“I don’t blame him,” Nick said. “I’d like to see Granny again. You’re certain Oliver will be okay?”
“He will be as safe as possible,” Master Gabriel replied. “I have left a few friends to keep Oliver occupied . . . and safe.”
“Friends?”
“Like your Dream companion, Taddy, and Archer’s Razz,” he explained. “Oliver should have great fun as his new playmates are extraordinarily fuzzy.”
“What are we going to do, then?” Nick asked. “The fake Oliver is coming back, and he’s bringing my neighbor Dunny with him.”
“I am afraid we must depart,” said Master Gabriel. “And I . . . wait.” The Master Dreamtreader went very still. His eyes widened. “I’m feeling something.”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“I am not certain,” he replied. “I am feeling something pulling at me. Ah, yes! I know what it is, and very good timing, I must say.”
“You’ve lost me,” Nick said. “Pulling at you, uh . . . how? And from—”
The front door flew open, and there stood Oliver and all six-foot, five-inch Dunny, Nick’s closest neighbor. He had a boomerang in one hand and a bush knife in the other.
“Oy, just what’s goin’ on here?” Dunny asked.
“Oh, uh . . . nuthin,” Nick stammered. “Oliver, sorry! False alarm, fair Dinkum.”
Dunny’s and Oliver’s eyes went big as saucers. Blue light shone out from the kitchen. Nick heard a strange muted buzzing and felt a very strong hand grab his arm. “What? Master Gabriel, what are you—”
“No time to explain,” he replied. “Suffice it to say, I am taking you with me.”
Nick gave a little wave to the fake Oliver and to Dunny, and then the blue light flooded the house until there was nothing else but the blue light.
TWENTY-SIX
OF FOOLS AND VILLAINS
THE JUDGE HUSHED THE GALLERY, THIS TIME WITH A WAVE of his hand rather than the thunder-gavel. “This is highly out of the ordinary,” he said, “but, then again, most of this case is highly out of the ordinary. Given that both the accused and the accuser were actively involved in the events that transpired, given that we have already delved into Archer’s memories for Eternal Evidence, I will allow you to call Bezeal to the stand.”
“Objection!” Bezeal shrieked.
“Overruled!” the judge declared. “Bezeal, take the stand.”
Archer turned to the merchant and dared to hope. Bezeal did not disappoint.
“I won’t do it,” Bezeal muttered.
The galleries exploded in cries of shock, outrage, and even a few jeers. Chief Justice Michael struck with the thunder-gavel, not once, but twice. Even then, it took a few moments for silence.
“What did you say, Bezeal?” the judge asked.
The merchant plopped back in his chair, crossed his arms, and muttered once more, “I will not do it. I will not take the stand.”
A strange glint flickered in Chief Justice Michael’s eyes. “You will take the stand, Bezeal,” he said, his words clipped and tight with threat. “The court compels you.”
“This court cannot compel me,” Bezeal replied, his voice suddenly changed . . . deeper but not distorted, resonant and as different from Bezeal’s wheedling, scheming voice as it could be.
Archer remembered that voice. He’d heard it once before and, like before, he had a powerful urge to flee, to get as far away from Bezeal as he could.
Chief Justice Michael, however, actually stood up from his judge’s bench. “Guards,” he whispered sternly, “please escort the accuser to the witness stand and then, if need be, chain him to the seat.”
Bezeal hissed and leaped to stand upon his chair.
Archer had what he wanted. “Objection!” he cried out.
This exclamation froze everyone in the courtroom. The judge, eyebrows raised to a comical height, turned. “You . . . object?” he said quizzically. “Dreamtreader Keaton, to what do you object?”
“I’m sorry, your honor,” Archer said. “I wasn’t sure how to speak up, but it’s okay. Bezeal doesn’t need to take the stand.”
“It is most certainly not ‘okay.’ Bezeal will stand witness.”
“He’s already done that, sir,” Archer said. “By refusing. I take back my request. I no longer need Bezeal to take the stand.”
The judge was very quiet. Bezeal continued to murmur and hiss, but Archer could not make out his words.
“Very well,” the judge said, his scowl oddly lopsided. “You have a brief reprieve, Bezeal. A very brief reprieve. Dreamtreader Keaton, how do you wish to proceed now?”
