Even in a zoo, Archer had never seen so many strange and interesting animals. In the Dream, sure, but never in the waking world. Rigby’s family had a lemur, a tapir, a fennec fox, a sand cat, and even a red panda. There were dozens of animals, some quite cute and others, not so much.
“You sure you want to do this?” Rigby asked. “Now that you’ve seen how many there are?”
“Bet’s a bet,” Archer said. “So how do I take care of them all?”
Rigby grinned. “You have no idea what a relief it will be to not have to do this for a few days.” He patted the top of a hutch, and the two gray ferrets that had been tangling inside instantly separated and darted away to hide. “Okay then, the one thing they all have in common is that they need water . . .”
So began an intensive half hour of curious creature care. Aside from the universal water need, these animals had completely peculiar diets: everything from premanufactured food pellets to tiny frozen mice to bamboo leaves. And, of course, there was the matter of cleaning out the cages.
Some of the pens had little trays that slid out from under to allow relatively easy dumping of critter poop, but others were much more complicated. A few required Archer to physically climb into a pen to get at the offensive animal droppings. Once, a lemur named Sherlock got hold of Archer’s dark red hair and started to chew on it. That had been mildly alarming, but a sweet-natured female barn owl made up for it by perching on Archer’s shoulder. She seemed perfectly content to ride there while Archer did his rounds.
“Whoa, Doctor Who really likes you,” Rigby said. “She’s normally pretty shy.”
“Reminds me of Razz,” Archer muttered half to himself as he admired the beautiful bird.
“Who’s Razz?”
“Uh . . . just an old pet of mine.”
Rigby raised an eyebrow. “What kind of pet?”
Archer didn’t know what kind of creature she was. She was just Razz. But Rigby was waiting for an answer, and it would seem odd not to know. “Kind of a flying squirrel,” Archer said.
“Really? Well, that’s one creature we’ve never had here.” He paused thoughtfully for a few moments. “I suppose that’s pretty much it. You good? I’ve got a bit of running around to do. You don’t have to lock the door when you go.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yeah, why?” Rigby asked. “You’re okay down here, right?”
Archer frowned. “Well yeah, sure. Doctor Who and I can handle things.”
“Right, then,” Rigby said. “See you tomorrow in school.”
“Uh . . . hey, Rigby?”
“Yeah?”
“The other day, during the fight,” Archer said, “I saw you do something.”
Rigby’s smile vanished for a split second, but then it was back. “Oh, oh, that’s Krav Maga,” he said. “It’s Israeli martial arts, actually a combination of all kinds of—”
“Not your fighting style,” Archer said. “Not really. Some of the strikes were the fastest I’ve seen, but I’m talking about what you did to the knife.”
That took care of the smile. “I didn’t do anything to the knife,” he said. “I never touched it, and Mr. Booring or whatever his name is took it.”
“How’d you do it?” Archer asked. “How’d you turn the knife into flowers like that?”
Rigby laughed. Hard. “Look, Archer, I don’t know what you think you saw . . .” His voice trailed off. His eyes flicked back and forth, and he frowned. Then, the smile was back. “Listen, I’ve got to get going, but . . . ah, tell ya what. I’ve got a club going here at school. That’s where I’m headin’ now. Maybe you could come sometime, and maybe we could talk about what you think you saw.” He didn’t wait for Archer to answer. He turned and walked away.
Archer listened to Rigby’s retreating footsteps in the hall, on the stairs, and then somewhere overhead. After that, other than the nonstop chattering of the animal kingdom, Rigby’s house was silent.
Club? What did Rigby mean by that? Then, Archer laughed as a new thought occurred to him. Son of a gun, he’s starting a magic trick club. That’s how he did it. Man, he’s fast. It made sense now. Given how quick Rigby could throw a punch or strike, it was clear that he’d used that speed to switch the flowers with the knife.
No, Archer thought. Part of his mind wasn’t ready to let that slide. I’m not buying that. It’s not like Rigby was carrying flowers around all day just in case he could switch them with someone.
