Sir Differel Van Helsing strolled into the recovery room of the infirmary in her manor. Lady Margaret Chesham was awake, and she tried to make herself comfortable in the hospital-style bed. She pulled up a chair and sat beside her.
"How do you feel?"
She rubbed her stomach. "Like I was put through a wringer. Just what the hell did that crackbrain do to me!?"
The 'crackbrain' was Dr. Mabuse, the Caerleon Order's resident mad scientist. "She's developed a whole technology based on the Schrodinger wave function. You remember what that is?"
"Barely."
"Never mind. In essence, she used a device that sped up your pregnancy, so you came to term in a few hours instead of nine months."
"And that was better than an abortion how?"
"The baby is alive, and will be adopted by a loving childless couple, anonymously. While you avoided the embarrassment, inconvenience, discomfort, and maternal bonding. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"
"Yes, but I didn't expect it to hurt so bloody much!"
She smirked. "Think of it as payback, for being a selfish slag."
Margaret scowled. "You're all heart, Dribble."
She returned a grin. "What are frenemies for, Maggot?"
"So what happens now?"
"Mabuse says you should rest for a day, but I have a better idea. How would you like a fifteen week vacation? On me?"
She made a sour face. "The way I feel, I'd rather sleep for that long."
Differel chuckled. "Funny you should say that."
Margaret flashed a puzzled look. "Besides, I don't have the time."
She stood up. "Neither do I. Meet me in my bedroom after supper. We leave tonight." She ignored her look of alarmed confusion and hurried out.
"Hey! What about something to eat?"
Differel had already changed into a nightshirt when Margaret arrived. She glanced at Vlad Drakulya standing at the foot of the bed, but ignored the Vampire and came over to her.
"All right, what's going on? This had better not be some kind of sick joke."
She handed her a nightshirt. "Change into this, and I'll explain."
Margaret gave her a dirty look, but started to unbutton her blouse when she glanced at Vlad again. He flashed a predatory leer and she retreated into the bathroom.
Differel leaned against the doorway and watched her change. "For ten years now I've been going to an alternative universe every night in my sleep."
She paused and gave her a look like she was moony.
"I'm serious. It's called the Dreamlands, and I propose to take you there on an extended stay, to give you a chance to relax and recover."
She slipped the shirt over her head. "Are you saying we'll be asleep for fifteen weeks?"
"No, just fifteen hours. Time is different there. For every hour that passes here, a week goes by there. Your body can get the rest it needs while you mentally get to take four months off from the social and political rat race."
She retreated further into her bedroom as Margaret followed. "So how does this work?"
She sat on her bed. "I can do it automatically, but you'll need to take a drug, a potion if you will. It will put you out for fifteen hours, but also alter your brain chemistry so you can enter the other universe. However, it will keep you asleep until it wears off. I have to take it too, otherwise I could wake up before you do." She sidled across the mattress to give her room to get into bed.
"You mean we won't be able to wake up for all that time? Won't that make us vulnerable?"
"Vlad will watch over us," she said as Margaret crawled in beside her. "And I have my household guard."
"Indeed," he rumbled. "You will be as safe as babes in my arms." He spared them a wolfish grin.
"Behave yourself, Thrall. So, are you ready or not?"
She flashed a worried look. "Not, but I'm intrigued. Let's do this."
Differel held up one hand and revealed a pair of small perfume bottles. "Drink this all down." She handed one to her, then pulled the stopper on her own. They downed their contents simultaneously.
Margaret licked her lips. "Mmmm, that was great! Tasted like honey."
Differel handed her bottle to her, and she placed both on the night table. "It's derived from mead. Now, lay down; it takes effect quickly, and you won't even realize it."
They maneuvered to stretch out supine, and she crossed her hands over her diaphragm.
"So, what is this place?" Margaret's voice already sounded drowsy.
"Sort of a sword and sorcery fantasyland," she murmured as she felt herself drift. If Margaret replied, she missed it as she dropped into slumber.
Differel opened her eyes, feeling refreshed and energized. She sat up as Margaret did and they both got out bed.
"What went wrong?"
"Nothing. We're both Dreaming." She headed out of her bedroom; Vlad gave no indication he could see them.
