The Dream Master
Page 1
Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
About the Author
Also by Theresa Breslin
Copyright
About the Book
‘There are always rules … I am the Dream Master. Not you. What I say goes. And I say this dream is gone, so beat it.’
There are good dreams and there are rotten dreams, but once they’re over, they’re over. Or are they? For one morning, as Cy is about to wake up from a terrific dream about Ancient Egypt, he discovers that he can get back into his dream world. There’s just one problem: the Dream Master, who isn’t used to stroppy boys standing up to him and wanting to break all the rules. And as Cy moves back and forth between the present day and the land of the pharaohs – sorting out all kinds of problems with schoolwork and bullies – dream life and real life become ingeniously intertwined!
The Dream Master
Theresa Breslin
Illustrated by David Wyatt
A gift for Heva
Chapter 1
‘Off with his his head!’
The high priest of the mighty Pharaoh raised his hand and gave the signal to the executioner who stood awaiting his command.
Cy gasped as the death order was called out. He would have to act quickly if he was to save the life of his friend. The executioner stepped out from the shadow of the Great Pyramid and walked forward. As he raised his curved sword it caught the rays of the noonday sun, and for one single second everyone was blinded by the glare. Everyone except Cy, who saw his chance and did not hesitate. He slapped his horse hard on its rump and galloped across the firm sand.
‘Get ready!’ he shouted. ‘I’m coming!’
The young man who was kneeling on the ground looked up. Two terrified, wide brown eyes stared out from under a fringe of thick black hair. ‘My friend!’ he cried. ‘I knew you’d come for me!’ He stretched out his hands and began to scramble to his feet . . .
Behind him Cy heard a yell of fury, and he spurred on his horse. But below him the sand was changing, shifting under the horse’s hooves, becoming deeper.
Cy reached out to the boy who was running towards him, but just as their fingers touched Cy’s horse faltered, stumbling in the sand. Cy gripped the horse’s mane with both hands but it was no use. As it reared and plunged he was thrown, and then he was rolling . . . rolling down and down, into a long, deep dune. The sand was everywhere, in his mouth, eyes, ears. He could hear his friend calling ‘Help! Help!’
The sand around Cy was dissolving into dust. He lay sprawled out at the bottom of the slope, watching as the Egyptian desert began to drift away.
‘Oh no!’ Cy moaned. ‘No!’
It always happened like this when he was having a good dream. He awoke at the very best part. Other times, when he had rotten dreams, he could never get out of them when he wanted to. Like the time he’d dreamt he’d needed the toilet, and wanted to go desperately, and then woke up way too late.
But not now, he thought bitterly. This time, just when it was getting interesting, and he’d been about to do something clever and brave, it was all disappearing. It wasn’t fair! He snatched angrily at the dream as it floated off.
And – something snatched back.
From beyond the Dreamworld a force was pulling against him. Cy held on like fury.
‘Let go!’ a voice hissed in his ear.
‘No way!’ said Cy, grabbing now with both hands. ‘This is my dream and I’m keeping it.’
‘Correction. I am the Dream Master.’
‘Who?’ asked Cy. ‘And,’ he glanced around him, ‘where, exactly, are you?’
‘Right here, you . . . you . . . Earthbound Expectorant!’
Whatever was pulling against him suddenly let go, and Cy shot forward through the vapour right into his dream.
‘Sixteen Stuttering Scorpions! Now look what you’ve done!’
Cy looked. He was back in his Egyptian dream, but it was not quite the same. For a start it was extremely thin, and the light kept alternating from bright to almost dusk. And his horse . . . his horse. He could almost, yet not quite, see it. Cy frowned, trying to recall what it had been like. It had been black, an Arab stallion. And, as Cy remembered, it shimmered into being.
‘Oh,’ he exclaimed, as he realized what was happening. He spoke aloud. ‘When I think about something . . . it appears.’
‘No,’ said a voice behind him. ‘No. No. No. No. No.’
Cy turned. There was a small dwarf sitting cross-legged on the sand, glaring at him. He had wrapped round him a cloak of black, dreamy silk.
