Storm Dreams (The Cycle of Somnium Book 1)

by Jeb R. Sherrill

Chapter 3

  Cassidy wanted to stay at the windows, but Brewster took him astern to the head and let him freshen up. Cassidy shaved, splashed on cologne and donned the clothes set out for him: khaki breeches, a white shirt, an airman’s coat and a new white scarf. All this he did as fast as possible, retrieved the Mauser from his room and hooked the wooden holster to his belt as he ran for the control room. He wanted to go anywhere but this ship which had begun feeling more like a cage.

  Arcadia turned out to be exactly what it had looked like at a distance: a floating island nestled deep within a mass of thick nebulous clouds. Closer up, however, he could see that the upside-down mountain was topped with smaller snow-capped mountains and a city that looked like a cross between a mythic metropolis of the future and a turn of the century shipping port.

  At least forty airships drifted around the island; some docked, some coming into port and others leaving. Some were no more than dirigible balloons with large propellers attached to their wooden baskets, while others looked like galleons dangling beneath a mass of balloons. “They’re beautiful,” Cassidy said, as one of the ships passed off the starboard bow.

  “Yes, but none of them are like this lady,” Banner said, cutting the throttle to mooring speed and made his way towards a dock in one of the bright towers. “They’re mostly Twilight crafts. They’d break apart trying to enter the real world. This girl is solid everywhere she goes. Her name is Nubigena,” he said, steering the nose of the airship into the mooring dock. “There isn’t a pirate here that wouldn’t give both his ears and probably his John Thomas to have her.”

  “Hence, we always go in armed,” said Brewster. “Chester and Karl will stay here and man the Lewis guns, just in case.”

  Cassidy adjusted the Mauser on his left hip, butt pointed towards his navel in cross-draw fashion. He didn’t know where he’d picked up the habit, but it seemed logical for a pilot. Nothing more difficult than drawing a weapon from his shooting side while seated.

  Banner brought him out of his memories by slapping a wad of cash in his hand. “My tab is good in the main establishments, but if you want to pick something up along the way, you’ll need this.” He strode past Cassidy and out of the control room. The others followed.

  What if I don’t want your damn money? I’m not a mercenary, he thought, as he examined the paper. It looked like bank notes, rectangular thin sheets printed with a dull blue ink, but of some currency he’d never seen before. He followed the others down to the dock. Over his shoulder he watched the Zeppelin float out from its mooring. He still couldn’t believe how huge the vessel was. It appeared at least eight hundred feet long and a hundred feet or more in diameter. Angled black script spelled Nubigena across the starboard bow. My God, what a ship. It still felt as if the craft could crush him at its whim. Why had Banner picked him to crew on such a vessel?

  Dock riggers, passing travellers and shipmen stared and pointed at the airship. They craned their necks as they walked. Many stopped and gawked as it drifted in the wind like a stallion flexing his muscles at the hitching post.

  “They know it’s different,” Brewster said, nudging him in the ribs. “Most people here are native to the Twilight, though there’re a few escaped dreams like us that hide out in the lower areas. They serve on the local airships,” he said, and prodded Cassidy towards a bizarre building that appeared to be made of folded paper. It rose above them twenty stories and seemed to grow straight out of the ground. “There’re even a few people that find their way here from the real world. Pilots, mostly. Slip in through open gates in the air. There’s only a few on the ground anywhere.”

  Cassidy marvelled, watching the colours and angles shift as the diffused light cascaded over the surface of the building. He couldn’t see a door, only a huge aperture which opened into a main lounge from the street outside. The light dimmed when they passed the threshold as if an invisible barrier cut down on the outside light.

  Another airman came towards them on his way out. “He’s real,” Brewster whispered. “Found his way here about a year ago.” The airman looked German, in full flight uniform with an iron cross at his throat. He possessed the tell-tale arrogant poise, rigid chin and nose aimed slightly above everyone’s head.

  Cassidy flipped the lid on the holster beneath his jacket, but Brewster put a hand on his arm. “That’s—” Cassidy began.

