Lady of Dreams

by W. R. Gingell

  Hyun-jun’s eyes sharpened on him. “Yesterday? What about yesterday? What has Se-ri got to do with it?”

  Yong-hwa stared at him in disbelief. “You really didn’t notice?”

  “Of course I noticed! I’m asking you what happened?”

  “Se-ri is holding something over Ae-jung’s head to make Ae-jung work for her. She wouldn’t listen to me, but she might listen to you.”

  “Something—” Hyun-jun’s eyes narrowed on Yong-hwa. “What is she holding over Ae-jung?”

  Yong-hwa hesitated. “I can’t tell you,” he said, at last. “I don’t think Ae-jung would want me to tell you. But Se-ri has taken a book that Ae-jung would like back.”

  Hyun-jun’s eyes grew wide again. “You know a secret of Ae-jung’s? Why do you know about it?”

  “It happened that way,” said Yong-hwa, refusing to allay any of those particular fears. “You need to speak with Se-ri. Fix your quarrel with her and stop taking it out on Ae-jung, both of you.”

  “You—I wasn’t taking it out on her!”

  “Se-ri is,” Yong-hwa said. “And now you know about it. Fix it.”

  Hyun-jun said helplessly, “But how can I fix it? The woman is insane!”

  “I don’t have anything she wants,” said Yong-hwa, echoing what Se-ri had said earlier. “If you want to help Ae-jung, if you want to keep her away from Se-ri, you need to offer her something that she wants. She won’t let go of Ae-jung otherwise.”

  Hyun-jun said, suspiciously, “Why did you tell me this? Why would you help me?”

  “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m helping you,” said Yong-hwa. “I’m helping Ae-jung. I don’t need to use something like this to win her.” He bowed, short and precise, and turned to leave.

  “Wait!” said Hyun-jun, scrabbling for words. “Wait, what do you mean, win her?”

  I heard Yong-hwa hiss softly with laughter. With his hand still on the doorknob, he said, “What do you think?” and left the room. I hesitated between the pieces of fracturing Dream, but even if I had wanted to stay with Hyun-jun, the stronger Dream was with Yong-hwa, and it towed me along regardless.

  “Oh, bother!” I said crossly in Scandian. I heard a faint “Mwoh?” from Jessamy, but the Dream didn’t begin to lose strength until Yong-hwa was well out of the house and striding through the garden below. Then I began to feel the sensation of warmth in my hands and cool tugging at my ankles. Before long I could hear Jessamy singing, “Wake up, Nuna! Nuna, wake up!” and I woke from the Dream, my head lolling. He had moved me at some stage; now we were by the stream, Jessamy fairly in it and holding my hands to prevent me from falling in. My legs were dangling in the water to the knee, and the hem of my dress was already soaked.

  “This is a pretty way to wake a person!” I said accusingly, when I could see well enough to glare at him.

  “Don’t pretend to be cross with me,” said Jessamy cheerfully. “When you start swearing in Scandian I know you’ve had enough, so I thought I’d better try to get you out.”

  I raised my brows at him. “I wasn’t swearing, Jessamy-a.”

  “Of course you weren’t, Nuna,” Jessamy said, as amiably unbelieving as he has always been in the face of my Scandian exclamations.

  We didn’t return to the house so late as Jessamy had threatened, but the light was fading when he walked me back. I’d regained some use of my legs by then, but that strength was spent when we were still some way from the house, and so I was carried back in as I had been carried out: on Jessamy’s back.

  When I was settled on my chaise longue again, I beckoned to Carlin and said to Jessamy, “Wait there. I have to write a letter.”

  “All right,” said Jessamy obligingly. It didn’t occur to him to ask why he should wait for me to write a letter, or what it had to do with him, until I was finished writing it. Then, as I was signing and stamping it, he looked over my shoulder and said, “Nuna, are you still sending letters for Abeoji?”

  “Not exactly,” I said, meeting Carlin’s grin with narrow eyes. “Jessamy-a, this letter is for Ae-jung. I want you to deliver it.”

  “All right,” said Jessamy. “I’ll be off, then.”

  I caught at his sleeve. “Not now, Jessamy-a. Keep it for a little while. Carlin or I will tell you when to deliver it.”

