Waking in Dreamland

by Jody Lynne Nye

  “That’s what we are here for, to serve and protect and to be good listeners,” the super said, leaning back comfortably in his chair. “Go ahead, ma’am.”

  “Here is our difficulty,” Roan began again.

  “I hope you have had a chance to see our beautiful city,” the super said, sitting upright suddenly, as if a thought had struck him from behind.

  “Not very much,” Roan said. “Please!” He held up a hand to forestall another outburst by the police chief, who settled back in his chair with a disappointed expression. “Have you been notified by the Crown about a renegade band of scientists carrying a dangerous device across the Dreamland?”

  “Why, we may have been,” the super said. “Officer Toodle? Do go and see if we’ve had anything of that sort.”

  “Certainly, sir,” the blond officer said, with a languid salute, and departed, in no hurry.

  “Whose vision of the police is this?” Spar asked in a furious undertone to the others. “It’s a joke!”

  “There are pockets like this all through the Dreamland,” Bergold explained in a quiet voice. “You can tell by the decor. Particularly the daisies on the wall, and the posters. It’s a particular vision of a particular group of Sleepers. We’ve noticed that it appears to be characterized by a relaxed disposition among the inhabitants, and very often affects law enforcement or other officials.”

  “Well, I don’t like it,” Spar said firmly, looking with disapproval upon the flowered wallpaper and the rest of the oversized decor. “It’s prissy.”

  “Super, here it is,” the officer said, returning with a piece of neon-pink paper. “We had it on the ‘To Be Read’ pile. Awfully close to the top.”

  “Ah, good, right where it belonged.” The superintendent put on a pair of gold-rimmed half-glasses and read through the notice.

  “Uh hum. Uh hum. Uh hum. I see. I have all the details now.” He put down the sheet of paper, and leaned toward them over his tented fingers. “What is it that you want me to do?”

  “We want you to arrest Brom,” Roan said. “He’s here in the city now with the device. We saw him only a few minutes ago. He can’t leave immediately. We have information that he is looking for a repair facility. That should give us enough time to raise the hue and cry. Arrest him and impound the Alarm Clock.”

  “That would be uncool,” said the super. A frown creased his forehead, and then it relaxed again into a paternal smile. “Hue and cry? How very old-fashioned. Our job is to help troubled people so that they don’t feel they must disrupt society. We can’t just throw a cordon around the whole city and rope him in like a felon. What will that do to his self-esteem? You see, Mr. Roan, the way I see it our job is to help restore the self-esteem of the alleged felons with whom we come in contact. We are less concerned about the events that bring them into our little sphere and more about their mental state. We want to help those who commit crimes to understand that they are loved, and that they are okay. If we interfere in their behavior, it might forever scar them. We can’t have that.”

  “But Brom seems very well-adjusted,” Roan said. “We are not concerned with his self-esteem. It is his intentions that are malign.”

  “Well, then, you see, you don’t need us at all,” the super said, turning up his hands and smiling. “The problem is solved.”

  “Enough of this,” Roan said, impatiently, slapping his hands on his thighs, to the evident disapproval of the superintendent. “We are losing valuable time. Captain Spar, I believe this is your department.”

  “Right,” Spar said, standing up beside him. He squared up his shoulders and straightened his belt as he leaned over the desk toward the super, who flinched back into his puffy chair.

  “Listen here, super. I am Captain Spar of the palace guard. Are you a loyal subject?”

  “Of course I am,” the super said patiently, drumming his fingertips together. “I am proud to be an imaginary denizen of the Dreamland.”

  “Well, then, listen here, friend,” Spar said, with his finger within inches of the superintendent’s nose. “When you treat an emergency like a chance to redeem wrongdoers you are not doing your job properly. You’re the enforcement arm of the law.” The finger stabbed down on the neon-colored paper again and again to punctuate his words. The super sat with his mouth hanging open. “You aren’t here to make judgments about a perpetrator. And that’s what you’re doing. Your job is to catch him and let the courts decide what to do. Right?”

