Storm Dreams (The Cycle of Somnium Book 1) (25 page)

Cassidy glanced over at Ned and went back to sucking whisky off the last piece of ice.

“Is Banner okay?” Ned continued. “I mean, did you get them out alright?”

Cassidy pushed his glass away and turned to look at Ned. “I’m going to ask you one question. If you lie, I’m going to kill you.”

Ned paled. He opened his mouth to speak, but just nodded.

Cassidy bore into him with his gaze. “I need to know if you sold them out.”

“What?” Ned asked, his eyes glancing down at Cassidy’s pistol.

“Someone sent one hell of a lot of trouble the captain’s way and they must have known the places we liked to hide.” Cassidy leaned closer. “Was it you?”

Ned’s chin jutted out. “I’m not a good fighter,” he rasped, as if his mouth were dry. “My stomach turns over when I get scared, and I start passing out, but I’m not a traitor.” He shook his head. “I just wouldn’t do that.”

Cassidy turned back to the barkeep. “I’m thirsty,” he said. “One more.”

“I’m sorry,” Ned repeated. “I wanted to help. If there’s ever anything else...”

Cassidy accepted his second drink and took a sip. “Good. I have some dangerous flying coming up and I could use someone with a plane.”

Ned gulped. “I’d love to, Major, but I’ve been hired to run a shipment over to another island tomorrow morning. It’ll take a couple weeks.”

Cassidy let the whisky burn fill him. “That’s why you told that girl you’d see her tomorrow night?” He took the brothel token that still lay on the bar and slid it over without glancing at Ned. “This is more your speed.”

Ned took the token. He sat silent for several moments before standing up and walking off.

A dark cold made its way past the warmth of the whisky. Seeing Ned reminded Cassidy of everyone he’d lost. He’d been racking his brain for a way to find the black pyramid again, but only Banner had known the way. He tried to imagine weaving the Fokker down the corridor of gates and realised he didn’t even know where the captain had started into the secret labyrinth that led the way.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice boomed across the lounge. Hotel acoustics made it difficult to determine direction, but seconds later, a bright spotlight shone a large circle against the back wall. Cassidy had never been at the hotel on a night they had a floor show.

“We have a special treat for all of you tonight,” the voice continued. “This week’s performer hails from lands far away, but he’s truly a magician of renown, even here in the Twilight. He’s returned to Arcadia for only two nights before moving on to Lilliput. We hope you all enjoy this night of magic and mystery.”

The small crowd had increased by the moment. A fine mist of magenta smoke drifted across the dance floor Cassidy assumed would serve as a stage. It grew thicker as the orchestra kicked in with dramatic music. Cassidy couldn’t identify the composer for certain, but it might well have been Wagner.

A black line split the mist from top to bottom and a man stepped through. He wore classic evening dress: tails, white waistcoat and bowtie. His jet black hair lay slicked back and his pencil moustache was shaved to rest only on the crest of his upper lip. He was also, most definitely, not a Twilight.

Cassidy smiled. He’d never seen a magician, but felt like he’d seen this man a hundred times before. It was as if this
human
filled some primal archetype in his subconscious. Cassidy wondered why he had just thought that and further wondered if he, in fact,
had
a subconscious. If so, was his subconscious the Everdream itself?

The magician gave a gracious bow, removed his white gloves and tossed them into the air. At the top of the crest they fused, sprouted legs and long wings, becoming a misshapen crane that cawed in agony. The crane fell and became gloves once more as they landed in the magician’s hand.

The audience gave polite applause. Cassidy shifted on his stool.

The magician gave a broad smile and tucked the gloves into his pocket. He tugged on the chain of his pocket watch, but it slid out of his waistcoat without a watch on its end. He stroked his chin, returned the chain and reached beneath his jacket. When he withdrew his hand, it held a foot-tall hourglass with sparkling sand in the upper globe. He sat the hourglass on a small table to his right that hadn’t been there a moment ago. The sand didn’t fall into the lower bulb, but remained suspended in the upper portion.

Gesturing to the audience, the magician indicated that he wanted a volunteer. After several seconds of chatter, a pretty young woman in a blue gown was pushed up to the front, as if offered by the audience as a sacrifice.