‘No. Negative. Niet,’ said the dwarf. ‘Your dream is over. Finished. Kaput. No more. Finito. Gone.’ He held his cloak up. ‘Look, you can almost see right through it. It’s fading away.’
‘No it isn’t,’ said Cy. He prodded at the sides of his dream, which seemed less filmy and fragile than a moment ago. ‘It’s going to last for ages.’
The dwarf stood up. ‘You don’t realize what you’ve done, do you?’ he spat. ‘Dreams are supposed to be inside your head, Dunderhead. Not the other way about. You’ve gone and pulled yourself into your own dream. It’s against all the rules.’
‘What rules?’ asked Cy. ‘I didn’t know there were rules.’
‘There are always rules,’ said the dwarf. He sat down again and folded his arms. ‘It doesn’t matter anyway. I am the Dream Master. Not you. What I say goes. And I say this dream is gone, so beat it.’
‘No,’ said Cy. He sat down and folded his arms. ‘It’s my dream. And I want to finish it, and, and . . . I’m going to dream up a few more happenings.’ He concentrated really hard, and then looked up. ‘I’d move if I were you,’ he said. ‘The whole of the Egyptian army is charging up behind you.’
‘Pull the other one,’ said the Dream Master. ‘It’s got camel bells on it.’ He sat, resolute, arms still folded, but Cy noticed that his left eyebrow was twitching ever so slightly.
‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ said Cy. And he added a few sound effects.
‘Very impressive,’ said the Dream Master sarcastically, leaping aside to avoid being trampled.
‘Yes, I thought so,’ said Cy, as he watched the chariots, horsemen, bowmen, and archers disappearing over a sand-dune. He was quite glad now that he had paid attention in class when Mrs Chalmers was describing the Ancient Egyptian armies of King Tutankhamun.
The Dream Master shook the sand from his hair. ‘You really do have to wake up now,’ he said. ‘Listen.’ Cy listened.
‘Cy. Cy,’ a voice called.
‘That’s my friend,’ he told the Dream Master. ‘I was just about to rescue him.’
‘Listen again.’
Cy listened, and then groaned aloud. It was his mother’s voice he heard, calling him to get up for school.
‘You see?’ said the dwarf. ‘I had this planned perfectly. It was natural awakening. It all tied in with the dream. Your friend calling you becomes Mum. Wakey-wakey! No more Ancient Egypt. Mummies the word! Ha! Ha! She’ll be thundering through that bedroom door in one shuddering second.’ The Dream Master pointed ou
t of the dream and laughed nastily.
Cy could see his bedroom as if through the wrong end of the telescope. ‘It’s not fair,’ he said. ‘I’ve got rights.’
‘Ah . . .’ The Dream Master stopped laughing. ‘What do you know about your rights . . . exactly?’
‘Well, I’ve got them, haven’t I?’ said Cy.
‘Ummm,’ said the dwarf. He looked around nervously. ‘Ummm,’ he said again. ‘Under certain special circumstances a person can make contact with the same dream again. You might be able to come back and finish this one off.’
‘So I would be like a Dream Master?’ asked Cy.
‘Don’t talk ridiculous rubbish!’ said the dwarf. ‘All that’s happened here is that you’ve flipped this dream over. I’ll let you revisit it, but not just now.’
‘When?’ asked Cy.
‘When it’s possible.’
Cy could hear his mother’s voice getting louder. ‘How do I know I can trust you?’
‘I’ll leave you a sign.’
‘What kind of a sign?’
‘You’ll know it when you see it. Now go!’
Cy went, diving for his duvet just as his bedroom door opened.
‘Cy! Come on! You’ll be late for school, and so will I, and my foreign exchange pupils are due this morning. Lauren’s nearly finished breakfast, and she’ll leave without you if you’re not ready.’
Cy opened his eyes and looked up. Just for a second he saw gently swaying palm trees, and then they changed to the spider’s web which trailed across his Star Wars poster pinned to the ceiling. Such a pity, he thought.
