of feet before he spotted her: he came to an abrupt halt and stared at her with an expression that mixed surprise, apprehension, and keen interest. Suddenly mortified with embarrassment, she whipped around in an about-face.
"Oh, bollocks, I'm terribly sorry!"
"No, please, it's all right. I just wanted to wash off the trail dust." His voice was a smooth, gentle, lyric baritone, melodic and soothing, and it calmed her frazzled nerves. "It's probably my fault, anyways. This road is so seldom used anymore I assumed I would have privacy. But, you know what they say: when you 'assume' you make an 'ass' of 'u' and 'me'!"
She couldn't help chuckling at the absurdity of that statement.
"You have a nice laugh. You can turn around now."
She did so and saw he had dressed in what looked like a monk's hooded habit.
"I suppose this will sound like a dumb question," he went on, "but are you an adventurer? As opposed to being a hedge robber, assassin, or lady of pleasure."
She flashed a smirk. "I'm journeying to Cwmhir Abbey, but it's taking me longer to get there than I anticipated."
"Do tell! I'm bound there myself, but I'm afraid you won't be able to make it before night; there's another twelve hours of traveling ahead of us, at least."
"Hmph. I thought as much."
"Then allow me to offer you the hospitality of my campsite, such as it is."
"No, thank you, I couldn't intrude--"
"Don't be ridiculous. I would appreciate the company, and I don't see how you could intrude more than you have already." But he said that last with a wry grin.
"I'm sure I'll be able to find some other place--"
"Nonsense. There isn't any along the entire length of the ridgeway, and I wouldn't advise trying to camp up there, not with the way the wind can blow in off the mountains."
She grinned and shook her head. He certainly was persistent. "Very well, in that case I accept." She walked under the overhang.
"Splendid! My name is Michael by the way." He extended his hand.
She removed her glove and shook. "I'm Flynnette." She had adopted that alias for when she traveled alone. Being Kuranes's heir, she figured it wasn't a good idea to advertise her movements.
"Please, make yourself at home. I'll just get the fire started." He squatted down beside the ring of stones.
She walked over to the lean-to, taking off the other glove and stuffing both into a pocket of her red great coat. Sometimes she felt self-conscious about its colour, being British and all. She leaned the makila against the cave wall and slipped off her pack, placing it beside the stick. She then unhooked the harness that supported Caliburn on her back.
"That's quite a sword!"
She looked back at him and held it upright on the tip of its scabbard. The pommel came to just under her chin.
"Family heirloom." Which was no lie. Caliburn was another name for Excalibur. She descended from King Arthur Pendragon through her mother. Every member of that matrilineal line had been able to summon Caliburn in times of great need, and she had inherited that talent.
He hit flint against steel. "Is it a claymore?"
She placed the sword beside the makila. "Similar, but much older. You know about swords?"
"I have some small knowledge." His lilting tone suggested he was being facetious.
"Where should I sleep?"
"You're welcome to share my lean-to; there's plenty of room."
She examined it and decided he was right, if she lay lengthwise. Still: "Are you sure?"
"Of course. If you're worried about propriety, while I would love to ravish you, as my guest I am bound by the demands of hospitality to protect you and treat you well." He glanced up at her with a grinning leer, and winked.
She realized he was being facetious again. "Hmph. Well, if you do, and I ever find out about it, I'll hurt you good, little man."
He laughed. "My word, such wit! As Speedy Gonzales might say, 'I like you, you're silly.'"
She removed her coat and hung it over the closest upright support of the lean-to. "That isn't as obscure a reference as you might believe."
"You've heard it before?"
She unbuckled the harness over her sleeveless doublet. "From a friend in the Waking World." It was one of Sunny's favorite lines.
"Ah, so, you're a Dreamer--good heavens, woman!"
She glanced at him and saw him staring at the six pistols hanging in the harness. She had two more in belt holsters, along with a rondel dagger and a few pouches.
"Expecting bear?"
She flashed a lopsided grin. "I get it. In a manner of speaking. I'm a pistol marksman in the Waking World. I feel more comfortable with a gun in my hand than a blade, and even if these are not what I'm used to, they're still better than nothing. Having eight of them just makes it possible to get off multiple shots before having to reload."