There wasn’t much he could do about it at the moment, so Archer set to work. It gave him time to think about something besides Rigby Thames. So many variables paraded through his mind: the puzzle box, Bezeal, the confession to Master Gabriel, Kara Windchil’s most recent attitude changes, the ever-increasing number of breaches in the Dream, the missing Dreamtreaders, the mysterious Windmaiden, and more. Even Amy Pitsitakas made a suprise visit to Archer’s thoughts. What was that about?
Through steady efforts, Archer finally finished his new chore routine. It really wasn’t all that bad, actually. Well, the fecal disposal really was all that bad. But other than doodie duty, Archer enjoyed working with the animals. They seemed to accept him, especially Doctor Who. He had a hard time putting her back into her cage just before he left.
He bid the animals farewell and made his way back up the long hallway to the stairs. But at the stairs, he paused a moment. There was something about the door at the other end of the hall. Archer glanced up to the first floor, listened intently for a few ticks, and then slipped around the corner into the darkness.
With just a few steps, Archer stood directly in front of the door. It was metal, some kind of thick metal with riveted panels. There was a vertical handle and a digital keypad. It was obviously locked, but Archer tried a gentle push anyway.
It didn’t budge. Not a centimeter. The handle had a slight vibration to it, and Archer took his hand away. What on earth is behind this door? It certainly wasn’t normal. Rich people did have a reputation for being eccentric, but what was it? A bomb shelter? An international spy center? A hidden crypt full of vampires?
Okay, Archer thought. Where did the vampire thing come from? He quietly laughed at himself. He was about to leave when an absurd idea entered his mind. He crept closer to the door. Then, ever so slowly, he leaned his head close. Closer. Now his ear actually touched the cold metal of the door.
The whole basement seemed to go silent. Archer pressed his ear flat against the metal and squinted. He thought there was nothing at first, but then he heard it. It was a faint pulse of air, kind of a shooshing sound. But there was something else too, a quiet, steady beeping.
For no reason that Archer could explain, he felt suddenly very afraid. He pulled his head away from the door and took to the stairs. He left Rigby’s home, hopped on his bike, and didn’t look back. There was something behind that door in the basement. Archer felt certain that whatever it was, it wasn’t good.
NINETEEN
MASTER GABRIEL’S THIRD VISIT
“TIME TO FACE THE MUSIC,” ARCHER MUTTERED, SHUTTING his bedroom door. He’d let it linger on his conscience for too long already. Before he could talk himself out of it, he went straight to his closet and took down The Dreamtreader’s Creed. In the back of the heavy book, there was a pocket containing a single white feather. It was only for emergencies, but it was the only way he could contact Master Gabriel on his own terms.
Archer sat down on his bed and removed the feather. He glanced at his bedside table, at the lumpy piles of ash still there, the ominous remnants from the Tokens of Doom. Two leaves, a black feather, a segment of chain, now all turned to ash. What could it mean?
Archer was about to toss the “messenger” feather into the air when a mental sledgehammer struck him a glancing blow. He stared down at the white feather . . . and thought about the black feather. If the Nightmare Lord planted the tokens on me before I touched anchor, could the black feather be a kind of messenger feather? But to summon whom? Archer swallowed. What would have
happened had Archer thrown that feather up in the air? It was time. Archer tossed the white feather into the air. There was a small burst of sparkling light, and the single feather became a pair of small golden wings. They fluttered and spiraled up to the ceiling and vanished.
Archer shook his head. “This is going to sting.”
“What is going to sting?” Master Gabriel asked, appearing just a foot from Archer’s shoulder.
Archer caught his breath. “That was rather sudden,” he said, trying to slow his racing heart.
“You do not often summon me, Archer,” he said. “I felt I had better hurry.”
That comment immediately added three more bricks to the weight Archer had already been carrying on his shoulders. He sighed.
“What has gone wrong?”
“I have, Master Gabriel,” Archer said, closing The Dreamtreader’s Creed and laying it beside him on the bed. “I’ve gone wrong.”
“What do you mean?” The old master’s dark eyes grew large. “You have not attempted another one-man storming of Shadowkeep, have you?”
