The Dream Master

by Theresa Breslin

  ‘Help me, Obi-Cy Kenobi,’ she called. ‘You’re my only hope—’

  ‘Don’t do that,’ said Cy sharply.

  The dwarf snapped his laptop closed. ‘I could make you appear as one of the BearBoyz,’ he said nastily.

  Cy shuddered. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I want to go back to Ancient Egypt.’ He paused. ‘I have to go back.’

  The Dream Master gave Cy a searching look from beneath bushy eyebrows. ‘Why did you say “have to”?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Cy. He thought about the boy in the wall frieze who had the same haunting eyes as the boy he had seen in his dream. ‘I think there is something there that I must sort out.’

  ‘Oh-oh,’ said the dwarf. ‘The last time I got into this kind of bother was with a fellow by the name of Rip van Winkle. He completely exhausted me. This sounds like trouble.’

  ‘Trouble?’

  ‘Yes. Trouble. Twenty types of trouble – double-mixed,’ said the dwarf. ‘You shouldn’t be able to sort out anything in a dream. Humans don’t have the power to control their dreams.’

  ‘But this is my dream,’ Cy complained. ‘You said it was different.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said the dwarf. ‘Which means I have to let you be in charge.’

  ‘I shall be a Dream Master like you!’ said Cy.

  The Dream Master laughed a scornful laugh. ‘Absolutely absurd! It would take a particular powerful force for you to ever get anywhere near to my level. But,’ he hesitated, ‘in this one instance, yes, you will have a sort of mastery over your dream.’

  ‘Well, let’s go!’ said Cy.

  ‘You have no experience,’ said the Dream Master. ‘It could be tricky.’

  ‘So?’ said Cy.

  ‘If something goes wrong . . .’

  ‘But dreams always go wrong,’ Cy protested. ‘Things happen all over the place.’

  ‘How dare you!’ said the dwarf. ‘It requires tremendous skill being a Dream Master. Your dreams may seem a trifle . . . er . . . disconnected at times but that is due to the peculiar way human minds function.’

  ‘Well, my dream will be perfectly logical,’ said Cy.

  ‘Oh really.’ The dwarf snorted. ‘Just remember, at all times you must do exactly as I tell you.’

  ‘Of course I will,’ said Cy.

  ‘Immediately I say it?’

  ‘Instantly.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise.’

  ‘It’s the only way that I can be sure that nothing will go wrong,’ said the dwarf.

  ‘Nothing will go wrong,’ said Cy, uncrossing his fingers behind his back.

  ‘Well, let’s find out, shall we?’ The Dream Master stood up. ‘Take hold of a corner of my cloak, and do not let go.’

  Cy rubbed his eyes. The dwarf was becoming smaller and smaller on his pillow, yet the Dream Master’s cloak was growing. It billowed out like a great wave and enveloped Cy completely. The silky material was like black wind. Wind and water rushing past his face, fanning his hair, streaming out beside him and through him. Now it was racing ahead of him through a sky of spinning stars. Time itself moved, flowing towards him and then, changing direction, it began to accelerate away. Suddenly Cy remembered the dwarf’s instruction. He leapt forward and, with a desperate grab, he clutched onto the tail-end of the Dream Master’s cloak.

  Chapter 6

  Now the rushing motion was in Cy’s head. His mind and emotions were dragged into a whirling river of thought. Then, quite suddenly, it stopped. Cy teetered. Black abyss all around. The silence was terrifying. Cy opened his mouth to speak and found that he couldn’t. He tried to reach out with his hands and found he was unable to. He was unable to move, unable to think.

  Round him a current still flowed but less strongly. And, as it slowed even more, he was aware that the Dream Master was there.

  ‘Listen,’ the dwarf spoke urgently, ‘the dream-time has a certain length, and you cannot change that. When it’s time to leave . . . you leave. Capisce?’

  Cy nodded. He was beginning to regain a hold on his own reality.

  ‘It must be absolutely understood,’ said the dwarf, ‘that when the dream goes, so do you. Although I don’t know when that will be exactly.’

  ‘In the books I read, it was always on the stroke of midnight,’ Cy suggested helpfully.

  The dwarf rolled his eyes. ‘Great Giza,’ he said. ‘He thinks he’s Cinderella.’

