‘He’s trying his best. He’s learned a lot today.’
‘Who is he? And how do you know so much about him?’
‘One of his names is Marcello Sanctifus,’ said Cassaldra. ‘And he’s my husband. That’s all I can say at the moment.’
She stared hard into Stave’s eyes as though expecting some reaction.
Stave merely nodded and said, ‘But if you say I’ve known you for a long time but now forgotten, is that the same for your husband?’
The cowbell about Clarianne’s neck began to rattle and she looked sad again.
‘If only I could tell you – I’ve explained enough already – Tremelon could hear whatever else I wish to explain to you, so I must say no more on that point.’
‘Can’t you take off the cowbell?’
My fingers would drop from my palms with frostbite before I managed to move it an inch,’ she replied. ‘The same with you, as you’ve probably discovered.’
Stave agreed.
I must find this Tremelon Zandar and stop him.
Shafts of light within the cabin seemed to vibrate as the gypsy caravan shook. Cassaldra lowered her voice.
‘Tremelon Zandar is different for each person. If we are a group of people within a reality dreamscape, individuals as caretakers and patrons and guests, Tremelon Zandar is a conglomerate, an ill-blended concoction of many. He has stolen the key to the door which lies between everyday reality and our lucid dreams.'
Stave was curious.
‘And so, if you and your husband are caretakers of lucid dreams within reality, then what is Tremelon Zandar the caretaker of?’
Cassaldra sighed, not with impatience but with sadness.
‘Isn’t it obvious? He is the caretaker of nightmares.’
18 : LOVE LOST TO A MIND CAGE
Stave stood quickly, holding his forehead with a palm.
‘This is extraordinary yet it makes sense.’
‘Indeed it does,’ Cassaldra Chimewood answered. She appeared to be made of shimmering light. ‘We must fight back with the meagre talents we have left.’
‘Does that mean we all are appearing in Tremelon’s nightmare?’ he asked with growing apprehension.
‘Not at the moment. But he is using cunning and subtle ways to alter our dream reality.’
Stave noticed that the chair which he had been sitting on was no longer there and that the seated Cassaldra, and the table before her, were now at the side wall of the caravan cabin. There was even a bare part of the wall at the back, the dried flowers and figurines having apparently moved over nearer to a corner. The four bells upon the table had melted together.
‘Is there some significance to the fact that you have moved since I first met you here, Cassaldra?’ he asked, puzzled.
‘Combined lucid dreams, created by many dreamers, have laws, not unlike the laws of nature. Positive elements within our dream could be created by anyone who has the necessary experience. It would seem that I am, for want of a better explanation, at the end of a transparent pendulum which has started moving again. I will bid you farewell now, for I will be gone soon enough.’
‘Will we be meeting again?’
‘I truely hope so. There are many lucid dream realms but all are contained within one sphere, invaded by the agents of Tremelon Zandar. We must become powerful enough to banish him and his followers.’
The table was vanishing into the wall of the caravan as if being eaten. Already Cassaldra's caped shoulder and right arm were no longer visible, apparently dissolved by the wooden side of the caravan.
‘Goodbye for now, Stave Swirler, and remember I love you.’
Love me? Do I love you? Perhaps you are a relative…I feel a strange loss, now that you’re going.
‘You will know the full truth one day,’ she said as she disappeared through the caravan wall.
Stave walked hurriedly out again to the stage, peering down the side of the caravan. Cassaldra Chimewood was nowhere to be seen.
The water outside had flowed away. Without warning, the metal horse quivered and jolted into motion, lurching forward, the clopping of hooves sounding like echoed, distant claps of thunder, with the caravan cabin creaking and swaying while being pulled.
He moved to the other side of the stage and called over to Dario La, who now stood alone on the station platform.
‘Quickly, Dario, join me here. It could be the way out.’
‘I’ll take my chances and wait for another train,’ Dario La replied, his voice reverberating.
‘But that’s unlikely soon, isn’t it. Come on.’
