“Am I ever,” she said, pulling out a barbed needle and a tiny spool of ether silk. She spun three revolutions so that her two fuzzy tails flapped together. It was Razz’s way of clapping. “Uhm . . . but where are we?”
“Bavanda, for starters,” Archer said. “Now perch, would ya? You’re making me dizzy with all the spins.”
“Oop! Sorry!” she squeaked. She curled once more and then lighted on Archer’s shoulder. He shook his head. Razz couldn’t be any cuter. A swirl of brown, gray, and white fur covered every inch of her. She had huge dark eyes, tiny angled ears, and a tapered face. Her nose, feet, and hands were all the same pink flesh tone, and the little black line of her mouth always seemed curled in a smile.
She had a dark, amber-colored stripe that flowed from her wrists down the length of the skin folds that served as her gliding wings. “Racing stripes,” Razz called them, and she meant it. For Razz, speed was the meaning of life. Unlike flying squirrels in the Temporal, Razz propelled herself. Archer wasn’t sure how. She flapped her arms a little, but seemed to get most of her speed in the air. Maybe she used Intrusions too, Archer thought. Aside from two tails and powered flight, there was one other feature that made Razz different from her earthly counterparts: she loved high fashion.
Razz bounced on Archer’s shoulder. “Well,” she said, batting her eyelashes. “What do you think?”
She wore a black acorn hat like a French beret, a bright red rose scarf, and a stylish pocketed vest that seemed cut from some dark blue glossy leaf. In the sun’s orange light, the vest looked very much like leather. She wore dark blue pantaloons that caught the air like sails as she posed on Archer’s shoulder.
Archer wasn’t sure what to say.
“I’ll take your speechlessness as a compliment,” she said, flicking the scarf over her shoulder.
Archer shrugged. He strode up to the vine-strewn gate of the walled city. “Hail, Bavandan Gatekeepers!” he called out to the pair of dream soldiers patrolling the perimeter.
“Hail, young Archer,” the portly guard called back.
“Hail and welcome!” his thinner companion added.
“I’m looking for breaches, as usual,” Archer explained. “And news.”
“We have both,” the first guard replied, his tunic-straining stomach jiggling. “Isn’t that right, Harp?”
“That’s full right, Jovi. Three breaches in Trellis Square. And you’ll get more news than a man can bear from Lady Kasia.”
“More than you can bear, Harp,” Jovi said. “You’ve got the patience of an itchy toddler.”
“That’s enough to beat you in chess any day,” Harp replied.
The bell chimed: Old Jack announcing two o’clock. The guards hadn’t changed expression, not the tiniest bit. They hadn’t heard it. Only Archer had.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Archer said, leaving the guards to bicker in peace at the gate. Breaches in Trellis Square, Archer thought turning behind the main wall. Gabriel knew what he was talking about.
The kingdom teemed with villagers, light, and greenery. A gentleman and his ladylove rode by on their giant oblong bicycle. It looked like it had been built from junkyard materials. But what they lacked in material riches, they made up for with a wealth of kindness and courtesy. The man saluted Archer, and the lady blew him a neighborly kiss.
Candles burned in every window, on every rail and balcony. It was like touring an open cathedral the size of a football stadium. Archer loved the warm glow of so many flickering lights. He loved everything about the city. The folk of Bavanda took great pride in growing things: trees, shrubs, flowers, vegetables, and vines. Especially vines.
Trellis Square was a grand courtyard, a hundred yards across, and fully scaffolded in every direction by white trellises. There were vines with crimson thorns and blooms of purple and white that exploded to the hand-width overhead. There were dark green cables with elephant-ear leaves and plum-colored, low-hanging fruit. And there were web-like threads of white lace weaving among the other vines. The air was filled with their “wishes”: small, feathery floating seeds that glowed a faintly luminous blue.
“I’ll be right back,” Razz said. Before Archer could object, she catapulted herself into the air. The squirrel disappeared for a moment in the foliage, only to burst out in another place. She resumed her station on Archer’s shoulder and wore one of the giant dark purple petals as a kind of cape.
“Accessorizing,” she said. “It’s what separates us from the beasts.”
