom announced, looking bored. “Carina! Come and help Her Highness into some dry clothes. Keep an eye on her. As for you,” he turned to Taboret, and opened his eyes until the ruby fire filled her with quaking fear, “you and I will talk about your disobedience.”

  Chapter 31

  Brom’s lecture had been a thorough one, and not at all private. He had been watching Taboret for several days, it seemed, and catalogued instances that she had completely forgotten when she thought about going home, or did something else that failed to promote the greater good of the gestalt. He knew all about her minor treasons, even the button incident. Taboret was so completely demoralized that she was ready to give in completely to the crucible.

  She heard the others snickering at her. Taboret felt her last personal memories penetrated, shared, and dealt out like a pack of cards to all nine of the others. They laughed over embarrassing moments as they were dragged out and replayed again and again. The final indignity, a coat of tar and feathers had been dumped on her. It didn’t hurt, but it was humiliating and smelly in the hot sun. The others weren’t talking to her, but she could hear their thoughts and they hers. She knew Gano and Carina, and even Basil, were sympathetic but they didn’t dare to be tarred with the same brush.

  Reeking of pitch, Taboret rode by herself at the tail end of the group, behind Carina and the princess, who had been given Glinn’s motorbike. She no longer cared if her individual identity was taken away. She would do whatever Brom wanted her to. If she went back to Mnemosyne, her career was over, anyhow, for taking part in the great experiment. Glinn, who could have explained that the two of them had made it possible for the King’s Investigator to stay on their trail, was gone forever. She reached out through the link, seeking for any vestige of his mind, and felt a gaping, Glinn-shaped hole where he ought to be. Part of her heart was gone, too.

  The other apprentices tended to shrink from her mind-touch, offended to find out that she didn’t believe in the experiment. Privately, with what was left of her private mind, she thought some of them agreed with her and were afraid even to think it, for fear of guilt by association. The mind-link was a damned nuisance now. Whenever she heard one of the others thinking about her, it was always disapproving and scornful. She felt very lonely. To her dismay, she was still riding in time with the others, rising and sitting, revving the engine, even scratching when they did, which was a great nuisance with tar on her hands.

  Leonora had some trouble managing the motorcycle, even though they were going slowly and the road was smooth. Taboret felt sorry for her, but there was nothing she could do to help. Her access to the gestalt power was scrutinized every moment, and her personal influence wasn’t enough to take the vocal gag off the princess, let alone help her escape. The forest was thickening here, in full summer leaf. They could run off into the woods, but the cover that would conceal them would also hamper their movement.

  “Strong cloud of influence,” Basil said, reading the dial of the gold-cased detector. “Not a nuisance, but very powerful. They’re coming more often now that we’re over the bridge.”

  “Where?” Brom asked.

  “Very close,” Basil said, braking to a halt. “It’s going to cross the road. In six seconds. Five, four, three . . .”

  Gano and Bolmer, strapped to the Alarm Clock, angled to the roadside, and stopped. Taboret came to rest beside them. Bolmer turned away at once from her face, but Gano gave her a puzzled, hurt look. Dowkin and Doolin rolled past, talking in angry monotones under their breath. Enveloped in their own protective shell, they sailed straight by Basil and Brom, and into the shifting orange light tumbling over the lane.

  “Stop, don’t go that way!” Basil shouted in alarm, holding up his detector. The brothers’ motorbikes squealed. “There’s an . . .”

  “. . . Influence,” Doolin said, standing up on all four trotters. “I know, I felt it. Shut up.” His voice was a juicy, breathy snort, and his tiny eyes glared at them all with malice. He’d become a pig.

  “Why didn’t you warn him sooner?” Dowkin said, surveying his brother from his pink ears to his curly tail with horror.

  “I said it as soon as I knew,” Basil said, peevishly. “Why didn’t you hear the alarm through the link? The rest did.”

  “Look at him!” Dowkin said, and knelt beside the pig, who stood astride his fallen motorbike.

  “Do something,” Doolin snorted, nosing the ground with his snout.

  “Together, now,” Dowkin said. He put his forehead to his brother’s, and they closed their eyes. Their outlines blurred slightly, but when the influence cleared, one was still a pig. Taboret looked at them, and couldn’t help giggling. There wasn’t much difference between their usual surly expression and the pig’s jowly disapproval.

