image had become trapped in a small eddy and was spinning in slow circles, almost within touching distance. He reached out his hand. It was so close. He could see what it was now and it was a great source of comfort in his desolate surroundings. He wanted to embrace it and be part of it. Before he knew it, he was past the point of no return and was toppling head first into the river.
It was dark on the landing in Ryan’s house, but he knew the way downstairs without the need for light. Years of experience had ingrained the exact number of footfalls and the necessary placement of feet.
Turn right. Three steps. Turn left with extra half a step taken whilst grabbing the banister. Now the stairs; fourteen in all. One… Two… It was all so familiar. Five… Six… Ryan liked to think of himself as a Special Forces operative when he walked around the house at night; cat-like and surefooted. Thirteen… Fourteen. And we’re down. Now turn right.
Ryan strode off the final stair and landed flat on his face. Bemused, he sat up and rubbed his chin. Perhaps he had miscounted? No way. He’d done it a thousand times. Nevertheless he went back up and counted again. Fifteen stairs. Something was not right.
It’s got to be a dream, he thought to himself. The image he had seen in the river was not a way back to the waking world, but a dream set in his own house. What were the chances?
Feeling the need to digest this peculiar turn of events, he padded across to the kitchen and flicked on the lights. He blinked as the room turned from a series of small, red standby lights to being full of colour. He was about to make a beeline for the fridge when he noticed a spider sitting right in the middle of the tiled floor. It was a fair old size, but Ryan had never had a problem with them and he walked over to it.
‘Sorry mate,’ he said out loud. ‘This is no longer your domain.’
He reached out to pick up the small creature, but all of a sudden five or six others appeared, seemingly from out of the body of the original. They all scurried off in different directions and took up stations on the different cabinets and worktops. One even went all the way to the ceiling.
‘Don’t make me have to catch you all,’ said Ryan, and he lunged for the one that had stopped in the centre of the kitchen table.
Just like the first, it split into half a dozen others that scattered from beneath his outstretched hand. He made several further attempts to round them up, but before he knew it the entire kitchen was crawling with arachnids. Ryan stood in the middle of the room and scratched his head. Where had they all come from?
Still, he couldn’t just ignore the situation. After all, they were probably lost and looking for somewhere to go.
‘You guys need to be outside don’t you?’ he said, mulling it over. He walked over to the kitchen window and threw it open. None of the spiders moved.
Ryan had a sudden vision of his mum walking into the kitchen and seeing them all there. Unlike him she was not a big fan of spiders and would probably scream the house down. Ryan didn’t want that. He’d caused enough trouble already.
‘Well, you can’t all just stay in here,’ he said, trying to shoo some of them towards the opening, but only making the problem worse. He thought hard. What did spiders like?
‘Webs,’ he declared out loud, and almost immediately a huge silvery web spun itself across the kitchen from cupboard to cooker to door. Still the spiders didn’t move, but something inside him told Ryan that he had their attention.
‘Okay then,’ he said, crouching down and disentangling himself from the web. ‘I bet you’re all hungry. How about a big juicy…’
All of a sudden a large, succulent bluebottle appeared in the middle of the web, struggling against the sticky fibres and sending small pulsing messages out to all the awaiting arachnids. It did the trick.
Sensing its struggle the spiders swarmed onto the web and towards the hapless fly. In seconds it was lost beneath a writhing pile of bodies and, seizing his chance, Ryan grabbed a saucepan from the counter and scooped them up in one swift movement, trapping them beneath the clear lid.
Peering inside, he was surprised to see just the one spider again, sitting contentedly in the bottom. He walked over to the window, reached out and took the lid off. A moment later the spider crawled out and rappelled down to the ground on a sliver of silk, before scurrying away into the night.
Ryan gave a nod of satisfaction and pulled the window closed again.
8
A moment later Ryan had the strange sensation of being propelled into the air, before landing in a sprawling metallic heap back on the river bank. Spitting out sand, he looked up and realised that he was not in the same spot where he had fallen in; rather he was down at the river’s mouth, barely a dozen yards from the seashore.