Archer couldn’t help the laugh that crashed through his nose in a monstrous snort. Bavandan villagers stopped and stared, giggled, and continued on their way.
“See what you made me do,” Archer grumbled, but he wasn’t angry. The whole incident had lifted his spirits. Yet as Archer delved deeper into the square, any levity vanished. The vast beauty of Bavanda gave way to heartache as only the corruption of beauty can. Cobbled stone, intricate wooden lattice, and lush trailing vines fell away to a shredding kind of rot. This corner of Trellis Square looked as if it had been punctured. Dream matter surged in and out of gaps torn right into the air. There were indeed three breaches and what looked like the start of a fourth. Villagers formed small circles at safe distances and spoke in hushed voices. Many stared. A few pointed. Some wept.
“He’s here!” a woman gasped.
A multitude of faces turned to Archer.
“She must mean, ‘They’re here,’ ” Razz whispered. “We are a team.”
“Hush,” he said. “Not now.”
“Please, sir!” a wide-eyed boy said. “Please close them up.”
The Dreamtreader came within ten feet of the breaches. He smelled the rot. He felt the heated air, the eerie tingling gravity. “I will,” Archer said, projecting as much confidence as he could. “I’ll stitch them up tight.”
The crowd cheered. But Archer felt uneasy. These breaches were larger than usual, larger and far too close together for comfort. Neglect them for too long, and Archer knew what could happen. puncturing breaches in the midst of a kingdom? It was the Nightmare Lord’s most brazen act to date. Brazen and deeply troubling.
Glowing with dark blue and bloody red vapors, the particle dream matter streamed in and out of each hole. Archer knelt within reach of the first blazing wound. He patted his side, and when his hand came away, he had a coil of glistening ether silk and a barbed needle. He went to work at once, plunging the seven-inch needle into the fraying borders of one breach, looping the silk through the chaotic particle matter, and then driving it down into the other border. Again and again, he stitched until he had an intricate set of laces. Finally, he pulled them tight, shutting off the pulsing flow of matter. Razz leaped down from his shoulder and went to work to patch up the tiny places where even a hint of matter flow still existed.
Archer heard cheers as he jumped to the next breach. And the next. His needle and thread moved with practiced perfection, and the Dreamtreader’s pace increased. He pulled hard on the thread, closing up breach number three.
The fourth site, not yet a full breach, was more of a challenge because the breach-eating culprits were still there. A dozen scurions, the Nightmare Lord’s parasitic workers, squirmed in and out of the Dream fabric. They looked somewhat like beetle grubs: pale, milky white, several pairs of caterpillar-like forelegs and back legs, and a dark globe of shell over its eyes. But scurions were not small. These were eight to ten inches long, and each one had three sets of jaws capable of tearing out scraps of reality or, if any Dream being were stupid enough to get close to them, tearing flesh from bone.
“Ooh, I hate these things!” Razz exclaimed.
Archer loosed his rendering mallet, held it with a two-handed grip high over his head, and stood over the teeming scurions. “You folks might want to stand back a bit,” Archer called to the villagers.
They listened and fell away quickly, but whether they hid by the trelliswork or behind walls of foliage, they kept watch. Archer slammed the mallet down on the neare
st scurion. One blow cracked its segmented shell and certainly got the creature’s attention, but wasn’t enough to kill it. The thing screeched and lunged for Archer’s lower leg, but he’d been expecting it. The Dreamtreader slammed the mallet down once more. This time, the creature exploded, sending steaming spurts of yellowish-white gore spattering in all directions.
“I really—really—dislike this part,” Archer muttered. But he continued slamming down the hammer until the scurions were duly splattered. Razz surprised Archer by grabbing up a five-inch scurion he’d missed. She took the squirming thing so high into the air that Archer lost sight of her. A moment later, several pieces of scurion fell back to the ground, followed quickly by Razz, whose grin was quite triumphant.
“What did you do to it?” Archer asked.
“Wasn’t it obvious?” Razz asked. “I told you I hate scurions.”
It dawned on Archer why Razz so passionately hated the crawlies. She was made of the same dream fabric as the world around them now. Just as they’d eaten away at the Dream to create breaches, scurions could consume her as well.
