Dreamhunter (26 page)

Shortly before the evening performance began, when most of the patrons were already inside and in their sleepwear, the guards at the Rainbow Opera set out to patrol the Opera’s perimeter. It was generally a dull, everyday job. It had been years since anyone had succeeded in parking himself near enough to the Opera to pilfer a dream. These days guards were mostly for show. The Opera’s prices were such that it wasn’t a likely haunt for drunks and troublemakers. On St Lazarus’s Eve things were only a little different. Busier. Security a little tighter.

There were more cars and carriages, chauffeurs and grooms than usual parked in the space around the perimeter. The President of the Republic was at the Opera, so his guard of honour — a dozen military men with sabres and pistols — were standing to attention by
the President’s vehicles, while the chauffeurs and grooms of other rich patrons lounged about smoking.

The Opera’s guards always patrolled in pairs. Each pair was responsible for one section of the Opera’s blind outer wall. The two men who were in the best position to raise the alarm that night had been assigned the quietest section, a forty-yard stretch that faced the river at the far side of the perimeter from the main gate. This stretch of wall was interrupted only by the dreamer’s door — a stage door by which the dreamer entered the Opera — and, right beside the dreamer’s door, a drinking fountain in an alcove.

The men set out, making their way around their stretch, one swinging the padded club he carried, the other thumping the wall with his gloved hand as he walked. When they came to the alcove they stopped. They stopped and stared. Where there had been a drinking fountain, there was now a statue.

The statue of a man, a little bigger than life-sized, was crammed into the alcove, a beautiful, bald-headed figure — who should have been posed like a sentinel. Instead, the statue was stooped and had his head over at an angle in order to fit into the arch of the alcove.

The guards were curious. One tapped at the statue with his club, while the other ran his hand down the figure’s muscled side. The statue was finished, but not polished, he noticed — its surface was still gritty. One man called the attention of the other to a cloth that had been crammed behind the statue. He crouched down to
try to pull it free. It was a worn, gabardine cloth — perhaps a workman’s drop cloth. He couldn’t free it, but as he was working on it he noticed that the drinking fountain was still there behind the figure — the statue seemed to have been posed as though sitting on the bowl of the fountain. The guard pointed this out to his companion. They spent a few minutes puzzling over this whimsical addition to the Rainbow Opera’s decorations. Then they walked on, one pausing to check the lock on the dreamer’s door as he went by.

THE FOUR OVAL
balconies of the Rainbow Opera were full of the Opera’s patrons. Many were wearing the latest spring fashions in sleepwear. The men wore quilted crimson or grey robes, and the women were mostly in white and darker grey, floating silks trimmed with swansdown. The people milled about in the balconies, and up and down the red-carpeted staircases, visiting friends. Waiters wove between them carrying trays of sweet wine or chocolate liqueur mixed with fresh cream.

The people paused in their talk to applaud as Grace Tiebold appeared under the dome, and began to climb the spiral stair to the dreamer’s bed. At the Rainbow Opera the dreamer’s bed was on a raised platform in the centre of the auditorium, and at the same height as the second balcony. The long train of Grace Tiebold’s embroidered robe trailed after her around the turns in the stairs. Despite her elaborate costume the
dreamhunter looked girlish, small and thin, her light brown hair bobbed, her wrists, neck and ears bare of jewellery. At the top of the stair she turned to make a curtsy to the President of the Republic. He was on his private balcony, isolated from the rest of the second floor by locked doors. Grace bent her knee and inclined her head, then raised her arms to the rest of the public, who clapped and cheered. Then, as she always did, Grace turned and blew kisses towards the balcony before the second-floor private suites belonging to her family. The crowd looked where she threw her kisses, to see that, this evening, only the dreamhunter’s daughter and niece were in attendance. The girls were, as usual, the two youngest people at the performance. The patrons noticed that Rose Tiebold was fulfilling every expectation people had of her by growing more beautiful with each passing month. ‘But she won’t be out this summer, though,’ one society matron said to another, consolingly — they had girls coming out that season, and the competition for good husbands was always hard enough without the added complication of half the eligible men falling for the same girl.

