Waking in Dreamland (42 page)

The smooth, newly paved roadway didn’t suggest any means for her to leave a message behind for their pursuers. There was no convenient scree of stones to twist a tire in, causing a handy fall. The trees flanking the road in clusters were young and narrow. There was hardly room to daub
Look Out
on any of them with a finger, and what would she say if one of those bruisers doubled back and saw her message? No, it had to be a distinctive item that wouldn’t be on this road for any other reason, and it had to be something she could pass off as having fallen by accident.

They passed through a tiny town. Brom ordered them to disguise the Alarm Clock as a haywain, to avoid commentary. Taboret had no privacy of thought until they were past the last house.

Her opportunity came almost immediately thereafter, at the next crossroads. On the map in her mind’s eye that she shared with everyone else in the gestalt, she knew it led toward the border of Wocabaht and Rem. Brom was so busy seeing the Alarm Clock safely negotiate the left turn that the riders at the back of the queue were very much on their own.

“Halt!” Brom called. “Lurry, you and Basil apply your wits. We require a deterrent to be left here at this point. Just in case.”

“But Roan and his people are in Reverie, under arrest,” Glinn protested.

“Arrest is temporary,” Brom warned him. He turned to Basil. “Remain here until you have completed the assignment, then catch up.”

Taboret could feel Basil’s reluctance, but he rolled his bike to the side of the road. Quickly, she wrenched off the top button of her tunic. As she came around the corner, she dropped it on the new road very close to the bushes so the followers would understand which way they had gone, and be warned something was ahead. There. It was done.

If Roan or his friends got this far, they’d see it.

The rest of the afternoon was uneventful. Everyone began to relax again, and the link began to fill with smatterings of thought. Taboret damped down the fear she felt that the chief might have seen her treasonous act. She tried to avoid getting sucked into the mass database of thought, but she had to cooperate and be part of the gestalt, or explain to Brom why not. Fortunately, Gano, Basil, and Carina were beginning to be upset by the invasion of their private mind-places, too. And no one was happy to know personally the intimate thoughts of the Countingsheep brothers, who were as offensive inside as out. Thank the Seven—if they existed, and Taboret fervently hoped they did—for Glinn. Was that warm, fuzzy feeling just the link talking? Was she now permanently joined to the whole group, in the laboratory and out? Would they contract a mass-marriage or some similar bond when this was all over? The idea repulsed her thoroughly.

No, she thought, examining her feelings carefully, she still didn’t feel any attraction to Brom or Doolin and Dowkin. She supposed that it could happen later on, and sincerely hoped it wouldn’t. The feelings she had were all for Glinn. Occasionally, she felt a return spark from him through the link. More than anything, she wanted the day’s ride to be over, so she could take him aside in private, and find out if she had made up the tantalizing pictures she was getting in her mind.

With the delightful prospect to occupy her, she forgot all about the button until they reached Brom’s appointed stopping place for that night.

“Taboret, your tunic’s torn. Look, the top button is missing,” Gano said, helpfully, on the way past to park her motorbike in the makeshift corral. Taboret couldn’t help blushing.

“Is it?” she asked, trying to look innocent. She felt the loose threads, and every thought she’d had that afternoon came flooding back to her.

“She must have lost it in the scrum when the transport fell apart,” Glinn said, coming to her rescue. “It’s a wonder no one was hurt.” She shot him a grateful look.

“Slovenliness,” Brom snapped, appearing beside them like an unwelcome burst of lightning. Taboret jumped. He eyed her tunic and gave her a look of utter disgust. “Repair it. It detracts from your appearance.”

“Um, er,” she stuttered, clutching at her throat. She wished Glinn would help out again, then wondered at her difficulty in framing a simple reply. She had never needed anyone to speak for her before. What was the matter with her? The strain was beginning to fog her brain. “I haven’t got a sewing kit, sir.”

“Improvise,” Brom said, tersely. He willed a small round stone to hop up to his hand from the ground. He pinched it flat between his thumb and forefinger, and two small holes appeared in it. He flung it at her.

Stung, Taboret caught the stone before it hit her in the face. With a burst of personal influence, she finished flattening it out and smoothed off the excess matter. Using just a little more, she lengthened the broken threads under her collar and tied the stone button in place. She had always hated sewing. Brom became bored with watching her fumbling with the threads, and went away to see to the safety of the Alarm Clock. At least he hadn’t questioned the circumstances under which she’d lost the button. Tying off the last knot, Taboret thanked her lucky stars, or whomever was looking after foolish young scientists, and hurried to assume her duties in helping set up the camp.