The magician bowed and kissed the young woman’s hand. She blushed and he returned a gallant smile. He reached behind her head and plucked an eight-inch dagger from empty air. The knife was double edged with a silver blade and wire wrapped handle. Its pommel ended in a quartz crystal that glinted as he turned it over in his hands. The magician indicated her midriff with a wave of his hand. The blue silken fabric of her gown stretched almost taut across her stomach.

The magician turned the woman sideways so that she now stood to his left. He gestured as if to say,
are you ready?
The woman smiled and gave a playful shrug, as if to say,
okay, what are we doing
? The magician raised his eyebrows and lowered them again, signalling the orchestra which began a loud drum roll. He turned the sandglass over and the sparkling material within the lower portion floated upwards, grain by grain into the upper bulb.

With another grand gesture, he placed his hand on her shoulder, brandished the dagger and plunged it into her stomach. She shrieked, doubled over and fell to the floor. Blood spread out in a thin, dark pool.

The audience waited in a combination of stunned silence and expectation. Cassidy leaned forwards as the magician brought several Twilights up to feel her pulse and report that she was, in fact, dead. Her eyes looked like those of the woman from New York, her features frozen in shock and pain. She was dead. Truly dead.

The magician motioned to the orchestra, and it gave him another build of dramatic bass drums and low celli. High violins filled in, coming over the top like thin air spirits darting between heavier, more substantial mythic creatures. He turned the sandglass over once again. The upper bulb, now the lower one, had filled only a quarter of the way, but now the grains reversed, returning to the mass in the upper globe.

The woman rose up from the floor as if falling in reverse. The magician’s movements reversed as well. The blood spilled up from the floor and seeped back into her body. He leaned forwards, gripped the dagger’s handle and withdrew it. Her expression went from pain, to horror, to fear and back to simple curiosity as he tossed the knife into the air. It vanished in a tiny cloud of metallic sparkle.

The woman looked dazed. She swooned. The magician caught her, handed her a small phial of blue liquid and whispered something in her ear. She walked back to her seat with a confused smile.

The conjuror bowed low, receiving thunderous applause. Cassidy joined in, but watched as the woman returned to her seat and collapsed. He hoped it was merely out of exhaustion. She had not been Twilight.

“I would appreciate it if everyone cleared their mind,” the magician said as the applause died down. “Tonight, I would like to demonstrate an ability or two I’ve picked up over the years, and the less you are all consciously thinking, the easier it will be for me.” He smiled and gestured to a man sitting at one of the lounge booths. The candle on the table cast a flicker of shadows across his chiselled features.

“Ah, sir,” the magician said, “I see you’re a man of mystery. You prefer the edges of the room, and I would venture to say that you’re much the same with the world. A traveller, am I right.”

The man in shadows gave a slow nod.

“As I thought,” the magician said. “But that’s not a difficult guess in a crowd such as this one. Allow me to add that you’re a dangerous man. In fact, you’re a hunter of men, both dreams and Twilights and…others,” he added with a dismissive gesture. “You’re searching even now. I fear the room is hardly safe,” he said with a slight laugh.

The man at the booth flexed his fingers and scowled.

The magician gave another dismissive wave. “You’re afraid, dear sir. My apologies if you don’t want to answer. Very well,
you
dear lady,” he said, motioning to a woman who sat at one of the tables that skirted the dance floor closer to him.

The woman looked up impassively. She wore a sequinned evening dress and silver gloves. The man with her leaned forwards and whispered something in her ear that made her laugh. He sported a thin goatee with a grey streak that ran through his shock of black hair.

“Twice,” the magician said, “but the first time she exaggerated and the second she was faking. She’s also sleeping with your brother, and for some reason, you don’t seem to mind, though it’s probably because you don’t realise that she actually prefers his company and not just his money.”

The woman looked up at the goateed man, her eyes wide and frightened. The man stood and stormed out, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. The woman followed him moments later, face flushed, eyes bright with tears.