CAS DORAN WISHED
the President of the Republic a good night and retired to his private balcony. His son Ru had ordered some more chocolate. Ru was posted at the rail, looking out over the auditorium and waving to his friends. Doran said, ‘Ru, I’ll be back out shortly, save me some of that chocolate.’ He went into his suite and shut
its padded door. The sound of the Opera’s crowd retreated completely.

Maze Plasir was waiting for him. Plasir had his new boy with him. The boy stared at Doran with wide eyes, then looked to his master for a cue as to how he should behave. Plasir nodded faintly, and only then did the boy extend his hand. Cas took the limp, sweaty hand and shook it.

‘Gavin knows that he must regard this as a very great privilege,’ said Plasir. He looked the boy, ‘Don’t you, Gavin?’

‘Yes, Mr Plasir.’

‘I’ve been telling Mr Doran what a talent you are,’ Plasir said.

‘And I had heard already from the examiners,’ said Doran.

Maze Plasir seemed to be taking a great deal of pleasure in their little act of patronage. He said to the boy, ‘Now, Gavin, you’re Mr Doran’s guest, but you mustn’t bother his
other
guests.’

‘Yes, Gavin. You must keep your room.’ Doran waited for the boy to agree.

The boy swallowed, then nodded.

‘You’ll be very comfortable. The room will be my daughter’s when she is old enough to attend these things.’ Cas Doran put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and walked him to the bedroom. ‘Sleep well, dream well,’ he said. He closed the door on the boy.

‘They’ll be ringing the bells in fifteen minutes,’ Plasir said. He began winding his scarf about his neck and
buttoning his coat. ‘I came up the stairs from the dreamer’s door. I could still smell Grace Tiebold’s perfume in the stairwell.’ Plasir smiled to himself.

‘And you persuaded your boy to think that he’s here only for the benefit of the experience?’ Doran asked.

‘He’s the best I’ve ever had,’ said Maze. ‘But simple — or single-minded. He believes every bit of flattery he hears. He’s hungry for it, and totally credulous. That’s the profile of an ideal Colourist. I can guarantee that he’ll go into his trance when he hears the bell. He’ll catch everyone when they’re dropping off. Hopefully he will still be performing his little repetitions by the time Grace Tiebold falls asleep, so that, in the first minute of her dream, he might be able to get his ideas out to her whole audience. Even if he isn’t able to do that he will manage to colour the dreams of everyone in the suites on either side of this one, and yours, of course.’

‘I don’t mind that. I look on it as quality control. Your Colourists are very convincing, Maze. I still find myself congratulating myself on my judgment regarding Mr Gregg and what a fine speaker he’s made.’ Cas Doran laughed. ‘I find myself thinking, “What a decent, fair man.” And I hope I’ll wake up tomorrow thinking how wonderful Garth Wilkinson is. How he should be enshrined. How desirable it would be that he remains in office.’

‘Knowing what I know,’ Plasir said, ‘I’d discount
any
idea I had while dozing off in a dream palace.’

‘You and I are the only ones who know how good you are, how
priceless
,’ Cas said — a cool man, but passionate in admiration.

Maze Plasir smiled. He finished buttoning his coat. He said he’d leave when the balconies had cleared. They went to the door together, Doran saying, wistfully, that he hoped his son had left him some hot chocolate.

‘Sleep well,’ said Plasir. ‘Dream well.’

Ru Doran was leaning over the balcony rail. When his father joined him he turned, eyes bright, and said, ‘Is that Mamie’s friend? That beautiful girl?’

ROSE STOOD STRAIGHT
and held her head high. For a moment she could feel all eyes on her. The attention was like a hot spell of sunlight on a dull day and, heated, Rose put up a hand to lift her hair off the back of her neck. The stares had made her self-conscious, but her gesture was unself-conscious, it was innocent and arresting — and, of course, it only encouraged various people to stare harder at her. Out of the corner of her eye Rose saw some hulking boy on the balcony of the Secretary of the Interior’s suite imitate her mother and blow a kiss her way.

‘Who
is
that cocky so and so?’ Rose muttered to Laura.

Laura seemed even more dazed than she had all afternoon. She was still sucking on one of Farry’s raspberry lollipops. She had arrived at lunch with one in her mouth already, and her dustcoat’s pockets stuffed
with a dozen more. Her lips were stained red — and looked raw now — though when she’d appeared in the restaurant she had only looked childish.