  “Manfred von Richthofen. We’re not at war here, and you and I aren’t involved in the Great War anyway,” Brewster said, as Banner stopped several feet from the handsome German.

  “Pilot of the Storm,” Richthofen said, in a grim tone, his German accent thick and sharp.

  “The Bloody Baron,” Banner said, with a laugh. “How’s the war?”

  “Ridiculous as usual,” Richthofen said, “but I’m still winning.” He greeted Franz in German and Cassidy understood them perfectly. Could he read and speak that damned language?

  The Baron looked over Franz’s shoulder at Cassidy and lost his smile.

  “This is our new man,” Banner said, regarding Cassidy with a nod. “Picked him up in a dream last night. Hell of a pilot, but won’t stop frowning.”

  A strange glance passed between Banner and the Baron, who forced a smile. “It is good to meet a fellow pilot,” Richthofen said, and offered Cassidy his hand.

  Cassidy didn’t move. He hated the man, but not just because he was German. A violent seething rose up from his stomach making him want to pound the man’s face into the ground.

  “Perhaps next time,” Richthofen said, withdrawing his hand. Well, auf wiedersehen.” The German airman gave the group a stiff bow. “We will meet again.”

  Banner and the others gave brief salutes and the Red Baron exited the hotel.

  Brewster dragged Cassidy to the bar and ordered two mugs of beer. “That man has shot down—” Cassidy began.

  “I know,” Brewster said, stopping him with the flat of his hand. “None of the real world affairs are any affair of ours. The only loyalty you have is to Banner and that ship outside,” he said jutting his thumb towards the docks. “Now, sit back and enjoy the shore leave.”

  Cassidy grimaced and sipped at his beer. There was blood between him and that man, even if he didn’t know why. “What if I don’t want to be part of this crew?”

  Brewster sighed. “The captain saved your life.”

  “Seems more like I was shanghaied,” Cassidy spat.

  “Can I get you guys another beer?” the female bartender asked, before Cassidy got another sentence out. Full lips, short dark hair and shining eyes gave her an ethereal look. Her skin glowed with a soft inner light, her features elven, ears slightly pointed. Native, Cassidy thought. What were these Twilight people?

  A woman with similar elven features, wearing a silver outfit that showed off her ample bosom, approached Brewster from behind. She slid an arm around his neck and played with the collar of his jacket. “Can’t believe you stayed away this long,” she said, toying beneath his shirt with her other hand. “It’s been months.”

  Brewster laughed and grinned at Cassidy. “Sorry, Old Boy. Got to go.”

  Cassidy watched as the woman led Brewster up the steep stairs to whatever rooms lay above. He tried to get another beer, but found he could only order whisky on the rocks. When he tried to explain the problem to the barkeep, his mind cut to other thoughts and questions. He gave up and nursed the whisky for several more minutes while the rest of Banner’s Boys left one by one with equally exotic natives. Banner no doubt was consorting with Germans or other unsavoury characters in port.

  A silky voice slithered into his ear from behind. “You’re on your captain’s tab.”

  A woman with thin features and bright green eyes inclined her head as Cassidy turned. Her short red hair blazed, even in the dim light. The markings of green leaves on her skin poked out of her gown, inching up her throat as if trying to take over her head. Tattoos or make-up? He couldn’t think straight as she took his hand and led him to the staircase. The ste
ps were glass and didn’t appear connected to either wall. Nor did the gilded handrail. It took several furtive steps to trust the glass, but they seemed solid as rock.

  The room she took him to was a suite, with a decadent sitting area and an oval bed. Silk drapes hung on all sides from the thirty-foot ceiling, enclosing the purple satin sheets. Shining crystals adorned the walls, giving the room a soft pulsing light that ebbed and flowed every ten seconds or so.

  “My name is Shea,” she said. “Or whatever ever name you prefer. You’re a dream, right?”

  “I don’t know for sure.”