  “Well, I suppose . . .”

  “Right, or not right?” Spar demanded. “Make your decision! Tell me!” He pounded his fist on the pink paper, which faded with every bang until it was plain white.

  Spar’s words, too, seemed to have an effect on the room itself. He may not have had much control of influence, but he knew how to command. The cheery orange paint faded to a dingy industrial yellow. The daisies vanished off the wallpaper, leaving it a plain, narrow stripe. Overhead, the speaker pouring out honeyed music started emitting short declarative sentences muffled by static. The room looked ready for business.

  “By the Seven, you are right,” the super said. He had changed, becoming less jovial-looking, and Roan was relieved to note, more competent. Although the buttons remained shiny, the police uniforms darkened to blue-black and acquired a businesslike cut. The superintendent picked up the document, read through it again, and gestured sharply for his assistant. The sergeant noted his superior’s alterations, and though he remained apple-cheeked, his eyes hardened.

  Still, he took a moment to wink at the princess.

  “All right,” the superintendent said, “then we’ll arrest them. I’ll need full descriptions.” He picked up a pencil and a black notebook. The sergeant took an identical notepad out of his pocket, and waited, poised.

  “There are between ten and fifteen of them,” Roan said, watching them write down the numbers 10 and 15. “Brom is of above average height. When I saw him closely, he was very thin, almost gaunt, with deep-set, hooded blue eyes with an expression I would almost describe is insane.”

  “Ah, insane,” the super said, gesturing to his officer, who made an emphatic note. “Presumed dangerous. And how long ago was that? And where?”

  “Four days ago, some fifteen miles north of the Nightmare Forest. We spotted them again here in Reverie and gave chase, but we never got close enough to get a good look before they disappeared.”

  “Any distinguishing marks?”

  “Pocket protectors. They all wear them,” Roan said. “Except for their two hired musclemen.”

  “Hmmph! Definite sign of psychosis,” the superintendent said.

  Roan gave quick descriptions of the others that he could remember, plus details of the litter containing the Alarm Clock. He mentioned the tread patterns of the bicycles they had been following, and Corporal Lum came forward to identify the specific patterns in a mug book. The genial officer jotted down the details.

  “Right, then,” the super said. The policeman snapped the notebook shut and buttoned it into his breast pocket. “We’ll run all this through our computer and see how many changes he’s likely to have made since then. This Brom’s insanity will have lasted. That’s a fact.”

  “Watch yourself, super,” Roan said. “They are exceptionally tricky.”

  “They can’t get around us,” the superintendent said, curling his lip in scorn. “This is our turf. You leave it to us.”

  “That’s more like it,” Spar said. He saluted the police chief. “Pleasure to do business with you.”

  Chapter 24

  The sound of sirens receding in the distance echoed in the street as they followed the superintendent down the steps into the parking lot. Roan whistled the bicycles over as the super himself issued orders to the remaining officers.

  “Now, you lot spread out. Keep in touch at all times with control,” he said. “Since they’re the only ones who know what the ‘distortion’ is that this perpetrator causes, Captain Spar will lead his own contingent on a s
hrinking spiral around the main shopping district and point it out to the teams of officers patrolling each area. Murgatroyd, you go with him.”

  “Right, super,” said a tough-looking officer sitting astride a battered blue steed.

  “All right, on your bikes,” the chief said. He climbed into the cab of the tall vehicle, which started up with a sputter. Men and women officers jumped onto the outside, and clung to it as it careened down the street, sirens blaring and lights rotating. Officers shot away in all directions.

  “Now, officer,” Spar said, climbing onto his own beast’s saddle. “Show us the second-best repair shop in town.”

  “They’ve been here already,” Lum said, disappointedly, braking to a halt.

  Murgatroyd steered around a paving block made of red foam rubber, and came to a halt at the curb. He raised his radio to his ear.

  “Found traces of distortion, but no sign of the suspects, sir,” the policeman said into the mouthpiece. “We will continue to follow clues. Murgatroyd out.”