Suddenly a shadow descended over him and he rolled onto his back just in time to see Tristram coming into land in front of him. His big, black wings were spread wide beneath the glaring sun, with traces of moisture streaming off the sleek feathers. Ryan had to marvel at their immense size. With a span of close to fifteen feet they dwarfed him into insignificance.
Tristram offered out a hand and pulled Ryan to his feet.
‘Getting a little practice in?’ he smiled.
‘Practice?’ repeated Ryan.
‘Yeah. Seeing how it all works? Trying your hand at a bit of Dreamweaving?’
‘Dreamweaving?’
It wasn’t generally a habit of Ryan’s to repeat what other people said and turn it into a question, but he was struggling to cope with his change in surroundings and the speed at which information was being given to him. It was the only way that he could keep up. Being a robot, or android, or whatever he was, didn’t appear to make things any simpler. Perhaps his processors were clogged up with sand and water.
‘Dreamweaving is the reason you’re here,’ said Tristram, leading Ryan back up the river towards the place he had fallen in. ‘I mean that in two ways. Firstly, it was through Dreamweaving – that is, manipulating your dreams to achieve a certain outcome – that you arrived here. It is an ability that is only possessed by those able to recognise the limits of the physical world, but whose imaginations are broad enough to explore beyond them. Secondly, it is this gift that will allow you to assist us in our fight to suppress Rasputin and his followers, and allow the world to dream in peace.’
Ryan frowned. Things were still moving far too fast.
‘Wait a second, this is all way too confusing,’ he said, holding his hands up.
Tristram stopped and smiled at him.
‘Tell me about it,’ he replied. ‘I had the exact same problem when I first came here. Trust me, all will become clear in time.’
‘You said that yesterday shortly before buggering off,’ said Ryan grumpily. ‘How do I know you won’t do that again and I’ll end up back here tomorrow still none the wiser?’
‘Hey, I wasn’t the one who buggered off,’ laughed Tristram. ‘You woke up, my friend.’
There was a dull clunk as Ryan put his head in his hands.
‘Okay, whatever,’ he said exasperatedly. ‘First things first. Why am I a robot? I'm not exactly complaining; it’s just weird.’
‘All right, all right,’ said Tristram, clearly amused by his confusion. ‘That sounds like a really good place to start. In fact, I’ve not properly introduced myself yet, so maybe that would help. My name is Tristram Ainsworth. I’m twenty-nine years old and I’m from Harpenden in Hertfordshire. I work as a graphic designer by day and no, I don’t have wings in real life.’
‘Harpenden; that’s not too far from where I live,’ said Ryan, managing a small smile. ‘So you’re asleep there right now?’
‘Comfortably so, in my own bed. Probably snoring my head off, which will please my girlfriend.’
Ryan’s smile broadened.
‘Listen Ryan, I can't give you the exact reasoning behind it, but in this place a person’s appearance is kind of an idealised reflection of their true self. The people you will meet here come in all shapes and sizes, not to mention speci
es, breeds and designs. But there's a lot more to it than having some cool new body to show off. The link between this place and your subconscious creates an appearance that is somewhere between who you think you are and who you actually are. That can make it difficult to conceal any unsavoury character traits. Here people can tell a lot about you before you even open your mouth, though how much of it is down to your own personal view of yourself depends on the individual.
‘You, for example, would appear to have an arrogant boyish streak that is typical of someone your age. Your avatar projects an external resilience, which is probably aimed at making you look like a tough nut. Having not met you in real life, it would be hard for me to say whether or not it’s a complete façade. There may be strength in you, but it could be emotional rather than physical.’
Ryan shrugged nonchalantly, although he was actually feeling quite unmanned by Tristram’s strangely accurate description of him.
‘I imagine you’re a fan of computer games?’ continued the winged man.
The boy nodded.
‘So, if you were creating your own character in a game, how would it generally turn out?’
‘Well, usually they are big and tough with lots of tattoos, scars and spikes all over them. Oh, and I usually go for big weapons.’
‘Big weapons?’ repeated Tristram, raising his eyebrows.
‘The bigger the better.’
‘That makes a lot of sense. You see, your avatar here is not a