The Mistress of Illusions
Page 1
DAW Books proudly presents Mike Resnick’s Dreamscape Trilogy
THE MASTER OF DREAMS
THE MISTRESS OF ILLUSIONS
THE LORD OF NIGHTMARES*
*Coming soon from DAW
Copyright © 2020 by Mike Resnick.
All Rights Reserved.
Jacket art by Daniel dos Santos.
Jacket design by Katie Anderson.
Edited by Sheila E. Gilbert.
DAW Book Collectors No. 1850.
Published by DAW Books, Inc.
1745 Broadway, New York, NY 10019.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
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Ebook ISBN: 9780756413897
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—MARCA REGISTRADA
HECHO EN U.S.A.
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
pid_prh_5.5.0_c0_r0
To Carol, as always.
And to Jean Rabe—writer, editor, horse-racing fan
Contents
Also by Mike Resnick
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
About the Author
1
It has been a hell of a month, thought Eddie Raven as he walked aimlessly through a light rain in Midtown Manhattan. He looked at all the people walking past him, each in a hurry, no one paying him any attention. He simply sighed and shook his head. If I told anyone what I’d been through, he thought, what has happened, they’d lock me away in the nearest funny farm and throw away the key—and I can’t say I’d blame them.
He grimaced. I’ve been a Bogart clone in a World War II bar in Casablanca. I’ve been a Munchkin in Oz. I’ve been Mordred in Camelot. I’ve fought magicians and monsters, and I’ve been threatened or attacked with guns, magic, swords, dragons, and half a dozen other things. I’ve fallen in love a few times with different manifestations of the same woman, and I’m spending half my waking hours in a cheap one-room Manhattan apartment nursemaiding a badly wounded creature who bears very little resemblance to a human being and who seems to be the only one who knows all the answers to my situation.
He decided to check on the creature, so he entered the building, climbed the rickety stairs, and opened the door to the tiny room. The occupant, who was totally devoid of hair, within an inch or two of seven feet tall, muscled like a weightlifter, lying on a cheap cot, and making a rasping sound as he breathed, opened his eyes as Raven approached.
“How’re you doing?” asked Raven.
I’ll survive, came the answer. It did not come from the creature’s lips, which did not in fact produce a sound, but the words were absolutely clear inside Raven’s head.
“Is there anything I can get you?” asked Raven.
No.
Just as well, thought Raven. What does one get a creature who looks like he escaped from a child’s worst nightmare?
“I’ve got to leave in a few minutes,” said Raven. “I haven’t seen Lisa since the shooting. She’s still in the hospital, which is where you should be as well.”
A grim smile played across the creature’s lips. Do you really think any hospital would admit me?
“That’s what hospitals do,” said Raven without much conviction. “They admit men and women who need medical attention.”
Well, there you have it, answered the creature.
“I don’t know what the hell I have, except a girlfriend in isolation and a lot of unanswered questions,” said Raven grimly.
They will be answered in the fullness of time.
“Spare me your bullshit answers!” snapped Raven, walking to the door. “I’ll be back in an hour or two, and you’d better be prepared to tell me what I want to know.”
I’ll be here, was the answer, followed by a grim, almost frightening chuckle. Where would I go?
Raven walked out the door, went down the stairs, and was standing outside in a cold drizzle a moment later. He considered signaling for a cab, but decided he was so annoyed that a walk in the rain just might cool him off before he was reunited, however briefly, with the woman he loved, the woman who—like the creature he had just left—had taken a bullet that he was sure had been meant for him.
He passed a plastic-shielded newspaper stand—they were an endangered species, but Manhattan still possessed a few—and looked at a headline. The Democrats still hated the Republicans, the Republicans still hated the Democrats, the Yankees still hated the Mets, the Mets still hated the Yankees, and everyone hated the mayor.
“Nothing’s changed,” muttered an unsurprised Raven, turning away and moving on.
He reached the hospital in another ten minutes, looked for a coatrack in the lobby, and of course couldn’t find one. Just as well, he thought. After all, this is Manhattan. At least this way I know I’ll have a coat when it’s time to go home.
He walked up to the reception desk, only half trying not to drip on it.
“May I help you?” asked a middle-aged receptionist who looked pretty much the way he remembered his grandmother, only more harassed.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m here to see a patient.” He gave her Lisa’s name.
