Dream Master: Arabian Nights

by Theresa Breslin

  ‘Oh no! Mu-um!’ Cy moved smartly sideways. ‘No! Really. It’s fine. No worries. It’s OK. No probs.’ He tried to stay calm and gave his mother what he hoped was a steady, unhormonal look.

  She smiled at him encouragingly, but didn’t go away.

  Cy saw that he would have to say something else. His mother needed reassurance or an explanation. He recalled Lauren’s remarks at dinner about magic potions. It was so juvenile and embarrassing but he could see no other way of deflecting her attention. ‘I may have used some of the bottles and things in the bathroom. I was looking for ingredients to make potions for our magic act for the TALENT TV competition.’

  ‘OK,’ Cy’s mum said easily. ‘I’m going to prepare some lessons for tomorrow now. But remember I’m always around if you need to talk.’

  ‘Yo. Great.’

  Cy watched as his mum went off downstairs. Then he nipped into his room, shut the door behind him and slumped against it. He pointed to his cupboard and mimed to the Dream Master. ‘She has got to go.’

  ‘THE PROBLEM IS . . .’ The Dream Master held up his dreamcloak. ‘This will not suffice.’

  Cy looked at the beautiful iridescent cloak which billowed away from the little man’s shoulders sweeping down and outwards in a great curve of magical dreamsilk. Deep within the folds it sparked and thrummed with life.

  ‘Your dreamcloak is not at all faded,’ said Cy. ‘It is full of energy at the moment. Why can’t you transport Princess Shahr-Azad back to Ancient Arabia?’

  The Dream Master beckoned Cy to come closer. ‘The Princess Shahr-Azad is a very powerful storyteller,’ he whispered. ‘When I try to draw her into another world she merely laughs, and I find myself being drawn into one of her stories. In your absence she has, so far, summoned a winged horse, a phoenix, Sindbad the Sailor on two occasions, and an ox, a donkey and a farmer.’

  Cy gulped and looked around his room. Now he knew why it looked even more chaotic than usual. ‘This can’t go on,’ he whispered in reply. ‘We must find a way to get her out of my room.’ He gave the Dream Master a worried look. ‘What can we do?’

  ‘Now that I have had time to think about it,’ said the Dream Master, ‘it occurs to me, that, un-important as you are, it may be that because you and your piece of dreamsilk brought her here, then only you can take her back.’

  ‘Me!’

  ‘Hush!’ The Dream Master glanced over his shoulder to where Shahr-Azad was now sitting quietly reading one of Cy’s comics.

  Cy took his piece of dreamsilk from his pocket. He studied it carefully. There was no longer a ragged edge on one side to show where it had been torn from his Dream Master’s cloak. It was, as Shahr-Azad had said earlier, complete. Cy gazed at it, and then at the Dream Master. ‘I am beginning to understand,’ he said, ‘but I don’t know quite what to do.’

  ‘That’s why you need instruction. You must learn how to manage the power that you have been given. But for the moment you must do the best you can.’

  ‘You think I will be able to take the Princess back to her own TimeSpace?’ asked Cy.

  ‘I am not sure. But you must at least try.’

  From behind them came a soft laugh. ‘And if I choose not to go?’

  Cy turned to look at Shahr-Azad. The Princess had stood up and was putting on her slippers. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Cy, ‘but I have to make you disappear from this room.’

  ‘Making things vanish requires certain skills and is extremely difficult,’ replied Shahr-Azad. ‘However, making things appear . . .’ she rotated her hands in the air, and then placed her palms loosely together to form a hollow space, ‘ . . . is considerably easier.’ She opened up her cupped hands.

  ‘Wow!’ Cy let his breath out between his teeth.

  A tiny bird was nestling in Shahr-Azad’s palms.

  ‘How did you do that?’

  Shahr-Azad smiled and blew on her fingers. Cy looked again. The bird was no longer there.

  ‘You see what I mean?’ the Dream Master said to Cy. ‘When I was trying to persuade her to leave she threatened to produce an elephant. It was at that point that I gave in. I did not think that a creature that size could remain undetected by your family for long.’

