Storm Dreams (The Cycle of Somnium Book 1)

by Jeb R. Sherrill

  Ned stood behind them, looking as lost as Cassidy felt.

  “Nothing,” Brewster said. “Just keep your eyes peeled.”

  “I thought the Armada didn’t like to come here,” Cassidy said. He flicked his glance around as lightning struck again, but the cemetery looked empty.

  Brewster scanned the blackness. “There’s more out there than the Armada. Twilight Bounty hunters, for instance, are made of sterner stuff. Besides, this place just gives me the goddamned creeps.”

  Another bolt struck. Banner stood before them looking tired. He motioned to the ladder and they ascended. Cassidy climbed with amazing ease. His muscles enjoyed the work. He liked feeling them strain and burn against the rungs. All sensations felt so much more real. Even pain felt good.

  When they reached the ship, Banner retired to his cabin in silence. Brewster’s forehead furrowed. Ned looked lost. No one wanted to speak. Cassidy knew why. It was something about the look on Banner’s face. A sadness that just didn’t look right on his features. Didn’t belong—like a prince wearing a peasant’s clothes.

  All three sat staring at each other until Ned finally left, mumbling something about needing his sleep. Cassidy watched him go. Brewster sat still and stoic, watching the wall. “How did Banner find his dreamer?” Cassidy asked.

  Brewster broke from his meditation, lit his pipe and looked thoughtful. “Who the hell knows? It’s just a guess.”

  “Then we can still live even after our dreamer dies.” Cassidy said. He peeled off his rain-soaked jacket and towelled it dry as best he could.

  The Englishman shrugged. “Don’t think about those things. They’ll drive you mad.”

  Cassidy couldn’t stop thinking about his dream. His one damned repeated dream. Same story without an ending. “I need to find mine.”

  Brewster nodded. “Sure, me too.” He puffed on his pipe and gave Cassidy a thoughtful look. “Meet him, shake his hand and say, ‘what the devil was all this about?’”

  “Do dreamers know?”

  Brewster sighed. “They better. Someone better.”

  ***

  Banner was a different man the next day as if he’d entered his quarters the night before a glum caterpillar and emerged with radiant wings. “I’m hungry,” he said to the crew who gathered around his door, eyebrows furrowed, jaws set. “Let’s get supplies.”

  The Nubigena managed to jump from storm to storm as each thinned or decided to go the wrong direction. They tacked along what Brewster said was the mid-east coast of America, following the turbulent coastal weather. The ship didn’t even mind hurricanes. If anything, it fed on the high winds, though Banner rode the eye for quite some time, enjoying the effect of the swirling winds radiating out from the ship in all directions.

  Cassidy had expected to feel at home flying over America, but nothing looked familiar. Nothing about the coastline, or the buildings, or the squares of land or expanses of wilderness. Surely he’d flown over some of it in the past. He must have some memories from his dreamer.

  “Now that looks good,” Banner said, pointing down at the bright lights of a city. “Has anyone here been to New York?” Two raised their hand, but he didn’t look around to notice. “The Big Apple,” he said, shaking his finger at the towering buildings, “has the best nightlife in the world.” He laughed his raucous laugh and tipped the Nubigena towards the tallest building.

  Brewster turned to face Cassidy. “What’s wrong, Old Boy? You look piqued.”

  Cassidy grimaced. “The people down there. They’re real.” The Twilight had felt less real, but more natural. Looking down on this city made him distant. He was an invader here.

  “Get him dressed,” Banner said over his shoulder. “We’ll find something swanky with a live band.”

  “A live band?” Cassidy asked.

  Brewster shook his head. “What you Yanks call music. Vulgar if you ask me, but it does get the blood pumping.”

  “What will we do there?” Cassidy searched his memory for any type of domestic life in his past, and couldn’t even find snippets. Nothing but flying planes.

  “You’ll dance,” Banner said. He manoeuvred the Nubigena into mooring position and barked a series of orders into the speak-tubes. “The storm will last several hours.”

  “How do you know?” Cassidy asked, looking out at the rolling sky.

  “I know storms,” said Banner. “I know storms like I know this ship.”

