Storm Dreams (The Cycle of Somnium Book 1) (20 page)

“Hard to imagine something I could do that you couldn’t do yourself.”

Barnabas smiled again. “Perceptive of you. But there are limits.”

“Do I need my fighter?” Cassidy asked.

Barnabas smiled. “Won’t even need a ship.”

“Then I’m bringing my sidearm.”

“As you wish,” Barnabas said, extending his hand towards the staircase.

Cassidy finished off his last sip of scotch and followed the well-dressed man. The drink still made his head spin.
Real
Scotch must also have a stronger effect here, he thought. Much stronger. He fought hard to concentrate on not stumbling. He scanned the room for dangers as they crossed the lounge and ascended the stairwell. Barnabas didn’t even look over his shoulder to see if Cassidy was following. The man seemed so sure of himself, Cassidy thought. Too sure.

He touched the wooden holster with his left arm.

Barnabas twisted the handle of his hotel room door and walked through. Cassidy edged in behind him, checking left and right for a possible ambush. “It’s just my room,” Barnabas said.

It wasn’t
just
his room. Though Cassidy got a good look at it as he entered, it changed the moment he passed the threshold. The light dimmed to almost nothing. The walls were closer now. No carpet. No bed. Rows of shelving lined the walls, stacked with thin corked phials.

“Where are we?” Cassidy asked. His gun was already in his hand and levelled at Barnabas’ head. The
man
looked odd, thin and pushed together as if seen through curved glass.

Cassidy realized he was standing in a transparent cylinder and he was moving upwards. Above him, a hole just bigger around than himself filled with a brown plug. A giant hand pushed the plug in firm. A large eye stared in at him.

“I’d appreciate you not firing that thing in there. It’ll bounce around and tear your little body up before I get a chance to use it.” The voice of Barnabas boomed in on him and the giant hand set him up on a shelf between two other phials. “Keep tight. I’ll be needing you soon.” Barnabas moved out of Cassidy’s line of vision and was gone.

Around Cassidy gaunt figures slumped against the inside curve of their own glass prisons. The dream to his left appeared asleep. He wore a blue gown and royal headdress. To Cassidy’s right, a naked white body lay on its back, mouth open as if gasping for air. Cassidy couldn’t tell if the body was alive or dead. Man or woman.

Cassidy sighed, holstered his weapon and sat down. He deserved this. Not half an hour in Arcadia and he’d already met something far worse than anything he’d planned on. Worse how, he couldn’t say, but this
creature
in the fancy suit was nothing native to the Twilight. He should have pressed Banner further for more information when he’d had the chance, but doubted it would have made much difference. Barnabas had lured him with the things he truly craved: answers, freedom.
Freedom?
Now there stood irony like a dark angel waiting to cleave him in two.

Cassidy fired several rounds into the stopper above. A cloud of shredded cork rained down. He slammed his shoulder against the glass in the hopes of knocking his phial from the shelf, but it didn’t budge. Slumping down against the smooth wall he tried to imagine what purpose the creature had for dreams in jars.

***

Barnabas hadn’t come back for…was it days? Weeks? Cassidy had whiled away most of his time cleaning and field stripping his Mauser and thinking about how stupid he’d been. He was nowhere near Arcadia anymore. At least he doubted it. Nowhere near his fighter. Perhaps nowhere near the Twilight. The door to the creature’s room could have taken him just about anywhere.

“Ah, a knight. How, dear Sir, have you come to this unfortunate oubliette?”

Cassidy glanced in the direction of the voice. The man in the blue gown to his left had finally come around. The silence had kept things from feeling
real
, but hearing someone speaking to him brought reality back with full force. He stood and walked to the edge of his bottle. “A while,” he said. “’Fraid I’ve no way to know.”

“Ah,” said the man in the blue gown. “My name is Delaine, and you’ll pardon me if I don’t stand. I’ve been here quite a while longer than
quite a while
and I don’t seem to have much left in me.”

Cassidy gave a quick nod. “Any idea what this place is?”

Delaine shrugged a weak shoulder. “I would think it an apothecary, but of what kind, I cannot say.”

“What does he use us for?” Cassidy asked.

“Ah, Sir Knight, even Merlin himself might not guess at the wiles and ways of such demons.”

“Demon?” Cassidy asked. He stuffed his hands deep in his pockets.

“What else?” Delaine said. “What but a demon could conjure such evil?” He tried to raise his hand in some gesture, but let his fingers slip back to the glass wall. “I was a conjurer in whatever distant kingdom I lived. I can no longer recall the name. But these arts are beyond me.” He stared upwards as though trying to search his memories. “I escaped my dream by chance. Tripped and fell and…and wound up here after but a few days of freedom.” He tilted his head to the side and cast his tired eyes on Cassidy. “It was a pleasant dream, I came from. Probably a child's fancy. An innocent dream.” His look seemed to say,
and you?