Chapter 27

Roan and his party rode on. It had taken him and Hutchings hours riding at a full gallop to catch up with Bergold. The moment he’d appeared, Bergold let his form go back to a version of his preferred shape, shorter, rounder, and more relaxed. He rode along beside his friend on his red gelding.

“Whew! It’s a strain being you,” Bergold said, with a broad smile for his friend. “I never properly appreciated how hard it is to stay the same.”

“It’s easier when you’ve done it for a long time,” Roan said, lightly.

“Did you see Her Highness before you left Reverie?”

“No,” Roan said. “Sir Osprey departed before you did.” He sighed, staring ahead forlornly at the far horizon. A few of the pogo-stick-hopping rats leaped across the scenery, black silhouettes against the yellow sky. The sun was going down. “They’ll be home by now.”

“She’ll be fine, lad,” Bergold said, reassuringly. Roan nodded.

“Well, I shall miss her,” Colenna said, turning around in her saddle and leaning her elbow on her handbag. “She was a gallant little girl.”

“I’ll miss her, too,” Roan said. The words were so inadequate, they felt like the cork in a bottle of emotion boiling up behind it. Any moment, all of it would burst out in a stream of eloquent speech about true love and the pain of separation. But, no. He couldn’t find anything to say. All the words he had were back in Reverie on reams and reams of paper. Instead, he was left with worry and frustration roiling inside him, knotting his heart and belly into one unhappy mass. At least she was safe from the danger that lay ahead.

“She’ll want news of our progress. I’d be happy to lend you some stamps, if you wanted to send her a message yourself,” Felan offered politely.

“I would be obliged,” Roan said, surprised. The younger historian seemed more subdued than before. He wondered what kind of pressure the others had put on him after they’d left Reverie. Captain Spar was looking smug. Surely there hadn’t been any violence, but Felan spoke civilly and calmly, where he had been cheeky before. The others had noticed, too.

“Are you all right, dear?” Colenna asked. “Are you feverish?”

“I’m fine,” Felan said, without his customary rancor. “Maybe I’m tired. I’m not used to travel.”

“It was good of you to continue on with the group,” Roan said. “In spite of Captain Spar’s gentle persuasive techniques.”

“Hey?” the guard captain called from the front of the line, pretending to look innocent.

Felan laughed. “Not so bad, really. What did they do to you in Reverie?”

“Essay test,” Roan said, more shortly than he had intended, but he’d used up much of his vocabulary on the exam.

Felan shuddered. “You have my sympathy.”

“It’s starting to get dark,” Corporal Lum announced. “We ought to think about stopping soon. We could run flat into one of Master Brom’s pet monstrosities without seeing it.”

“I’d dearly love to see how he controls nuisances,” Bergold said thoughtfully. “What a help that would be.”

“Brom probably thinks we’re still back in Reverie,” Felan said. “He left before us.”

“Do not underestimate Brom,” Roan said, raising an eyebrow. “He’s intelligent, and he’s tricky.” He borrowed the map from Bergold, and held Colenna’s multipurpose lamp over it. “Not too far ahead is a low hilltop that overlooks a bend in the road. Providing it hasn’t flattened out in the meantime, that should make a fairly defensible and dry camp.”

“Speaking of dry camps,” Bergold said, poking Roan in the ribs as he retrieved the map, “do you remember staying in that wadi town in the desert near Bukara?”

Roan laughed, jostled out of his present misery. “I certainly do! I thought it was the nicest place I’d ever been, until we found out the whole thing was a mirage.” He turned to explain to the others. “We were there to meet a fleet of ships of the desert that had sighted a living sphinx and get their report. We’d been drinking sherbets and lying about the pool in a luxury hotel, when everything vanished, and we were flat on the sand by ourselves. The real wadi was miles away.”

“You’d nothing to worry about, but I was taking a bath when the illusion collapsed. Sand, sand, sand, and more sand,” Bergold chuckled, folding and refolding the map. Suddenly, he bundled it into Colenna’s hands. “Here, will you do it, dear lady? It just doesn’t like me. Ah, those were the days.”