  Jessamy stared at me for a moment, then said, “Oh! It’s that sort of business. All right. I’ll keep it until then.”

  “Bend down,” I said to him. Jessamy did so, looking apprehensive, but when I only patted his head, he grinned at me. “You’re a good boy,” I said. “Go and eat.”

  I was heavier and less inclined to Dream that night as a result of my afternoon with Jessamy, but although I could still feel my legs, my sleep was broken early the next morning by the irresistible pull of a Dream.

  I Dreamed of Hyun-jun. He was in his room, and if he was trying to write, his process had become more tortured than ever: he flung himself from one side of the room to the other, his hands first in his pockets, then digging through his hair in an agony of impatience and frustration.

  “What’s bitten you?” I said in surprise. He hadn’t been exactly calm when he spoke with Yong-hwa, but neither had he been this disturbed. “This man! He’ll do himself an injury.”

  I thought back on the conversation between Hyun-jun and Yong-hwa. Yong-hwa had spoken as if he knew something of Hyun-jun—as if he knew exactly what Hyun-jun had to offer Se-ri that could break her grip on Ae-jung. By the look of it, Hyun-jun had come to the same realisation and didn’t at all care for his conclusions.

  “Oh, go to sleep and talk to her at a reasonable time of day,” I told him wearily. He didn’t hear me, of course. He didn’t take my advice, either, and I was plagued for the rest of the morning by the same raging Dream until at last I rose in despair. I was dressed and out of bed before Carlin even opened my curtains, prompting a look of surprised disapproval when he entered.

  “There’s no need to be so sour about it,” I said. “Go and scowl at Hyun-jun-ssi if you want to blame someone.”

  “Shall I fetch the young master?”

  “Jessamy will be busy enough today.” If the Dream that had momentarily pushed through Hyun-jun’s despair was any indicator, Jessamy was planning on spending the day—or as much of it as possible—with Ae-jung. “I’m going out for a little while, Carlin.”

  “Yes, miss,” said Carlin. “And where are we going?”

  “It’s no use trying to put words into my mouth,” I said. “We’re not going anywhere. I’m going out in search of a Dream.”

  Carlin opened and closed his mouth, presumably caught between his indignation as my footman and his desire to make a clever remark. At length he said, with awful sarcasm, “And I suppose that you’ll just call out to another footman if you happen to fall and can’t get up again? Miss.”

  “I’m so proud of you, Carlin,” I said. “That must have been very difficult for you.”

  Carlin fought with a grin and was unsuccessful. He said, “You have no idea, miss.”

  “Out of curiosity, what would you have said if you weren’t trying to assuage your indignation?”

  “Oh, just something along the lines of ‘Even an adventuress brings along a loyal henchman when she goes out to seek her Dream.’”

  “I see why you went with indignation,” I said.

  “Come off it, miss, it’s not that bad!” protested Carlin, fighting to repress his grin. “Look, I’ll just follow along behind you. Out of sight, like.”

  “Just behind me with your arms outstretched, waiting for me to fall,” I interpreted. “That doesn’t suit me. How do you think I managed before you were assigned to me?”

  “No idea, miss,” said Carlin, having fought between indignation and sarcasm again, this time with a different outcome. He looked faintly smug.

  “That’s a fair point,” I said. I had been very young when we were paired, and before then I hadn’t done too much other than trying not to starve. “How old was I when
you came to me, Carlin?”

  “About ten, I think, miss.”

  “I thought you’d know by now that you’re not going to win this argument.”

  There was a pause, then a faint sigh. Carlin said glumly, “Yes, miss.”

  I was still caught between two Dreams when I left my room. One of them was the one of Jessamy, carrying a Contraption typewriter for Ae-jung. She was carrying a stack of annotated papers that rivalled in size the piles that Hyun-jun used to give her, but was significantly neater. Despite that, and despite Jessamy’s cheering presence, she looked nothing like as happy as she had looked in Hyun-jun’s employ. Strange girl.

