Storm Dreams (The Cycle of Somnium Book 1) (4 page)

“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.”

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.”

The man grinned widely. “Perhaps I’ll see you again when you get tired of ordering the same drink.”

A cold lump welled in Cassidy’s stomach. He slammed the empty glass down and made for the stairway. His heart thundered in his chest as he tried not to look back at the man, whoever he’d been. Whatever he’d been. Did everyone here understand these things except him?

Cassidy returned to his room and stripped down to his breeches again. The night had grown colder, but he enjoyed the sensation of goose pimples. It made him feel attached and the world felt so distant, as if he weren’t natural to it. As if he were a
real
man traipsing through someone else’s dream. A
real
man, he thought. What’s that?

Cassidy walked out to the terrace where the light breeze had become a gusting wind, chilling him deeply. Reality felt crisper as his body reacted to the change in temperature.

The tethered airships pitched against the darkening purple. Still not a true night. Strange that there was night at all in a place called
Twilight
, but something inside ached for the real thing
.
Whatever the case, this place seemed to have its own sense of time and reality.

The
Nubigena
listed, even more restless than before. Cassidy wondered how long he had been standing there. A glance at his watch said it was 5:30. The darkness turned a lighter purple as he watched the coming light though no actual sun crested the edge of the island. Dawn, or what passed for it here, would probably break around 6:00.

Cassidy returned to his room and dressed. He pulled the Mauser from its wooden holster, field stripped it and gave the barrel and inner workings a good cleaning. Why was this all so automatic? Why had he chosen this of all weapons? He reloaded, slipped it back into its holster and clipped it to his belt.

Whatever he would one day prove to be, this morning he was a soldier. One of Banner’s men. And he’d play the part for the moment. By the look of the strange shadow down by the dock, cast by the flickering fire of lantern light, this might prove a very short assignment.

He made his way out of the lounge and into the silent lobby, the other pilots still asleep. He imagined them cuddled up to women whose names they probably couldn’t remember, dreaming of women they wished were there. How much did the other crew remember of their own lives?

Shea. It would be impossible to forget the woman he
hadn’t
slept with. He concentrated hard, trying to bring up images of women he’d known before. Nothing but blurry figures showed up. He looked at his watch. Ten minutes to go.

Cassidy stuck to the dark areas in the lee of the buildings that staggered towards the wharf where light wouldn’t touch for hours. He kept his hand beneath his coat, glancing about for whoever caused the shadows he’d seen from the terrace.

The air felt different. It held moisture now, making the breeze cold against his cheeks and hands. The airships, both soft bodied and galleon style, tugged against their moorings as if trying to wake. The sound of canvas sails whipped in the higher winds.

A glint of dull silver flashed from the corner of a storage shed. Cassidy flattened against the wall, Mauser in hand. He aimed at the spot where he’d seen what looked like a Luger.

Banner stepped out from the shadows, pistol pointed at the ground. He nodded, glanced back around the corner and edged along the side of the building.

Cassidy lowered his Mauser and followed on silent feet. He glanced behind every few seconds, trying to classify the shapes of various clusters of darkness. The
Nubigena
drifted overhead. The ramp had been pulled away, leaving the Zeppelin attached to the island only by a row of tether lines and its nose mooring.

A movement to his right caught Cassidy’s eye and he swung his weapon to bear. A loose corner of tarp flapped against a pile of cargo. He turned back to the sound of Banner thumbing the safety off his Luger.

A man crouched behind a crate with his back to them, but stood up as Banner touched the muzzle to his left ear. “You the look-out?” Banner asked.

The man nodded, eyes wide as he turned to look at them. Cassidy only glanced at the man. Kept his eyes trained on the shadows to their flank.

“How many more?” Banner asked.

The man whimpered as Cassidy took another glance. The man didn’t have the elven features of the Twilights and his skin was dull and thick, like cured animal hide. No details to the man’s face. “T-two,” he said.

The double-click of another pistol came from a deep patch of darkness near one of the buildings. Cassidy dropped to his knee, levelled the Mauser and cracked off two shots; one high, one low. A pistol clattered to the ground. Three more beats and a body tumbled after it.