“No, not that.”
“I suppose not, or you probably would not be here.”
Archer took in a deep breath. “I defied your command.”
“Ah, I understand your original comment now. Yes, this will sting. Which command, Archer?”
Archer stood up and went to his closet. He came back with the silver puzzle box and handed it to Master Gabriel.
There was a moment of strangling tension, and Master Gabriel said, “I see.”
“I’m sorry, Master Gabriel,” Archer said. “It’s just, I’d made a deal with Bezeal, a blood pact, and honestly, I just wanted to strike some kind of blow that matters in this fight. So I went into Archaia, I faced the Lurker, and I took the silver puzzle box.”
“I know,” Master Gabriel said simply.
“I wouldn’t have escaped . . .” Archer’s mouth snapped shut and he blinked. “Wait, you know?”
“I have tried to explain to you, Archer, that my vantage is different from yours. I have sources you know nothing about. I took the liberty of confronting Bezeal about the ‘blood pact.’ Even for him, that was a low play. I forbade him to force you to honor that pact, and that was when he revealed that you had already done so . . . to a point.”
Archer sighed. “Oh, oh, man,” he said. “You have no idea how relieved I am to know that . . . well, that you know. I felt so guilty and—”
“Foolish novice!” Master Gabriel said, his voice suddenly like a cannon blast. “This issue is not about making you feel at ease. In this action, you have sent a rippling wave through the Dream, and who can say where it will crash? You may have done yourself and others irreparable harm.”
“Master Gabriel, I—”
“Archer?” The voice, high and soft, sweet with curiosity—shut off all other conversation. Master Gabriel vanished in a brief sparkle. Archer turned, and there stood Kaylie in her footie pajamas.
“Kaylie?” Archer said, staring back and forth between her and the door frame. “What are you doing still up?”
“It’s only 9:30,” she said. “Who’s Master Gabriel?”
Archer fought back the urge to shout. “I . . . well . . . you know . . . it’s . . . what?”
“When I opened the door, you were talking. You said, ‘Master Gabriel’ something or other. But no one else is in here . . . is there?”
“No, no, Kaylie,” he said. “You’re right, of course. No one’s in my bedroom, except you. Oh, hey, hey, glad you came in. I wanted to ask you something.”
“Really?” She put her doll in the crook of her arm and clapped. “What, what?”
“You kind of like weird animals, right?”
“Only the cute ones,” she said, nodding emphatically. “Did you know that some sloths are so slow that algae grows on their coats?”
“Uhm, no,” Archer said. “I didn’t know that. But listen, Kaylie, how would you like to see a ton of rare animals? Bunches of cute ones too?”
Kaylie actually bounced. “Really? Really, Archer? Are you going to take me to the zoo?”
“Close enough,” he said. “This new kid I’ve been hanging out with at school, he has a ton of pets. I mean a ton of pets. And they are some of the wildest, coolest things you’ve ever seen. Especially this barn owl named Doctor Who.”
“Oh, I get it,” she said. “Who, who!”
“Exactly,” he said. “So what do you think? You want to go over and see the animals with me tomorrow after school?”
She didn’t answer but padded across the bedroom floor and slammed a hug into Archer’s legs.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said. He knelt down to be at her level and gave her a hug back. “Now, Kaylie, you know you’re always welcome in here, but when the door’s shut, you need to knock, remember?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll remember next time.”
“Okay, thanks,” he said, ushering her out of the bedroom.
As Kaylie departed, Archer heard her say, “That glowy stuff around the door was cool. You need to show me how to do that.”
Archer shut the door and swallowed. Master Gabriel appeared two heartbeats later. So did his ethereal door sealant.
“Your sister?” he asked.
Archer nodded. “How’d she get in? No one’s ever gotten in before when you’re here. Is something wrong with your power?”
Master Gabriel scowled. “Nothing is wrong with my power! The foolish notion!”
“Well, how did Kaylie open the door, then?”
“I . . . well, I do not know. That should not have happened. Only a chosen Dreamtreader can break a dreamseal. Could it be that you did not shut it flush initially?”
