by Lincoln Law
Adabelle might be safer for a little while longer. I daren’t risk it beyond a point, though, so if matters escalate too quickly, I may have to contemplate stepping away for a while.
He touched the cut on his throat, which was healing quickly. For that he was thankful. He wondered whether taking an extra dose of Slugleaf tea might be helpful in keeping him from having to face Therron for a while. He doubted it. The man was surely one of the most powerful Dreamers in the world; a little tea would do nothing against him. He kept that option open in the back of his mind, in case he should ever need it.
He poured himself a hot mug of the tea regardless, swallowed it in one, and curled up to sleep. Tomorrow he left the hospital wing; tomorrow, he would meet Therron again.
With what little time he had left, he continued to press Dreamless Matthon for information. Eventually, he would be able to re-join the training—it was only his fingers that were broken after all—yet Matthon continued to display reluctance. He wasn’t even sure if he’d get any sort of battle plan out of him before long. Regardless, he tried his best to squeeze it out, pressing and hinting and applying pressure when he could on the man who seemed so secretive.
All he got out of Matthon was that it would happen soon. Not tomorrow soon, not next week soon, but soon enough that he ought to be excited. He ought to be preparing himself whenever he could, for the blood of the Dreamers would soon be spilt, and the glory of the Dreamless would finally arrive.
So it was despite the Slugleaf tea that Rhene found himself asleep and Dreaming once more.
This time he awoke in a grand hall. His bed still acted as the centrepiece of this dreamscape. It seemed so out of place, in the centre of the black-and-white-tiled floor, yet there it sat; an old, rusted bedframe, a speck of dirt amongst opulence and grandeur.
So much for the Slugleaf tea, he thought, clambering out of his bed and onto the cold floor of the hall.
“And we meet again,” said Therron, from somewhere behind him.
Rhene turned suddenly, surprised out of his wits. He had barely a moment to register that musky scent and the music crackling from a gramophone sitting in the corner of the room. But it was there, and so was he. Count Therron Blaise.
He had not changed his clothing since last time, wearing the usual suit and top hat. He kept his knife close by. It shimmered under the light of the brilliant chandeliers.
“Good evening, master Rhene,” said Therron, gently, quietly. He was nothing if not composed and calm. For a man who threatened bloody murder, he seemed surprisingly sane.
“Evening,” Rhene said, falling on edge. “How are…how are you?”
“I am well,” he said. “I notice your hand. Whatever did you do to it?”
“The Dream Buffer,” Rhene replied. “I punched a window.”
Therron’s laugh was like a hyena’s. Somewhere below the genuine mirth was a black malevolence. It seemed almost sadistic.
“I see you’re still learning,” Therron said. “But it is time to see whether you have truly learnt. Did you discover that which I desired you to?”
“I did not,” Rhene said, “but I tried.” I cannot lie here. If he doesn’t accept this, then he is a monster.
“So you pressed your masters for information? Yes or no.”
“Yes,” Rhene replied.
“And you personally have not been told of any plans to infiltrate the Oen’Aerei at this point in time.”
“None.”
“Yes or no!” Count Therron brandished the knife, moving closer.
“No. No, I haven’t.” His hands were shaking now, his brow glistening with sweat.
“And you personally have no idea of the timing?”
“Well….”
“Yes or no, Rhene, it’s all rather simple if you wish to keep your head.”
Rhene swallowed his fear. “Yes. But nothing more specific than soon.” It made him a traitor, but at least he would live. “Not tomorrow soon, not next week soon, but soon enough.”
Therron smiled a sick, cruel grin.
The scent so thick and musky wafted up within the room, and it took Rhene back. It took him back to his childhood, to the knife wounds in his father’s chest; to the bruises around his mother’s wrists.
“You killed my parents,” he voiced, suddenly sure of the truth. The music fell quiet, scratching and faltering on the gramophone. It jumped and repeated, crackling through the hall.
“I killed many people in my time walking the earth,” Therron replied, coldly, cruelly. “Too many to count, beyond memory entirely. One may only assume if your parents were murdered, it was indeed by my knife and my hand that they died.”