“I would like for the court to view another memory I have,” he said. “A memory that will shed light on many of the accusations made by my opponent this day.”
The judge nodded. The lights dimmed, and the cylindrical screen came to life. It was Kurdan’s marketplace in the Forms District of the Dream. The on-screen Archer strode with purpose toward a seller’s stall in the middle of the market. Bezeal was there, scraping a few coins off of the table and grinning as usual.
This was the memory Archer had planned to drag from Bezeal himself, but since the merchant refused to take the stand, the action showcasing Bezeal’s duplicity for all, Archer would reveal it through his own memories. The beauty of Eternal Evidence was it revealed not only the actions that took place but also Archer’s attitudes and intentions.
“Dreamtreader tall, how come you to my stall?” Bezeal asked. “Can I . . . help you at all?” Bezeal’s eyes shrank to the tiniest pinpricks of light.
Archer had been mentally rehearsing how he would approach Bezeal. The little, hooded merchant was very clever and deceitful. If Master Gabriel were correct, no intelligent person would underestimate Bezeal. Archer wasn’t about to. It would tax his mental will fiercely, but Archer was beyond caring. He would endure no trickery, no foolishness from Bezeal. Not this time.
Archer grabbed a fistful of Bezeal’s hooded cloak just below his neck and flung him one-handed into a high-security bank vault. The vault hadn’t been there a second before, but Archer’s will made it happen just in time for Bezeal to crash into it.
Archer raced inside the vault just as the multilayered-titanium steel door slammed shut. He used his will to spin the inner tumblers, and the vault was locked tight. There was total darkness except for Bezeal’s tiny eyes and the angry red smoldering in Archer’s hands.
“What is this foolish thing you do?” Bezeal squeaked. “We’re trapped just us two. Release me now; I’m warning you.”
“You lying, scheming scab!” Archer yelled, fire flaring in his fists. “You tricked me into getting the Karakurian Chamber. You knew all along it was the stolen Shadow Key, and you used me to get it.”
Bezeal’s eyes grew, and a tiny white glimmer of his smile appeared. “Of course I knew it was the key. It was right where I wanted it to be. But I needed you to give it back to me.”
“You used me,” Archer repeated. “Come to think of it, you used Duncan and Mesmeera too. Because of you, they’re dead.”
Bezeal’s laugh startled Archer. It was a crackling sound, low, and full of malevolent glee. “As I recall, it was you who killed poor Duncan and Mesmeera.”
Bezeal’s sudden lack of rhyme unnerved Archer. The Dreamtreader took an involuntary step backward but then grew angrier for his own cowardice. “You listen to me, runt,” Archer growled. “I want the Shadow Key back, and I want it now.”
Archer felt a pulse in his will, a throbbing kind of strength, aching to be exercised. He decided to make a statement. He turned his palms down toward the floor and set loose streams of flames that hit the floor and slithered across to widen at Bezeal’s feet.
As Archer stepped toward Bezeal, the flame rose a little higher until at last it encircled the merchant and rose to form a cage of flame.
Bezeal’s voice was shrill and fearful. “Do not burn your faith . . . your faithful servant. I have not the key, no matter how much you chant. The key to give you, I—I can’t.
”
“I’m through playing around, Bezeal,” Archer said. “Give me the Shadow Key.”
With a sound like a scream, all the fire blew out. The vault plunged into total darkness.
“Ah, the sweet smell . . . of arrogance,” came a voice Archer didn’t recognize. “You have no idea what real fire is.”
In court, Archer said, “I accept responsibility for my actions. Your honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury . . . I want to make that perfectly clear. No matter what Bezeal or anyone else did or said, I made the decisions that led to my actions. I never should have trusted Bezeal to begin with, but I did. And as a result, terrible events transpired . . . events that will haunt me the rest of my life.”
“At least,” Bezeal muttered, “you have a life. Poor Duncan and Mesmeera. Poor, poor—”
“Be quiet!” Archer commanded. “If you won’t take the stand, the least you can do is keep your mouth shut.”
Bezeal squirmed uncomfortably in his chair but said nothing.