Archer went to the door. “It does stick sometimes . . . in the summer. Especially when it’s humid.” His voice trailed off. “It wasn’t that hot today, though . . .”
“Be that as it may,” Master Gabriel said. “We have a discussion to finish.”
Archer’s shoulders sagged. “I am sorry, Master Gabriel,” he said. “I shouldn’t have defied you. I know it now. I know it. It’s just that, with Duncan and Mesmeera missing, I’m all alone out there. Razz is cool, but she’s not another Dreamtreader.” The next thought he would not speak aloud, but it was something that had bothered him for years. I wouldn’t be alone, Master Gabriel, if you’d come with me . . . and fight.
Master Gabriel’s expression softened. Something like sadness or regret rode on his brow like an unwanted hitchhiker. “So, then, there was no sign of Duncan nor Mesmeera in Archaia? They were not captives of the Lurker?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Archer admitted. “I never saw them. The Lurker spoke as if they’d been there, but then Bezeal said something about them escaping. But then they hit their anchors without checking for Tendrils. But Bezeal was holding something back. I don’t trust that story, but I don’t know what else to believe. Perhaps this has something to do with the Windmaiden . . .”
“Windmaiden?” Gabriel echoed sourly. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve never seen her,” Archer said. “But she speaks through the air. She guided me to my anchor that time . . . that time I faced the Nightmare Lord. If it weren’t for her . . . I don’t think I would have made it.”
“I do not know this Windmaiden,” Gabriel said slowly. “If indeed she did help you, I am grateful, but, Archer, you should know that there are Walkers about in the Dream.”
“Walkers? Like something from the Nightmare Lord, something new?”
“No, something old,” he replied. “Very old. They are called Lucid Walkers. They are people, not Dreamtreaders, but people entering dreams consciously. Like common thieves, they break in. They have no right to manipulate the world within the Dream, and yet they do. And no good comes of it. It never does. This Windmaiden may be such a one.”
“But she helped me,” Archer said. “There was no evil intent.”
“So far as you know,” M
aster Gabriel said. “Understand that every time these Lucid Walkers enter the Dream, they tear breaches larger than those of the scurions. If you meet one, even this Windmaiden, you must convince him or her to return to the Temporal and never Walk again. Explain to them the damage they are causing, the tragedy of a rift.”
“Okay,” Archer said. “Okay, I will.”
“I need to depart. Stick to your schedule, Archer. Stick to it tightly. Weave as many breaches as you can.”
“I really don’t want to ask this,” Archer said. “But is that it? No consequences for defying you? I deserve—”
“You have no idea what you deserve,” Master Gabriel said. “As for your consequences, I give you the most severe of any: you will have to see this through. You take the silver puzzle box to Bezeal. Resolve your pact and be done with it. But know that the consequences may be dire.”
DREAMTREADERS CREED, CONCEPTUS 4
Concerning those who call the Dream their home:
The three districts of the Dream are home to many races, creeds, and cultures. The flora and fauna are as rich and distinctive as any on earth. And the corral of creatures is especially full. It is an odd reality that, of the creatures dreamt up by the billions of sleepers on any given night, the vast majority of them are monstrous. This is no doubt due to the influence of the reigning Nightmare Lord.
From time to time, the creatures become so prolific that all three Dreamtreaders must stray from their normal activities. They must go forth on hunting expeditions to reduce the numbers of the most dangerous of these creations. We call this the Festival of Culling, but it is hardly a holiday. This is an extremely perilous task, for the beasts of Nightmare are brutal and vicious and numerous. That said, the rewards earned for a successful Culling are, quite literally, beyond one’s wildest dreams.
TWENTY
PATCHWORK
ARCHER WANTED TO GO STRAIGHT TO BEZEAL, BUT THE number of breaches evident when he arrived in the Dream wouldn’t allow it. There were whole new patches in almost every fiefdom. With Razz’s help, he managed to sew them up by the eighth toll, leaving very little time for travel, a search for Bezeal, and any confrontation that could ensue.