‘Do you ever dream the same dream twice?’ he asked his mum as she hauled on his bedcovers.
‘Not the good ones,’ she said.
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Cy.
‘Cy, please hurry up. You know how crabby Lauren can be.’
Cy shook his head a couple of times, then swung his legs onto the floor and reached for his clothes.
‘Lunch money!’ His mother thrust some coins at him as he left the house. Cy, running to catch up with his older sister, shoved the change deep into his trouser pocket. Then he stopped still on the garden path. His stomach gave a queer lift and slowly, slowly, he pulled his hand back out and gazed at it.
There in his palm lay a little pile of sand. Not the coarse dark sand of the local beaches, but soft golden sand.
Sand such as you would find in the deserts of far Arabia.
Chapter 2
‘Do you ever have strange dreams?’ Cy asked Lauren as he caught up with her. ‘Only when you’re in them, Sproglet,’ Lauren answered. She held one hand out in front of her, fingers splayed. ‘What do you think of that colour of nail varnish?’
Cy’s brain quickly registered two points.
a) His older sister had asked him for his opinion about something, and,
b) She had called him ‘Sproglet’.
These were favourable omens. She must be in a reasonably good mood, Cy thought. Normally Lauren paid him less attention than the weather report. Occasionally when she had no other option but to talk to him, she would get his attention by snapping her fingers, or by flicking his ear. She would also call him by her own specially created names, which ranged from semi-friendly to downright rude, depending on how she felt. He knew that if she had just now, called him Beast, Man-Cub, or Tiny Turd, then there would have been no point in continuing the conversation. Occasionally he was Cyberman, which meant that she was almost on speaking terms with him. But this morning she had used Sproglet. Sproglet was good. It meant that she was prepared to accept that, for the time being at any rate, he was at the same stage of evolutionary development as herself. Walking upright, and able to communicate verbally.
‘It’s called Screaming Sapphire,’ she told him, flashing her fingertips under his nose.
Cy regarded the hideous bright blue nails offered for his inspection. He had been told that lying was wrong but, hey . . . so was hurting the feelings of another living creature. And if the creature was his sister, whose rages were spectacular and often directed at him, well lying seemed the lesser evil.
‘Brilliant,’ Cy said, thinking that, technically, it was actually true. ‘I had a weird dream, last night,’ he went on. ‘And when I woke up . . .’ He paused.
‘Yeah,’ said Lauren, ‘that’s the annoying thing about dreams. Either something horrible is happening and you want it to finish, and it won’t. Or else you wake up too early . . . Like the other night? I dreamt I was with Cartwheel and Baz at this tremendous gig. The warm-up group had gone off, BearBoyz had just come on, and the lead singer, Declan, you know him, don’t you? He’s the one with the really cute fringe, cut to just above his eyes . . . and he . . .’
‘No.’ Cy cut in immediately. He would never get to speak if she started wittering on about any of the new Boy Bands. She wouldn’t stop until they had reached school, infinity and beyond. She might never stop. She and her two friends could go on for days about any or all of the Boy Bands. He knew this for a fact. Because one time, when they had been having a sleepover at his house, he had listened outside Lauren’s bedroom door, practically all night to see if they had any good secrets. And all they had talked about for hours and hours was Declan’s fringe, and whether he looked better with his hair swept back, which showed off his high forehead, or flicked down which emphasized his eyes. ‘No,’ said Cy again. ‘Not like that. This morning I woke up actually inside my dream.’
Lauren looked at him. ‘Then you weren’t awake,’ she said. ‘You were still asleep. You just thought you were awake. That happens. Sometimes Mum calls me. I get up and get dressed, and then she comes in and I’m still in bed. It’s just that I’ve dreamt that I’ve done something I needed to do, or should be doing.’
‘No, I’ve had that too,’ Cy said. ‘This was different, completely different. When I woke up the dream was drifting away. I felt it fading, sort of saw wisps of it in my room. It was at a really exciting bit, and I was so frustrated at waking up that I grabbed at it and pulled it back. And then . . . and then . . . I fell into the dream. The dream wasn’t in me, not inside my head in the normal way, like it’s supposed to happen. I was inside the dream . . . And because of this I was in control, so . . . I could do what I wanted to.’