“Don’t worry, Razz,” Archer said, “I won’t let them get you. Ever.”
Razz chirruped, landed on Archer’s shoulder, and nuzzled under his chin.
“Hey, that tickles!” Archer said, laughing and snorting. “Cut it out.”
Archer reddened at the laughter from the villagers. He knew they meant no harm, but still. It’s just the way I laugh, he grumbled mentally. They can’t help but laugh at all my snorting.
“Where to now?” Razz asked, tapping a foot on Archer’s shoulder.
“The castle,” he said. “Lady Kasia might have information we need.”
The words had scarcely left his mouth when the bell of Old Jack rang out five echoing chimes.
“Five?” Archer mumbled. Razz shrugged.
I lost track of time, Archer thought. He wasn’t sure how. It might have been while weaving up the breaches, or maybe finishing off the scurions. It didn’t matter how or when. Losing track of time in the Dream was dangerous. For a Dreamtreader, it could be deadly.
SEVEN
BEZEAL
AFTER SEVERAL GRAVITY-DEFYING LEAPS, ARCHER LANDED at the castle gate. The Bavandan guards admitted him right away.
“Her Ladyship is in the dome,” one said.
After walking up a ten-story stone spiral staircase, Archer and Razz found themselves in a spectacular enclosed botanical garden. It was hot and humid, the glass dome above making it feel like a tropical jungle.
“Up here!” came a voice like wind chimes brushed by a breeze.
Archer saw a flash of bright red dancing among the shrubs and bushes high on a hill. He and Razz followed a winding path through the greenery with bees, dragonflies, and all manner of flying insects buzzing about. Archer turned the corner and almost ran directly into Lady Kasia.
“My . . .” She exhaled deeply. “But you do know how to make an entrance.”
Archer bowed. “I am so sorry, your Ladyship,” he said. “I should have been more observant.”
Lady Kasia held out her slender right arm and shook the Dreamtreader’s hand exactly once. A wide, ornamental fan spread between her delicate white fingers.
Razz landed on Archer’s shoulder and tugged at his earlobe. Archer cleared his throat. “Lady Kasia,” he said, “I wonder if you might have time for a few questions.”
“For you,” she said, “I have quite a bit of time. Join me for tea, won’t you?” She snapped the fingers of her left hand. A small round table covered in a pristine white cloth appeared, along with a rose-colored tea set.
Razz squeezed Archer’s earlobe even tighter. “Ow,” he said. “Cut that out.”
“What was that?” Lady Kasia asked, her expression darkening.
“Nothing,” he said. “I didn’t say that to you. It’s my friend here.”
“Oh, how sweet,” Lady Kasia cooed. “Will she be joining us for tea?”
“No, thank you,” Razz squealed. She leaped up into the air, spun in a tight twin-tail-circle, and vanished.
“She’s not much into tea,” Archer said. “And honestly, I’m on an urgent errand to repair the new breaches, so I really can’t—”
“Stay for long,” Lady Kasia said, completing his sentence. “I understand, but even a Dreamtreader needs refreshment now and again.” She held out a chair for Archer and, with a twirl of her red sundress, sat on her own. “What questions do you have for me, lad Archer?”
Archer figured getting to the point swiftly would be in everyone’s best interests. “I’m wondering about my Dreamtreading associates. Have you seen them recently?”
“Mesmeera and Duncan?” she replied thoughtfully. “Not in two moons. Why?”
Archer hadn’t planned out an answer. “Well . . . honestly, we’ve been out of touch, and I’d like to find them.”
“Dreamtreaders out of touch with each other?” she asked, pursing her very red lips. “That does not sound good. As I said, I haven’t seen them recently, but when they were last here, they seemed very serious. Not at all as jovial as they usually are.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well,” she said. “Duncan didn’t smile once, not even when I tugged on his curly red beard. And he seemed fidgety, like he had ants in his pants, so to speak.”
Archer cleared his throat. “And Mesmeera?”
“She was more tense than Duncan,” she said. “In fact, she didn’t even seem interested in my closet this time.”