  Cy realized that he could not risk battling with Shahr-Azad while his family were about in the house. Perhaps if he waited until later? He tucked his dreamsilk into his pocket, and as he did so his fingers touched a metal object. He pulled it out and gazed at it. It took him a moment or two to remember that it was the garage key his dad had given him at dinner. If he could persuade the Princess to go out to the garage there was less chance of her being discovered. Cy thought through his plan. He must not let the Princess know that he wanted her in the garage in order to take her back to Arabia. He would have to pretend that he was prepared to let her remain in the twenty-first century for a little while. ‘I may have an idea,’ Cy spoke aloud. ‘I think I know where Princess Shahr-Azad might stay without being found . . .’

  A few moments later Cy silently opened his bedroom door and sneaked out onto the landing. The Ali-Baba storage basket was lying on its side where Lauren had chucked it out of her room in the general direction of Cy’s bedroom door. From Lauren’s room Cy could hear the low rhythmic thump of Lauren’s music playing. She must have her headphones on, so hopefully she would not be paying attention to any other noises in the house. Cy leaned over the stairwell to spy out what was happening downstairs. The door of the living room was ajar, but Cy could almost guarantee that his father was dozing in front of the TV. The door to the little downstairs study room was closed. His mother would be preparing work for her pupils.

  Cy took hold of the Ali-Baba basket and, as quietly as he could, he bumped it down the stairs. Carrying her magic carpet, Shahr-Azad tiptoed behind him followed by the Dream Master. They crept along the hallway and into the kitchen. From the back door Cy scooted along the side of the house to the garage, and then beckoned the other two to follow. Once all three were inside the garage Cy locked the door.

  ‘My apologies, Princess,’ said the Dream Master as he surveyed the garage which was full of family toys and tools. ‘It is not as the castles of Arabia.’

  ‘Yet there are many things here that I would not find in the King’s palace.’ Shahr-Azad trailed her hands over the family bikes, the sledge and the beach things.

  Cy pulled out one of the old dust-sheets sometimes used to cover furniture when his parents were redecorating and pinned it up at the side window so that nobody could see inside. Then he switched on the light.

  ‘Oh!’ said Shahr-Azad. ‘How did you make the light appear?’

  ‘From a power source,’ said Cy. ‘It’s kind of complicated to explain but you flick this switch here and the light comes on.’

  ‘To make this happen one merely presses a button?’ asked Shahr-Azad. She spoke to the Dream Master. ‘This civilization presses buttons to achieve things. Be watchful,’ she turned her gaze upon Cy, ‘if things are so easily achieved with so little effort that you do not lose the power of your Imagination.’

  Cy put his hand in the pocket of his shirt. ‘Everyone says that I have a good imagination,’ he said. ‘My teacher, Mrs Chalmers, and especially my Grampa, so now I am going to use it.’ He took out his piece of dreamsilk and held it up. ‘I will return you to the TimeSpace of Ancient Arabia.’

  Shahr-Azad smiled and raised her hand in protest.

  Cy spoke firmly. ‘You must go back.’

  Shahr-Azad opened her eyes very wide. ‘You would not like first to try out my magic carpet?’

  Cy looked into Shahr-Azad’s violet eyes. He saw her sweet and gentle expression. But Cy knew that not everyone who appeared attractive had your best interests in mind. His Grampa’s face was old and lined, yet he was a good person. And it was the same with Grampa’s friend, Mrs Turner, the lollipop lady, who watched out for Cy on his way to school in the mornings. Her house had been bombed during the last war and she had been caught under the rubble. It had take
n the rescuers nine hours to get her out. She walked with a limp, and didn’t have many teeth left, but she was very kind. Whereas Eddie and Chloe, the Mean Machines at school who liked to pick on people, appeared OK on the surface. When Cy looked at his class photograph he saw that his two classmates looked like everyone else in his class, smiling away quite happily. You wouldn’t know by their appearance that they could be so horrible.

  Now Cy felt himself tipping into Shahr-Azad’s soft gaze. She had kindly suggested that he might like a ride on the magic carpet, and he would love to do that . . . but he knew that the Princess was a trickster. Cy blinked. ‘No!’ he said briskly. ‘I must take you back to Arabia, even if you do not want to go.’

  ‘How would you like it if I placed you where you did not want to go?’ Shahr-Azad asked him. She flipped her hand over the top of Cy’s head.

  There was the snap of air and a flash of light in the garage and then . . . darkness. From far away came the Princess’s laughter. Then Cy heard his Dream Master speak. It was the first time Cy had ever heard such a curious tone in his Dream Master’s voice. The little man was pleading with Shahr-Azad.

  ‘Let him out, O mighty Princess. The boy could suffocate in there.’