‘You go on your own, in your dapper turquoise suit. If there’s not another train, I’m bound to find a way out. The flamingos are concentrated in a flock by a metal gate that’s appeared. Worth investigating.’ He pulled his trousers higher up over his generous stomach by pulling on his two belts.
‘OK, if you insist,’ Stave answered.
He watched Dario La stride over to his companion who was already by the gate.
‘It’s unlocked,’ Dario shouted back, the flock of flamingos strutting about him. ‘You coming along?’
‘No, I’m going to see where this horse takes me. Thanks, all the same. I hope you get to the gathering. And find your bicycle.’
‘Cheers, snazzy man. There are stairs the other side; they’ve got to lead somewhere.’
Stave waved to Dario La.
‘Good luck,’ he said as the tunnel swallowed him, the horse and the caravan.
19 : INDICATIONS OF DREAMS ABANDONED
Either side of the dimly lit tunnel hung lengths of knotted rope, the light coming from pale yellow lamps. The rails of the tracks were no more, and in their place were damp paving stones set amidst gravel. There was clanking and hissing of the great metal horse, the rumbling of wheels, and creaking of the caravan, as it made its way along that grimy tunnel.
How familiar Cassaldra seemed. How could I forget I know her, yet still feel I know her? Even the metal horse and caravan ring bells in my mind as I travel this dismal tunnel. I’ll sit on the floorboards as we lurch forward and wait to find out my final destination. The Olympian Shopping Mall? I’ll be patient. I can do nothing else but wait.
After a while, Stave walked out onto the stage and looked down the length of the caravan to check on progress as they moved steadily along. He passed mannequins behind glass, set into the walls, and strange machines made of copper and brass.
There was an alcove in the dark tunnel wall with a crow within it, pecking at a starfish. And as it did so, the sea creature squealed as if a kitten in torment. The baleful bird paused in its task to turn its head to Stave, and he saw it had musty blue pins for eyes.
Further on, a sizeable hole in the side of the tunnel came into view. Beyond stood a beautiful hill scattered with radiant flowers, and bushes made of silk with birds dotted amongst them. Dragonflies, the size of canines, zipped here and there with their glorious iridescent bodies, translucent wings humming. At the top of the hill stood an impressive castle with lofty turrets bathed in bright sunlight, the pleasant solitude punctured only by the bird calls.
Stave climbed down off the caravan’s stage, through the hole, and went to the beginning of the hill. But the further towards it he walked, the further away it seemed to be. That was until he broke into a run and clambered up the steep slope. The hill had become no more than artificial turf on a small pile. At the top, the silk bushes were piles of coal, and the castle merely a toy made of wooden bricks. The large dragonflies lay on the mock grass, now made of twitching plastic. Sounds of birds had become the noise of wood being scratched.
Disappointed, Stave turned away and walked back onto the caravan stage. He sat with his legs over the edge as the caravan rumbled on, hissing and whooshing still emanating from the massive metal beast pulling it along.
They travelled through what once might have been an impressive orangery containing exotic plants and shrubs, and trees with colourful blossom. But now all were d
ying and decaying; now only dead leaves and dried stems on shrivelled trees, and weeds in their crumbling containers could be seen. Smashed and smeared windows let through a dull, grey light and howling moans of a wind. Puffs of flying insects and grey smoke hung in the stifling and polluted air.
Between the decay littering the paving stones of the floor were sleeping blue snakes, and piles of copper pipes, their surface turned to verdigris. A solemn ambience hung over the orangery and Stave was glad to be reaching its end to enter the tunnel again.
Through another break in the tunnel wall, he saw a mansion house. It was an imposing structure, even with its frontage ripped away, and scaffolding holding up the sides. The interiors of the panelled rooms were empty, antique furniture, the carpets and chandeliers having been piled unceremoniously on the orange gravelled frontage. A sea rolled in with dark blue waves that crashed into the ground floor rooms before receding. Blue worms were left behind and they wriggled away into corners.