  The flowing current had now stopped completely. Cy looked about. They appeared to be in a long stone corridor. A long, dark, stone corridor.

  ‘Right,’ said the dwarf. ‘This should be Ancient Egypt, roughly at the same point where you left off.’

  ‘We should be in the desert, then,’ said Cy.

  ‘And we’re not, are we?’ said the dwarf. He chewed his lip. ‘I think we’re further on.’

  ‘Further on . . . where?’ asked Cy.

  ‘Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?’ said the dwarf, glancing about anxiously.

  Cy peered around. ‘I can’t see anything.’

  ‘Open your eyes, why don’t you?’

  Cy put his hand to his face and touched his eyes. ‘They are open,’ he said. ‘I hate dreams like this. I need some help here.’

  ‘Do I have to do absolutely everything for you?’ snapped the dwarf.

  ‘A suggestion would be helpful,’ Cy snapped back.

  ‘Try saying “Let there be light”, why don’t you?’

  Cy tried to imagine an electric light. He thought of a fluorescent tube. A long column, glowing bluish-white, appeared in his hand. ‘This had better not be Obi-wan Kenobi’s light-sabre,’ said Cy.

  The beam flickered and disappeared. A torch would be more useful, thought Cy. There was a clunk as something solid landed at his feet.

  ‘Ah,’ said Cy. He picked it up and clicked the switch. Nothing happened.

  ‘Batteries not included,’ sniggered a voice in his ear.

  ‘With batteries,’ Cy said aloud. A beam of light spread out before them. ‘Omigosh!’ said Cy. Two paces directly in front of him was a pit. ‘I could have fallen in there,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah,’ said the dwarf nastily.

  ‘I think I want a rope,’ said Cy.

  ‘How do you know there aren’t snakes in there?’ asked the dwarf.

  ‘Because . . .’ Cy hesitated. Then he laughed. ‘Because I didn’t think there would be.’

  The dwarf made a hissing noise. ‘Are you sure? You’ve thought of them now though, haven’t you? So they might be down there waiting for you.’ And he chuckled.

  ‘Don’t be so horrible,’ said Cy. He shone the torch ahead of him. ‘I don’t need a rope, anyway. I’ve decided that there are stairs leading down to a large room. Let’s go.’

  Cy touched the walls on either side as he led the way down the long staircase.

  ‘Are we in a pyramid?’ he asked. ‘Or somewhere in the Valley of the Kings?’

  ‘You tell me,’ said the dwarf.

  Cy lifted his torch and shone it around the room they had just entered. The walls were covered in bright paintings with row upon row of hieroglyphics in vertical lines. Scenes of families at work in the fields, bakers making bread and a potter working at his wheel made a frieze around the sides of the room. Four great statues guarded the entrance to another chamber.

  Cy turned to the dwarf. ‘Should I go on?’

  The Dream Master shrugged. ‘Do you want to?’

  Cy nodded. He pointed ahead. ‘I want to know what’s in there.’

  The dwarf’s eyes narrowed. ‘But you should know what’s in there. You are dreaming this up as you go along . . . aren’t you?’

  Cy looked away quickly. ‘Umm . . .’ he said, and his heart gave a quick flip. Perhaps he still had it in his mind that they had been making the Great Pyramid in class today, and that was why they were here . . . in some kind of burial chamber. But truthfully, he knew that he hadn’t actually dreamt this up. It had just happened on its own. Also, th
ings seemed to be happening incredibly quickly, at the very instant he thought about them. In fact . . . almost faster than he was thinking them.

  The dwarf pulled at Cy’s sleeve. ‘You are dreaming this, aren’t you? I mean, you haven’t lost control of the dream, or anything?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Cy shook himself free and walked on. ‘Omigosh,’ he said as he entered the next room.

  They were now in a burial antechamber, which was crammed full of everything that might be of use in a long Afterlife. There were urns and jugs of gold and beaten brass, ebony and cedarwood statues, many pieces of furniture, food and drink, amulets, necklaces, jewellery and precious stones. Every centimetre of the walls and roof had been painted upon. Figures, dancing, sitting and standing glowed vibrantly down at them.

