Now the rushing motion was in Cy’s head. His mind and emotions were dragged into a whirling river of thought. Then, quite suddenly, it stopped. Cy teetered. Black abyss all around. The silence was terrifying. Cy opened his mouth to speak and found that he couldn’t. He tried to reach out with his hands and found he was unable to. He was unable to move, unable to think.
Round him a current still flowed but less strongly. And, as it slowed even more, he was aware that the Dream Master was there.
‘Listen,’ the dwarf spoke urgently, ‘the dream-time has a certain length, and you cannot change that. When it’s time to leave . . . you leave. Capisce?’
Cy nodded. He was beginning to regain a hold on his own reality.
‘It must be absolutely understood,’ said the dwarf, ‘that when the dream goes, so do you. Although I don’t know when that will be exactly.’
‘In the books I read, it was always on the stroke of midnight,’ Cy suggested helpfully.
The dwarf rolled his eyes. ‘Great Giza,’ he said. ‘He thinks he’s Cinderella.’
The flowing current had now stopped completely. Cy looked about. They appeared to be in a long stone corridor. A long, dark, stone corridor.
‘Right,’ said the dwarf. ‘This should be Ancient Egypt, roughly at the same point where you left off.’
‘We should be in the desert, then,’ said Cy.
‘And we’re not, are we?’ said the dwarf. He chewed his lip. ‘I think we’re further on.’
‘Further on . . . where?’ asked Cy.
‘Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?’ said the dwarf, glancing about anxiously.
Cy peered around. ‘I can’t see anything.’
‘Open your eyes, why don’t you?’
Cy put his hand to his face and touched his eyes. ‘They are open,’ he said. ‘I hate dreams like this. I need some help here.’
‘Do I have to do absolutely everything for you?’ snapped the dwarf.
‘A suggestion would be helpful,’ Cy snapped back.
‘Try saying “Let there be light”, why don’t you?’
Cy tried to imagine an electric light. He thought of a fluorescent tube. A long column, glowing bluish-white, appeared in his hand. ‘This had better not be Obi-wan Kenobi’s light-sabre,’ said Cy.
The beam flickered and disappeared. A torch would be more useful, thought Cy. There was a clunk as something solid landed at his feet.
‘Ah,’ said Cy. He picked it up and clicked the switch. Nothing happened.
‘Batteries not included,’ sniggered a voice in his ear.
‘With batteries,’ Cy said aloud. A beam of light spread out before them. ‘Omigosh!’ said Cy. Two paces directly in front of him was a pit. ‘I could have fallen in there,’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ said the dwarf nastily.
‘I think I want a rope,’ said Cy.
‘How do you know there aren’t snakes in there?’ asked the dwarf.
‘Because . . .’ Cy hesitated. Then he laughed. ‘Because I didn’t think there would be.’
The dwarf made a hissing noise. ‘Are you sure? You’ve thought of them now though, haven’t you? So they might be down there waiting for you.’ And he chuckled.
‘Don’t be so horrible,’ said Cy. He shone the torch ahead of him. ‘I don’t need a rope, anyway. I’ve decided that there are stairs leading down to a large room. Let’s go.’
Cy touched the walls on either side as he led the way down the long staircase.
‘Are we in a pyramid?’ he asked. ‘Or somewhere in the Valley of the Kings?’
‘You tell me,’ said the dwarf.
Cy lifted his torch and shone it around the room they had just entered. The walls were covered in bright paintings with row upon row of hieroglyphics in vertical lines. Scenes of families at work in the fields, bakers making bread and a potter working at his wheel made a frieze around the sides of the room. Four great statues guarded the entrance to another chamber.
Cy turned to the dwarf. ‘Should I go on?’
The Dream Master shrugged. ‘Do you want to?’
Cy nodded. He pointed ahead. ‘I want to know what’s in there.’
The dwarf’s eyes narrowed. ‘But you should know what’s in there. You are dreaming this up as you go along . . . aren’t you?’
Cy looked away quickly. ‘Umm . . .’ he said, and his heart gave a quick flip. Perhaps he still had it in his mind that they had been making the Great Pyramid in class today, and that was why they were here . . . in some kind of burial chamber. But truthfully, he knew that he hadn’t actually dreamt this up. It had just happened on its own. Also, things seemed to be happening incredibly quickly, at the very instant he thought about them. In fact . . . almost faster than he was thinking them.
The dwarf pulled at Cy’s sleeve. ‘You are dreaming this, aren’t you? I mean, you haven’t lost control of the dream, or anything?’
‘Of course not.’ Cy shook himself free and walked on. ‘Omigosh,’ he said as he entered the next room.
They were now in a burial antechamber, which was crammed full of everything that might be of use in a long Afterlife. There were urns and jugs of gold and beaten brass, ebony and cedarwood statues, many pieces of furniture, food and drink, amulets, necklaces, jewellery and precious stones. Every centimetre of the walls and roof had been painted upon. Figures, dancing, sitting and standing glowed vibrantly down at them.
‘This must be a Pharaoh’s tomb,’ said Cy as he wandered around, picking up objects to look at them and replacing them carefully. There were little wooden statues covered with beaten gold, heavy armbands studded with glass beads and precious stones, boxes with intricate inlays, and some small model soldiers. An alabaster jar gleamed softly, the figures on the side silhouetted in the light. In one corner stood a wooden mummy case. In another was a throne-like chair with a leopard’s head on each arm and four paws for feet.
A decorated chest showed the Pharaoh with his wife. Cy stared harder. Just for the briefest flicker Cy had thought that the Pharaoh had looked a bit like his dad. He looked again at the Pharaoh’s wife. Tall ostrich feathers rose proudly from her head-dress, and immediately above was the shape of the long cross with the loop at the top. The ankh. Eternal life. The magical symbol of the life of the soul . . . Cy rubbed the back of his neck. He had an odd feeling growing inside . . . as if there was someone else close by. It must be the drawings, Cy told himself. He was surrounded by them. Scenes from everyday life, people working in the fields, hunting, fishing, and trapping birds with nets. The hieroglyphics on the wall seemed to resonate with colour. The clothes on the painted figures glistened white, their kohl-ringed eyes gazed out at him. Cy shivered. Lauren was right. He had too much imagination.
But the feeling of being watched was overpowering. Was it the sign-writing which was making him so uncomfortable? The little pictures of the birds and animals with their bright eyes. Or the larger statues, some of which had glass eyes which caused them to regard you with an eerie, lifelike look? Cy took a firm grip of his thoughts and tried to concentrate.
The prickly sensation still didn’t go away. He paused to look at some papyrus scrolls and then, on the outer rim of his hearing he heard a soft noise.
Cy froze. He hadn’t imagined that, had he? Not intentionally . . . but in a way he had, because nothing could exist in this dream without him thinking about it, even if only for a microsecond. Could it?
Cy lifted his head and listened. There it was again . . . a soft creaking noise, and then, suddenly, he was aware of a movement. He whirled round. The noise was coming from inside the wooden mummy case standing upright in the corner.