  He flipped a switch on the side of the black box. A hatch on the top opened, and a little bird flew out. It circled once, then headed in the direction of the station house.

  Roan listened hard. In a quiet residential area they should be able to hear the motorcycle engines. Yes, he heard a strange rumbling off to the left.

  “Let’s try this way,” Roan said, pushing off in the direction of the sound.

  He let Murgatroyd guide them through the twisting maze of streets, past houses and schools. Through the iron fences that surrounded a rainy park in one residential square, Roan spotted a handful of the apprentices making a left into an avenue lined with high hedges. He signed to the others, and they started pedaling harder in pursuit. Through turn after turn, they managed to keep the blue-and-white-clad riders in sight. The apprentices wheeled sharp right around a corner. Their pursuers fixed their eyes on the intersection and bore down upon it.

  “That’s a cul-de-sac,” Murgatroyd said. “Or it was during patrol last night. We’ve got ’em!”

  But when the cyclists followed, there was no one there but a man mowing his lawn with a goat held up by its back legs.

  “Did they duck out past us?” Misha asked, looking around, bewildered. “They could have turned invisible.”

  “Another illusion?” asked Felan sourly.

  “No, look,” Roan said, pointing between two yards at three helmeted heads moving away. The cyclists had drawn themselves inward and upward until they were gigantic figures only two inches wide.

  “Guards, with me!” Spar said. He shot around the corner of the cul-de-sac, his crew in formation behind him. In a few moments, he returned, shaking his head. The officers trailed dejectedly. “Gone.”

  “We’re making no progress, and time is running short,” Roan said. “Let’s split up into pairs to continue the search. If any of us spot them, one of you keep following them wherever they go, and the other will report to the police station for reinforcements. Remember, we want Brom and the Alarm Clock most of all.”

  “Surround them, and conquer,” Murgatroyd said, striking his palm with his fist. “We’ll do it.”

  “Good,” Roan said. He and Leonora elected to go with the policeman. Spar went with Colenna, Misha paired up with Felan, Lum with Bergold, and the two guards together. They moved out.

  Roan and Leonora rode in silence, surveying both sides of the street for traces. Several times, they thought that they saw one or more of the apprentices disappearing into a cross street. They gave chase, but by the time they reached the same intersection, there would be no sign of the quarry.

  “We simply are not having any luck,” Leonora said, coasting to a halt after an hour of fruitless searching. “Maybe the others are.” Murgatroyd listened to his radio.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “We must keep looking,” Roan said. “Wait a moment.” The trees along the street were normal on the sidewalk side, but twisted and unhealthy looking on the street side. Some of the apples had not even stopped bouncing on the ground. They had turned to wood. Roan and Leonora exchanged triumphant glances.

  “They must just have come this way,” he said. “If we see them, I want you to ride straight for the police station. Don’t hesitate. I don’t want them to have an opportunity to use their force on you.”

  “Don’t worry,” Leonora said. “I’ll run away if we come upon them.”

  “Sir!” Lum and Bergold came riding out through a passage between two buildings. The historian waved to them.

  “We followed a pair of them coming this way,” Bergold shouted.

  “I know,” Roan called back. “Look at the trees!”

  “Do you see them?”

  Lum stood up on his pedals and sighted down the street. He gestured excitedly. “There, sir! There they go!”

  Roan spotted the Alarm Clock just as its riders slipped into an alley ahead of them. He pulled hard against Cruiser’s handlebars, forcing the unwilling steed after it. The others came half a length behind him. Faster and faster Roan pedaled, until his legs felt as if they were part of his steed. Faster! The man riding at the rear of the litter turned to look behind, and his mouth dropped open. He shouted something to his companion, and the two motorcycles picked up speed.

  In the narrow passage, Roan flew past doorways and ladders and trash receptacles, past slumped bodies and heaps of bricks, firewood and excrement, cats and dogs, bounced over stones and potholes. He saw light ahead. He must stop the Clock. If that infernal device reached the street too far ahead of him, its bearers would open throttle, and he would never catch them. Faster! His leg muscles felt as if they were burning. He had left the others far behind.

