TWENTY-SIX

DINNER IS SERVED

RIGBY LOOKED OUT THROUGH THE CHAMBER WINDOW AT Old Jack. “Uncle Scovy is running rather late,” he said.

“I’m sure he’ll be along soon,” Kara said, gazing at the long bare dining table. “Madmen aren’t especially well-known for their punctuality.”

“Bezeal made it on time,” Rigby countered.

The merchant’s beady eyes narrowed. “If that was your humor,” he said, “it was dreadfully bad. Not such a surprise from someone so sad. For I am neither man, nor mad.”

Kara chuckled, but Rigby’s ensuing glare silenced her.

A bell chimed in the distance, but it was not Old Jack. “Ah,” said Rigby, “here he is at last.”

In a minute, the hulking figure of the Lurker strode into the chamber. “What?” he said. “No food? I was told there would be quite a feast.”

“Look again,” Rigby said. He gestured toward the table. It blurred, colors and odd shapes melding into the smeared sight. When it was clear once more, the table sat laden with enough food and drink for a score of gluttonous kings. Roast turkey, beef, rack of lamb, dozens of steaming split lobster tails with pools of warm butter at the ready; herb-rubbed potatoes, pots of rice and gravy, piles of fresh vegetables, salads, and fruit jostled for space among a myriad of cakes, pies, and pastries.

“Impressive,” the Lurker said. “You willed it up all at once.”

“He can do the rabbit in the hat trick too,” Kara quipped. “Show him, Rigby. Take off your top hat.”

“You’re full of laughs tonight,” Rigby said, giving her a tip of the hat. He turned back to his uncle. “Where is Kaylie?” Rigby asked. “We need her here.”

“Oh, she’s here. Come along, Kaylie. No need to be shy. These are friends.”

Kaylie emerged from the dark doorway. Eyes large and blinking, she hurried and stood at the Lurker’s side. “So this is Number 6 Rue de la Morte?” she asked.

“Yes, yes,” the Lurker replied. “The one and only home of the Nightmare Lord. Or used to be.”

“You were a little late, Uncle,” Rigby said. “Any trouble along the way?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” the Lurker replied. “Shall we?” He held a chair out for Kaylie, and once she sat down, he took the next chair.

“We need music,” Kara said. She glanced into the far corner of the chamber, where large crimson tapestries with gold-laced fringes hung. “I much prefer rock, but tonight feels a little more old school to me. How about a quartet?”

Four simple wooden chairs appeared first. Two men and two women in concert attire blinked into existence. They sat down in their respective chairs and, in a flash, each held an instrument: two violins, a viola, and a cello. A moment more, after each had a stand with sheet music, and musicians began to play a lively sonata.

“Well done, Kara,” Rigby said. “It does somehow fit the mood.”

The gatehouse bell rang out once again.

“The time has come for which we have strived,” Bezeal said, taking his seat near the head of the table. “For us, victory will be no longer deprived. It seems our guests have arrived.”

Rigby took his seat with Bezeal at his right hand, Kara at his left. The Lurker and Kaylie sat on Bezeal’s side. Rigby folded his hands, but then he frowned. “Wait,” he muttered, and the music stopped. “I almost forgot.” He flipped his left hand toward the dormant fireplace, and a merry, crackling blaze sprang up.

“Now, we’re ready,” Rigby said. “Carry on.”

The string quartet struck up the sonata with whimsical abandon, playing with rousing fervor as two figures entered the chamber.

“Keaton!” Rigby announced, making a show of rising from his seat to rush over to his guests. “Right on time.” He shook Archer’s hand and turned to Nick. “And you must be the infamous Nick Bushlander.”

“It’s Bushman, mate,” Nick said.

“Right, sure,” Rigby said. “Well, there we are. All here. Welcome to the feast of the future. Please come and take a seat.”

But as soon as Rigby stepped aside, Archer cried out, “Kaylie!” He ran to her.

“Uh, I wouldn’t,” Rigby cautioned.

But Archer paid no mind to the warning. He ran to Kaylie’s chair and embraced her. “Kaylie, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you before the Stroke of Reckoning. Are you all right? They haven’t hurt you?”

Kaylie did not return the embrace. Her head turned slowly. Her expression might have been curiosity, but nothing more. “I am no longer my own,” she said quietly. “I belong to Uncle Scovy.”

“What?” Archer said, releasing her and backpedaling as if he’d been stung. “No! Kaylie, it’s me, your brother, Archer.”

“I know who you are, Archer,” Kaylie said, her voice empty of emotion. “I am a gort-slave now. I will do what Uncle wants . . . and nothing else.”

Archer flashed to Rigby and shoved him. “You did this!” he yelled. “It wasn’t enough to have her miss her Stroke of Reckoning? You had to enslave her? What kind of—”

“Please,” Rigby said, his voice, in contrast to Archer’s outburst, a strangely unnerving kind of quiet.

“Please, Archer,” Kara said, “Take a seat.”

“C’mon, mate,” Nick said, pulling Archer back. “Let’s hear ’im out.”

“That’s good, Bushman,” Rigby said. “We need a calm mind. Haste and fear have been the source of all kinds of grave mistakes . . . for all of us.”

Archer allowed himself to be led to a chair. He and Nick sat across from the Lurker . . . and Kaylie.

“I know you may not feel like it,” Rigby said, “but please, eat. It helps to take the edge off.”

“Yeah, sure. Poison us all with gort?” Nick asked. “We’re not bloomin’ shark biscuits at this, y’know?”