The judge nodded to Archer. “Continue.”
“I place myself at the mercy of this court,” Archer said. “Whatever you decide will be just. But I want the court to see Bezeal has lurked behind the scenes in almost every step of this process. Bezeal, by his own admission, put the Shadow Key relic into the Lurker’s hands. Bezeal, through lies and temptation, set me on the path to get that relic back for him. Bezeal also tricked Duncan and Mesmeera into a course of action that would lead them directly into the Nightmare Lord’s hands. And it was Bezeal himself who told me the only way to destroy the Nightmare Lord was to burn the Trees of Life and Death, the trees where, unbeknownst to me, my friends had been imprisoned.”
The court murmured. Many turned to stare at Bezeal.
“Order,” the judge said curtly. “This instant.”
Archer continued, “And so if there’s a fool here, that fool is me. But if there’s a villain here, that villain is Bezeal.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
TAG TEAM
“KAYLIE,” MASTER GABRIEL LAUGHED. “I AM SO VERY GLAD to find you awake.”
“Gabe!” Kaylie squealed. She raced across Archer’s bedroom and hugged the Master Dreamtreader. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”
“I cannot tell you how wonderful it was to sense the Summoning Feather,” Master Gabriel whispered as he lowered Kaylie back to the floor. “I knew it had to be you doing the summoning.”
Kaylie stepped back a pace. “But . . . it might have been Archer . . . or Nick, right?”
“I’m right here,” Nick said, stepping out from behind Master Gabriel. “You got two for the price of one.”
Kaylie bounced over to Nick and gave him a hug too. But even in his embrace, Kaylie felt something wrong. She backed up and looked from Master Gabriel to Nick and back. “What about Archer?”
“I am sorry, Kaylie,” Master Gabriel said, “but Archer is unavailable. Have a seat. There is much to explain.”
Frowning and nervously twiddling one of her red pigtails with her fingers, Kaylie took a seat on the bed.
Master Gabriel told the story of Bezeal’s bringing charges against Archer, that the charges needed to be addressed in court, and that, in the end, he wasn’t certain when or if Archer would be able to return to his Dreamtreading duties.
“Poor Archer,” Kaylie muttered. “Isn’t there anything we can do to help him?”
“No,” Master Gabriel said, “Archer must face his opponent in court and let justice take its course. But there is something you must do, the both of you.”
“What?” Kaylie and Nick chorused.
“The two of you have awakened from this insidious spell,” he said. “Whether it is simply the Rift or something Kara Windchil has created, Kaylie, you and Nick will need to put a stop to it. The Waking World is no longer awake, and it is dying from a lack of truth.”
“Where do we start?” Kaylie asked.
“That is the easy part,” Master Gabriel said. “Baltimore.”
“What’s in Baltimore?” Kaylie asked.
“What isBaltimore?” Nick asked.
“Baltimore is one of Maryland’s most beautiful cities,” Master Gabriel explained. “As for what you will find there . . . Dream Inc.”
There were many skyscrapers in Baltimore, but none was taller, none more grandiose than the Dream Tower. Occupying a triangle of land roughly the size of a professional baseball stadium, the tower glowed like a deep blue flame and loomed high in the cityscape as if it were some gigantic ancient stone. It was shaped like a pillar from Stonehenge too, just a thousand times bigger.
Having flown to Baltimore, Kaylie and Nick decided to wait for nightfall, when the tower was lit from within by myriad lights but was otherwise less busy than during the day. Whether it was the tint of certain windows or the type of light inside certain rooms, Kaylie couldn’t tell, but the building had a lighter, nearly turquoise pattern crisscrossing its way all the way to its pinnacle.
“Fair beautiful,” Nick said, “if I didn’t know what it stands for.”
“It is,” Kaylie agreed. They stood in the plaza just outside of the spray from a vast, sparkling water fountain. “The whole city is so full of light. Reminds me of the Emerald City from Oz.”
“It’s not really so nice though, now, is it?” Nick asked. “Master Gabriel . . . I don’t know how he did it, but he used his sword and cut away the fake world so I could see reality . . . the reality left behind by the Rift.”
“I don’t like to look,” Kaylie muttered. “But sometimes I think it’s best.”