Rhene was shaking now, tears rushing to his face, throat apparently blocked. He found it hard to breathe, hard to think. The dream around him wavered, and then it faded. It was just he and Therron on a plane of blackness.
“Why?” he asked. His voice echoed, eventually joining the music that continued to permeate the dream. It was warped and twisted and spat out with pitch.
“Why does one do anything?” Therron asked. “Because it is fun. Because it is enjoyable.” He spoke so coldly, so calmly, as if he were discussing nothing more than the day’s events. “The sense of power you feel when you take another life, the sensation of joy as you watch them take their final breaths. And that singular brilliant moment, that last millisecond where they seem on the precipice of death. You think in your mind they might take one last breath, or that they might fight back. You think that maybe, just maybe, they might go on. But they don’t. They never do.” Therron paused, breathing in the moment. “Their eyes go elsewhere, their chests sink, and they begin to turn cold.”
It was like he was describing a lover.
“It’s in that single beautiful moment you feel real power, my friend.”
Rhene’s stomach churned.
“It’s when you enter their mind, during their last minutes that the real fun begins. You can make a single moment last an eternity in there. A single idea, kept in time. You can taste their fear. Smell their hate for you. It is,” he breathed in and out slowly, savouring the moment. He never finished the sentence, though.
Rhene could already feel that when he’d wake he’d be out in a cold sweat. He was surprised no one had tried to wake him. Surely he was tossing and turning in his bed, completely incapable to sleep soundly.
“Now I will meet you again, young Master Rhene,” said Therron. “I find you…interesting. And I want to know more about the Dreamless’ movements. I will always find you. I can break most barriers you attempt to put up.”
Rhene was paralysed now, frozen to the dark space on which he stood.
“I’ll let you rest, my boy.” He patted him on the shoulder with the hand that held the knife, allowing it to come frightfully close to his face and his jugular. He felt the cold metal scrape his neck. “Goodnight.”
And then he was gone. Rhene was alone in the shadows. He stood there for a time—how long, he didn’t know—but he was unable to move, unable to act.
He eventually pushed himself back to the real world, back to his own body, where he woke suddenly. He was sweating and shivering and had thrown all his blankets off himself. He rushed to the wash basin in his room, turning on the faucet and letting it flow cold water into the sink. He splashed it on his face, letting it sit there a moment before he drew forth a second wave. He had to fight this heat that had overcome him. He had to fight this heat.
The smell still seemed to waft in his nose. That cologne! It made him sick. He smelled blood, its scent metallic. He heard the vestigial notes of the lullaby, and he covered his ears in an attempt to block it. But it was there, and so was the smell, and he couldn’t escape it.
Eventually, he managed to climb back into bed, the music having softened, the scent having faded. Soon, he would be allowed to sleep peacefully; soon he would be able to rest.
He closed his eyes, welcoming the darkness, and then he slept.
Chapter T
hirteen
Under Lock and Key
Adabelle took a quiet afternoon to herself as an opportunity to visit the Oen’Aerei a second time. It had been weeks, and yet she still heard nothing from Lady Morphier. She told Charlotte of her movements before leaving, having decided that since she was now completely aware of Therron, she deserved to be fully aware of everything.
She paused as she went to leave, hand gripped to the doorknob.
“How would you like to come with me?” Adabelle asked. “Do you have anything you have to do this morning?”
“I don’t have anything to do,” Charlotte replied. “But…it’s Dreamers…it’s their school. I don’t think I’d feel comfortable.”
Adabelle nodded in understanding. “Well it’s up to you. I won’t make you, if you don’t want to, but you can come if you want.”
This was a good distance from which she could be involved, a safe distance. She’d know everything, but she wouldn’t have to come into the fray.
So long as she can’t Dream, she’s safe.
“I will come, actually,” Charlotte said. “It’s time I was brave.”
“Very good,” Adabelle said. “Well, grab your coat. It’s cold outside.”
