Waking up was a surprise, almost as if she hadn’t expected to. But she had to be awake, or she wouldn’t have been so painfully aware of her body. She was as weak as a newborn and ached in every joint, as if she’d been put on the rack. She was lying facedown with her limbs sprawled as if she’d fallen or been tossed down from a height. She flexed her hands. Her fingers clutched something prickly-soft. She managed to turn her head and lift it slightly. She was lying on grass.
Grass! For one joyous moment, she thought she had ended up at Deep Moor. But this grass was much too short. Tiny even blades, each one the exact copy of the next, and entirely without scent. Unnatural. She pressed weakly against the ground and it gave a little like ground should. But it released no rich, dark smell of loam, no bright sweet-green pungency of a sunny valley mead.
Erde struggled to pull herself up. When she called for the dragon and got no response, she knew exactly where she was. No, not exactly. She knew where she was . . . she just wasn’t sure where that was.
Just sitting up left her breathless. She remembered the dream, every moment, and recalled how this weakness had come upon her, how every word she had murmured in Baron Köthen’s ear was like breathing her life’s blood into the wind. She fell back on one elbow and looked around: perfect green lawn stretching as far as she could see, endless receding ranks of the smooth-trunked trees that N’Doch had called “cloned.”
How ever did I get here? she wondered.
She pondered her catapult journey to the edge of the void, and decided that not all of her travel had been a dream-state illusion. Just like she had actually touched Baron Köthen’s shoulder. That had been real, certainly. She could recall the sensation as if it was imprinted on her fingertips: the silky feel of the tabard sliding over the hard mail beneath, the smoothly jointed links close-textured like her grandmother’s beaded purse, and warm from the heat of Köthen’s body.
Erde blushed, thinking of him. She missed him already. It was absurd. It was ridiculous. How had she allowed this to happen? She knew that young girls were meant to be romantic, but this was worse than falling in love with Rainer even though she’d thought he was dead. At least Rainer was only nineteen. Köthen was at least thirty, he barely knew she existed and he lived a thousand years away. She’d never even had a conversation with him. The one time she’d met him in person, she’d still lacked her voice. Perhaps she was merely homesick. The raw dangers of 913 were at least more comprehensible than the mysteries and complications of 2013. She hoped that when she grew up, she’d finally become sensible enough to fall in love with someone she could actually spend some time with.
Meanwhile, here she was in Lealé’s “Dream Haven.” That she had come from a dream to here warranted thinking about. She wished the dragon were there to discuss it with her. She wondered how much time had passed while she’d been dream-shifted to her home time, and was anybody likely to be looking for her yet?
What she needed to do was get up right away, if she could manage, and find the doorway to Lealé’s little room. Then she could follow the passageway back to the house. Standing up was difficult, but not impossible, though once she got there, her balance was unreliable. She was, she realized, enormously thirsty. Hungry, too, although eating would require far too much energy. She staggered a little, turning step by step to scan the odd forest in all directions for a sign of where the door might be.
When she’d completed her circle—though it was hard to tell exactly, with identical views at every angle, if she really was back where she’d started—she steadied her balance and thought she had better try it again. At her next sideways turn, she let out a small shriek of surprise. A small table stood in front of her, right there on the grass where she was sure there had been no table before. It was a delicate sort of table, with a single carved central pedestal and a short, lace-trimmed square of snowy linen covering its top. Not at all the sort of object she would have missed the first time around, especially as it contained a clear glass pitcher full of water, a plate of lemon slices, and a dainty glass tumbler, all set out on an oval tray of finest silver.
Erde stared. Having just come from 913, the world of the hell-priest, she wondered if this was some sort of a trap. N’Doch, she recalled, never drank water unless he knew where it had come from. But she had a feeling about this water . . . a good feeling. A feeling that emanated from the forest around her, as if someone was whispering in her ear—as she had whispered in Köthen’s—that she mustn’t worry, everything was perfectly all right . . . at least for now.