“Wait,” Nick said. “You can do it too?”
Kaylie nodded. Then, her brow furrowed in concentration, she reached up and pinched the air. To Nick’s astonishment, there was something there, something tangible for her to grasp. Kaylie’s pinching motion caused the view of that space to distort, bend, and stretch. Then there was a tear . . . a small rip at first, but it grew as Kaylie exerted will and effort. A fold of existence peeled away, revealing darkness.
“Look,” Kaylie said. “Look through here.”
Nick dropped to one knee to peer through the window torn into the air. He gasped. The contrast was that stark. Through the window, the city of Baltimore lay in darkness but for the great fires that burned wildly in spots, that and a strange greenish glow that seemed to be coming from the harbor. But in the midst of all the darkness and destruction, the Dream Tower stood . . . just as grand and as perfect as it appeared outside of Kaylie’s window.
“That’s creepy,” Nick muttered.
“And sad,” Kaylie agreed. She clutched Patches close to her chest, and her lower lip trembled. “We need to fix this.”
Nick took her by the shoulders and steered her away from that dark window. “C’mon, then,” he said. “Time to get ready for business.” Battle fatigues replaced his jeans. A tactical vest full of boomerangs and other weapons materialized over his chest. A massive steel chain looped once around his neck and hung down like a scarf.
Kaylie raised an eyebrow. “My turn!” She bounced once, her pigtails dancing, and she suddenly wore a hooded cloak. Beneath the cloak, she was covered in some kind of interlocking slate-gray armor. It wasn’t metal, but seemed rather to be a carbon fiber composite, something closer to Kevlar. She wore a gold utility belt with more gadgets than Batman ever dreamt of. And slung over her shoulder was a glistening silver and black crossbow.
Then, to Nick’s surprise and amusement, Kaylie made a full-length mirror appear. She twirled in front of it once, a second time, and then she stopped and frowned. “I don’t think this gold belt works,” she mumbled. But it wasn’t gold for long. In an instant, the belt and all its gadgets became slate black.
Kaylie nodded at her reflection. The mirror vanished. “Let’s do this.”
Nick led the way, crossing the plaza in a will-infused instant. Kaylie readied her crossbow and trailed just behind, staying at an angle so she could fire past Nick if needed.
Nick held up a hand
and stopped just outside the sensor range of the automatic doors. He held up five fingers, then one. Six guards.
Kaylie rushed up and slid to a stop beside him. “I’m having second thoughts,” she whispered.
“About going in?”
“No,” she said, rolling her eyes. “If we go in and start a fight right away, we’re going to get caught.”
“Right,” Nick said. “We need information. Best to be stealthy.”
“I have an idea.” Kaylie reached into the air with both hands, took hold of reality, and grunted. Then, straining the whole time, she tore corners from the air and continued to pull until there was a five-foot door into reality. “C’mon,” she said. Then she stepped through the door.
His expression slack and eyes wide, Nick hesitated for several moments. He stood blinking until Kaylie’s hand appeared and she gestured for him to follow.
Once Nick was in, Kaylie used her will to seal the door closed. As before, the Dream Tower looked pretty much the same. The colors and lights might have been a bit muted, but that was all. Inside the doors, the six security guards remained.
“Um, what . . . where are we?” Nick whispered. “Is this real?”
“Actually, yes,” Kaylie replied. “I tore a door through the fantasy world so we can travel through the same space and time in the real world.”
“Won’t they still see us?” Nick whispered.
“I don’t think so,” Kaylie replied. “Look at them.”
Nick stared. Each of the security guards wore a blank expression . . . as if recollecting some fond memory. A few of the guards were pacing the interior, but their movements were strange, slow, and languid, punctuated by odd hitches. “Here goes nothing,” Nick said, taking a step forward and triggering the door’s motion sensor.
The doors parted and glided open. Nick and Kaylie pressed inside, and none of the guards changed expression. “Excuse me, sir,” Kaylie said to one of the guards at the front desk. But the man stared straight ahead, oblivious to anyone being present nearby.
Nick waved a hand in front of the man’s eyes. “Wow,” Nick said. “You were right, Kaylie. Nobody is home.”
The War for the Waking World Page 13