Margaret fell in beside her. "This isn't like any dream I remember."
"No, 'Dreaming', with a capital 'D'. Mabuse believes it's an altered state of consciousness, one that can penetrate dimensional barriers and allow us to travel to the Dreamlands. We're not in the house anymore, or rather our bodies are but our minds are already roaming. This is a staging area that allows us access to the Land; like a hallway with many doors in it, each leading to another universe."
They made their way through the manor to the ground floor, then out into the back garden. Though they encountered servants and guards, none acknowledged their presence, or responded when Margaret tried to talk with them.
"Think of Dickens; 'they are but shadows'. Though I suppose we're really the shadows."
"You always did read too much, Dribble."
At the far end of the garden, before they reached the surrounding security fence, a path that shouldn't have been there led to an opening in the ground surrounded by rose bushes. Steps carved from living rock descended into the earth.
"These are the Seventy Steps to Lighter Slumber. They lead into the Dreamlands, by way of the Cavern of Flame."
"The what?"
"Think of it as a security checkpoint. You need to be cleared before you can enter. I doubt you'll have a problem, but I need to warn you. It's an idiosyncrasy of the Cavern that, even though we'll descend together, each of us will go through it alone. You'll be naked, but it's more like a bared soul. You'll encounter the guardians, but they won't harm you, so don't panic and attack them. If they let you pass, they can answer any question you might have. We'll meet up in the Dreamlands proper after descending the Seven Hundred Steps of Deeper Slumber. Understood?"
"Yeah, sure; let's get this over with."
"After you, Maggot."
"As it should be, Dribble."
Margaret started down and she followed. Darkness closed in around them, and though only a couple of feet away, she soon lost sight of her frenemy. In typical dream distortion fashion, it seemed to take forever to reach the bottom, but when she did it felt like no time had passed. The cavern had at one time been natural, but it had long since been smoothed over and covered with colorful bas-reliefs. There were no furnishings or lamps, but inside an exit at the back of the cave stood a crystal pillar that encased a column of flame. It provided all the light and heat the cavern needed.
In the center stood two bearded priests wearing long, flowing colorful robes and ornate hats that looked like bishop mitres. They had a youthful appearance with dark hair and eyes, but they always seemed to exude a sense of age greater than she could comprehend. Their names were Nasht and Kaman-Thah, and they served as guardians and gatekeepers.
They bowed, which she returned. "Welcome back, Differel Van Helsing, to the Land of the Dreams of Men."
"We trust you are well?"
"I am, and I trust all is as it should be?"
"Everything and nothing."
"As always, the Land is whatever you wish and will make of it."
She grinned; they never did give straight answers. They were probably
driving Margaret mad.
That reminded her: "I came with a companion to whom I wish to introduce to the Land. Is she worthy?"
"She is worthy, and welcome."
"You shall meet her again in the Enchanted Woods."
She nodded her head. "Thank you." She hurried past them and around the Pillar of Fire. On the other side lay a second smaller chamber that contained two tables of green malachite. One had clothing, the other weapons and equipment. The components of her costume never changed: braies for underwear, a long chemise and a pair of tight-fitting trousers, buckled boots, a sleeveless doublet with a high collar, an ascot and gloves, and a red great coat and matching hat with a wide floppy brim. A pair of glasses with large round rims rested on top of the folded apparel. From the other table she took a belt with two holstered pistols along with a pouch of paper cartridges, her greatsword Caliburn attached to a pack harness, a poignard dagger, a canteen, a pack of travel bread and jerky, a tin of cigarillos, and a purse, then she turned towards the exit. The arched opening revealed a set of steps leading down, and beside it stood a makila walking stick. She took hold of the handle, wrapped the lanyard around her wrist, and started down.
As with the Seventy Steps, the Seven Hundred seemed to take forever to descend, until she emerged into the Woods, when it felt like no time at all. She stepped away from the exit and gazed around. The trees were cyclopean oaks, taller than redwoods, more massive than sequoias, and older than the world. Their crowns combined to form an unbroken canopy that closed off the sky. Their deeply gnarled bark, thick and strong as steel plate armour, served as a foundation for bracket fungi that glowed a weird eldritch green, creating an