“And you, sir,” the magician said, pointing to the bar and right at Cassidy who drew his own features into blank stare. “You truly are a strange one,” he said, and laid his chin against his fist. “A pilot, I see, but your clothing tells me that. You also travel a great deal. You’re never in one place long. An easy assumption to be sure, I know. But a dear friend has recently died—my mistake, he’s not exactly dead but—I’m sorry, I can’t read beyond that.” The magician closed his eyes and massaged his temples. “You have an important task ahead of you, but then a longer road after that. Your mind is fogged with endless loops of constant questions.” He furrowed his brow and squinted. “I would suggest being careful for…” he trailed off as he concentrated harder. “I’d beware of nearly half the people in this room and at least two people
not
in this room. It must be nice to be so wanted.”

A nervous laugh rose from the audience. Cassidy shifted his gaze from patron to patron.

“Anyway, folks,” the magician said, inclining his head and gathering his hands together in front of him, “I’m afraid my mind is taxed beyond its normal endurance. Please remember, I will be here again tomorrow night.” He bowed low, dropping his hands behind him. The magician straightened, both arms extended and showered the audience with a spray of flaming roses. The flames extinguished as they reached the patrons and each guest received a single red rose in their laps. No one could help looking down at their deep crimson flower and he was gone when they glanced back to the dance floor.

Cassidy turned
his
rose over in his hands. It was blue instead of red. Deep blue. The petals almost looked like glass and refracted the light into odd patterns as he rolled the stem between his fingers.

“For me?” a familiar voice asked from his left. Shea’s flame-red hair came into view as Cassidy turned his head. She smelled like cinnamon tonight, and her green eyes looked a particular contrast to her hair and crème-white skin.

Cassidy passed the rose to her.

“You’re too kind,” she said.

“I owe you.”

“Yes, you do. How about you cash in my token tonight.”

Cassidy smiled. “Still not my poison, but thanks.”

Shea sighed. “Is she beautiful?”

Cassidy raised an eyebrow.

“Whoever you keep breaking my heart for,” Shea said.

“If I ever meet her,” Cassidy said, rapping his fingers on the bar, “I’ll give you a full description.”

Shea gave him a pout she must have worked on for hours in a mirror. The pout that had probably made her even more money than her sultry, come-hither expression. “Watch your back, John,” she said, and slid the rose into her cleavage so that the bud rested at the hollow of her throat. “I’ve tried like hell to protect you, but you make the worst enemies.”

Cassidy showed his teeth. “Men are known by the enemies they keep.”

Shea smiled and vanished into the shadows of the lounge where he was sure she’d claim a purse full of tokens.

The magician sat down next to Cassidy and gave a tired smile. He still wore evening wear, but his bowtie lay untied around his collar. “I need a drink,” he said, and motioned for the barkeep. “You look like a man who usually orders whisky with ice,” he said to Cassidy.

Cassidy clicked his glass against the bar as if to say,
of course you know, you’re looking at what I drink.

“But,” said the magician, “you also look like a man who’s sick of drinking them.” He gave a knowing smile and ordered two martinis. “My name is Leon,” he said as the drinks arrived.

“John,” Cassidy said, enjoying the opportunity to use his first name. He sipped his drink. It wasn’t whisky, and anything but whisky tasted like heaven. “Is the crane real?” he asked.

Leon shrugged. “A better question would be, ‘are the gloves real’.” he said. “Magic is a wonderful thing, but there’s always a sacrifice. For instance,” he said, removing the gloves from his dinner jacket, “I’ll never be able to wear them again.” He pried open one of the gloves to reveal the sticky blood staining the insides. “Go through a pair each time I perform.”

“Why carry them around?”

“To remind me,” Leon said.

“Then the crane
is
real,” Cassidy said. Until that moment he hadn’t realised how much he wanted it to be. How much he hoped for impossible things to be made possible.

The magician gave a strained smile. “Real? I don’t know. I just bend things a little. The Twilight allows a greater amount of bending than the
real
world, but the rules are similar. I bleed for the art a little more.” He opened a button in the middle of his shirt to show a red-stained bandage beneath. “Here, I can only perform once a night without bleeding to death, but the shows are more interesting. They have to be to please these people.”

“These
people
?” Cassidy mused. He felt a strange camaraderie with this man whom he could only assume to be from the
real
world, a dreamer like Richthofen. “What exactly are these people?”

