“Why didn’t you tell me about it?” Ash asked
“Well, I didn’t think it was important. It’s not like it’s of any use.”
Ash nodded, but the fascination didn’t leave her eyes.
“You’re late. I thought you’d want an early start.” He’d been waiting some time despite his scouting of the city upon his arrival. It had yielded little though, except that even more people now milled around the marketplace and city centre. The city’s population did seem to be growing, and there even seemed to be more buildings than a few week ago.
“Yeah, sorry, up longer than I thought finishing off an assignment for Art. So, are you ready?”
“Where do we start?”
“In the centre of the city, the Palazzo della Signoria.” Ash said the last few words in a very good Italian accent.
“And that is?”
“The local government building.” Ash checked her dress. “If this were my dream I think I’d make myself the ruler of the city.”
Cal was unconvinced. If it were his dream he would be what he already was—observing it from the edges and sticking to the shadows. He hadn’t told her he’d once thought himself the ruler here. It seemed a very vain thing to suppose now that he knew the dream wasn’t entirely his own. “How do you know what it’s called anyway?”
“Before you trapped me in here I mingled a little and picked up a bit of information here and there.” Her hair slipped back and magically formed itself into a ponytail.
“It could be dangerous,” Cal warned, but Ash’s expression clearly said she was determined to find her answers.
“It’s just a dream, Cal, though I thank you for your concern.”
Cal blushed but the doubt didn’t leave him.
“Look, if anything happens I can just wake up.”
Where hundreds once gathered in the market now thousands milled. A multitude of businesses thrived in and around the marketplace, and entertainers had sprung up on the piazza in the form of minstrels, jugglers and even a bare-chested fire-eater.
“I’m sure I’ve never seen so many people here before,” Cal commented. Their numbers had noticeably increased since his visit earlier that day.
“Me neither. I think the city’s growing,” Ash said as they both slipped through the crowd.
The growth concerned Cal. Perhaps it was because it increased his sense of invasion and magnified his loss of privacy. They stepped into an alley heading toward the central piazza and left the crowd behind. Soon they were winding through a colonnade draped with a vast climbing plant dotted with small azure-coloured flowers. Cal had walked through these columns before, but he could remember no plant life adorning them then.
“Wait here,” Cal said as they reached the final archway of the building the colonnade had led to. He looked about and then ran swiftly across the street to the side of the building Ash had called the Palazzo della Signoria. It was a large structure, and at its crenellated top a single slender tower thrust up into the sky. If it’d had outer walls and a gatehouse it would’ve been a fortress. He’d seen it before, but never up close. It was a building he had avoided, not just because of its location in the heart of the city, but also because it felt threatening, like some dark shadow the sunlight couldn’t pierce.
A minute later he was back behind the archway with Ash. “The windows have glass, at least on the first couple of levels. I could scale up the wall to the next level?”
Ash frowned. She knew what that meant: she wouldn’t be able to come. Before she could say anything, booted feet approached and they both drew back behind the arch.
A patrol, complete with prisoners, emerged from a street and began to cross the piazza. Fear sat fixed in the eyes of some of the captives, others seemed dazed, and yet others seemed resigned to their fate. As was typical, the prisoners were dressed in a variety of modern nightwear, quite out of place in the city.
“Those bracelets the watchmen are wearing,” Ash whispered as the patrol passed, “the people in the market have them too. I thought it was some kind of fashion accessory.”
He’d not noticed before, but the watchmen were indeed all wearing a small stone-coloured bracelet. “The watchmen don’t look like the fashion-conscious types.”
“That’s what I thought. And none of the prisoners are wearing bracelets.”
“They’re heading for the Palazzo. I’ve seen them take captives there before.” Cal stuck his head out from behind the column and stared at the mancatchers securing each prisoner’s neck as they walked along. He had a sudden urge to break all those devices in half, and then tell the watchmen to leave everybody alone. Somehow, though, he didn’t think such a course of action would achieve very much.
“What do you think?” Ash said.
Cal turned his head and stood in shock for a second or two before it registered what had happened. Ash had transformed her clothing into a watchman’s uniform.
“I couldn’t create the mancatchers,” she added as she adjusted her visored leather helm. “Hard substances are so much more difficult to create than textiles.”
“Well, as long as they don’t look at your face too long you should be OK. Pity you can’t change me too.” Cal tugged at his denim jacket. Ash had told him at their first training session that she could only alter her own clothing, not another’s.