  ‘This must be a Pharaoh’s tomb,’ said Cy as he wandered around, picking up objects to look at them and replacing them carefully. There were little wooden statues covered with beaten gold, heavy armbands studded with glass beads and precious stones, boxes with intricate inlays, and some small model soldiers. An alabaster jar gleamed softly, the figures on the side silhouetted in the light. In one corner stood a wooden mummy case. In another was a throne-like chair with a leopard’s head on each arm and four paws for feet.

  A decorated chest showed the Pharaoh with his wife. Cy stared harder. Just for the briefest flicker Cy had thought that the Pharaoh had looked a bit like his dad. He looked again at the Pharaoh’s wife. Tall ostrich feathers rose proudly from her head-dress, and immediately above was the shape of the long cross with the loop at the top. The ankh. Eternal life. The magical symbol of the life of the soul . . . Cy rubbed the back of his neck. He had an odd feeling growing inside . . . as if there was someone else close by. It must be the drawings, Cy told himself. He was surrounded by them. Scenes from everyday life, people working in the fields, hunting, fishing, and trapping birds with nets. The hieroglyphics on the wall seemed to resonate with colour. The clothes on the painted figures glistened white, their kohl-ringed eyes gazed out at him. Cy shivered. Lauren was right. He had too much imagination.

  But the feeling of being watched was overpowering. Was it the sign-writing which was making him so uncomfortable? The little pictures of the birds and animals with their bright eyes. Or the larger statues, some of which had glass eyes which caused them to regard you with an eerie, lifelike look? Cy took a firm grip of his thoughts and tried to concentrate.

  The prickly sensation still didn’t go away. He paused to look at some papyrus scrolls and then, on the outer rim of his hearing he heard a soft noise.

  Cy froze. He hadn’t imagined that, had he? Not intentionally . . . but in a way he had, because nothing could exist in this dream without him thinking about it, even if only for a microsecond. Could it?

  Cy lifted his head and listened. There it was again . . . a soft creaking noise, and then, suddenly, he was aware of a movement. He whirled round. The noise was coming from inside the wooden mummy case standing upright in the corner.

  Chapter 7

  Cy stared at the half-open mummy case.

  The dwarf smirked. ‘Explain this one, oh Great Master-of-the-Mind who said, “My dream will be perfectly logical.”’

  ‘It’s just a draught of air,’ Cy said.

  ‘Right inside the middle of a tomb?’ said the dwarf. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Umm . . . we’ve been walking about and that’s caused some vibration, and . . . and dislodged some stones,’ explained Cy.

  ‘Blithering Blethers!’

  Cy took a couple of steps forward. ‘Well, let’s find out what’s inside,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, do let’s,’ said the dwarf. ‘I’m right behind you . . . a long way behind,’ he added under his breath.

  Cy gripped the edge of the partly open mummy case and dragging at it, widened the gap. Then he looked inside.

  ‘Oh!’ he stepped back quickly.

  ‘Ouch!’ said the dwarf and rubbed his nose. ‘What is it?’

  The body of a young man was propped up inside, hands crossed over his chest. He looks so peaceful, Cy thought.

  An ankh amulet hung round its neck. As Cy watched, the knot on the leather cord at the front came loose and it fell with a soft chink at his feet. He picked it up and studied it more closely. It was similar to the one he had shaped out of foil, except that this one was real silver. A leather lace was threaded through the top loop.

  ‘This is what caused the noise,’ said Cy. ‘The leather knot was coming undone. It’s very new and stiff and doesn’t bend properly.’

  ‘Hmmph!’ said the dwarf.

  Cy looped the cord round his wrist, and then he looked again at the face of the young man. ‘Oh, no!’ he said.

  ‘What now?’

  ‘It’s the boy,’ said Cy. ‘The boy in my first dream. The one I tried to rescue . . .’ Cy felt sick at heart as he gazed at the young man’s face, waxy pale, eyes closed in death. ‘I came back too late,’ he said sadly.

  The dwarf peered round from behind Cy. ‘He’s giving me the creeps,’ he said. ‘Close over the door.’

  Cy looked at the boy for a moment or two longer, and then he raised his hands to close the wooden lid. As a last farewell he stretched out his hand and touched the boy’s face. The skin under his fingers was warm.

  Cy cried out and leapt backwards.

  ‘Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!’ yelled the dwarf, hopping about and trying to hold his toes and nose at the same time. ‘Piffling Pyramids! What in the name of Royal Rameses are you playing at?’

