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 stood 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 expression. "Not what I expected."
"This is the Enchanted Woods--"
Margaret barked out a laugh, but it had an anxious note. "Are you off your nut?"
"Don't be fooled by the name. It can be a very dangerous place, particularly for novices. Just stick with me, and don't go wandering off, no matter what you see or hear. Clear?"
"Crystal."
"Our destination is a town called Ulthar. It's like a pre-industrial holiday village. Trust me, you won't be disappointed."
"Oh, bugger. Look, can we just get going?"
"In a moment." She looked around, but didn't see anything stirring. "Is anyone here?"
Margaret blinked a questioning look. "What?" But Differel ignored her. A singular creature crawled around the trunk and came to rest above the stair exit, facing down. Margaret heard the scratching of its claws on the bark and looked behind her.
"Aaah! Blimey!" She danced away and hid behind Differel. It
looked like a short, squat, tailless rat, half again as big as a rabbit, with large rounded ears and huge peat-brown eyes whose pupils glowed an iridescent neon green. It had short bronze fur tinged with verdigris, while stripes of tarnished silver lined its face. Its front paws were thumbed hands, while wriggling pink tendrils bestrewn its long flexible nose.
"What the bleeding hell is that?"
"A Zoog. Behave yourself; they eat rude people."
She flashed a consternated look, as if she couldn't be sure she wasn't serious.
"Welcome back, My Lady Elissa," it said in a high-pitched voice. "I trust thou art well?"
Margaret's exotic copperish eyes bulged out and her jaw dropped. "Bugger!" Then she whipped her head around to stare at her. "Lady Elissa?!"
Differel returned a grinning leer. "Oh, didn't I tell you? I'm a marchioness here. I outrank you now."
She scowled. "What an appalling thought."
Differel smirked and turned her attention back to the Zoog. "I am well, thank you, and I trust all in the village are well?"
"We be'st well. Thou art early this eventide."
"Yes, I wanted to introduce a friend to the Dreamlands. This is Lady Margaret Rose Chesham, daughter of the Duke of Anglin."
The Zoog focused on Margaret. "I be'st pleased to meet thee, My Lady Chesham. Thou art welcome."
She nodded. "Thank you." Her voice sounded uncertain, but for once more deferential.
"I would like to make a withdraw."
"Of course, My Lady Elissa. Proceedest ye to the edge of the Woods, and we shalt deliver thy goods." It then turned to face up the
The Adventure of the Jigsaw Dragon Page 12