As if emotion can seep into a structure and be released to the viewer, the whole scene emanated sadness, forlornness even. The roaring sea rolled in again and completely covered the mansion with a wave that looked like a giant hand.
The caravan continued forward in the darkened tunnel with the rumbling of wheels, and hissing and clopping of the mighty metal horse. There were flitting shadows of bats.
The horse machine and caravan came upon a fork in the tunnel. The horse seemed to know instinctively which direction to take. One tunnel leading off to the left appeared shrouded in gloom, while the other was lit from no apparent source of lighting, a soft haze pervading its length. Upon continuing along this lighted section, Stave had a sense of anticipation come upon him. Peering ahead, he could make out rippling water.
20 : CORAL CAVE OF THE MINDS
As the metal horse neared the end of the tunnel, a still pool within a chamber of rock could be seen laying ahead – no less than a circular cavern. The horse lumbered on and descended into the clear water. It bowed its head, enough to tap the surface, sending more ripples to the edges. There was a peaceful and restful atmosphere, cool and quiet. High up in a vaulted ceiling were cracked and chipped frescos within squares of sculpted stone edging. They showed figures that moved in slow pantomime within bright landscapes.
Jutting out from the rough limestone walls – the texture like dripped and dried resin – were tapering stone pillars, surrounded by stalagmites and stalactites of green crystal.
On the rippling pond were large brain-like corals, the size of cars, drifting slowly. And below the surface, small fish darted. A group of jellyfish wafting in shoals, all moving like a flock of birds would. They were like gelatine bowler hats with tassels and streamers. Stave crouched on the caravan stage and leaned over to inspect them further, and upon an impulse, scooped one out. It had the texture of a wet pillowcase and it disintegrated between his fingers as if it had been made of clear icing sugar.
He sat down on the wooden planks of the stage and saw flitting flecks of light and shadow, dappling and streaking the walls.
He watched with interest as two of the corals gently moved together, becoming one larger coral, before splitting into three or four smaller ones. The interaction of the floating corals were acting like bubbles, constantly joining and splitting off again. Gentle, echoed popping sounds came from them.
Contentment. The first time for hours. Or days or months, for all I know. Nothing to do now but sit and contemplate as I gaze at the fish under the shimmering surface of the cavern pool. Even the metal horse has become still. A humming of delicate air; most soothing.
After a while, he spotted a long crack in one of the walls with a shaft of light splaying from it, highlighting motes and specks in the cavern air. Stave slipped into the water and waded towards it. He was feeling adventurous and he smiled all at once, untroubled within his contentment, even though his passage through the water felt as if he moved through treacle.
The closer he got to the crack, the louder he could hear mechanical groans and whines, powerful engines and metallic crashes. When he put an eye to the split rock, clouds of dust and smoke obscured his vision to a muddy area, lit with halogen lights on aluminium poles. As the dust cleared, Stave could clearly see some of the bulbs on the poles were smashed, and work cabins flattened. Two tractors were on the mud, the bucket grabs of the powerful machines held up, the engines roaring as if bellowing at each other. Slate tiles, bricks, and other debris lay scattered across the churned mud. The tractor engines became silent. Way beyond the tractors stood a tall building cut from a grey sky, marked “Olympian Shopping Mall”, the top of it ringed with grey haloes. Blue flames came from its many windows.
The engine of one of the tractors roared into life once more, the caterpillar tracks crushing bricks and blocks. Its grab bucket was raised then lowered swiftly to collide with the bucket of the other. Both drivers wore plain, featureless masks. They frenziedly wrenched and jerked the stick controls. A yellow dumper truck and a small lorry appeared from out of the smokey haze and rammed them both with the sounds of crushing metal and engines screeching. The tractor picked up a mash of builders’ materials, attempting to offload it onto the driver’s cab of the lorry. The other tractor’s occupant was aiming the toothy grab to fall onto the dumper truck. Within the din and dust and mayhem, workers were running at each other, scuffling and throwing hard hats; some were hitting out with lengths of planed wood or metal bars.
