The Queen of Dreams (The Dashkova Memoirs Book 6)

by Thomas K. Carpenter

  She was in a trance, hands outstretched. A powerful thrumming emanated from Morwen, like drums beating deep in the earth.

  The hut slowly shifted, tilting level, reducing the weight on us. After a few minutes, the floor was even, the normal weight of gravity distributed evenly.

  We crawled out of the tangled heap, mumbling apologies as we dislodged our limbs from each other.

  We righted ourselves, adjusting clothes, rebuttoning shirts and sleeves. Only when we had recovered did we notice that Morwen was no longer standing in the middle, and none of us had seen her leave. We shared our worries with furrowed brows and tight lips.

  Ben broke the silence. "We're alive and should be thankful for that. It seems our enemy detected us and tried to destroy us with that shield. A close one, at that."

  "Where is Morwen?" I asked, knowing that none of them knew the answer.

  "She expended a considerable amount of energy protecting us and the hut when the shield hit," said Santiago. "I felt the magic keenly. She's probably recovering right now."

  The angular lines of Santiago's olive-toned face were handsome, though bordering on severe, making him appear dangerous. I understood why he'd grown the face-covering beard while he was in Philadelphia.

  "I felt it, too," I said. "Is everyone well?"

  Everyone nodded. William looked dazed, holding a hand to his head. Nasrine seemed a little put out, though it could have been her disheveled clothing.

  "Are we still moving?" asked William.

  The blank wall gave us no clues, so Ben moved cautiously to the door. He opened and then closed it quickly, the slam making William jump.

  "We still move, though I know not our destination. The landscape looked different than the way here," said Ben.

  A quaver intruded into Nasrine's voice as she spoke. "Is the hut acting on its own? How will we get back?"

  Ben revealed a confident smile, knocking his blond hair askew before speaking. "I'm sure Morwen is recovering from her efforts and we shall arrive in Philadelphia in no time. Let us use the time to straighten up. When she returns, she'll be pleased by our industry."

  The five of us took to the work, any previous disagreements lubricated by our collective near annihilation from the shield. I pondered the meaning of Catherine's words. She warned of a trap in the realm of dreams, and heeded me to return to Philadelphia. The earnestness of her concern warmed my heart, but I knew it could be a ploy by Veles to keep me away, though I hadn't known Catherine to be one easily fooled.

  The other possibility was that she hadn't really existed, but my heart knew that wasn't true. Had I not been warned by the goddess Matka, though, it was possible I might not have believed it her.

  I knew I needed to speak to Ben about the encounter, and I waited until he was in a corner away from the others, sweeping up a scattering of dirt from a broken potted plant, before bringing him my concerns.

  Kneeling down with a dustpan to accept the debris, I whispered under my breath.

  "I saw Catherine when I was at the shield."

  Ben glanced at the others to make sure no one was near. "Empress Catherine?"

  "The one and only," I said. "I might not have believed it if I hadn't been warned about her existence from a credible source."

  He nodded soberly. "This complicates things."

  "It's worse than that. She warned me that this whole thing is a trap. That Veles wants to trick me into coming to him so he can take the prophecies," I said.

  "That can be done?"

  I nodded gravely.

  "Should we turn back?" he asked.

  "The worst crime would be doing nothing. Veles wins if we go back. Better to force them into a defensive posture, where mistakes can be taken advantage of," I said.

  Ben chuckled. "Catherine could have ruled the world if she'd have put you in charge of the military."

  I waved away his compliment. "I would have never accepted such a role. It would have only pushed us backwards, to give into such aggressions."

  "I did not mean that you should have done so, only that you were uniquely qualified. But we're digging holes in the ice here. Shouldn't we be concerned about this trap?" he asked.

  "Without a doubt. But knowing there's a trap should help us avoid it. And we have the one thing that Veles wants." I tapped my head. "The prophecies."

  "You've learned to control them?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

  "No," I said, "but I turned the plague of monsters into our advantage."