Charlotte nodded, taking down a red coat she had hanging in her wardrobe. It was bright crimson, with dark lapels and seemed only slightly too small for her. Adabelle would have to go and buy her a new one soon, if she kept growing as quickly as she was. She was becoming, in all manners of the world, a beautiful young woman, and Adabelle had to remember that. She was not a child any more.
All mothers have to let go some day, Adabelle thought. The day will come.
“Right, well let’s go,” Adabelle said, buttoning up her own blue coat as she went.
The wind blustered through the streets of Odilla that morning, forcing Adabelle to hold onto her hat. She’d almost considered leaving it at home, now that she knew what the weather was like. But she was better off keeping it either way.
From the University, they caught the tram to the Dreamer’s Bridge, stepping off a little way up to avoid funny looks from the other passengers. The wind was even worse here, perhaps from it being so much more open than deeper in the city. The river looked slightly fuller than normal, too, suggesting rain on the horizon. It always came down from the mountains before cascading upon the city.
They crossed the bridge towards the House of the Oen’Aerei, Adabelle keeping Charlotte on her peripheries. She looked a little awkward, approaching the House with a somewhat reluctant gait.
“Are you all right?” she asked as they finally arrived at the gates.
“Fine,” Charlotte replied. “Just a little nervous is all.” She then paused. “I’m a little too old to be holding your hand, aren’t I?”
Adabelle laughed, turning to the gate and pressing the call box.
“Hello, we’re here to see Lady Morphier.”
A crackly voice responded in turn. “Do you have an appointment?”
Adabelle hesitated. That’s right. Mrs. Abeth made an appointment that time. “No, but she knows me. My name is Adabelle Blaise. I’m here with my sister, Charlotte.”
The crackly voice was silent for a time. “I’m sorry but you need…” and then the voice trailed off. Through the crackles, Adabelle could make out hushed voices. A woman’s. It sounded regal and proud.
“Please enter,” said the resigned voice. The gates swung open, and Adabelle began the walk up the drive. The huge figure of Melréar stared down upon them from atop the haloed stag, and somehow Adabelle felt judged.
A robed figure stepped out from the small side door, the maroon robe billowing out behind him in waves and bolts.
“Miss Blaise, Miss Blaise,” he nodded to each of the girls in turn, “come with me.”
They followed him into the building, Charlotte awed by the wonder of the main atrium.
“Now I must comment,” said the man, as he began a brusque step up the stairwell. “To just turn up and request an audience with Lady Morphier is rather…unorthodox, to say the least. Next time, she requests that you please make an appointment. This time around, she is happy to have the audience. She may not be so polite next time.”
By now, they were standing before a door marked with the words LADY MORPHIER.
“She is expecting you,” the man sighed, opening the door and allowing them in.
Lady Morphier sat behind an enormous mahogany desk. The sheer size of it made Adabelle wonder how anyone had been able to carry it, let alone put it together. She sat before them, her grey hair held up high, the fawn around her neck seeming entirely dead and alive all at once.
“Good morning, Adabelle,” Lady Morphier said. “It is good to see you again. And this must be your sister.”
“Charlotte,” Charlotte said, voice quavering.
“Lovely to meet you, Charlotte. I have to admit, the fact that you had a sister entirely slipped my mind.”
“Indeed,” Adabelle replied.
“Please take a seat. Now quickly, what did my attendant say on the way in?”
“Sorry?”
“About both of you arriving and requesting an audience.”
Adabelle hesitated. “He said next time we have to call ahead first.”
Lady Morphier laughed. It seemed entirely too high pitched and loud. “Don’t be silly, girls. That is utter poppycock. Visit whenever you wish! You are the daughters of the great Therron Blaise; I can assure both of you I am happy to make time whenever you wish.”
Adabelle smiled. “Well good, thank you!”
Lady Morphier seemed to settle back down into her seat. “Now what can I do for the both of you?”
“I just wanted to ask about the investigation on my father. The police spoke to me and they seem to think I’m at the centre of this big confusion. I’m a little worried, because I haven’t heard anything at all.”
“Naturally,” Lady Morphier said. “When anyone dies in suspicious circumstances, the authorities nearly always turn first to the family, and then move on from there.”