  Unfortunately, the stronger Dream was the one that carried Hyun-jun’s stormy presence with it. He was stalking through the manor, scowling at everyone and everything that met his wild gaze, having knocked as unsuccessfully at Se-ri’s door as Yong-hwa had done before. He would soon meet with me, an outcome that didn’t occur to me as a good one, since I had come out with Ae-jung’s book hidden in my shawl again. Hyun-jun might be rude and hasty, but he knew me well enough by now to be depended on to see me, and he was concerned enough to insist upon taking me wherever I was going. I had an idea of where I should be going with the book, but I didn’t like the idea of leading Hyun-jun in that particular direction, and since I couldn’t count on myself to keep a good grip on Ae-jung’s book, I began to look about me for the best room to slip into until the danger passed by.

  I chose the conservatory because the melancholy chords of a surprisingly sweet song were tracing down the halls. It was something of a surprise to find that Se-ri was at the piano; her strident playing the other day hadn’t led me to believe she was capable of such playing. Se-ri, having prepared for the interview, must have been playing stridently so Yong-hwa would know where to find her. I slipped into the room while she was still playing, a smile tugging at the edges of my mouth, as unnoticed as if I had drifted in on the wings of a Dream. So much for trying to avoid Hyun-jun. If Se-ri was here, Hyun-jun would also be here before long. By way of making myself as hard to see as possible, I settled myself into one of the padded benches that were cut into the wall itself and surrounded by overflowing greenery, covering my legs with the long drape of an ornamental curtain. Eun-hee had festooned the entire length of the wall with them, and between that and the greenery, even Jessamy would have had difficulty seeing me.

  Before long, I drifted into a light sleep, ruefully aware that my legs were beginning to lose feeling already. Carlin would have to come and find me after all. He would be very strong and silent about it, but I would be able to feel the restrained reproach rolling off him.

  Hyun-jun flung himself into the room, sending the door crashing against the wall, thoroughly waking me and making Se-ri jump. I had seen the warning flutter of Dream as it preceded him, or even my staunch personality might not have been enough to stop me from jumping at the suddenness of it.

  Se-ri put one ladylike hand over her heart to hide her very real start, her eyelashes fluttering in well-mannered surprise. “Oppa, what a lovely—”

  “Let go of Ae-jung now,” said Hyun-jun abruptly. “She’s not a part of the bargain between you and me. I don’t want you playing with her.”

  “That’s a pity,” Se-ri said, smiling. “Since we’re not going to be engaged for very much longer, you really don’t have a say in who and what I play with. You shouldn’t be greedy, Oppa.”

  “I’ll extend the contract,” said Hyun-jun. Ah. So that’s what he and Yong-hwa had both thought of.

  It stopped Se-ri short, her eyes widening for a startled moment. Then she said carelessly, “What can I do with six months? It’ll hardly be enough to get my contracts in order. Besides—”

  “I’ll extend it for a year.”

  There was a brief pause. Into it, I said softly, “Ah. You poor boy. What a nice thing you can be, sometimes.”

  Se-ri said, “Pardon?”

  “I’ll extend it for a year,” said Hyun-jun recklessly. “Use my name for whatever contracts you need. I’ll even speak to Sohn Sajangnim for you. Just release Ae-jung.”

  Se-ri turned her head and blinked. “All right,” she said suddenly. “I’ll draw up a new contract. It will be ready for your stamp and signature tonight.”

  “There’s one more thing,” said Hyun-jun, bitter in his triumph. “You took something from her—a book. Give it to me.”

  “Mwoh?”

  “The book,” said Hyun-jun. “Give it to me.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” said Se-ri tranquilly. “I think I’ll keep it, just in case. You’re very pretty and very useful, but I don’t think you’re very trustworthy. Anyway, ask Ae-jung yourself; ask her if she wants you to get it back for her and see what she says.”

  “I’m not going to ask Ae-jung,” Hyun-jun said coldly. “She’ll tell me about it when she’s ready.”

  “Do you really think so? Well, we’ll see.” She thought about that for a moment, and I saw her shoulders go back. “Actually, we won’t! Why should I keep that little thing’s secrets? Oppa, you do know that she’s the daughter of Woo Jung-soo, don’t you?”

  Hyun-jun stared at her—at her pleasant little smile, her tilted head, her watchful eyes—and then I heard him utter a short laugh. “I can’t tell if you’re telling the truth any more,” he said. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “What doesn’t matter?” asked Se-ri, her eyes a little wider than usual. Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t this. If it came to that, it wasn’t what I had been expecting, either; I’d read some of Woo Jung-soo’s reviews of Hyun-jun’s work.