  "This suggests that you've had another prophecy," said Ben. "Something we can use?"

  My brief elation deflated. "I have, but I hesitate to tell you. Let me only say that in our current state, the prophecy cannot come to pass. So we are safe. Should things change, I will let you know."

  Our conversation ended when William came running into the room. His hair was damp with sweat and smudges of dirt lined his elbow.

  "What's wrong, William?" asked Ben, still gripping the broom.

  "I...uhm...can't really explain," he said, his face contorting with confusion.

  We joined him in the hallway that led to our rooms, should have led to our rooms. The problem became apparent when I saw the blank walls and a hallway that led to a "T."

  "I wanted to get a change of shirts. After the run back from the shield, and everything else, I was a mess," said William in a breathless tone. "But I couldn't find my room. The doors are missing, and I worried about going deeper into the hut and getting lost."

  "You were right not to explore on your own," I said, remembering previous visits to the hut.

  "What do we do?" asked Nasrine. "We have no kitchen or place to do our business anymore."

  "It might be that the rooms got jumbled, or put back into a previous state, when the hut came under attack. I'm sure when Morwen comes back, it'll all go back to normal." When their faces bent with disappointment, I added, "But we can explore a little, first. Maybe our rooms are around the corner."

  Santiago made a hissing sound by blowing air through his teeth. "We should not trust this place. Better we stay here. I sense fell energies all around us."

  "We can't just stay here," said Nasrine, with a tiny stomp of her boot. "We'll starve. Our thirst will claim us."

  "I did not say we couldn't ever leave," said Santiago, crossing his arms. "I just said we should give Morwen time to fix things. The hut is in a delicate state. We should not put ourselves at risk."

  "But I'm quite thirsty right now," added William.

  "I am, too," said Nasrine. "I want to go ahead. Find our rooms."

  "You're fools if you do," said Santiago, throwing his hands up in disgust. "I'm staying here, you do what you want. Remember that I warned you."

  Ben and I shared worried glances. I spoke up before Ben could. "I'll take them into the hut. I have the most experience with its dangers."

  "Then I shall stand at the "T" to make sure nothing changes. Keep this door open"—he rapped the wood with his knuckles—"and everything should be fine."

  With everything decided, I led Nasrine and William down the hall, leaving Ben at the "T." When no doors presented themselves for investigation, we took the left passage. It turned to the right, breaking line of sight with Ben.

  We followed the passage through a couple of turns before we came upon the first door. It was marbled granite, both frame and door. I placed my ear against the cold stone, wishing Santiago had come along so he might give some idea if it were safe.

  It opened freely, revealing a snowy whiteness that funneled into darkness. I slammed the door shut when I realized the pale threads were webbing.

  "What did you see?" asked Nasrine.

  "Better you don't know. Just don't open the door again," I said.

  At the next "T," we found three more doors: two on the left and one on the right.

  To my surprise, the first door was Nasrine's room. It was much smaller than mine, and done in the style of the Ottoman palace. A brass decanter of water sat on the table. The c
ontainer had paintings of repeating flowers circling the rim.

  "It was not disturbed by the collision with the shield," said Nasrine as she rushed to the pitcher and poured three glasses.

  "Maybe only the rooms that had people in them were disturbed," I suggested.

  We quenched our thirst before returning to the investigation. Nasrine declined to continue.

  "I must make notes about what happened at the shield before too much time has passed. You go on. I'll stay here with the door open," she said while digging through a travel sack.

  Seeing the resoluteness in her eyes, I did not press her to join us. William and I examined the other two doors. One was locked; I declined to use my picks on it. The other was a long empty room with a single teak table at the center. The wooden floor was scuffed around the table, suggesting it was used frequently for large gatherings, or had been at one time, which made me wonder how many others had traveled in the hut. That no chairs remained suggested Morwen, or the others, no longer carried passengers. What had happened that made them so solitary? Or was it just the passage of time?