  Brewster took him back to the supply cabins and found an American dress uniform. “Women love servicemen,” he said, and shook dust off the jacket. “Better leave the gun though. Mauser’s don’t go well with a Yank officer’s suit. What’s your rank anyway?”

  “Major,” Cassidy said. He’d never tried to remember his rank before, but he somehow knew what it was.

  “Oh, major, is it? Dreamer decided you were too good to be an LT,” Brewster said, grinning. “Gold leaf for you then. Put one on your cap, too.” He dug through a drawer for service patches and pins. “Ladies really love high-ranking officers.”

  Oh God, please no, Cassidy thought. The idea of merely walking among these people sent jolts of fear down into his stomach, let alone the thought of talking to women.

  “Don’t look so scared,” his friend said, as if he’d read Cassidy’s mind. “It’s just dancing.”

  In twenty minutes Cassidy stood on the roof of their mooring building with Brewster, Banner, Ned and Franz. The only door had been latched from the inside. Cassidy looked around for another opening.

  Brewster touched his arm. “Watch. You’ll have to learn this.” The Englishman passed his hand over the handle. The lock clicked and the door swung open. “There’s a lot of little tricks like that.”

  “We can do that?” Cassidy asked?

  “Dreams are as concerned with what can and can’t happen as the rest of them. Lets us bend the rules a bit.”

  Cassidy tried to pleasure in that thought, but knew it was because they were less real. What they did here didn’t even matter as much to reality itself. “Looks like fun,” he said, and tried to smile.

  When they reached the ground floor, Banner passed Franz a roll of money and told him to go get supplies. Cassidy wondered where the German would find a store at his hour and one willing to sell to Germans, but he didn’t ask. Franz left the building and vanished into the shadows as the rest of them made their way down the sidewalk. This Big Apple was nothing like Arcadia. It looked like a labyrinth of buildings, walkways and roadways. Crowds of people. Both vehicles and carriages filled the streets, making their way in the flickering glow of gaslight.

  “We’re a hazy concept here,” Banner said, gesturing to the city. “Most people won’t even notice you unless you want them to.” They walked in silence. Several people passed without a glance. Ned whistled. No one turned to look.

  A man across the street caught Cassidy’s eye. The man stood watching them with a wicked grin. He wore a tweed suit, black bowler and leaned forwards on a strange umbrella. The crook appeared to have been fashioned from the head or spine of some dead lizard or snake, and the canopy was smooth leather.

  “Stay away from him,” Brewster said, pulling Cassidy along. “Don’t look at him either. He’s not a man.”

  The man reminded Cassidy of the one he’d met on Arcadia. The man who’d offered him the taste of a different drink. He pulled his eyes away. A small child waved at Cassidy. Cassidy waved back. “So, kids can see us?” he asked. The child’s parents tugged him around the corner of a building.

  “Sometimes,” Brewster said. “But they don’t remember. We’re like—”

  “Dreams,” Cassidy finished. Ice formed on his insides. He felt like a ghost drifting through a city that didn’t care about his existence. Life aboard the Nubigena had never felt more like a trap. He could never escape into this place. It would be even harder than jumping ship in the Twilight. “How do you make them notice you?” he asked as a couple pushed past without a glance.

  Banner tappe
d a man on the shoulder. “Pardon me, sir, but do you have the time?” The man startled as if the captain had appeared out of nowhere, but he collected himself and read Banner the time off a gold pocket watch. “You’ll get the knack,” Banner said, while the man stared at his pocket watch as if trying to remember why he’d glanced at it in the first place. “Here, you have to force an impression.”

  “You turn it off and on,” added Brewster. “You have to concentrate, but it’s not hard.”

  “Anyone thirsty?” Banner asked as he stopped outside a colourful sign that read The Lilliputian.

  They tipped their caps to the doorman as they entered a lounge. The lobby reminded Cassidy of a palace: all gold trim, red velvet and mirrors. Did Banner have enough money to afford this place? One of two well-dressed men standing near the entranced narrowed his eyes as the four walked passed. The other, a fat man in a pin-striped suit walked towards them, muttering something about servicemen.

  “Airmen,” Banner corrected. He smiled his charming smile and shook the man’s hand. “We’re two weeks back from Europe,” he said, “and we heard your chef was the best in town.”

