Storm Dreams (The Cycle of Somnium Book 1) (3 page)

“Don’t talk like that,” Brewster said with a scowl. “Don’t ever talk like that.”

Cassidy followed Brewster down the hallway to the cabin marked Waffenkammer in gold letters. “We don’t expect any trouble, but just in case.” He opened the door to a room full of rifles, side-arms and ammunition. “Take your pick.”

Cassidy reached out and grabbed a large wooden holster with a cleaning rod and kit strapped to its face. The pistol butt stuck out the side, almost at a right angle. He flipped the lid and withdrew the bizarre sidearm. It felt familiar in his grip, like the Fokker had. He
must
have been a spy.

“Mauser C-96,” Brewster said, as Cassidy examined the piece. “Most people call them—”

“Broomhandles,” Cassidy finished. “I know.” He pulled back the slide over the breech and checked the chamber before slipping the bottom end of the wooden holster into a slot on the Mauser’s handle. The holster created a rifle-butt for the pistol. He sighted down the seven-inch barrel.

“Kicks like a mule,” Brewster said, grabbing a couple boxes of .307 rounds from a shelf and another box of metal slides to hold the bullets.

C-96’s didn’t have external clips like the Lugers. Cassidy knew this, but nothing about who had told him. The knowledge was a random fact that popped up when he first saw the weapon.

“Do you know how to load it?” Brewster asked.

“I have a feeling I do,” Cassidy said, filling one of the slides with shells and pushing them past the chamber into the internal magazine. “But I don’t know why. I’m not Jerry, am I?”

Brewster laughed and clapped him on the back. “Lot of countries use Broomhandles,” he said. “I like my Webley, of course. Of course I’m dreamed to be a Brit. Banner prefers German Lugers. Go figure.”

Cassidy felt distant as he turned the weapon over in his hands, chambered a round and slid the Mauser back into the holster.

“You okay?” Brewster asked.

“I don’t like not knowing where I am.”

Brewster smiled. “Not that it will give you any idea of location, but we’ve been flying through various dreams ever since picking you up and we’ll be leaving soon. The Armada is pretty thick here, so we only risk entering the Everdream to rescue pilots.”

“Everdream? The Armada? You keep saying that.”

“Everdream’s a long story. The Armada is made up of dreams, kind of like us. Police,” Brewster said, pocketing a handful of shells for himself. “Those of us who escape aren’t well liked by the powers that be in the Everdream. Don’t worry,” he said, noticing Cassidy’s worried look. “They can only do so much where we’re going.”

When they entered the control room Franz and Jayce stood staring out the bow windows. Cassidy took in the room better now that he was well-slept and relaxed. Aluminium girders ran downward from the airship’s belly, past the floor and continued, he assumed, until they met somewhere below his feet. Brass pipes wove between girders in all directions, making the ceiling look like a mass of metallic vines.

The helm itself was a large wheel, almost three feet in diameter, which stood in the centre of the bridge. It looked as if it had actually been taken from some Spanish galleon, its surface decorated with gold trim, its wood stained and polished. Below the helm lay two foot pedals. Jayce explained that Karl had installed them to eliminate the need for a second helm to steer the elevator flap. Banner hadn’t liked the idea of needing a second pilot in the rear of the control room—as most Zeppelins had—preferring to steer port and starboard with the wheel and pitch the ship up and down with the pedals.

Cassidy had never seen anything like it, though fragmented memories of Zeppelins lodged in the recesses of his mind. Remembering things made him feel more there and he found himself taking every opportunity to drag things out into his consciousness. There had to be more. Dream, or no dream, he had to have a past.

The sky turned a desperate shade of blue and then purple as Banner nosed the craft down out of the clouds. Thick cumulous mounds tore as the ship ripped through them. “The Twilight,” Banner said over his shoulder. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“This isn’t a dream?” Cassidy asked Brewster as the ship levelled out.

“No,” Brewster said, leaning in as if confiding a secret. “This is between the Everdream and the
real
world.”

An odd shape, like an upside-down floating mountain, broke out of the distance, half obscured by a patch of thick clouds. “Arcadia,” Banner said, as he throttled the ship forwards. “It’s a good place for repairs.” He glanced over at the German. “Franz, tell Karl I want some kind of gun platform up top. I’m tired of us getting caught with our pants down.” He glanced back. “Cassidy, you stink. Get a shower and have Brewster find you something nice to wear. You can’t get laid like that.”

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 steps 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.