Stave took his head away, back into the quietness of the cavern with the pinheads of silver winking on the pool. Whatever was happening there, with those agents of Tremelon within the underground construction site, he wanted nothing to do with it.
The treacle water was thickening more, feeling and looking like quicksand; he found he was unable to move his legs. He was up to his waist in the orange grains, small pads of water collecting in depressions on top. He took off his turquoise jacket and placed it onto the sand, laying over it. He moved forward on his chest, extricating his legs from the suction that the sodden sand made. Once out, he retrieved the jacket and trod over the surface, already solidifying, back to the half-buried caravan, and the metal horse with its flared nostrils touching the sand drifts, trapped within it up to its back. The spun wire tail fell and rose, a spray of sand flying, as if it were trying to dig itself out.
The large coral hemispheres were alive with pink crabs and swarms of midges.
Stave walked onto the planked stage and entered the caravan again. There were piles of sand on the floor with cogs and starfish scattered over them, and the heady perfume of jasmine in the air. He found two small metal feathers sticking from the yellow sand and took them.
At the back, there was now the outline of a door. Around it were the shapes of eye masks, inlaid with marquetry. In place of a door handle was a deep slot. Hanging above the door was a proper eye mask with colourful swirls upon it. He took it and placed it on his head, over his eyes.
He pushed upon the door. There was no movement.
Dream logic was required, he considered. He retrieved Quikso Lebum’s business card – which had been punched by the ticket inspector on the underground train – and placed it into the slot.
Immediately after, the door clicked and swung slowly open.
21 : GATHERING OF THE COMBINED DREAM
‘Mr Quikso Lebum, again to the gathering,’ announced a tall man, dressed in the finest of silk shirts and tie, slick black trousers and smart tailed jacket, with his deep baritone voice projected over the assembled guests. They stood with filled glasses in their hands, each wearing an eye mask of a different design. All heads were turned to Stave and they gave loud, undisguised laughs, some toasting him by lifting their glasses to the air. Then they continued their discourse upon a perfect square of grass, bounded by tall hedges, immaculately pruned. Along the tops, exquisite topiary could be seen, showing lines of running hares. The night sky was a deep, bottle green, points of light blinking, slowly moving in endless patterns. Distant voices
like the whisper of a faraway sea.
Stave was taken aback.
‘I’m not Quikso Lebum, I’m Stave Swirler,’ he said from the corner of his mouth in a low voice.
This much I know. And I own a cottage at the edge of the woods. And I’m lost in dream reality.
‘Not Mr Quikso Lebum but the honourable Mr Stave Swirler once more,’ bellowed the announcer. Then, turning to Stave, he added in a quieter voice, ‘Was that acceptable?’
A little cloud drifted past his finger and he twirled it as if it were white candy floss, or thick, compliant smoke.
Stave shrugged.
‘I suppose it is. Thank you for the fine introduction. I’m guessing Quikso Lebum is already here. But why did you introduce me with the words “once more”?’
‘Why, Mr Swirler, this must be your sixth or seventh visit. You mention that every time.’
‘How preposterous.’ Or is it? I am suffering from a serious loss of memory, after all. And Cassaldra did say I’ve been put into a time loop. ‘Enough to tell you, I wasn’t expecting to come to this place nor do I remember being here before. And I don’t know anyone here. Nor does anyone knows me, I suspect. Except for Quikso.’
‘You say that every time as well,’ the announcer said and he laughed while brushing silver dust from his jacket.
The sound of humming violins.
‘Hmm, Whatever I say, I’ve said exactly the same, those times before? So, let it be.’ He swept his sight over the night scene. ‘It doesn’t seem much of a gathering. I expected hundreds of people here. What sort of gathering is it?’
‘Not as many people have found the gathering this time around. And the answer to what sort of gathering this is, it’s for those assembled to be given the greatest adventure ever known. That is unless Tremelon Zandar spoils things yet again.’
‘I’ve have experienced enough of him and his agents already,’ Stave replied. ‘Let us hope not. Anyway, what should I do, mingle?’
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