But if it wasn’t a trap, it could still be an illusion. She was questioning reality now the way N’Doch questioned the safety of anything he put in his mouth: by habit. In the world of her growing up, reality had not been in question. Everything was real, even witches, magic, and dragons, all things that N’Doch’s world had decided not to believe in. Lately, even she had questions about witches, having been labeled one herself, and most of what she called magic, Master Djawara called “science.” The only thing she was really sure of was dragons.
So to prove that the water was real, she drank it. She felt a lot better for it afterward. Almost up to putting her mind to the problem of not having seen even a hint of a door, or anything but trees, the same tree, over and over and over again.
* * *
When they get past all the sleepers, most of them up and about by now, N’Doch and the apparition head straight for the odd little park. It’s the only place he’s seen so far that might be big enough to hold a dragon. He can feel the big guy in his head, but not so clear as he can when the girl’s around. He’s a little worried that she’s fallen asleep and they’re letting her, even with this thing about, like, going in to her dreams. But they’re the dragons, he figures. They gotta know what they’re talking about.
They walk along slow, so’s not to alert one of the “flappers.” This is how he thinks of Glory’s henchmen in their flowing white gowns. He’s teaching the apparition how to saunter, how to do it with authority, so you don’t get bothered on the streets by just anyone thinking you might look like a mark. The kid’s not real good at it yet. Sauntering doesn’t really suit its dragon nature. But N’Doch thinks it’s worth a try anyway.
At the edge of the park, the apparition stops along the gravel path and stares into the trees like it was reading a book.
“What?” asks N’Doch. He figures it’s okay to talk aloud out here, with no one around to listen. He doubts if the big bankroll’s likely to be bugging the woods.
The apparition points toward a corner of the park, where the trees are the thickest. N’Doch looks, then shrugs.
—Look carefully.
N’Doch sighs and looks again. And then he notices that, everywhere else, he can see the far surrounding wall through the straight smooth trunks. In that one corner, he can’t. The trees must be thicker there, he thinks, though he sees no change in their spacing.
—I’m going in there.
“Sure, okay. Let’s go.”
The apparition shakes its head, puts a finger to its lips.
—You stay here at the edge and watch me. Keep in constant contact and tell me when you lose sight of me. If you lose contact . . .
—I’ll be right in there after you, don’t worry.
—No! Tell my brother Earth, if you can hold that connection, or go wake up Erde immediately and tell them both what has occurred. If you come in alone, we may both be lost.
“Easy, man. Glory ain’t gonna let the punks and muggers hang around where they could be hurting her business, y’know.”
—Do as I say!
N’Doch sulks, but when the dragon gets this tone on, he knows he’s gotta pay attention. He scuffs the gravel, looks around for something to lean against.
—I’m gonna look like some terrific kinda guy, letting my small bro wander off into the bushes by himself.
The apparition turns just inside the first row of trees and flashes him a grin.
—Just tell ’em I went in there to pee.
N’Doch watches, trying not to look like he’s watching, in case he’s the one being watched. The apparition pads off purposely through the trees, exactly like it’s looking for a likely spot. N’Doch smiles. This kid’s all right, he thinks. Maybe Fâtime won’t have a coronary when she sees him, if N’Doch prepares her right.
The trees don’t seem to be closing in around the apparition as he goes, though by now he’s already farther in than he should be able to go, judging from where the wall is everywhere else. N’Doch checks it out to either side and checks back. The kid’s still walking. N’Doch thinks maybe the wall takes a big jog out there where he can’t see it. No reason, after all, why the lot has to be square.
And then, between one step and the next, the kid is gone. Like, in a heartbeat.
“Yo!” N’Doch sputters. He takes a few long steps forward, and then remembers.
—Hey! You there? You all right?
—Yes, of course. Why?
—You disappeared!
—Really?
—You didn’t, like, step behind a tree or something?
—No. Wait a minute. Keep watching.