  ‘No he won’t,’ said Shahr-Azad. ‘There are plenty of spaces in the straw.’

  She had put him inside the Ali-Baba basket! He was head over heels among all the clothes and other odds and ends with the lid shut down upon his head. Cy peered out between the gaps. He could hear the Dream Master and Shahr-Azad having a conversation.

  ‘Princess, this is not fair. You have greater skill than he will ever have.’

  ‘Let us see if he is able to free himself,’ said Shahr-Azad.

  So, Cy thought, it was a test of some kind. He pushed against the sides, but knew that he would not be able to break through, and the lid of the Ali-Baba basket was jammed down tightly so he could not escape that way. Cy tried to recall the story of Ali-Baba. There had been special words to say. A password that enabled Ali-Baba to enter and leave the treasure cave.

  ‘Open Sesame!’ Cy cried.

  The basket toppled over. The lid came off, and Cy crawled out. He sat among the bottles and debris from the basket and the bathroom.

  Shahr-Azad regarded him with raised eyebrows. ‘You surprise me, little storyteller. I thought I had you bound fast in there. You have more Imagination than I thought.’

  She started to raise her hand, but before she could Cy held up his dreamsilk. He decided that he was not going to waste any more time. He concentrated as hard as he could. He thought of Arabian palaces and of enchantments. Nothing happened.

  Shahr-Azad laughed at him. ‘You do not have the knowledge to take you to my land.’

  Cy’s thoughts faltered. The Princess was correct. He knew nothing of Ancient Arabia. How could he transport the Princess back, how could he direct the dreamsilk, when he himself did not know where to go? Then his eye caught sight of something beyond the Princess’s line of vision. He did not know how to get to Ancient Arabia, but he had spotted something that possibly could. Cy focused his thoughts . . .

  Behind Shahr-Azad the magic carpet lifted from the floor of the garage. It floated forward, wavering for a moment as it reached Shahr-Azad. Cy saw the Dream Master’s startled look.

  ‘No, Cy!’ shouted the Dream Master. ‘I don’t think that is a good idea!’

  Shahr-Azad whirled round when she heard the Dream Master cry out. But she was not quick enough . . . The carpet went past her and hovered in front of Cy. Cy jumped up and clambered onto it. Then he reached out, grabbed Shahr-Azad by the arm and hauled her up beside him.

  ‘Shades of Sindbad!’ yelled the Dream Master. He ran across the garage, took a flying leap and he too was aboard. Cy waved his dreamsilk in the air.

  ‘Go!’ he commanded. ‘Take us to Ancient Arabia!’

  The magic carpet undulated as a stream of air blew under it. Then it jerked violently. Shahr-Azad screamed. Cy grasped a handful of the fringes and held on. The carpet nose-dived, falling through wind and water, spinning, whirling. A galaxy of light, speckled gold and silver, spun about their heads. Time corkscrewed, and Cy, Shahr-Azad and the Dream Master were sucked into the vortex.

  THE ENORMOUS RIVER of Time swelled around them and the magic carpet, carrying Cy, his Dream Master, and the Princess Shahr-Azad, hurtled onto it and began to ride the torrent like some manic white-water river raft. Cy kneeled at the front, Shahr-Azad and the Dream Master clung on behind him. The carpet crested the first choppy waves, rolled, tipped, then righted itself. The next foaming rapid loomed up and the carpet spun crazily towards it.

  Cy desperately tried to hold on to his thoughts. He was a Dream Master, he told himself, if only an apprentice one. His features screwed up with the effort of directing his mind to lock into one single purpose. A fierce wind blew in his face while images, words, and ideas jumbled together in his head. His piece of dreamcloak spilled energy in a blazing trail of blue and violet meteor streaks. He was aware that Shahr-Azad was also trying to seize control of the carpet and make it return her to Cy’s Time, and he felt the will of the Princess clash with his own. The magic carpet bucked and twisted as they both fought for mastery.

  ‘If you don’t stop this,’ Cy cried out to her, ‘we’ll all go under!’

  ‘You stop!’ Shahr-Azad retorted angrily. ‘Let me take charge and we will return to your TimeSpace.’

  ‘We’re going to Arabia,’ Cy cried out. His voice was snatched and flung away in the noise of the howling wind.

  ‘You wish to see the wonders of Ancient Arabia?’ Shahr-Azad shouted. ‘Then let me first show you its terrors!’