Cassidy folded his arms. “I’m a fool.”

Delaine tried to shrug again, but managed only a slight lift of one shoulder. “We are all fools. The fool behind you was here when I arrived. He could stand then. He could speak. He had been a star, or so he said. He had been a star, snatched from a dream of living worlds. They dream too, you know.”

Living worlds,
Cassidy mouthed. He was about to ask Delaine more, but the man in the blue gown had fallen back to sleep. Cassidy hoped the poor dream was dreaming.

The next few days, or weeks, brought nothing. Barnabas hadn’t entered the room again. Delaine stirred a few times, but didn’t wake.

It was difficult not to consider shooting the glass itself, but the demon, or whatever he was, had probably told the truth about the dangers in that. Cassidy considered cleaning his Mauser again, but the thought of it made him sick.

The door finally opened and Barnabas walked in. He turned, eyed the many phials and ran his finger down the row, stopping on Cassidy. “Yes, my little airman,” he said, plucking Cassidy from the shelf, “it’s time.”

Barnabas popped the cork and dumped him out onto the floor. The world rushed by and Cassidy found himself full-sized and on his back, spine aching. He moved towards his pistol.

“Now, now,” Barnabas said, holding up a restraining hand. “I need you, and I’d rather not have to shatter your arms right now.”

Cassidy scrambled to his feet, but let his arms hang down to his sides. “Whatever it is you want me to do, I don’t think I’ll feel like it.”

“Oh, don’t let that bother you,” Barnabas said, with a dismissive wave. “Most of what I need you to do, I’ve already done. All you must do now is—” A loud rapping sounded at the door. His head jerked to the side. “What in…?”

Cassidy shrugged. “Someone you know?”

Barnabas narrowed his eyes. “They can’t be knocking at the door. It isn’t really a door. It doesn’t go anywhere unless I want it to be there.”

The harsh rapping came again and Barnabas took a step back.

“Should I answer it?” Cassidy asked. “Could be important. Room service?”

Barnabas didn’t answer. He didn’t have to, as the door flung wide of its own accord and the Englishman with the umbrella stepped in. “Barnabas,” he said in a jovial tone. “Why didn’t you answer?”

It was hard to tell exactly what the look on Barnabas’s face meant. Anger? Fear? Astonishment? Reproach?

“I did knock,” the Englishman said, in mock apology.

Barnabas remained silent and rigid as the man with the umbrella made his way around the room as if browsing an antique shop. He peered at the collection of phials on the shelves. “It’s quite a collection,” he said after several minutes.

“It’s also outside your jurisdiction,” Barnabas said through gritted teeth.

The Englishman touched the crook of the umbrella to his forehead as if thinking. “Jurisdiction?” he mused as if trying to recall the proper definition of the word. “Jurisdiction?” He tapped his head again with the bony crook. “Ah yes. Jurisdiction. I don’t think I really need it.”

Barnabas’s expression tightened. He slipped his hands into his pockets in a casual gesture, though Cassidy guessed he was grabbing for a weapon. “You can’t take me back, Tamelicus,” he said, as if trying to extend the conversation. Stalling perhaps.

Tamelicus, Cassidy thought. The demon had a name.

“Take you back?” Tamelicus said. “Why?”

Barnabas narrowed his eyes and froze, his hands still deep in his pockets. They stared at each other for several seconds, neither twitching while Cassidy took it as a hint to step back.

Something silver glinted as Barnabas’ hand cleared his pocket. Tamelicus moved across the room in a blur of motion as the Englishman impaled Barnabas through the stomach with the umbrella in a single movement. The jaws of the skull at the tip of the handle came alive and sank its fangs into flesh as Tamelicus buried the umbrella to the hilt.

Barnabas didn’t scream, but his face contorted. The eyes of the lizard’s empty sockets glowed red and the body to which it had attached itself shrivelled and dried into a grey husk. Tamelicus withdrew his weapon and the pin-striped banker’s suit fell to the floor, covered by a shower of dead skin. A silver pistol clattered to the floor.

The Englishman gave a deep sigh and hooked the umbrella over his arm. “Don’t I know you?” he said, regarding Cassidy for the first time. He rubbed his chin with his gloved hand. “Of course,” he said, and broke into a wide smile. “The little paper shadow from New York.”

“Why did you do that?” Cassidy asked, looking down at the pile of clothes.

“My Sygnet was hungry,” Tamelicus said, and petted the umbrella’s crook with his hand. “It rarely gets to feed so well.” He smiled again. “When
he
is happy,
I
am happy.” He turned back to the door. “Cheers,” he said and poised to step out.