  ‘Shhh,’ hissed Cy. ‘Don’t make a noise. I think he’s still alive.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ The dwarf spoke very quietly but fiercely. ‘You cannot possibly create life.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ whispered Cy.

  ‘Why are we whispering?’ whispered the dwarf. ‘Why are we whispering?’ he asked again, more loudly.

  Cy raised his hand. ‘Shhh,’ he said. ‘Listen.’

  There was silence. The dwarf opened his mouth. Cy pressed his fingers to his lips and frowned. ‘Wait,’ he mouthed silently.

  There was nothing. Only the deathly stillness of the great tomb and beyond that the vast emptiness of the desert.

  And then they both heard a small sigh.

  ‘I’m out of here,’ said the dwarf. ‘This is definitely not in the programme.’

  Cy grabbed the dwarf’s arm as he made to leave. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘He’s only a boy.’

  ‘Yes, but he should not be here.’ The dwarf prised Cy’s fingers from his arm. He turned and looked at Cy for a long moment. ‘You have a powerful imagination.’

  ‘But . . . I didn’t actually imagine him.’

  ‘You must have.’

  Cy shook his head. ‘I wanted to meet him again, but I didn’t dream him up. Did you?’

  ‘No, I did not!’ The dwarf stamped his foot. ‘I wouldn’t be so irresponsible.’ He glared at Cy. ‘There are squillions of dreams passing through time and space and I have the benighted bad luck to end up in one where the Dream Master is under-age and undereducated, and . . . and . . . under the impression that things can happen in a dream without the dream’s Dream Master dreaming it up!’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Cy. ‘Things have gone a bit strange.’

  ‘That is an understatement!’ said the dwarf and he began to bite his beard.

  Cy leant forward and spoke to the figure in the mummy case. ‘Can you hear me?’ The boy’s eyes flickered open. They were blank with terror.

  Cy swallowed his own fear and managed to smile. ‘Hello,’ he said.

  The boy opened and closed his mouth several times. ‘Who are you?’ he managed to say at last.

  ‘Cy,’ said Cy.

  ‘Cy.’ The boy repeated the word slowly, hesitantly. ‘What is . . . Cy?’

  ‘It’s my name,’ said Cy. ‘It’s short for Cyrus.’

  The boy made a small whimpering sound. ‘Osiris . . . God of Death.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Cy. �
�No, I’m not a god.’

  The boy nodded fearfully. ‘You are here with me in the tomb. Osiris comes at death to judge all people. This I know, as I have been taught by my uncle.’

  Cy shook his head and tried to think of a way to explain how he came to be in the tomb. But then he realized that he didn’t fully understand it himself. The boy was shaking, whether from fear or cold Cy did not know.

  He took the boy gently by the arm. ‘Let’s talk,’ he said. He made a space among the furniture and sat the boy down. Then he held the torch high. ‘Look at me,’ he said. ‘I am a boy just like you. What is your name?’

  ‘I am Aten of the Ankh.’ The boy studied Cy carefully, looking at his white T-shirt and red boxer shorts, and his hair, which fell on each side with a middle parting.

  ‘You are a boy,’ he said at last, ‘but you are not as I am. You are of another people.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Cy eagerly. ‘I am from another land.’

  ‘Across the great desert?’ asked Aten.

  ‘Across the desert,’ said Cy, ‘and beyond the sea.’

  ‘Then how came you here?’ Aten spread his hand out in front of him. ‘You must be a god. Only a god can walk through stone.’

  ‘Good point,’ said the dwarf in a low voice. ‘Answer that, Mr Smartypants.’

  Cy ignored him. ‘Why are you inside the tomb?’ he asked Aten.

  Aten frowned. ‘For many years there has been great unrest in the land. When the Pharaoh died the court officials decided that his heir was too young to rule, so they decided to crown a new king of their own. My uncle opposed them and I was taken captive with him. We were to be executed, but a great sandstorm arose . . .’ He tailed off, and stared at Cy. ‘You were there!’ he exclaimed. ‘I remember now. You came riding from within the bright sun to rescue me.’ He looked at the torch in Cy’s hand and began to tremble again. ‘You carry the sun in your hand. You truly are a god.’

  ‘No,’ said Cy firmly. ‘I am not. Look, I’ll try to explain about it later. Just tell me how you came to be inside the mummy case.’