  The fat man gripped his lapels and drew himself up several inches. “He is,” the proprietor said. “And our band is second to none.”

  “Do they play anything new?” Ned asked.

  “New?” the fat man asked.

  “Don’t bother the man,” Banner said. “Whatever they play is fine.” The four of them sat down at a corner booth and ordered entrees and wine.

  Cassidy sipped the dark red liquid. It tasted sweeter than it did aboard the airship, and a barrage of separate flavours bloomed inside his mouth. He wished he could order wine himself. The steak was different, too. He could taste each spice the chef had used in preparation as a separate flavour. Food he’d eaten before tasted like paper compared to this. It was as if he’d never eaten before. Never had a drink before. He almost hate to swallow, allowing bites and sips to roll around his mouth as long as possible.

  Banner and Ned hardly finished their food before they were out on the dance floor. Brewster motioned Cassidy to join them. “Go on. I’m going to let my food settle,” Cassidy said.

  When they’d gone, he stood, but the thought of facing the throng of people paralyzed his feet. He glanced back at Brewster. “I need the lavatory.”

  “Don’t take too long,” the Englishman said, grinning.

  Cassidy nodded and found the closest exit.

  “You all right?” asked one of the waitresses as he exited the adjoining bar.

  He nodded. “Just looking for the...” Cassidy tried to remember what he was going to say. She was short. Red haired. Green eyes so deep and real. Her delicate scent made his head light.

  “Looking for a drink?” she asked.

  “I’d love a drink,” Cassidy said.

  “Anything you like,” she said. “I’m April.”

  He opened his mouth. It started forming the shape of a W. Anything but that. “Perhaps later.”

  April nodded. “My brother’s a pilot. I mean, he was,” she said, forcing a smile. “They said he went down in the ocean, but they wouldn’t tell me which one.” Her shoulders lost the stiff facade of a high-class waitress. “I didn’t mean to say that. I don’t know why. You just remind me—”

  Cassidy reached out and took her hand. He didn’t know why either, but couldn’t help it. Her skin felt warm. Were all real people so warm? “I’m sorry,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I’m sure he was a great pilot.”

  She sniffled and levelled her gaze. “You must be shipping out soon.”

  “Soon,” Cassidy said, nodding. He hadn’t let go of her hand. Prickles of electric sparks passed into his skin. Her life energy. Her emotions. They flooded over him in waves that felt more real than his own.

  “I’ve got to get back to work,” she said, slipping her hand out of his. April turned to leave, but stopped and dug a large silver coin out of her vest pocket. “For luck.” It rested on the tips of her fingers, staring up at him. “I don’t know your name, and I’d rather not,” she said, pushing it towards him, “but if you make it back, and you’re ever in Darcy, Virginia...” She brought a hand to her lips to stop their trembling. “Just bring it to me so I know you made it back. I’d like to know someone made it back,” she said, looked embarrassed and hurried off to the bar. “If you don’t, I guess I’ll never know,” she said over her shoulder.

  Cassidy stood staring at the coin, trying to recognize it. It looked newly minted with a woman in a flowing gown on its face, gesturing off to her right, the word LIBERTY written above her head. On the other side stood an eagle with unfurled wings. Why did the disk of silver feel so heavy? More real than anything else he’d ever touched. His pistol was real. The ship was real, but something of this strange girl April was still in the metal. Something of her life-force perhaps. The emotions she’d felt when she handed it over. An overwhelming sadness lingered in the milling and etched surface. Did he remind her of her brother? The thought of her brother sent a jolt of pain through him. Images of the young man bloated and dead in the sea. Her imagined memories perhaps. Grief. So much grief.

  He stumbled into the lavatory, sick to his stomach. April’s pain still flooded through him as he sat in one of the stalls with his face in his hands. Even her emotions felt more real than his own. Bitter loss. Love. Longing he couldn’t put into words. He cried. Wept for a man he’d never met who’d gone down on some ocean somewhere in a world he’d hardly touched.