“Why don’t you kill me?” Cassidy asked. “Why do you just kill people in front of me?”

Tamelicus turned and squinted. “I can’t
kill
you. You’re not alive. It would be more like blowing out the flame on a candle. Flames are fascinating, temporal creatures, but hardly worth extinguishing.” He moved closer. “Though you
are
interesting to watch. Like observing an ant try to heft a leaf three times its size into a hole half as small. I can’t help but stare in rapt fascination.”

He looked into Cassidy’s face as if trying to read his thoughts. Tamelicus’ eyes were hard to concentrate on, swirling colours that turned in on themselves as they moved across the irises. “Besides, he wasn’t a
people
. He was…like me.”

“A demon?” Cassidy asked.

Tamelicus screwed up his face. “I’ve always thought that word inappropriate, or at the very least inadequate.” He gave a flippant gesture. “Whatever the case, your friend here,” he said, regarding the pile of clothes again, “was one of my Gentleman. An officer in my employment who decided to get greedy.”

Cassidy gave his own quizzical look.

“Hell,” Tamelicus said. “Dreams are unsubstantial, but in a world of a billion or so damned, they can easily stand in for an escaped soul unnoticed.” He gestured to the phials on the shelves. “Souls carry a hefty price on the Underworld market, and trafficking is rampant. Now you,” he said, pushing a finger into Cassidy’s chest, which burned where it touched his shirt, “I think he had different ideas for. You’ve become a bit more solid than most. Probably wanted to use you as a shell for something dangerous. Wish I’d asked him about it first, but it felt so good to suck the juices from his corpse.”

Tamelicus shrugged. “Must be off.” He turned on his heel and made for the door. “I’d leave right behind me,” he said, over his shoulder. “This room isn’t anywhere you’d understand, and it’ll incinerate moments after I leave.”

“Then why bother mentioning it? Why help me?” Cassidy asked.

Tamelicus stopped and let out a gentle laugh. “Help you? My dear, dear paper shadow. No one can help you. Your captain did you no favours stealing you away.” He turned again, his face etched in a cynical pallor. “You have no soul. When you die you will fade to smoke. You won’t even return to the dreamstuff from whence you were taken.”

“Can I take them, too?” Cassidy asked, pointing to the shelves.

Tamelicus said nothing but continued for the door. His left foot crossed the threshold. Cassidy ran to the shelf and scooped up as many phials as his two hands could pincer between them. The demon’s right boot cleared the threshold as Cassidy leapt through. Light exploded around him.

The demon was gone and so was the door. Cassidy lay on the floor of the Arcadia hallway, outside an open door, through which he saw a normal hotel room. He picked himself up and stowed the phials in the large pockets of his flight jacket. He examined the man in the blue gown before adding him to the others. The medieval phantasy still lay asleep.

***

Cassidy found Shea working the lobby. “I need to talk,” he said, imploring her with a touch to her arm.

“I hope you want to do more than talk,” Shea said, striking a pose both sultry and natural at the same time. Most women of her profession would have paid half their wages to learn the pose; the way she flared her breasts, arched her back and leaned against a pillar as if she were taking a quick rest without looking forced. “I didn’t even know you were here. You vanished months ago. We heard old Barnabas had gotten you.”

“Please,” Cassidy said. “It’s important. I’ll pay.”

Shea smiled. “Your room or mine?”

“I don’t have a room,” Cassidy said.

Shea showed him to her boudoir. “I hoped you’d come around,” she said, as the crystal beads leading to her bed chamber parted without her touching them.

The room smelled like her. Not incense or perfume. It smelled like her skin. Like her hair. She sank into the bed, letting the thick comforter and satin sheets half enclose her. Shea wasn’t really trying to seduce him now. It was just her nature. The sexual side of her that seemed not so much to have taken over, but been held in such controlled check that it shone when she opened her eyes, or her arms, or legs. It was like a warm but blinding light, set behind a shutter that had no choice but to flex open and shut.

Cassidy felt himself moving towards her as if he were falling forwards. The bed rose to meet him. He was cold and she was warm.

He pulled himself away and leaned back against the wall. “I don’t know who else to ask,” he said.

Shea blinked. “You pay more visiting me here.”

“That’s fine. Put it on my tab,” Cassidy said, wondering if this had been another mistake. “I have a number of dreams.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she said, leaning back against a vast assortment of elegant pillows, “I don’t dream.”

Cassidy shook his head. “They’re escaped, or rather, stolen. I need to know what to do with them.”

“In phials?” she said narrowing her eyes. “My God, you
have
seen Barnabas!” Shea recovered from her shock and flicked slender fingers through the air. “Sell them. There’re five or six fences here in Arcadia that would be glad to pass them on to the Everdream for a good price. Or sell them to...other entities. I’ll set you up and take a small percentage.”