  Shea let out a loud, almost manly laugh. “You are new,” she said and spread out on the bed. The release of a single button at her sternum exposed large round breasts. Her hips gave just the perfect bulges beneath the silken fabric, and her legs extended over the edge of the mattress towards him, slim and smooth and spread just enough to suggest easy entrance. The green leaves he’d seen inching up her neck, branched out to make their way down her arms, between her breasts and vanished again beneath the gown. They appeared where the fabric draped over her outer thighs and continued down her legs and to her feet.

  Cassidy stood speechless. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a woman naked, but assumed he’d never seen a body like this. She was reading him somehow. Exposing parts of her body as he thought about them, but just enough to make him need to see more. He wanted her in ways he couldn’t admit, even to himself. The bulge in his pants hurt. Like an animal, he wanted to ravage her into the bed. He wanted to grip her, devour her, inhale her. The knowledge that he could, the fact that she was lying there on the bed with her only intent being just to indulge him, sent his mind over the edge.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, turning away.

  He heard her sit up. “What?”

  Cassidy took a deep breath and tried to think of anything but the way her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. “There’s a lot missing. I can’t remember much, but there’s a blurry...something in the back of my head. She-” He cut off, uncertain what he even meant.

  But Shea seemed to know. She blinked as he turned to look at her. “You’re a dream,” she said. “Even if you did have someone where you come from, she’s gone.”

  Cassidy shook his head. “I have this feeling, like a dull ache in my chest. Perhaps she’s back in the dream right now, waiting for me. Perhaps it was a woman who dreamed me and she can’t find me right now, because I’m gone.”

  Shea stood and re-buttoned her gown. “You’re a strange man, Mr. Cassidy. Banner paid extra for this. Real men, dreams and Twilights would—”

  “Kill for you. Die for you, I’m sure,” Cassidy said. “But I don’t want it like this.”

  Shea took a deep breath and exhaled. “You could be killed tomorrow on that insane airship of his.”

  “I don’t even know who I am.”

  She sighed deeply. “Sleep well, Mr. Cassidy. I will be the girl of your dreams, and you’ll never get a second chance.” She exited with an exaggerated swing of her hips.

  Cassidy lay alone in the bed made for five as the pale diffused light outside slipped away and a purplish night took its place. There didn’t seem to be either a bright day or a dark night in this place. Endless dawn and dusk that shifted close to one or the other, but perhaps never got all the way to either one.

  The bed’s silk drapes danced and murmured above him in the gentle breeze that drifted in through the open terrace door. He tried to remember his dream again. Tried to remember anything of his life before Banner whisked him out of whatever reality had been his own.

  Cassidy stood and let the breeze play over his skin, naked except for a pair of breeches that hung just past his knees. The room’s private terrace opened out over a sea of open sky.

  The Nubigena fought its mooring, listing starboard and port against the purple background. The other ships, balloons and various dirigible airships stood out against the sky as well. All dreaming to themselves as their crew and captains spent the night with ladies of the night. All except the Nubigena, which still looked restless, pulling at her tethers and moorings. And of course him, someone with nothing better to do on a night such as this than stare out at a sky without stars. Had he ever seen stars, or were they just myth memories?

  A lone figure waved to him from several terraces over. It was Banner. Cassidy motioned back inside the hotel and made a sign like taking a drink, then vanished into his room.

  Cassidy sighed. There was nothing else to do. He pulled his clothes on, squared the officer’s hat Brewster had given him and headed for the lounge. The wall sconces gave off only dim light now, just enough to walk by, though it brightened up a little as he reached the all but empty lounge.

  Banner sat at the bar already, nursing some type of dark bourbon. “Shea too much for you?” he asked, as Cassidy took the stool beside him.

  “Whisky on the rocks,” Cassidy said without thinking to the night bartender. He drank about half in a single draught and braced himself against the burn. Wished he could change his order, but couldn’t make his mouth work.

  Banner smiled and took another small sip. “Never saw Shea have that effect.”

  “I wasn’t in the mood.” Cassidy stared at himself in the bar mirror over bottles of red, green and blue liquid. He didn’t recognize himself. The image only looked familiar, like a man he’d once known, but lost touch with. The reflection of Banner nudged him with the finger of his drinking hand. It took Cassidy a moment to recognise the tapping on his arm as being related to the movement in the mirror.