  Cassidy sat up slowly as the young woman’s pain leaked away. He wiped the tears from his face, stood up and pushed the stall door open. The lavatory looked much like the rest of the place, far too ornate for any of its actual functions. The counters were marble and brass. A man in a red and gold uniform stood ready to hand him a towel.

  Cassidy examined himself in the mirror. He splashed icy water over his face and watched the drops run off his skin without leaving it wet. It seemed his own body rejected the real liquid, or it rejected him.

  The man in red and gold offered him the towel. Cassidy pretended to dry his already dry face and handed the man a small coin from his pocket. A nickel, perhaps a dime. He couldn’t remember the difference.

  Outside a woman wearing an emerald green gown stared out at the city through an arched window. She glanced over at him and smiled. “Are you in the Army?” she asked, stirring a blue cocktail with a glass swizzle stick. The stick matched the red of the cherry that bobbed in the azure liquor.

  “Sort of, ma’am,” he said. “I fly fighter planes.”

  She gave a half-smile. Her eyes matched her dress, but the green was more watered down than the waitress’s eyes had been. She was pretty, but not too pretty. Her face looked almost plain with a small chin and a too-large nose, but he decided it was her poise that made her almost beautiful. “Is that what they do in the Army now?” she asked, teasing with her eyes. “Fly?”

  “Yes. I mean—” Cassidy stammered. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he managed, “I fly against the Germans.”

  “How unfortunate for them,” she said, approaching with an exaggerated sway of her hips. “Kill many?”

  “Well, I—” Cassidy wasn’t sure. His memories of killing the two Armada fighters and the Twilight pirates were crystal clear, but past that…had he shot down any in the dream?

  “It’s okay.” She ran a finger down the sleeve of his uniform. “I’m not squeamish. Are you one of those aces we hear so much about?”

  “Probably,” Cassidy said, nodding. “It only counts if it’s over our own lines and there have to be witnesses. You could shoot several down, but if no one’s around to see it, I mean, there has to be proof that it was you who shot them down, and even then—” Cassidy realized he was babbling.

  “My, you servicemen do go on.” She pulled the cherry from her drink by the stem, sucked the liquor off and popped it the rest of the way between her lips.

  For a moment, Cassidy thought she�
��d swallowed the cherry whole. Her eyes widened. Something bone white poked out the middle of her torso, sticking through her dress. Blood blossomed over the emerald green. She crumpled to the floor, revealing the man from outside with the bowler hat standing behind her. His strange umbrella stuck straight out of her back like a flag marking its territory.

  Chapter 8

  Cassidy reached for his gun. Remembered he didn’t have one. Realized he didn’t have anything but his fists. He charged.

  The bowler man pulled the umbrella from the woman’s back and planted the tip on the floor beside him as if holding a cane and smiled.

  Cassidy aimed his shoulder for the black bow tie. He made contact and the world changed. His blood froze. His body numbed and the world became a mass of swirling colours. He shook the dizziness out of his head and found himself lying on the floor against the far wall. A sheet of maroon wallpaper took up his entire field of vision.

  “Whatever were you thinking?” the bowler man said. His accent sounded British, high society. He leaned up against the wall beside Cassidy cleaning his spectacles with a silk handkerchief. “You’re a dream,” the man said, flashing white feral teeth. “Might as well throw air at me.”

  Cassidy groaned as he tried to sit up. “Why did you kill that woman?”

  The man sighed. “Because I liked her. My wife would never approve.”

  “You murdered her. For nothing,” Cassidy seethed through gritted teeth. The woman’s dead eyes stared at him as if pleading for him to act. Avenge her.

  “She’s only meat,” the man said, and slipped his spectacles back on.

  This couldn’t really be happening. Cassidy shook his head. One moment the blood was all over her gown. The next it was gone as the umbrella soaked it up.

  “You,” the bowler man said, shaking his gloved finger, “shouldn’t even be here. I’d eat you, but you’d taste like cardboard.”

  Banner lurched out of nowhere and stood between them.

  The man’s face darkened. “You’re not a dream. But you look like a dream. How strange,” he said, putting his finger to the edge of his mouth. “Oh, well. Cheerio.” He extended his umbrella upward and opened the canopy. “Enjoy New York.” The umbrella lifted him into the air and he vanished through the ceiling.