Roan smiled. Those had been happier days than these. He and Bergold had shared many good times. Reminiscing about them just reminded him how much he liked and respected the historian. It was a relief to have him along on this journey. When he thought he would give up hope, Bergold kept their spirits going. He was a man of surprising resources.

It seemed unbelievable that it had only been a few days since the party had set out from the capital city. Roan felt he had changed since then, albeit all inside. He’d become both more confident, and less. More, because he’d been made to lead, and had surprised himself with the cooperation the party had given to him. Less, because he had never appreciated before what it took to be responsible for so many other lives. Bergold, bless him, seemed exactly the same, affable and unflappable, whatever his external appearance.

Roan eased his sore bottom to find a place that hadn’t been battered to a bruised pulp on the hard ride. He was looking forward to using the salve in his pack when they stopped.

Twilight on the plain brought with it an icy chill. Winter was coming on quickly in Wocabaht. The Sleeper’s will evoked animals and sights strange to those who’d been brought up in Celestia. Little gray bears with double thumbs and big sad eyes hugging tree boles stared at them as they passed. Night birds swooped down over their heads. Exclaiming sharply, Spar ducked one that came within a hair’s breadth of his cap.

Shadows deepened among the scanty trees and bushes, casting odd, unexpected shapes on their path. The horses trod warily. Roan thought that this thicket was what the Nightmare Forest looked like millennia or billennia ago.

“Did you hear something go ‘
bzzp
’?” Lum asked, into the sudden silence.

“Ray gun noise, bug zapper noise, or possibly an animal noise?” Bergold asked, fumbling in his pack for his useful book.

“Couldn’t say, sir,” Lum asked, swallowing deeply. “I don’t know all those technical terms.”

But a noise that needed no explanation came from behind them on the trail: a constant rhythmic thudding.

“Horses!” Misha exclaimed.

They stopped to listen. Roan strained his ears, picking out the sounds.

“It could be them,” Felan said, pulling his steed safely behind Hutchings and Alette.

“I think it’s only one horse,” Lum said.

Captain Spar drew his sword. “Could be a trap. Soldiers, on guard! Show a light, Colenna. Let’s see what it is we’re facing.”

Roan gripped his quarterstaff, and bent low over his horse’s neck, trying to get a glimpse of their pursuer. Cruiser, between his knees, let out a low nicker. What did the steed sense?

Colenna hoisted her lantern high. The strong beam burned away the shadows, and lit up the figure of a golden horse with a golden-haired girl on its back. She threw up her arm to shield her eyes. Roan knew her at once.

“Leonora!” he shouted.

“Turn that thing down!” Leonora snapped. “You’re blinding me.” Colenna cranked down the intensity until the torch was a simple flaming brand.

“Your Highness!” Spar yelled. “What are you doing here?”

Roan didn’t wait for the answer. He spurred Cruiser to her side and swept her up in his arms across his saddlebow, kissing her with all the intensity of ten essay tests behind him. She looked tired, disheveled, in an obvious temper, but beautiful as always—and there.

Her eyes, luminous and dark in the flickering light, twinkled as she sat back against his arm to see his face.

“That’s a marvelous greeting,” she said, touching his cheek playfully. “Oh, don’t put me down yet. I am so sore on the bottom I can hardly sit.”

“Where did you spring from?” Bergold asked. “I thought the Night was driving you home.”

“I couldn’t leave all of you to go on without me,” Leonora said, cuddled comfortably against Roan’s chest. Golden Schwinn rubbed noses with Cruiser, and nibbled at his bridle as if glad to see him. “I waited until we stopped to ask directions. When Sir Osprey was asking directions from that signpost, and not paying any attention to me, I sneaked my steed out of the car, made him a simulacrum out of some sticks, and made off through the woods. Now, Sir Osprey will get home with what he thinks is me, and by that time, I hope we’ve caught up with Brom. I had to chain the dog to the seat and mix up my scent. I was sorry to do that,” she said, with evident regret, “but he might have been able to track me, otherwise. After that, I just followed the roads north.”

“Well done, my love,” Roan said. “A heroic job of orienteering.”

“Thank you,” Leonora said.

“You could have missed us completely,” Bergold said, worriedly, although he was as glad to see her as Roan. “You could have been set upon by vandals, or—or swallowed up by a pothole, or disappeared into an anomaly.”