  We took the right passage next, which came around to Ben's location, so we went back and tried the other direction. The next door glowed with translucent light, so I tested the handle.

  Inside, the room was filled with tiny motes of light. It was as if a hundred fields of fireflies had been deposited here. Drawn by the beauty, I stepped inside, letting the floating lights swirl around me.

  When I reached out to touch one, it floated away. Standing amid the motes gave me a sense of peace. My worries about the prophecies and Morwen's absence dissolved. Even the aching pain in my right hand seemed distant, like it was somebody else's problem. I could have stayed in the room for days, weeks, months.

  Then a scream reached me through the open door, snapping me out of the trance.

  I lurched into the hallway, feeling the umbilical cord of tranquility snap when I left the room.

  William was nowhere to be found. I looked up and down the hallway, trying to gauge which way he might have gone.

  A second scream turned me around as I tried to figure out which way it might have come from. I ran down the hallway. I took two rights before I realized I was in an unfamiliar part of the hut.

  I heard a man's shout, Ben's probably, and moved back the other way. Others were yelling. There might have been a third scream.

  The hallways seemed to close in on me as I hurried down them, feeling pressured by some unseen danger. At one point, I thought I felt something brush against my back, but when I spun around, nothing was there.

  It seemed that the shouts were always right around the corner, but when I reached them, the hall was empty.

  The worry that I would be irrevocably lost in the hut bubbled up in my chest until it choked my throat. Each empty corner was like a blow to my psyche, each scream or yell another whip against my back.

  When I rounded a corner, finding Nasrine standing in a hallway, looking into an open door, I felt relief, until I saw the guilt plainly on her face. She rushed into the room. I followed.

  It was a storage room, or had been, until it had been tipped on its side and thrown into chaos just like the main room. Nasrine was digging through a huge pile of cloth rolls that had unfolded, trapping someone beneath them. A pair of feminine legs stuck out from the pile. They were twitching in an effort to get free.

  I was about to help Nasrine, when I saw an arm stick out from the tangled cloth. I knew who was under that pile. It was the last person I wanted to see in the hut.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ben. Morwen. Nasrine. William. Santiago. Brassy.

  Six dead in the snow.

  Ben. Morwen. Nasrine. William. Santiago. Brassy.

  "You're not supposed to be here," I said. "I told you not to come."

  The former bawdy girl was wiping her eyes as she sat on the cushion in the main room. Being trapped beneath the rolls of cloth had frightened her.

  "I didn't want to be stuck in the Thornveld," she said, between heavy breaths. "Since she's come to help, I don't feel useful anymore."

  With a nod of her head Brassy had indicated Nasrine, who was standing with William on the other side of the room, discussing something about the density of wire wrapping. Judging by the anguish in Brassy's gaze, it wasn't just about helping Djata in the workshop. Nasrine was a stunningly beautiful woman, regal, brilliant, direct. If she wanted something, she would just take it.

  Ben leaned over and whispered in my ear. His breath was minty and warm against my neck. "Does this have something to do with the prophecy?"

  I nodded discreetly.

  "Hrmph. I guess there's nothing we can do now," he said.

  While absently rubbing my aching palm, I said, "I'd put a large sum of money down betting that we won't be returning to Philadelphia when Morwen returns."

  Brassy spoke up. Her hands were sitting in her lap as she gazed up at me with wide eyes. "Even though I don't know how, it seems I've made a mess of things. Is there any way I can help?"

  Her indomitable spirit warmed my heart. "You can help us. Tensions are a little high, and you have a way with putting people at ease. Do you have any ideas?"

  A mischievous glint formed in her eyes. "I do. Let me get a few things from that room I'd hidden myself in. There were dresses and other materials in the back."

  "If you go, take one of the others," said Ben.

  "Yes," I said, nodding. "No one should be alone in the hut until Morwen returns. We can't know what dangers lurk without her protections."

  "We can bivouac in the rooms. The men in mine, and the women in yours," said Ben.