“Colorful expression,” Rigby said. “Be assured, there is no gort here. Not now. You can pick at everything. Tear it to shreds with your fork and knife. You won’t find a speck of gort. Or, if you like, fill a plate, and then give it to me. I’ll eat every morsel.”

Archer stared at Rigby and said, “I’m not hungry.”

“Fine,” Rigby said. He strode back to his chair. “Then let’s get to the point, shall we? The Rift that Dreamtreaders are sworn to stop is inevitable.”

“The Rift we will stop,” Archer said flatly.

“No,” Rigby replied, “you won’t. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t stop it now. We’ve gone past the point of no return. And I want to be the first to admit I didn’t see this all the way through before I started. My app substantially underrepresented the extent our Dream fabric has frayed.”

Archer shook his head. “You think?”

“Your frustration is more than justified here, Keaton,” Rigby said. “But hear me out. We’ve both erred, we Lucid Walkers and you Dreamtreaders too. You denied the inevitable out of fear when, in reality, the Dream and the Waking World were always meant to be together. And we, well . . . we pushed it to happen too quickly. Now, the new world is on the horizon, and we’re not ready.”

Archer turned to Nick and said, “He’s stark-raving mad.”

“Maybe,” Nick replied. “Or maybe he needs us.”

“I do,” Rigby said. “I absolutely do. Things are about to change, and it’s going to be dangerous for a lot of people who just won’t understand what’s happening. It won’t be safe—or profitable—for us to be fighting each other in the midst of all that’s about to happen. The world will need us, Keaton, all of us. Without a team of experienced Walkers like us, the world doesn’t stand a chance. With all due respect to your history, three Dreamtreaders just isn’t enough.”

“What do you want, Rigby?” Archer countered. “Just say it.”

Rigby took off his top hat and placed it upside down on the table. “I want a partnership. Dream Inc. and Dreamtreaders, working together, not to keep people from really living in their dreams, but rather, to help them do so safely. I want you to stop fighting the Rift and start planning with us, putting our minds together so that we can teach the masses what to do and how to do it without killing themselves or others.”

“Even better, Archer,” Kara said, “if you’re with us, like before, you get your father back . . . and Kaylie.”

“But the gort,” Archer whispered.

“There are ways around the gort,” the Lurker said. “Kaylie is bound to my will, but if I wish her to be free—to be utterly back to normal—then she must obey.”

“And once the Rift occurs,” Rigby said, “she won’t be trapped any longer.”

“We’ll be free again,” the Lurker added.

“What about Mr. Gamber?” Archer asked.

“What, the teacher?” Rigby laughed. “He was . . . an accident, a bit of Scath mischief.”

“You wanted Amy first, didn’t you?”

“Guilty as charged,” Rigby said. “I just wanted to distract you. But listen to me, Keaton. The teacher will be free too. We all will be free.”

The room grew silent except for the crackling fire. Archer stared at Kaylie. She stared back but with no expression. Archer bowed his head.

“Look, Keaton, I know this isn’t easy,” Rigby said. “I never meant it to work out the way it did. Truth is, I just didn’t know. But now, this is the responsible thing to do. The world will need us. All of us.”

Archer lifted his head, but his shoulders were still hunched forward, his hands in his lap. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible. “What do I have to do?”

Rigby smiled and put his hand lightly on top of Kara’s hand.

“I told you he’d come around,” Kara said.

Beneath that dark hood, Bezeal’s Cheshire Cat smile spread, broad and luminous.

“Let me make some room,” Rigby said. With a quick wave of his hand, the meat, the veggies, the desserts—the whole spread—vanished.

“But I wanted the chocolate,” Bezeal muttered, the lack of rhyme communicating his displeasure.

“I’ve drawn up a contract,” Rigby said. “It is binding to us all.” He snapped his fingers, and a parchment scroll appeared in his fist. He slid it down the table to Archer and Nick. A quill pen and a bottle of ink appeared next to the scroll.

“Read it, Keaton,” Rigby said. “And then, sign it. You too, Bushman.”

Archer untied the lace around the parchment and spread the scroll out so that he and Nick could read it. Archer traced his finger down the page, line by line. He looked up suddenly. “It says here that if you violate any part of the contract, Dream Inc. becomes my property, or the property of whomever I designate as heir. Why would you do that?”

“I know my own tendencies, don’t I?” Rigby said. “If I didn’t put that in there, I might get tempted on a few points. Of course, you have your own checks and balances. Read on.”

Archer did, but Nick had read ahead. He pointed to a line in the second paragraph. “No bloomin’ way.”

Archer read it. “Gort?” he exclaimed. “You want us to take gort from you?”

“It’s the only way,” Rigby said. “Surely, you see that. I’ve got to be able to trust you. There are a lot of lives on the line. We have to make this work.”

“By making Dreamtreaders into your slaves?”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Keaton. Just read on a bit.”

Archer gritted his teeth and read on. Then he nodded. “You pledge not to abuse your control,” Archer muttered. “Why am I not encouraged?”

The Lurker pounded his fist on the table. “Enough of the snide,” he exclaimed. “We’ll never work together if he keeps this up.”

“You’ll have everyone back, Keaton,” Rigby said. “Think about it. Your father, Kaylie—even the teacher—you’ll be free to live your lives the way you wish. It’s all there in the contract. So long as you assist Dream Inc. in training people to know how to live, in preparing educational materials, and marketing, your life will be your own.”

“So the gort is just to make sure that Dreamtreaders don’t interfere with . . .”

“With company business,” Rigby said. “That’s exactly right. If you like, think of it as more of a treaty than a contract. That’s what it is.”

Archer picked up the quill pen and plunged it down into the ink bottle.