  With a groaning crack a deep pit opened up and they plunged down into a chasm of Space. Great walls of craggy cliffs flashed past on either side as the floor of a valley rushed up to meet them. Cy heard Shahr-Azad mutter some words and suddenly before them a series of grotesque faces stared out with eyeless sockets, while sinewy scaly tentacles snatched at the carpet as it plummeted downwards.

  ‘Brake! You Blundering Blockhead!’ the Dream Master bawled in Cy’s ear. ‘Brake! Brake!’

  Brake? Cy looked around wildly. Where was the brake on a magic carpet?

  ‘Think!!!!!’

  Cy thought. He held up his dreamsilk.

  ‘Stop!’ he ordered. ‘Stop . . . STOP!’

  The magic carpet halted abruptly. Its passengers slid forward and teetered on the edge. The Dream Master was the first to recover. He wiped his face with his hands and then his hands on his beard. ‘Thank goodness for—’

  ‘Aaarkkk!’

  From a cleft within the nearest cliff a huge bird rose from its nest and flew towards them.

  ‘It’s a roc!’ yelled the Dream Master. ‘They eat living flesh!’

  The roc’s malevolent yellow eyes had spotted them. It came swooping in, talons outstretched ready for the kill. The Dream Master ducked and Cy swiped at it as it swept past. It circled and flew at them again, this time descending with its vicious beak wide open to attack them as it came.

  ‘It’s a budgie,’ Cy told himself. ‘It’s my dream, my story, and I say it’s a budgie.’

  The roc faltered, its wings trembled, then found new strength as Cy’s thoughts wavered and his mind lost the picture of the budgerigar.

  ‘Aaarkkk! Aaarkkk!’ The bird sensed its prey had weakened and it cawed in triumph as it returned, filling the sky above them with its immense shadow. Cy saw the terrible rending claws, its awful hooked beak . . .

  ‘It’s more like a parrot!’ Cy cried, gripping his dreamsilk and sending a surge of energy through it with this thought.

  There was crisp pfutt! The roc shrank in size, its plumage changed, and the yellow eyes took on a cheerful mischievous expression. ‘Pretty Polly!’ it squawked. ‘Who’s a good boy then?’

  ‘Ha!’ Cy relaxed.

  Shahr-Azad hissed in anger and clapped her hands. The floor of the valley below them started to boil and seethe. The hissing i
ncreased three hundred-fold, and the rocks separated into thick strands, then coils, then a roiling mass of grey slitherings.

  ‘Snakes!’ Cy leaped up as one serpent raised its head above the level of the carpet to strike.

  ‘String,’ the Dream Master prompted him quietly.

  ‘Sssss-string,’ Cy stuttered in fear. ‘I s-s-s-say it’s ssstring.’

  The snakes subsided and lay still.

  Shahr-Azad’s eyes glittered in fury. She spread her hands and made the motions of the waves.

  The carpet now sailed over a calm sea. An old fisherman stood on some rocks preparing to cast his net. With a strong motion of his arms he threw the net into the ocean. When he drew it in, his net was full of stones and mud.

  ‘The Princess is using her stories to confuse you.’ The Dream Master spoke urgently to Cy. ‘She is trying to draw us in. This is the tale of the fisherman who finds a strange bottle in his net.’

  The fisherman gathered his net to throw it once more. He flung it high and wide, wide and high . . .

  But this time Cy was ready. As the net unfolded to encompass them he guided the magic carpet to soar upwards and avoid it. He gripped the dreamsilk more tightly and urged the carpet on. ‘Not here,’ he said. ‘Go to the palace.’ Cy repeated the phrase over and over. ‘Go to the palace. Take us to the palace of the Princess.’

  With a violent twanging sound the carpet whizzed out through a fissure in Time and Space and sailed into an evening sky crowded with stars.

  Cy looked down. ‘Omigosh!’ he said. ‘Omigollygosh.’

  The day was losing its heat. The sun was low in the sky, its rays like flames of liquid gold bathing a dream landscape of woods and winding rivers, pretty mud-brick villages and cities with tall towers and elegant minarets. The magic carpet travelled on above these until it came to a magnificent palace whose windows were made of stained glass and whose walls were studded with many jewels. Thereupon the carpet floated down and settled in a marble courtyard where fountains splashed and doves cooed softly.

  ‘Are we in Arabia?’ Cy asked the Dream Master.