Adabelle hesitated, considering for a moment before she spoke. “But it’s not really suspicious circumstances, is it? It was murder. My father murdered my cousin.”
“Innocent until proven guilty,” Lady Morphier said, “and to answer your question, the investigation continues in a rather…unexciting fashion. We’ve examined the books, questioned the guards, and all of them are certain than anyone who went in or out signed in and out as well.”
“A Dreamer couldn’t get in through their minds?” asked Adabelle. “A Sturding, I mean.”
“Oh, Melréar no! They wear a special band that they can’t take off. It seals their mind off.”
Adabelle nodded, not quite understanding. “You said seals their mind off?”
“Well, if someone tried to enter their mind, they would find a solid wall. No getting in, no getting out. Just darkness. And all of the thoughts are locked in tight, too. No way for them to dream.”
Adabelle turned for a moment to Charlotte, who looked wholly confused. Adabelle’s knowing glance seemed enough to comfort her sister, though.
“How does that…band work?”
“Well it’s a metal bracelet. It wraps around their wrist and locks down. It’s too small to get off anyone’s hand, though. It works on the principals of a mind lock. Essentially, a long time ago, people could seal other people’s thoughts away using a thing called a mind lock. One person would hold the thought, another person’s mind would be the lock, and between the two they would keep it safe. It’s still occasionally used in espionage.
“The problem is, the mind is a very temperamental thing. You can’t just go stuffing it with thoughts and locking them away; there are limits to that kind of power. People went insane with the mess of other people’s thoughts in their heads. Just like you can’t mix oil and water, so are our minds. Each person has a different…quality to their thoughts. Some are vinegar, some are oil, some are water, some are soap, a
nd you can’t just mix all that together. So instead they made an item that can just lock away thoughts. They’re unbreakable, and the person can’t remove it without the key.” She reached down the front of her dress and pulled out a key on a rope. “And I’m the only one with the key here.”
Adabelle nodded, staring down at the key.
“And there’s no way for it to be done anymore aside from the bracelet? The mindlock, I mean.” Adabelle glanced again at Charlotte.
“Oh there’s theories, of course, but nothing concrete,” she replied. “In this day and age, I don’t think anyone would know how to create the mindlock that people once did. It was forbidden knowledge in our Halls ever since Therron came through. It’s now the bracelet or nothing else.”
Adabelle nodded, biting her tongue. She didn’t want to press to hard on the matter, but she was suddenly curious. If her sister’s mind was under one of these mindlocks, what could be hidden within? Her curiosity got the better of her, and she spoke.
“I want to know,” Adabelle said, “my little sister cannot dream. At all. Not even a stray thought as she’s drifting off.”
“But that’s impossible,” Lady Morphier said, looking genuinely surprised. “Everyone can dream. Everyone has that right to do so. And a member of the Blaise family…well I’m surprised you’re not all just Sturdings to begin with.”
“Well my sister cannot,” she said, “and the other night I think we had a breakthrough. She had a momentary dream? Just a second’s thought. But it happened. Is it possible for a person to…I suppose…learn how to Dream. And to eventually reach steps above that. Perhaps, become a proper Somnetii, or a Sturding.”
Lady Morphier rose from her seat, closing her eyes for a moment. Adabelle’s gaze was drawn to the fawn about her neck. It seemed to shift slightly.
“It’s possible for people to do countless wondrous things with the boundaries of reality. And it’s very true that Dreaming is like any muscle in the body. It takes training and skill to develop. I seem to remember, the few times I spoke with your father, he didn’t seem to understand that. He was born with an innate skill. He could move in his Sturding state all over the place before most could walk. He expected that of most people. I think if he could see you today, he’d expect Sturdings of both of you.” She laughed quietly to herself. “Only the other day we discovered another Sturding. He’d never been able to do much with the Dream. He was quite good at bringing the Dreams together, and entering other minds, but he was rarely able to hold onto it for too long. And then, snap! He brings out a flower from the Dream Frequencies. That’s usually how it happens. A single event that demands them break the rules, and then they themselves just…evolve.”