Then the shilling dropped. "You don't seem too surprised to see these."
He shrugged. "I've seen matchlock guns before, but nothing like those. Are they flintlocks?"
She slipped off the harness and laid it over the coat. She understood his confusion. Nothing more recent than 1500 could exist in the Dreamlands. "No, they use a mechanism called a wheellock. It was developed just before the 16th century. A spring-driven wheel turns against a piece of pyrite to create sparks." She unbuckled the belt and hung it off the harness.
"Are they common?"
She removed her red, wide-brimmed hat and laid it on top of the coat. "No; I believe my collection is the only one so far, but these were made by a weaponsmith in Ulthar, and he offers others for general sale. So you may see more of them as time goes on." She untied her pink ascot from around the doublet's high collar and draped it over the hat.
"Ulthar, you say. They could make my life a bit easier; safer, too."
She untied the lacings on her doublet and draped it over her pack. Underneath she wore a chemise tucked inside a pair of tight-fitting trousers. "It takes a goodly amount of practice to be a passable shot, and they require a great deal of care and maintenance to keep in working order, but for all that, they're still easier to master than a knife or a bow."
"Might be difficult finding a teacher."
She knelt and unbuckled the straps on her boots. "The smith in Ulthar can show you all you need to know. After that, it's just a matter of practice making perfect." Standing, she leaned with one hand against the cave wall and pulled them off, dropping them beside the pack.
He didn't say anything more, and the tapping of flint on steel resumed.
She walked over and knelt down to watch. Eile and Sunny had shown her how to start a fire that way, but she had had little opportunity to practice. After about a minute, she saw a wisp of smoke rise from the tinder. He bent over and blew into the pyramid of wood, and in seconds the tinder blazed up. He quickly added fresh material, then larger pieces of kindling, and in no time the center blazed strongly. He then stood and went over to the other side of the lean-to.
"Is there anything I can do?" She watched as he rummaged around inside his own pack.
He shook his head. "You're my guest. Aside from seeing to your own needs, nothing."
"I'm a fairly good cook."
He pulled out food packs. "I'm not too bad myself."
"I meant no offense."
He straightened up and came back to the fire, carrying half a dozen parcels. He had that wry grin on his face again. "None taken. Feel free to kibitz."
"I just think I should pull my own weight."
He passed the packages to her and she laid them beside the cooking gear. Then he knelt beside the growing fire. "Would you consider traveling with me? I could use the company."
He looked and sounded rather earnest, almost like a child frightened of the dark. It made her wonder if, for all his confidence and high spirits, he wasn't in some measure intimidated by the huge world around him.
She smiled and extended her hand. "As would I. I would be honoured."
He beamed at her with what
seemed like ecstatic relief, and took her hand in both of his. "Then that would be good enough."
He flashed that wry grin and winked as he recovered his composure. "Besides, it never hurts to have a big person by your side, does it? Especially one as alluring as you."
She chuckled. "You are outrageous, you know that?"
"It has been said of me," he replied in a mischievous tone as he unwrapped one of the packs.
Coming in March.
From "Differential Damsel"
Differel crept up the trail towards the wall as Eile and Sunny followed. The ruins were part of an ancient manor abandoned long ago, and while most of the buildings had long since collapsed and fallen into rubble, the protective curtain wall remained largely intact, except for a handful of breaches. The trail led to one, and she stopped on one side, keeping out of sight of the interior. The Girls fell in behind her as she took off her glasses. They were really a fashion statement; though myopic in the Waking World, she had perfect vision in the Dreamlands. But there could be a danger they would reflect light.
She peered in a cautious manner around the broken masonry into the central courtyard, fingering one of her wheellock pistols just in case. A few rods away four Men of Leng sat around a fire beside one of the few intact buildings, eating, drinking, and telling stories as they whiled away the evening before going to sleep. Though they wore dark-colored tunics and traveling coats, the flames illuminated their bulbous turbans and round faces in the growing twilight, with their wide frog-like mouths and wicked grinning leers. From the way they talked and laughed, she figured they were well pleased with the progress of their adventure so far.