“Well, you certainly took long enough,” said the receptionist harshly. “The poor thing hasn’t had a visitor since she arrived here almost a month ago.” She paused, glanced at her computer, and shrugged. “Probably just as well. She’s only been awake for three days.”
“I’ve been out of town,” replied Raven. Farther out than I think you can imagine.
“Room 3435,” she said, going back to her paperwork.
Raven looked around. “Do you have an elevator, or do I climb thirty-four floors?”
“Over there,” she said, pointing to a door. Her expression said, I wish it was you up there instead of that sweet girl.
So, I’m sure, does the guy who shot her, thought Raven.
He walked over, hit the button, wai
ted for the elevator to arrive and the door to slide open, and stepped inside. He took his coat off and hung it, still dripping, over his arm, then stepped back as two nurses entered at the twelfth floor and a doctor got on at the twenty-first.
Finally it stopped at his floor, the door slid open, and he emerged into a cluttered hallway that was filled with a number of trolleys bearing trays of food, drink, and medications. He checked the number of the nearest room, then began walking down the corridor until he came to 3435.
The door was half open, and he looked in. He’d expected Lisa to be tied to half a dozen tubes, probably with some breathing device hooked up to her face, but instead she just lay there, eyes closed, with no attachments of any kind, looking for all the world like she was taking a nap, which indeed she was.
He tiptoed over and looked down at her. There were no marks on her face or shoulders, and he concluded that the bullets must have hit lower. Her breathing seemed regular. Suddenly she tossed fitfully, and he gently laid a hand on her forehead.
She opened her eyes. It took them a moment to focus, but when they did, she smiled up at him.
“Hello, Eddie,” she said softly. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“I’m just glad you’re capable of waiting for anything at all,” he replied. “How are you doing?”
“I’ll be out of here in a few days.”
“You were damned lucky,” he said.
“We both were. I had a feeling that crazy man was shooting at you.”
“He’s had a lot of company since then,” replied Raven grimly.
“I know,” said Lisa.
He frowned. “How could you know anything that’s been happening? I gather you didn’t even wake up until a couple of days ago.”
“Somehow I know.”
“You’ve been watching too many gangland TV series,” said Raven with a smile.
“You weren’t being hunted by gangsters,” she said.
I’ve got to stop, thought Raven. She’s so weak that if I make her concentrate on anything at all, she could lapse into another coma.
“Well, they were very unusual gangsters, anyway,” he said with a smile, hoping to end the conversation.
“When you’re ready to talk about it, let me know,” she said. “I might be able to help.”
“I’m here and I’m safe,” replied Raven. “I could have used some help over the last few weeks, but I’m fine now.”
“You’ll need help again, Eddie,” she said weakly, closing her eyes.
“Would you care to explain that statement?” said Raven.
But Lisa had drifted off to sleep.
He stared at her for a long moment, then heard someone walking past the room. He stuck his head out, saw a nurse a few feet away, and called to her.
“Yes, sir?” she asked, turning and approaching him.
“I was talking to her,” he said, gesturing toward Lisa, “and she passed out. I want to make sure she’s okay.”
“She’s more than okay,” replied the nurse. “She should have been dead—and failing that, she should be comatose for months to come. She is a truly remarkable woman.”
“But she’s okay?” he persisted. “Well, not okay, obviously, but normal for her condition?”
“She’s breathing rather laboriously,” said the nurse. “Everything beyond that is a plus.” She paused. “Is she your wife?”
He shook his head. “Just a very good friend.”
The nurse smiled. “Let me guess. Is your name Eddie?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so. Every now and then she’d wake up long enough to yell things like ‘Duck, Eddie!’ or ‘Don’t trust him, Eddie!’” She stared at him. “I’d heard that you two were just innocent bystanders at some crazed shooting. She made it sound like you courted danger for a living.”
He shook his head. “She must have been dreaming or hallucinating.”
“Probably,” agreed the nurse. “Along with what sounded like legitimate warnings, she also warned you against ogres and magicians.”
“Did she name any of them?” asked Raven, trying not to show how interested he was in the answer.
“I don’t think so. We were usually too busy calming and sedating her to pay much attention to what she said.” She shook her head and smiled. “But I wouldn’t be surprised to find that she’d seen The Wizard of Oz the same day she was shot.”
“Oh?”
“Unless there’s another film with Munchkins.”
“Thank you for alleviating my fears,” said Raven, who suddenly wanted to be alone with Lisa in case she woke up before he left the hospital. “I appreciate everything you and the staff here have done to keep her alive and point her toward recovery.”