  The litter emerged from the alley. Sunlight painted the back of the man behind with white. Roan followed the gleaming figure. He drew closer, almost close enough to grab him. Suddenly, the litter rolled to a halt. Roan slid to a stop, almost sliding into the rear cyclist. He jumped off his bike, and ran to pull the man off his steed. Then, before he could lay hands on the man, from underneath the canvas came a terrifying sound. The deep vibration almost shook him off his feet. Roan clapped his hands to his ears.

  The soft, inexorable sound died away. He was so disoriented by the noise that it was a moment before he realized he was surrounded by flashing blue lights and uniformed officers, and a huge mob of civilians. He spotted the chief of police in the forefront of the crowd. Beside him was Brom. How strange, Roan thought. Brom looked exactly the same as he had the first time they had met in the desert outside of Mnemosyne. For some reason he was using the gestalt to remain in one form. Almost, Roan thought with a shock, like him.

  Around their superior, the young men and women in blue and white huddled together, fingering their pocket protectors nervously. The two big men who had attacked Roan in the desert looked defiant.

  “You’ve got him!” Roan said, exultantly. “Congratulations, superintendent. It looks as though you have captured the entire gang! That is the device I told you about. You must report to the Crown at once. You have stopped a terrible calamity from occurring. Well done!”

  Brom raised a hand.

  “Arrest him, superintendent,” he said, magnificently. Instead of his gaunt traveling form, he had reasserted his court portliness. The long blue robe seemed a little travelworn, but the police and the people did not seem to notice. “I am fed up with his harassment of me and my staff. We have undertaken a difficult and secret experiment for His Majesty the king, and all that this man, this unchanging freak, has done has been to follow me, hounding me.” He waggled a finger. Roan suddenly noticed that the rest of his party was present, too, surrounded by officers. “And them, too. They are accomplices!”

  “What?” Roan could not believe what he was hearing, nor the expression on the chief ’s face. Two police officers stepped forward and clapped heavy irons onto his wrists. He pulled away, and they grabbed his arms, holding him in place. Brom continued to speak, letting the words roll with ponderous mel
lifluence off his tongue.

  “You are all witnesses to one of the greatest malfeasances ever committed in the Dreamland!” The hooded eyes flashed red fire. “This evil man has corrupted the heir to the throne, the regal princess Leonora. Look!”

  He held up his hands to frame the image of Leonora, dismounting from Golden Schwinn as gracefully as she could in the flowing white dress. Roan sensed that Brom used a wave of influence. Suddenly, the gown with which Leonora had taken so much trouble fell shapeless. There was no doubt at all that she was swathed in the folds of a tent, and one that was much too large for her. She grabbed at the yards of cloth as they fell about her, and pinned them hastily in place with splinters of influence.

  Brom boomed on. “You see her before you, dressed in mean rags as if she was the merest commoner. A beggar. How disgraceful it is. I am ashamed to behold her in this sorry condition. It disgraces her. It disgraces us all.”

  The crowd took up the chant. “Disgraceful! Disgraceful!” Leonora turned scarlet with shame and anger. A couple of women came forward with armloads of clothing, which they pressed into the princess’s arms. She dropped them and pushed the women aside, trying to get to Roan. The police, openly reluctant, blocked her way.

  Brom raised his voice. “Aid your sovereign! Help restore his daughter to him! Look how even now he enchants her so that she is more concerned about him than her own modesty!”

  “But I have come with Roan willingly,” Leonora said, angrily. The lengths of tent material flowed into an ankle-length toga of classic design, and she added a diadem of gold leaves in her hair. The crowd murmured in awe. “No one forced me to come.”

  “That’s worse,” Brom said, shaking his head. He raised his voice. “He has deluded her. Of course it is unlawful for him to take her anywhere. Do you see a chaperone?”

  “I’m with her,” Colenna said stoutly.

  “An official chaperone!” Brom said, dismissively. “This creature can’t be, because this is not an official journey!”