  “You’re your own man now,” the image of Banner said beside him. “You’ll find yourself.”

  Cassidy shook his head and looked over at Banner’s grey eyes and confident grin. “How do I know my dreamer doesn’t miss me?” he said, and downed the rest of his whisky. “How do I know I’m not some recurring part of his dream that he, or she, misses. Do I have a family there? Does anyone love me?”

  Banner narrowed his eyes and polished off his drink with a sharp swallow. He motioned the bartender to refill them both. “I don’t think—” he began, but stopped as another man sat down next to Cassidy and ordered cognac.

  “Only peaceful men sleep,” Manfred Richthofen said, as the bartender placed a small stemmed glass in front of him and filled it half way. “I thought you were a peaceful man, Captain Banner.” He gave a dark grimace.

  In the mirror, Cassidy watched Banner return the look. “Not tonight.”

  Richthofen lit a cigarette and blew a plume of smoke in the air. “I guess I should thank you.”

  Banner only grunted.

  “You don’t like to drink with Germans, Mr. Cassidy,” Richthofen said.

  Cassidy sighed. He poked at his glass and watched the ice dislodge and clink to the bottom. “I wouldn’t think you’d want to drink with Americans.”

  The Baron sniffed and took another drag. “It’s just a war. A year ago...” He shrugged. “Well, times change.”

  Chapter 4

  Cassidy took his drink to a booth in the far corner, where a tiny table light beckoned him. Banner and Richthofen didn’t turn to watch him go. Neither did they move closer together, though they did exchange more words before Richthofen finished off his cognac and left. Banner glanced back at Cassidy, polished off his own drink and returned to the stairway, leaving the lounge in silence. Cassidy tried to imagine what dark secrets the two men must share. Was Banner a traitor? Was he even American? Why did he, himself, hate Richthofen? If there’s no war for me, I’m not really an Allied pilot. If there’s no war, what am I good for?

  The Mauser poked his ribs beneath his jacket. He was a pilot of some kind. A soldier. That much he couldn’t forget or deny. Perhaps serving with this Captain Banner was the only war he could fight. The Everdream. Could he just go back?

  A cocktail waitress approached his table. She was young and almost too pretty, her features long and thin with eyes that shown with a hazy glow in the dim light of the
lounge. “Another drink, Mr. Cassidy?”

  Cassidy nodded. She took his empty glass and left a folded piece of paper. He waited until she’d left to open it.

  Zeppelin. 6:00. Bring your gun. Banner.

  Cassidy crumpled the note and touched it to the candle’s flame. He dropped it in the ashtray and let it crinkle in on itself until it became a fine ash he flattened with his index finger. War already?

  “How long have you worked here?” he asked the waitress when she returned with his drink.

  She placed the glass of whisky with three cubes of ice down in front of him and gave a shy smile. “Forever,” she said. “I’ve always worked here.” She walked away.

  He reached for the glass, but thought about the note. His watch—assuming he could trust it—said six o’clock was only two hours away. The drink had muddled his thinking, though not nearly as much as he would have thought considering the amount he’d had to drink already. He took a deep sigh and pushed the half-full glass away.

  “Shame to waste good scotch.”

  Cassidy looked up to see a man standing at the edge of his table. He wore a dark pin-striped, banker’s suit and a white snap-brim Fedora. “What business is it of yours?” Cassidy asked as the man sucked in on a long thin cigar and let a thick cloud of white smoke billow out.

  “It’s not real scotch anyway. Real scotch has taste,” he said sitting down at the opposite end of the circular booth. “It drinks you just as much as you drink it. It’s smooth. It’s liquid light.”

  The man didn’t look Twilight. His skin and clothes had too much detail. A real person perhaps, like Richthofen, but something in his feral features chilled Cassidy’s blood. It wasn’t anger as it had been with Richthofen. This was different. “What do you want?” he asked, straightening his back.

  “I’m looking to hire a pilot,” the man said ashing his cigar on the table.

  Cassidy knocked back the rest of his drink and stood to go. “Thanks, but my life is complicated enough.”