Ash smiled. “You’ll be just fine as you are actually. I have an idea.”
* * *
Surprisingly, the two guards at the door paid no attention to the watchman at the end of the patrol whose head hung low and whose hands were empty, or to the captive in front who wore no neck-trap. Cal thought at first they were asleep but, just as he passed, he caught the glint of disinterested eyes behind the hard-leather eyeguards. They must have seen patrols come and go all day. They looked as bored as he did in P.E.
Once through the door, Ash and Cal ducked behind a large but well-groomed bush set in a long stone trough. The patrol led their prisoners through a second door at which two more guards stood.
They found themselves in a courtyard filled with fountains, statues and various exotic plants.
“What now?” Ash asked.
“I thought it was your plan?”
“I got us inside. Now it’s your part.”
Cal nodded reluctantly. “Let’s move around the courtyard and see if there’s another way in.”
The courtyard circled the entire inner building of the Palazzo but there was no other way in besides the guarded door.
“Maybe I’ll be able to see something through there.” Cal indicated the unglazed windows about seven feet above the ground.
“Yes, maybe we will.” Ash looked less certain as she stared up at the ledge. It was wide enough, but beyond the reach of her arms. “Can you kneel down? I think I’ll need a little help.”
Cal had a feeling this wasn’t going to be a good idea.
“I need to stand, I can’t quite make my way onto the ledge from a sitting position,” Ash said from atop Cal’s shoulders.
“Could you lose the armour? I think it’s making you heavier.”
“It’s your imagination. It’s not even real!” Ash placed her right knee on his shoulder.
“Well, the less I imagine the better,” Cal said.
“I beg your pardon?” Ash sounded shocked.
Cal blushed. “I mean can you change back into the gown?”
“It’s a dress, not a gown.” Ash brought her other knee up.
“I thought you said it was a gown?” Cal asked as he struggled to keep straight.
“I’ve not worn the gown for a week. It’s hardly suitable for running and climbing about in, is it? It’s a riding dress.” Ash placed a tentative first foot on his shoulder.
“Ouch, flat shoes! Flat shoes!” Cal said. Evidently, high heels were suitable.
“Sorry, it’s hard to concentrate and do this at the same time!”
Cal sighed as he tried to maintain his position. Despite his complaints, he was surpr
ised he’d managed to hold her so easily. Ash had a slender figure, and she wasn’t particularly tall either, but Cal wasn’t exactly the strongest guy in his class. In the waking world he doubted he would’ve been able to lift her like this.
Ash lifted herself up from his shoulders. She’d got onto the ledge at last. He backed away to the edge of the court and then ran and leapt for the ledge, launching himself high enough to grasp hold of the bottom of the window, which he used to pull his legs up swiftly to the ledge beside Ash.
“Oh, you’re up already?” Ash had been staring through the window. “It’s some sort of hall.”
Inside lay a vast room. The polished wooden floor was clear of any furniture, but on the walls hung paintings of ancient battles. A marble altar surrounded by statues stood at the head of the chamber. Behind it loomed a tall figure dressed in a crimson coat embroidered with golden stars. Ermine lined his cuffs and collar. Eight men in similar attire, though lacking the golden stars, stood behind him.
The prisoners, with their backs to Cal and Ash, stood lined up before the altar. The watchmen were placing stone-coloured bracelets upon their wrists.
“It’s those bracelets again,” Ash whispered. Cal nodded but didn’t reply. It certainly was strange.
As soon as each bracelet was on, the mancatchers were removed and the watchmen withdrew a pace. The man at the head of the altar began speaking to the prisoners in an oily voice that, despite the distance, carried easily to Cal and Ash.
“Welcome to Florence. We are sorry for the rough treatment you may have had. Our valiant watchmen are few and often hard-pressed in their role as protectors of the city. Alas, not everyone who comes here seeks citizenship as you do. Some seek to do us harm. Some are spies, saboteurs, malcontents.” He looked up and surveyed the room. Cal and Ash moved further behind the window’s stone frame.
“Today you will be sworn in as citizens of Florence. Here we can provide you with opportunity, and with comfort if you seek it. The bracelet you now wear is a token of that promise and a symbol of your citizenship. It allows us to know you are friends and entitled to dwell in our city. You will be asked to approach the altar one at a time to ascertain your designation. Now, please, if the first could come to the altar?”