  Princess Leonora, sidesaddle on Glinn’s bike, let out an amused sniff. The brothers favored her and their companions with a hateful grimace, then tried again. This time, they shimmered together, drawing on the gestalt itself. Taboret was frightened, feeling as if she might be drawn into it any moment and become a pitch-covered pig. Thank fate, that attempt failed, too. Dowkin looked up with despair in his homely face.

  “Chief, we need your help. Let’s make the crucible and make him identical again!”

  “Nonsense,” Brom scolded them. “You’re wasting time. He’ll turn back eventually. The force of the influence was dispelled on him, but it is temporary, as are all changes in the Dreamland. Get back on your transport, and let us go on. We are nearly at our destination.”

  “No,” Dowkin said. “We want to be identical.” He sat down on the ground next to his brother, and gave himself a pig face and ears, which was all he could do with his measure of personal influence.

  “In ordinary circumstances we always look alike,” Doolin oinked. “This is serious power we’re playing with here. Leaves us without our normal defenses.”

  “That’s right,” Dowkin said, flinging his arm over his brother’s round neck. “Our identity. We’re not going anywhere until you fix us.”

  Brom glared from one to the other, and got double his ire back from the brothers.

  “Oh, all right,” he said, disgustedly, stepping off his transport. “Stupid, petty, emotional people, hooked on minutiae, when I have so much to think about. Form the crucible!”

  “What about Her Highness?” Carina asked, hooking a thumb over her shoulder.

  “Easily done,” Brom said. With a wave of his hand, the motorbike Leonora was sitting on became a metal cage. Her support yanked from beneath her, Leonora fell on her bottom on the grass verge. She gasped. Taboret winced and started toward the princess, but the gestalt power dragged her back toward the place where the apprentices were gathering. Brom was keeping her on a very short lead. She gave Leonora a sympathetic look, but all she got in return was another glare. What the princess was saying couldn’t be heard, but the mea ing was evident.

  It took very little of the gestalt’s power to bring the Countingsheep brothers back to normal. Taboret was annoyed for having to spend time and energy on them, but that part of her that now contained the brothers’ consciousness, was irritated with everyone else for not hurrying up. And the Brom fee ing, overall, filled her with repression, impatience—and fear. Taboret was surprised, and hoped she hid it in time. She could also feel the other apprentices’ enthusiasm for the unity, and wished she truly shared it, instead of getting a wisp of contact euphoria from the link. Didn’t they realize they could all die? She hoped she was concealing her own fear, but decided it didn’t matter. She blocked out as much of the link as she could, and the others were happy to let her be alone with her thoughts when it was over.

  Doolin produced a mirror to admire his newly restored countenance. Dowkin almost pranced around his brother in delight.

  “That’s better,” he said. “It’s not right when we don’t look alike.”

&nbs
p; Taboret heard a screech overhead. The great post-eagle winged in and landed on a tree branch next to Brom. As soon as the chief scientist reached for it, it flattened into an envelope and fluttered into his hand.

  “Ah, an update,” Brom said, tearing it open, and reading the message. “They made it out of the river.”

  “Too bad,” Maniune said, revving his motorbike engine. “We left ’em to drown. They must be good swimmers.”

  “Yes,” Brom said, absently, running his eyes down the note, which appeared to have been scrawled in haste. “Yes, they’ve concluded that we have Her Ephemeral Highness in our custody, but they are not turning back. Tenacious, aren’t they?”

  “Stupid,” Acton said.

  “Send a message,” Brom said, turning to Gano. “Addressed to Master Roan. Tell him that if they cease their annoying pursuit, the Princess Leonora will be returned safely when our experiment is concluded. Leave it vague as to what will happen if he does not. In the meantime, we must hurry. We are almost there. We shall know from our friend’s next report whether or not they have taken us up on our offer.”

  Taboret heard another gasp, and glanced behind her at Leonora, whose eyes were wide and eyebrows raised high on her forehead. She had the look of someone who had just had a startling revelation.

  Chapter 32

  The huge, white-headed bird sailed down and fluttered its wings to land lightly on the road in front of the file of bicycles, and converted into an air mail delivery envelope. Spar’s beast was surprised into bucking, and the guard captain had to backpedal energetically to make it stop. Roan jumped off Cruiser to pick up the envelope, and read the insert. Angrily, he crushed the paper in his fist.