‘Laura!’ Rose said, and turned her cousin’s head so that she would look across the space at the balcony opposite them. Rose felt Laura’s jaw clench under her fingers. Laura said, ‘That boy?’ exuding raspberry-scented breath. ‘Well, he’s with Cas Doran so perhaps he is Mamie’s older brother.’

Rose decided that she would have to share some news she’d been withholding
now
if her cousin was going to be able to appreciate why it might be uncomfortable to have Mamie’s brother kissing his hand at her. ‘You know I am spending the first two weeks of the summer with the Dorans,’ Rose said. ‘On Mamie’s invitation.’

Laura shrugged.

Rose had expected Laura to laugh — to see right away that she could hope to hear some
good stories
as well as Rose’s views on Cas Doran’s character, opinions and interests. The whole point of Rose’s campaign of making-friends-with-Mamie had been to get near enough to Mamie’s father to make an assessment of him and his associates. Yet, when Rose was at the Dorans over the coming summer, making her assessment of Mamie’s father, there might be
other
intrigues for her to share with Laura — like, for instance, how Rose would manage to cope with Doran junior’s flattering attention.

But Laura didn’t laugh. She only stared at the Doran men and the President, her eyes shiny and dull at once,
as though another skin had grown over their surfaces. Laura hadn’t even waved to Grace. She was slumped on one of the ottomans by the balcony rail, side-on to the amphitheatre and hunched down as though she wasn’t happy to be seen.

Laura had been vague and absent at lunch — but friendly enough. She had remembered to bring Grace and Rose Lazarus’s Day gifts. Rose was rather surprised at this — since it was normally the sort of nicety that slipped Laura’s mind. Laura had turned up to lunch with two beautiful packages of Farry’s finest confections — a hazelnut log for Grace, and Rose’s favourite sweet, musk creams.

Rose had her package open on her lap, and had already eaten three. Her lips were greasy and her mouth perfumed. She would save the rest till they were in bed and could share them — though Laura seemed content to stain her mouth with those cheap boiled lollies.

Rose flipped her hair again and stood up, stretched and took a deep breath. The tall gas flames around the coping of the Opera’s dome sent unsteady light down through the stained glass. The house lights began to dim by stages, a little at first to hurry the patrons to finish their conversations, wine, chocolate, cups of roasted rice tea, and at least
think
of retiring to their rooms. As the house lights dimmed the fluttering, multicoloured radiance that came through the dome grew stronger, till the whole auditorium began to look as though it were under water.

Rose spotted another young man — this one on the third floor. He was leaning over the balustrade opposite and waving at her. She waved back. She said to Laura, delighted, ‘I am beginning to see what my life’s going to be like!’

Laura merely asked her whether she was sleepy.

Rose wasn’t. She’d got up early that morning but wasn’t tired at all. In fact she felt jittery — either picking up her mother’s performance nerves, or wound up by all the attention she was getting. Rose didn’t answer Laura, because she caught sight of the latest male admirer making his way down the staircase to their level.

The lights dimmed another notch. The crowds on the balconies began to thin. People called out to one another, ‘Goodnight. Dream well.’ Some of the padded doors were already fastened. The waiters were gathering empty cups and glasses.

Rose grabbed Laura’s arm. She pointed, wanting to show her cousin the man hurrying up to them.

Laura said, apparently to herself, ‘I like things the way they are.’ She sounded very definite — and as though she were arguing with someone — though not with anyone there with them on the balcony. But then she
did
speak to Rose. ‘I love the way the torchlight shines through the roof. Your mother looks like an enchanted, sleeping queen.’

Grace wasn’t asleep. She was propped up on her elbows and eating an apple.

Laura looked up at Rose then, and said, plaintive, ‘I always liked the Rainbow Opera.’ She was talking, Rose thought, as if she had just discovered a plot to burn the building down.

‘What is it, honey?’ Rose said, concerned. But before Laura could answer the young man appeared beside them. ‘Hello,’ Rose said, and held out her hand. ‘I am Rose Tiebold.’

‘Pleased to meet you.’ The young man was briskly polite. ‘
Again
. Alexander Mason,’ he said, and shook her hand.

‘Oh, you,’ said Rose. It was the boy from the infants’ beach. He had done some growing. He seemed friendly, too, but only looked at Rose for a moment before turning to Laura. He offered Laura a bright, eager smile.