“She’s much stronger than she looks,” said the nurse. “I’m still amazed she lived through it.”
“I’m harder to kill than you think,” said Lisa’s weary voice.
“Welcome back to the world,” said the nurse. “I’ve got to get back to my duties. It was nice meeting you, Mister Eddie, and learning that there’s someone who cares about her.”
She turned and continued walking down the corridor, and Raven walked back into the room.
“You were listening,” he said.
“To the part when I was awake,” answered Lisa.
“Okay,” he said. “What do you remember about Munchkins?”
“This is probably not the ideal time to discuss ancient movies,” she said.
“Cut the crap,” said Raven. “We both know what I’m talking about.”
She simply stared at him, wincing in pain.
“You want to talk about seeking me out in Casablanca?” he continued.
“Eddie . . . please,” she said weakly. “It’s too soon. I can’t . . .”
Her voice trailed off, and he realized that she was asleep—or unconscious.
“All right,” he said, walking over and holding her hand in his. “I’ll wait until you’re stronger. But I didn’t hallucinate, and I wasn’t alone. I need to know what you remember, not only about the shooting but about everything that’s happened since.”
He learned over, planted a gentle kiss on her forehead, and left the room.
He walked to the elevator, took it down to the main floor, walked out into the street, and headed back to Rofocale’s nondescript apartment, where he planned to insist upon some answers.
2
Rofocale was sitting up on the bed when he arrived.
“Don’t you ever lock your door?” asked Raven.
“Eddie, it’s eight or nine feet away,” answered Rofocale. “I can’t even walk that far.” He paused and stared at Raven. “Did you see Lisa? How is she?”
“Alive.”
“And?”
“And hiding something from me, just like you are,” said Raven, making no attempt to hide his frustration. “And I’ll be damned if I know why. Whatever I am or have been during the past few weeks, I’m sure as hell not the enemy.”
“No one says that you are,” replied Rofocale.
“Bullshit!” growled Raven. “Four-fifths of the people I’ve encountered in the past month think I am.”
“That many people have been wrong before.”
Raven glared at the creature. “Is someone paying you to avoid giving me answers, or do you just enjoy it?”
“Believe it or not, Eddie, I’m on your side.”
“Against who?” demanded Raven.
“Against your enemies,” said Rofocale.
“Damn it!” yelled Raven. “I didn’t have any enemies until I walked into that idiotic fortune-teller’s shop a few weeks ago. Then someone I’d never seen before killed the owner, shot you and Lisa, and got away before I could stop him, and nothing’s made any sense since.” He glared at Rofocale. “Now are you going
to answer me or not?”
Rofocale’s lips didn’t move, but Raven could hear his voice, plain and clear, inside his head: You have major obstacles to overcome before any answer would be meaningful to you, or even helpful. I’ll guide you as best I can, for as long as I remain alive, but never forget that the fate of this and all other worlds depends on you.
“What the hell are you talking about?” snapped Raven.
Just what I said. You are the most important man—the most important living entity—in the world. The galaxy. The universe.
Raven stared at Rofocale. “You don’t look crazy. Fantastic, maybe, but not crazy—but you couldn’t be any more irrational if you tried.”
Believe me, Eddie, you are being sought and threatened by massive forces—massive and powerful. You don’t know it yet, and I know the truth will be difficult for you to believe—but think back over the last few weeks and tell me if those constitute normal episodes in a normal life.
“Dreams,” answered Raven with less certainty than he felt. “The shooting must have shocked me so much that I’ve been hallucinating.”
Do you really believe that?
Raven considered his answer for a long moment. “No,” he said at last. “No, I don’t. For one thing, how could Lisa have had the same dreams?”
Good.
“But why are they after me—whoever they are?” asked Raven. “I’m nothing special. What possible threat could I present to them?”
You don’t know it, Eddie, but you are very special.
Raven grimaced and shook his head. “There’s been a mistake made somewhere along the way. I’m just plain old Eddie Raven.”
The hint of a smile flashed briefly across Rofocale’s face. Rather than argue, let’s try an experiment.
Raven frowned. “What kind of experiment?” he asked cautiously.
Think back and tell me who your childhood friends were, what town you grew up in, and the name of your first love.
“What is this about?” demanded Raven.
Just do it, Eddie.
“What the hell,” muttered Raven with a shrug. “If it’ll make you happy . . .”