But she felt less concern about them than the man they held captive. Strung up by his wrists inside the building's open doorway and stripped to the waist, Victor looked none the worst for his ordeal.
Which is good, she thought. She had resolved before she arrived that if they had harmed her husband in any way, she would kill them instead of take them captive. She was a crack marksman, and at that distance could pick them off easily, even with her primitive firearms.
She stepped back from the gap and turned to look at the Girls. They had volunteered without hesitation when she asked for their help, and she had been glad of it. She would rather have them at her back than an SAS troop in full battle gear. They were her friends in the Waking World as well as the Dreamlands, and called themselves Team Girl in both places.
She held up four fingers, and they nodded. She pointed at Sunny and motioned for her to remain behind. She crinkled her azure-blue eyes behind her granny glasses and smiled, then slipped off and strung her reflex composite bow. The Mercutio of the pair, she called herself White-lion in the Dreamworld, though she seemed more golden with her huge mane of gamboge hair and her buff complexion. She preferred comfortable traveling clothes, such as a long skirt, a sleeveless shirt that bared her midriff, and an open jacket, all of which did little to hide her voluptuous figure, along with leather boots and gloves, and a Robin Hood hat with a large golden plume. Her costume often led assailants to underestimate her, but her prowess with the bow and her magical talent prevented most attackers from getting close, and those few who did discovered she was equally adept with a quarterstaff or dagger.
Differel removed her hat and passed it to Sunny. The broad floppy brim provided excellent shading from the sun, but it would be more of a hindrance than a help in clandestine activity. She focused on Eile and indicated for her to start before her. Eile responded with a grin and a wink of an indigo-blue eye. Differel gave them both an a-okay sign as she pulled out a pistol, before turning and darting across the opening of the break to the other side. When she looked back, she saw Eile peeking into the courtyard. The sober, rock-solid member of the duo, she went by the name of Braveheart. She was thinner and tougher than her partner, with a long seal-brown ponytail and forelocks dyed a vivid fuchsia framing her ochre-toned face. She preferred to duel with her opponents face-to-face, and like a typical knight-errant she wore armor: a hauberk of cuir bouilli covered with bronze metal scales, an armoured bustier, and shoulder guards over a leather unitard, with gloves and boots. She had no helmet, but carried a wooden shield faced with metal strapped to her back, which she used to good effect with her broad, short-bladed sword.
Eile glanced at her and flashed a thumbs up. She put an arm around Sunny and gave her a quick smooch on the lips, then waited as her partner aimed high and fired an arrow over the wall. It whistled as it flew and clattered against rocks behind the Leng Men. As soon as they turned to see what had made the noise, including Victor, Eile slipped inside and made off along the wall's inner perimeter. Her destination was a collapsed tower further down the circumference that would put her behind and to one side of the Leng Men. Differel let her make the first move because she had the farthest to go.
As soon as she passed beyond the firelight, Differel looked at Sunny and nodded. She returned it and nocked another arrow. She fired again in a different direction and Differel ducked around the corner of the break. At the same moment, however, the Leng Man on the opposite side of the fire glanced in her direction, and she threw herself face-down behind a line of tall weeds along the inner side of the wall. The Lengite frowned and looked past his fellows, as if trying to get a better look at something he glimpsed for a moment. Differel lay still and held her breath. Her blood-red great coat, forest-green trousers, and mud-brown boots and gloves were dark enough to blend with the shadows, and she turned her face towards the ground to hide her medium-tan skin, but her long smoke-gray hair might be visible if the light was right. After a few moments, however, the Leng Man turned his attention back to his companions and took a drink from his bottle.
Exhaling a quiet sigh, Differel crawled along the edge of the wall until she reached the side of Victor's building. Standing, she flattened her back to the structure and looked out into the courtyard. The Leng Men were still preoccupied with their reverie. Gazing across the open area, she saw Eile wave at her from behind the tower. She was in position.