  When Brassy announced she was going to put on a play and needed help, Santiago surprised us by volunteering. The pair disappeared deeper into the hut, Santiago with his stiff, formal stride, and Brassy with her energetic scamper. While we waited, I sat with Ben, explaining my adventures on Gallasid with the Tree of Life.

  When Brassy and Santiago returned a few hours later, they put on Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. With only two actors, the pair condensed the play quite a bit, focusing on the plot lines of Puck and Titania rather than the young lovers. At the end, when they reminded us that the whole thing was probably a dream "past the wits of men," I got a shiver.

  Afterwards, I inquired with Santiago about the play and his interests. He had a hard time articulating at first. It seemed that without his snowy beard, he was all too aware of the sharp lines that his face made.

  "I live a lonely existence," he began, gaze darting around the room. "There are many things I miss, and experiencing the theatre is one of them. In my youth before I was cursed, I spent time with a group of mummers. I've not forgotten a word since, and spend my leisure time memorizing plays and reciting them amid the cold stone of the mausoleum."

  He flinched as I placed my hand upon his arm. It seemed difficult for Santiago to accept my touch, but he did so reluctantly.

  "My deepest apologies for how I reacted before. I should have trusted that you would not have come unless there was no danger," I said.

  His gaze grew wounded. "There is always danger. Do not assume these potions keep you safe."

  I smiled. "I, for one, am glad that you've joined us. Your skill and knowledge is worth the risk."

  He looked away. "I hope you still say that at the end of this trip."

  Then he sat up abruptly, breaking free of my touch. He moved to the corner of the room to sit alone. I wondered how difficult it was for him to be around us after so long by himself.

  When we grew tired, everyone retired to the two rooms. I led the women, while Ben took the men.

  "Your room is three times the size of mine," said Nasrine upon entrance, eyes wide with wonder.

  "I think it was a mistake, judging by Morwen's look when she brought me to the room, but a lucky mistake, as the bed looks to hold the three of us quite comfortably," I said, leaving out that it was likely Rowan's influence on the room.

  "Are
you sure? You know...?" asked Brassy.

  "I'm much better these days. I think I'll be safe," I said, not entirely trusting myself, but deciding that sleeping apart would be more dangerous.

  As we settled into the room, Nasrine approached Brassy, who was seated on the edge of the bed, digging through the knapsack she'd brought with her. The Ottoman inventor was looking down at Brassy strangely, momentarily still, as if every bit of her being was focused on the glass arm.

  "May I see your arm?" she asked, the words almost sounding like a command.

  Brassy pulled her mechanical arm towards her stomach as if she didn't want Nasrine to touch it.

  "Why?" she asked.

  "I've been meaning to ask, but have been too busy before. Where did you get that? The inner workings are familiar," said Nasrine.

  Brassy looked to me for support. I gave her a shoulder shrug. "It's your arm, but you might learn something about its history."

  In a timid voice, Brassy gave a brief accounting of how she'd acquired the arm. The mention of Sake Dean Mahomed's involvement resulted in Nasrine's pinched lips and a general bristling that bordered on full-on hatred. Brassy went on to explain the gift and how the arm had made her life whole, giving her back her freedom.

  "This was made by my ancestor, Taqi al-Din," said Nasrine, fingers touching the glass arm possessively. "That Mughal thief stole it from us when he was passing through. Now, I understand why our assassins did not find the arm when they killed Mahomed."

  Brassy stared at Nasrine's fingers on her arm as if they were snakes poised to bite. "I left for America a few days after he installed the arm."

  Nasrine placed her fingers under Brassy's chin and lifted it. "Why did he give it to you? Did he say anything? Or was it just chance that you needed it and he wanted to get rid of it?"

  "I...I don't know," said Brassy, looking to me for support.

  A suspicion formed. "What is your real name, Brassy?"

  After a moment of hesitation, she said, "Selime Butler."

  An in breath from Nasrine indicated she understood what I was after. "Your mother was Turkish, and your father English."

  Brassy nodded.