Archer sat up straighter in his chair. Duncan was the most fun-loving being Archer had ever met. And Mesmeera? Dreamtreading was a job for her, but clothes were her passion. To hear that she passed up a free pass to explore Lady Kasia’s famous wardrobe? That was profoundly out of character for her.
“Is there anything else you can tell me?” Archer asked.
“Sadly, no,” Lady Kasia replied, sipping at her tea.
Archer started to get up. “Thank you for the information,” he said. “The news worries me, but it feels important. I wish I could stay longer—”
“But you haven’t even touched your tea.”
“It’s really kind of you but—”
“Well, there is one eensy weensy bit of news,” she said. “Something that might be worth your lingering.”
Archer found himself sitting again. He looked up at her expectantly. She said nothing. Kasia was beautiful. Beautiful in a way that Kara Windchil could never touch. None of the glamour girls of Dresden High School could ever aspire to this level of beauty. Lady Kasia of Bavanda had the beauty of dreams. Mysterious, intriguing, and perfect. It was the kind of beauty reserved for royalty and the imagination.
But Archer knew better. Lady Kasia was an illusion. Someone, somewhere on earth had dreamt her into being. And Lady Kasia was dangerous. Pale skin, dark hair and brows, luminous blue eyes, and red lips. Very dangerous. Especially to a Dreamtreader. Kasia had been known to charm Dreamtreaders into letting their guard down so she could accomplish her personal agendas.
“Your tea,” she said, sipping at her own.
Archer picked up his cup and sniffed the warm tea vapors. It smelled fine. In fact, it smelled fantastic. The Dreamtreader wouldn’t have put it past Kasia to try to trick him into consuming gort or any other poison. But, beside the slight greenish tint, the tea was clear. Still, his knee bounced under the table, an involuntary trembling, as he sipped.
Peach, a hint of raspberry, and something that had an odd bite. He swallowed and hoped he didn’t look as nervous as he felt.
“There now,” she said. “You see? Refreshing.”
Archer nodded, relieved that he wasn’t blacking out or choking. “The other . . . bit of news?” he prompted.
She smirked and set down her teacup. “Oh, that,” she said with a sigh. “All business today, are we? Well, I suppose it cannot be helped. You Dreamtreaders are rather narrowly focused.”
“The news?”
“Yes, yes,” she
said, flicking out her fan again. But this time, the motion was anything but delicate and feminine. It was as if Lady Kasia were shooing away a wasp. Her expression changed. The fan vanished, and she leaned forward, elbows upon the table. “Well, you might just find this very much of interest, being what you are,” she said. “Aside from you, there are only two other Dreamtreaders at a time, yes?”
Archer nodded. “Never more than three of us at one time,” he said. “Master Gabriel always says three is the perfect number.” Archer paused, thinking. “Or was it in the Creeds?”
“That is what I thought,” Lady Kasia said, glancing left and right conspiratorially before continuing. “But there are rumors of others . . . others who can do what you can do.”
The hair on the back of Archer’s neck prickled. “Others?”
“There is a maiden,” she said. “I have not seen her myself, but my guards have. She moves furtively from place to place. She travels alone in a cloak of gray most times, but always hooded and veiled. Others say she wears all white and dances among the clouds. A certain tradesman told me she dwelt in Garnet Province for a time, studying and asking questions.”
“Garnet?” Archer echoed. “The libraries?”
Kasia nodded. “And the Sages,” she said. “So many secrets.”
“But not the Inner Sanctum,” Archer said. “They wouldn’t admit . . . a stranger.”
“I should hope not. But one wonders about Bezeal.”
“Bezeal? What does he have to do with it?”
“Who can say? But he was rumored to be in Garnet at the same time as the veiled maiden. He would sell his grandmother’s soul for the right price, and he has sway with the Sages.”
Archer mentally filed these things away, especially concerning Bezeal. Archer would need to see about that soon. “You mentioned others?”
“Only rumors,” she said. “But since you ask . . . there has been word of an old magician and his apprentice, but they are not of the Dream. They have been seen doing wonders in the mountains of Kurdan. The strangest tales always come from Kurdan. That is, alas, all I know.”