“I’m still not sure,” Leon said. “I’ve been visiting this place for several years now. Beautiful scenery. My pilot and my assistant love it.”

“Assistant?” Cassidy asked.

“Assistant,” Leon said. “The lovely young woman I stabbed in the stomach. We don’t do that trick very often.”

“Then it
is
fake,” Cassidy said.

Leon snorted. “Tell her that. Never eats before or after.” He sipped at his drink and gave a wide smile. “Look me up if you’re ever in New York,” Leon said. “I’ll get you a
real
drink.” He produced a calling card from thin air, passed it to Cassidy and stood up. “By the way, if you really want to find your friends, I’d look in the direction of greatest danger.”

“What exactly does that mean?” Cassidy asked.

“Fortunes are a lot like advice,” Leon said. “Worth about what you pay for them.” He winked, and was gone.

***

The evening, or what passed for an evening in the Twilight, felt good. He still couldn’t get over how it never got completely dark, but only hinted at it. Teased you with it. He looked up and watched the familiar airships drift in the breeze. A lump welled in his throat at the
Nubigena
-shaped space that seemed to remain between them.

The wharf lay empty as Cassidy walked the docks. Wooden crates. Mooring lines. A scattering of dock workers milling about the scattering of random sheds and vacant merchant booths.

A shadow peeked out from the edge of one of the small buildings and vanished again. Cassidy continued moving as if nothing had happened, but decided to skirt the wooden shack-buildings, moving around the edge of the wharf. He glanced over his shoulder in time to see the dark shape meld into the angled shadows of the corrugated roof-tops.

Cassidy took the opportunity to duck into the maze of small buildings as well. He gripped the handle of his Mauser, keeping it against his side as he made his way through narrow alleys to avoid catching it on any of the sundry junk that lay everywhere.

Hopefully, the dark figure would think he’d moved on much farther and run to catch up. He waited until a flurry of footsteps rushed past and he slipped out behind the shadow. He trailed the dark figure for another few buildings before it stopped again. Cassidy moved forwards on silent feet and extended the barrel level with the shadow’s head.

“I know you’re back there,” the shadow said.

Cassidy winced inside, but kept the pistol level. “Then you also know I’m in line to take your head off.”

“Naturally,” said the shadow in a gruff male voice. “May I turn around if I keep my hands in the air?”

“Sure,” Cassidy said, but dropped to one knee, the Mauser still trained on the large head.

The man began to turn, hands raised. The left arm looked thinner than the other. It wore a glove over the spindly hand, and in the moment it took for Cassidy to realise the arm was mechanical, a pistol flashed from beneath the dark coat and fired. The bullet passed over Cassidy’s head, where his chest would have been if he’d been standing. He squeezed off two rounds. The first caught the man in his left shoulder. It struck something metal, but drove the man back as the second round caught him lower down.

Arms flailed in the contrasting light. The mechanical arm clattered somewhere out of Cassidy’s sight along with the heavy clicking of a skittering pistol. He leapt on the man, pinning him to the ground with his knee and shoved the muzzle of his pistol into the man’s right eye. Cassidy glanced around in case of backup, but there didn’t appear to be any.

The man tried to bring his head up, laughed and let it rest on the deck. “They told me not to underestimate you, Mr. Cassidy. I thought they meant only in the air.”

His accent sounded strange. Czech perhaps, or Russian. Cassidy looked closer and realised it was the man from the lounge. The one the magician had picked on first. “So you’re the dangerous one?” Cassidy said. “The bounty hunter.” He pulled his pistol out of the man’s eye.

The man turned his head and spat. “Nyet. Bounty hunters are nasty. I’m a soldier.”

“Mercenary?” Cassidy asked.

The man shrugged his good shoulder. “Who isn’t?”

“Me,” Cassidy said. “Now what exactly are you hired to do, other than piss me off?”

“I was just told to find you,” the Russian mercenary said. “You pulled a gun. I have no interest in dying.”

“Then who hired you?” Cassidy asked.

The Russian took a deep sigh. “An Englishman named Brewster.”

Cassidy showed his teeth and pushed the muzzle back into the man’s eye. “That’s the name of a good friend of mine. Not a good one to throw around.”