An instant later, he’s there again, waving through the trees like some kind of tourist. He vanishes again, reappears, vanishes, reappears.
“Awesome,” N’Doch murmurs.
—What does it look like from there?
—Like you’re switching yourself on and off like a light. What’s it look like from there?
—Come ahead and find out.
N’Doch scans the view in both directions. One flapper by the garage putting the final polish on the Glory Car’s headlights. Whole bunches of “guests” moving about in the front yard, paying him no mind whatsoever. N’Doch saunters into the trees. Before he gets to him, the apparition vanishes again.
—Hey!
—Just walk straight. You’ll get here.
He stops, glances back at the house. Hardly seems like he’s covered any ground at all. He shrugs and keeps going. Ahead of him is nothing but trees, and he’s thinking he’s gone wrong somehow when all of a sudden, he’s there.
The trees open out into a big grassy clearing, shaded by overarching branches. In the middle of it sit two dragons. N’Doch looks behind him again. The house and grounds are right there, not a hundred yards away.
“Total bizarro,” he remarks, and turns back to the dragons. It’s kind of a leap for him, seeing her in dragon form again. He was just getting used to the apparition. But he can’t help but notice all over again how beautiful she is.
“Lookin’ good, girl,” he muttered.
They’re both sorta grinning at him.
“Guess you guys figure you’re safe here. . . .”
—As safe as any place around here, and a lot more comfortable.
“You’re pretty glad to be out from underground, huh?” he says to the big guy, who flexes his muscular neck, looks around and seems to shrug in a pleasantly ironic fashion.
—My name is Earth. I was born underground.
“Oh. Right. Sorry.” N’Doch has to admit it’s about time he started calling the big guy by his actual name. It’s just, well, it sounds weird going around referring to someone as “Earth.” Of course, it’s no weirder than everyone calling him “Water.”
—You weren’t born underground.
—I was. Under the mountain.
—No, that was later. We were all born together, at one instant, out of elemental matter. You don’t find that under any old mountain.
Earth looks both interested and mournful.
—You are wise, my sister. You recall so much of our beginnings.
—Not enough, or I’d have some idea what our brother Fire thinks he’s up to.
“What’s his problem, this brother of yours?”
—He was always the most volatile.
“He’s like his name, huh?”
—As are all of us.
N’Doch considers, and has to agree. “Can’t wait to see what his dragon guide looks like.”
—If he’s awake, he must have heard the Summons. Why would he be plotting against us?
—Did I mention he was also the most devious?
—Sister! A dragon would never be devious!
Water pulls her sleek little head back as far as her long neck will allow, and stares at the big guy as if he’s from Mars.
—No wonder that girl of yours has such antiquated notions!
N’Doch just has to laugh. “She awake yet?” he asks Earth, sort of to let the pressure off him. This Water gal is beautiful, but she’s not too long on tact.
—I have not wanted to wake her. Perhaps I should . .
—We were going to make a quick food run, is what he means. You already got to eat, remember.
“Hey, go for it. I’ll take a walk back and check in on her. Listen, you think Glory . . . I mean, Lealé knows about this place, y’know, what it does in here?”
—It would explain why she thinks it’s the same as the wood outside her “Dream Haven.”
“Is it, do you think?”
—There are intriguing similarities, but until we’ve gone there . . .
“Yeah. Who can tell? Okay, you guys go eat. I’m heading back.”
* * *
He intends to check on the girl all right, but what he really has in mind is a closer look inside the house. Now he’s got himself free of all his recent encumbrances, he figures he can do it pretty quick and pretty thorough. Never know what he might find in there.
He looks for a back way in, but there’s only the front door and the big ceremonial side entrance for the “guests,” and they’re lined up two deep out there, winding all the way around the neat stone terrace a few times and ending up down on the lawn.
Got her hands full this afternoon, he thinks. He wonders if her spirit guide gives her a Dream each for every one of these poor suckers, how he could possibly have the time, especially if he’s busy plotting against his siblings. If he is this Fire guy, that is.
