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 have 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?" Her 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 still are but our minds are already roaming. This is a staging area that allows us access to the Lands; like a hallway with many doors in it leading to other universes."
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 think 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 Lands are whatever you wish and will make of them."
She grinned; they never did give straight answers. They were probably driving Margaret mad.
That reminded her: "I came with a companion whom I wish to introduce to the Lands. 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 passed 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 stepped out into the Woods, when it felt like no time at all. She stepped away from the bole 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 environment as dim as twilight. She s
tood on the head of a gravel path made with crushed pearly-white stones that shown with a black light fluorescence.
"And just when I thought this place couldn't get any weirder."
She turned and saw Margaret emerge from an archway in a tree. Then she did a mental double take.
"What's with the costume?" She resembled a cavalier of Charles I, complete with linen shirt, jerkin, waist sash, reticella lace collar and cuffs, breeches, and tall narrow boots with turned-over tops and boothose, complimented by gloves, a short cape, and a plumed wide-brimmed hat. Her bouncy, billowing cinnamon-sorrel hair looked like a wig typical of that period. She had armed herself with a rapier hanging from a baldric and a main-gauche parrying dagger in her sash. Differel noted, however, not without some irritation, that her attire did little to conceal her statuesque figure. It made her own stick-like body seem even more boyish than normal, and her long, flat, stringy, smoke-gray hair would do little to dispel that illusion.
"It was all that was available. You're one to talk; don't you think the redcoat look is overkill?"
She glowered but ignored the barb. "Where's your equipment?"
"I didn't know what I'd need, except these." She reached under her sash and held up a set of lock picks.
"Hmph. The tables offer you everything you would need, or want, within reason. Though why you'd want to look like that I can't fathom. Fortunately we don't have far to go, so you can share my food and water."
"Where are we, exactly?"
"We're in the Dreamlands proper."
She wore a dubious