Lauren had stopped to listen. She peered at Cy closely. ‘You’re not doing anything stupid,’ she said, ‘like smoking funny cigarettes?’
‘No!’ said Cy in exasperation. ‘Just listen, will you? It really happened. Honestly. There was this character there, like a small dwarf. He told me he was a Dream Master. He kept trying to get me to leave, and go out of the dream, and when I wouldn’t, he got angry. That’s when I realized that in this case, I had some kind of control that you don’t usually have in dreams.’
‘So, what happened?’ asked Lauren.
‘Well, actually . . . I woke up. I think.’
‘Aw, for heaven’s sakes!’ said Lauren. ‘That’s pathetic! You had me going there for a minute.’ She punched her brother’s arm. ‘Good story though. You might be able to use it in class. Keep it in mind, ’cos you know, how useless you are at writing.’
‘No, I’m not,’ said Cy at once. ‘Grampa says I’ve a good imagination.’
‘Yeah, you can certainly make things up,’ agreed Lauren. ‘I meant the actual pen on the paper bit. So that other people can read it. Except in your case they can’t. Squirrelly Squiggle hasn’t a look in.’
‘Well,’ said Cy stubbornly, ‘what I told you a minute ago wasn’t a story. It happened like I said.’
‘Of course it did,’ said Lauren soothingly. She had just caught sight of her friends on the pavement ahead and was no longer interested. ‘Boys are weird,’ he heard her tell her friends as she caught up with them. ‘Seriously weird.’
‘There are some exceptions,’ giggled Cathy, the tallest of the group, whom they called Cartwheel. She opened her rucksack and pulled out a magazine.
‘Get it?’ said Barbar
a known as Baz. She nudged Lauren. ‘Get it? Exceptions . . . X-Septyons!!!!!’
‘Look!’ Cartwheel had opened the magazine at the centre spread. She showed them the colour photograph of four youths. ‘The X-Septyons!’
‘Wow!’ said Lauren. ‘Can I have that for my bedroom wall?’
‘Dream on!’ said Cartwheel.
Dream on, thought Cy as the girls went off through the gates of the High School, and he wandered further down the road to his own school. He wished he could. He stuck his hand in his pocket and felt again the gritty grains of sand. Was this the sign the Dream Master had said he would leave?
Chapter 3
Cy slowed down as he walked towards his school. Crossing to the playground in the morning required forward thinking.
‘Strategic planning,’ Cy’s Grampa often said, ‘always pays off.’
Grampa had been one of General Montgomery’s desert rats in the Western Desert during the Second World War, and Monty had often stopped by his tent looking for advice. ‘I told him then,’ said Grampa, ‘as I’m telling you now, Cy, strategic planning is the key to survival.’
Cy sauntered casually over to the school crossing patrol. ‘Activate Alien Alert,’ he murmured as he bent down and fiddled with the strap on his trainers.
‘Roger, wilco,’ responded Mrs Turner from behind her stop: children crossing sign. ‘Alien Alert activated.’ She narrowed her eyes and swivelled round through 180 degrees. ‘Bandits at six o’clock,’ she said.
Cy lifted his head a little. There was a group of kids waiting to cross. He checked them out. All clear. And then he saw two of his classmates, Eddie and Chloe, coming out of the newspaper shop along the street . . . the Mean Machines . . . always on the lookout for someone to noise up. Cy quickly got to his feet.
Mrs Turner had covered her mouth with her hand. ‘Aliens sighted,’ she said. ‘Awaiting instructions, Squadron Leader.’
Cy stared down the road. Eddie and Chloe had begun to walk up towards the crossing patrol. ‘Evasive action,’ he whispered.
‘Excellent idea,’ said Mrs Turner. Holding up her pole, she stepped into the road and the traffic screeched to a halt. ‘Fast as you can,’ she instructed Cy.