Another dragon. N’Doch wipes his brow on his forearm. That’s all he needs.
He finds the front door unlocked but not unguarded. Two flappers are sitting up beside the columns in lawn chairs, fanning themselves. N’Doch opts for sheer chutzpah, and strolls right by them with a smile and a little wave. They nod at him, none too graciously. Apparently the word’s gone out that he’s here at the Mahatma’s invitation.
He’s glad to be back in the air conditioning again, though the central hallway is so dark, it really does give him the creeps. Maybe the Mahatma’s trying to save money on electricity. He puts his hand to the first big brass knob he sees. He turns it quietly, expecting resistance, but it opens easily into bright, even light and the sounds of keypads, cooling fans, and drive hum. Under that, work chatter. An office. Well, if he’d had light enough out in the hall, he could’ve read the sign on the door. He backs out silently. No point disturbing the daily maintenance of the Mahatma Glory’s financial empire. Now he wishes he’d had the nerve to ask Lealé how much it costs for one of these Readings of hers.
The next door down is already open. N’Doch peeks into a long dim room full of sofas and draperies and china lamp bases, sort of like the alcove off the dining room, only richer and more formal. Huge vases of flowers decorate carved ebony tables so polished you could see yourself in them. There are dark paintings with heavy gold frames and their own hidden spotlights. It smells like leather and cigar smoke and, well, money. It’s exactly how N’Doch imagines the rich people live, except this room doesn’t look much like anyone lives here. More like it’s for people to come to now and again, and pretend that they do.
He thinks he’ll just try it on for size himself, seeing there’s no one here trying to stop him. He goes in, strolls around a bit. He sees a newspaper, actual printout, sees that it’s about everywhere else in the world but here and passes it by. He picks an oblong silver box, looks it over longingly, then opens it a crack. Out flows the heady thick aroma of expensive tobacco. He’s tempted. He’s not much for smoking cigars, but the barter value on the street is astronomical. He sets down the box, exactly as he found it. It won’t do to go getting acquisitive this early in his stay. Plenty of time when he’s leaving to lift the odd little treasure or two.
He strolls around a bit more. He spots a minute silver coke spoon on a tiny silver tray. This really tempts him—it’s so portable. But he moves on, feeling virtuous, until a glimmer of crystal and amber draws him toward a shadowed corner and a whole tray of decanters and glasses, the big round kind with the stubby stems. N’Doch whistles low through his teeth and selects a decanter at random. He lifts the diamond-shaped stopper, and an even headier scent curls out and around him like a finger beckoning. This summons he cannot refuse. Besides, who’s gonna know? Isn’t that what it’s here for? He pours a few inches of the golden liquid into a glass, then replaces the decanter as carefully as he did the cigar box. He carries his prize around a bit, just liking the bulbous smooth feel of the glass in his hand. Then he spots two big leathers chairs with high backs flanking a brick fireplace. There’s a coldflame log burning cheerily in the grate.
He eases himself down into one of the chairs. The leather groans under him as sweetly as a woman. He kicks off the horrible plastic sandals that Papa Djawara made him wear into the City, and digs his toes into the deep pile of the carpet. He is memorizing every sensation. He tries to convinces himself otherwise, but deep in his heart, N’Doch does not really believe he’ll be rich someday, some fantastic overnight sensation. He knows that’s a line he’s bought from the media, ’cause he had no other line available to him at the moment, no other way out he could believe in. He raises the glass to his lips and touches his tongue to the liquid, then leans back, savoring the deep bite, the honey that burns to the back of his throat and sends its sweet heat up into his nostrils.
Tears come to his eyes, and he tells himself it’s the liquor. He doesn’t brush them away. He stares at the dancing fire that produces no heat, and slowly consumes the entire glass, the finest Armagnac. When it’s gone, he carefully sets the glass down on the table beside him, and falls asleep.