Differel signaled her acknowledgement, then turned away from the corner and moved towards the back of the building. The space behind it lay in shadow almost to pitch blackness, except for a light that spilled out a hole onto the curtain wall. A man-shaped shadow played over the stone blocks, flickering with the campfire.
She groped through the darkness, feeling her way with her free hand on the building. When she reached where the light came from, she found an opening big enough to step through. The room beyond consisted of a single large space with four pillars down the center. Three yaks were tethered to one side, and their packs stacked nearby against the far wall. Almost directly across from her she saw Victor silhouetted against the firelight.
Holstering the pistol, she crawled through the hole and deftly sprinted across the room to stand on the left side of the threshold. Victor stood taller than her by a head, with a strong svelte body. That handsome, angular face, with its chiseled, rugged features of a cinema star and wavy collar-length walnut brown hair, could make her swoon like a schoolgirl, though his goatee gave him a diabolical caste.
He stiffened, as if hearing something, and his head twitched as he made ready to turn it.
"Don't look," she whispered.
He relaxed and a faint smile crossed his lips. "I figured you'd come," he murmured. "Did they contact you or Karchedon?"
"Me. As luck would have it, I had just arrived at my mansion in Celephaïs when I received the ransom demand. But I never had any intention of paying."
"That goes without saying, My Love. Is Team Girl with you?"
"Naturally."
"I expected you sooner."
"Bloody cheek. I stalled the negotiations as long as I could, but I wasn't able to discover where they were holding you, so I arranged to make the exchange here at noon tomorrow, and I insisted they bring you along. I refused to cooperate unless I could see you were alive and well."
"I appreciate that. You do realize this
is a trap."
"Of course. I'm well aware of the various rewards the Moonbeasts and others have offered for my head. I calculated they would arrive ahead of us to set up their ambush, so we got here early."
"Well, better late than never, I suppose."
"You're one to talk. I'm still trying to figure out how you got yourself into this mess."
"I'd be more than happy to enlighten you later."
"We have some time. I want to wait for them to get good and plastered. Besides, the Punicae authorities were less than forthcoming."
"Very well. Queen Elishat had sent me on a mission to Lelag-Leng."
Victor had been a British diplomat in the Waking World before he died, and he continued that profession in the Dreamlands, only now he worked for the city-state of Karchedon, which ruled the island-nation of Punica.
"She commanded me to keep a low profile, so as not to raise suspicion. I decided to travel as a trader, and I had hired these four 'gentlemen' to be my escort. One of them must've recognized me, or they were tipped off. Either way, they kidnapped me as soon as we arrived in the Northern Lands. The rest you know."
"Why didn't you wait until my next Dream cycle?"
"I couldn't; the mission was time sensitive, and frankly you're too recognizable." He then shrugged. "Besides, this isn't the first time I've done something like this. Now, if you don't mind, I would appreciate being rescued."
"Hmph. A damsel you're not."
"I couldn't agree more, though I find the parallels amusing, and I'd be more than happy to offer the usual reward. But, seriously, could we table this discussion for another time? I really would like to be set free sooner than later."
"Patience." She examined his bonds. His wrists were secured by ropes looped around the lintel through gaps between the masonry. She could see no slack, but the cords ran along the underside of his palms and wrists.
A half-smile tugged at her mouth. "I have an idea."
"A successful one, I hope."
"It will be tricky. I'll need you to stay perfectly still."
"I believe I can manage that."
She grinned at his sarcastic tone. He didn't like taking a passive role.
"I'll be right back." She patted him on the rump as she retreated into the middle of the room. She turned and positioned herself until his body blocked her view of the fire, then started forward in a slow and careful manner. She intended to hide herself from the Leng Men as she came up behind him.
The distance between them shrank with interminable slowness, but finally she came close enough to embrace him. "I've arrived. Don't move." He didn't reply, but she didn't expect him to.
She drew her poignard dagger from her belt and crossed her arms over her chest. She opened them across her face and held them on either side of her head. After a moment she raised and spread them until they matched the position and placement of his arms, as near as she could with their height difference.
"Hold the ropes with your hands." He grasped them as if using them for
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