  “Whether or not you’re lying. Whether or not Ae-jung’s father is Woo Jung-soo. None of it matters.”

  Se-ri said, very thoughtfully, “I see. Now that you’re officially mine again, Oppa, I am a little curious. Who told you about the book—or more importantly, the inscription in it?”

  Hyun-jun, who had turned to gaze out the window opposite me, winced at this reminder of his new bondage. “That? That was Ma Yong-hwa.”

  Se-ri blinked. “Really? I really didn’t expect that.”

  “Neither did I,” said Hyun-jun, briefly. “If that’s all, I’ll be going ahead now.”

  “Very well,” said Se-ri. “We’ll announce our engagement at dinner tonight, Oppa. Don’t be late.”

  She saw him to the door, a gracious hostess to the last, and remained in the doorway thoughtfully for some time after he left. Then, smiling to herself, she stalked away after him, trailing a Dream behind her that I chose to avoid. Instead I sighed and sank back against the wall, feeling the plaster cold against my back and the coolness of glass against my right arm. That made me look around at the curtains again in surprise and to fumble for a pull cord. I found it, and, having pulled it, saw that I was sitting in a window seat. I’d thought that the artfully floral drapes were a decoration, fitting as seamlessly with the surrounding greenery as they did. Why on earth did Eun-hee draw the curtains? I could look out over nearly all the garden from here, a glorious sight at this time of year. I made myself comfortable, gazing out over the shifting, breezy garden that I couldn’t smell or feel from behind the glass, and let myself slip from that untouchable pleasantness and into another untouchable sight. There was another Dream: the Jessamy-Dream, and just the one I had been hoping for. He was still with Ae-jung, however, turning pages for her as she typed and making faces at her to make her laugh. If I spoke his name over his shoulder now, he would have to leave her.

  I smiled and left the Dream instead. In the silence I went back to staring out the window, the brightly coloured scenery eventually melting into a highly coloured whole that grew indistinct in my boredom. I remembered the chill of it well, even though I hadn’t felt really bored for some time—ever since I began to Dream this series of Dreams, as a matter of fact. It was just as well for me to get used to it again. In a couple of short months, Jessamy would be gone again, as would Yong-hwa, Ae-jung, and Hyun-jun. They would be gone more quickly if
I could resolve their problems, but even if I didn’t resolve them, all Dreams had an ending. Only the boredom was always there, waiting for me as if it had never been gone. I would leave Jessamy to his pleasant afternoon and while away my own in solitude until Carlin came to fetch me. It wasn’t good to be too much attached to Dreams that never remained.

  I had been staring out the window without seeing for quite some time before it occurred to me that there was now a figure in the garden below, neat and slender and continuously present, before my window and just a little below me. I let my sight sharpen on the figure and found myself looking at Yong-hwa, his face tilted and his eyes looking up. I drew in a small, soft hiss, because he was looking up at me—directly at me. My eyes met his and he raised one hand in an unexpected gesture of greeting, the slightest of smiles on his lips. As if we were equals. No; as if he knew me, recognised me.

  I didn’t realise that I’d raised my own hand until I felt the coolness of my fingers touching the glass. When I took it away again, Yong-hwa was still gazing up at me with that smile, his hand still upraised. It was a distinctly unsettling feeling, his eyes meeting mine without any film of Dream between us, and the glass no longer seemed as solid as it had felt when I was touching it. I tore my eyes away, staring at the garden beyond him to avoid his gaze, and eventually the figure in my peripheral moved away and into the manor. I exhaled in relief and flicked my eyes down to be sure he was really gone, but it wasn’t until quite some time after Yong-hwa had gone that I was able to feel safe again.

  8

  Eun-Hee and I first met at a party. Surprisingly enough for me at that age, it wasn’t one of the stiff, solemn affairs that Father always throws—it was a glittering, sprawling affair at Eun-Hee’s own Scandian-style house. It spread from room to room in a constantly moving flow of lush coiffures and brightly coloured waistcoats, each doorway leading to another amusement and new faces. It was one of my first Eppan parties that didn’t involve tortured artists, writers, and musicians grouped into antisocial little huddles—