A male prisoner wearing striped pyjama bottoms and a white tee-shirt was urged forward by the watchman behind him. He made his way cautiously toward the altar. When he reached it, the crimson-clad man cupped the prisoner’s head in his hands and spoke some words in a low voice that Cal and Ash couldn’t hear. The man slumped and the watchman dutifully led him back to the line.
The next prisoner was a girl who looked no older than Cal and Ash. She wore a tightly wrapped velvet dressing gown.
Again the man cupped the prisoner’s head. This time, however, the woman screamed. It was a terrible sound that would have woken Cal up in the early days of his journeys in the Dreamframe. The scream was made all the worse in the hall, which was just as well, as Ash gasped before Cal put his hand to her mouth.
“Take her!” the man at the altar declared and Cal thought for a moment that Ash had been spotted. Then he realised the man was still looking at the woman at the altar. The watchman pushed and then half-dragged the trembling woman away through a door to the right of the altar that Cal hadn’t noticed before.
“We’ve got to help her!” Ash pushed Cal’s hand aside.
Cal signalled for her to be quiet. Had he heard something? Footsteps? He listened again, but could hear nothing. Probably an echo. “We don’t know if she’s even real. She might just be a dream character.”
“And what if she isn’t? What if she’s like us?”
“Then she’ll wake up and realise it was just a bad dream.”
Ash looked at him and back at the altar. A young man, barely out of childhood, now approached the altar.
“She’s real. I know she is. We need to help her.” Ash moved toward the ledge.
“Do you need some help?” Cal said, resigned to the fact that she’d made up her mind.
Ash had already started to lower herself down. “No thanks, I’m quite able to—”
Fear flashed across her face. She lost her grip and fell with a short but desperate scream.
Cal moved to the edge. It was a short drop. Why had she—
Two watchmen stood below. One had grabbed Ash around the waist and, before Cal could act, she was on the floor and the second watchman had snapped a mancatcher about her neck. Ash cried out again and tried to kick out, but with her head in the device she couldn’t reach either of the watchmen.
Cal jumped down with no fear for his own safety. He had to rescue Ash from these thugs. He landed deftly and shoved a surprised watchman into a potted laurel tree, spilling earth all over the flagstones of the courtyard. The watchman who’d ensnared Ash pulled on the neck-trap, forcing her back and away from Cal. She screamed at her captor to let her go.
Cal’s anger surged, but four more watchmen appeared behind Ash, their mancatchers pointed at Cal. They must’ve heard the commotion.
“Wake!” Cal shouted to Ash.
“I can’t! Something’s stopping me.” She struggled with the neck-trap. “Run, Cal! It’s no good if you get caught too!”
What did Ash mean? Why couldn’t she wake? Something felt wrong. “I’ll be back for you!” He ran at the watchmen and then, to their astonishment, leapt clear over their heads. He rushed through the door and out onto the piazza. The guards at the door looked on bemused as he ran past them followed by five of their comrades, the last of whom appeared to have a sprig from a laurel tree hanging from his helmet.
Not long after he fled the Palazzo della Signoria, Cal climbed back into the Peacock Chamber. He’d easily lost the watchmen in the maze of streets.
He sat for some time wondering what to do. Outside the sun was making its way toward the horizon. Why couldn’t Ash wake up? The image of her trapped within the mancatcher haunted him. Cal shook his head. He was going to wake up tomorrow and speak with Ash, and she would laugh at him for taking what happened so seriously. And, with that thought, the city began to blur and soon Cal found himself engulfed in the familiar white mist between the Dreamframe and the regular dream world. Moments later he was awake.
Epilogue
It was about lunchtime when David heard the noise. It sounded like someone had just dropped a bowl. Confusion played across his tired face. His daughter would have left in the morning. She never came home for lunch. It was too far. He put his paintbrush down and ran a hand through his hair, greying at the temples. Cautiously, he made his way to the kitchen.
His daughter sat at the table, a cereal bowl in pieces on the floor beside her and milk down the front of her nightclothes.
“What happened? Don’t you have school today?” he asked, looking at the scattered cereal and pool of orange juice on the table.
She didn’t answer. Her eyes stared straight ahead, open but unseeing.
David placed a hand on her shoulder and gently shook her. “What’s wrong?”
But Ashlin Ravenhill neither saw nor heard her dad’s concern, for she was no longer part of the waking world.
Here ends Part One of Dreamwalkers…
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