“How many now?” Banner asked the man on the ground. His voice still sounded smooth and even, like he was asking the time of day.

“Two,” the man said, again.

“Two more in ambush or two more up in my ship?”

“T-two.”

Banner grimaced and shot the man in the chest. The man clutched at his blossoming shirt and collapsed.

“How would anyone have gotten onto the ship already?” Cassidy asked, as he probed the darkness again.

Banner nodded. “Good question. I don’t know why they haven’t at least extended the ramp,” he said, crouching to examine the body.

Cassidy stepped back so he could speak with Banner
and
keep his eye on their blind spots. “You did kill him in cold blood.”

Banner grimaced. “He’s only a dream.”

“
I’m
only a dream.”

Banner grimaced. “He’s not like you. Not nearly as solid. Looks like an Armada bounty hunter. They’re not after the
Nubigena
itself.”

“I didn’t think they had much jurisdiction here.”

“We don’t need much,” another man said, stepping from around the side of the building. “Jurisdiction is for the Law.” Unlike the one Banner had just downed, this man was dressed in a light tan suit, sported a matching Fedora and carried no weapon. Two others, who looked like dock workers, joined him, levelling bolt-action rifles.

Banner grinned. “Cassidy,” he said glancing over, then gestured to the man in the suit, “what do you think the chances are this guy is bluffing?”

Cassidy highly doubted it, but didn’t reply, choosing instead to keep his Mauser trained on the leader’s forehead.

“Dead or living,” the man in the suit said, his face drawing in with impatience.

“Cassidy,” Banner asked, as if the man hadn’t said anything, “what do you think the chances are that
I’m
bluffing?”

Cassidy had no idea of that either, but kept his gun trained as Banner slipped his Luger back into its holster.

“They said you were mad,” the well-dressed man said, shaking his head.

“Really?” Banner widened his grin. “Who sold us out?”

The man’s face broke into his own grin. “Someone from the
real
world. A man named Richthofen.”

Cassidy’s stomach turned. Goddamned German piece of shit.

“Yes, that’s what I thought.” Banner gave a slight nod and two shots rang out in quick succession. The two riflemen’s heads exploded out the front. Their ruined faces held no expression as rifles clattered to the ground and the bodies thudded down beside the weapons.

As the second body dropped, it revealed the cold expression of Manfred Richthofen, who holstered his smoking Luger. “They pay well, but don’t know who to trust.”

The man in the suit took a sharp intake of breath and set his jaw, trying to hide the fear now visible behind his eyes. “Shall I give the Armada a message from you?”

“Sure,” Banner said, giving Cassidy a quick nod. Cassidy squeezed off a single round, but kept his weapon out even as the body crumpled to a heap.

“A good message,” the Baron said.

“Thanks for the tip,” Banner said, and nudged Cassidy.

Cassidy grimaced, but returned the pistol to its holster.

Richthofen gave them both a quick salute and faded back into the shadows.

“I still don’t trust him,” Cassidy growled.

“You don’t have to trust him.” Banner started back to the hotel. “Just trust me.”

“Give me a good reason,” Cassidy snapped. “I just killed for you.”

“Killed a dream,” Banner said turning back around.

“You’re a dream too.”

“Yes and no.” Banner turned towards the hotel.

Cassidy remained behind. Six shots had been fired and no one came running. Six shots, five bodies. The dead men blurred on the ground, their colours shifted to black and white and their shapes dissolved into nothing.

There’d been an edge to Banner’s voice. Something about the way he’d said, “only dreams.” The crew might love him, but Captain Banner was something different. He didn’t consider them equal. If it came down to sacrificing one of them, Cassidy wondered what would happen.

Cassidy examined the empty place the bodies had been. If
he
died, would he fade like that?

The wind blew cold against his skin and the host of dirigibles drifted above him like ambivalent gods. One war to another, he mused and wondered why the thought tugged his heart towards his stomach. “Am I even
real
?” he asked the
Nubigena
. It hovered above him, nudging the air gently.

He thought about Shea stretched out on his bed. Thought of how his heart yearned for some unknown bond. Why couldn’t he even remember if he’d ever been with a woman? What was the emptiness he felt as she’d exposed herself to him? He’d been aroused, but cold inside.

Cassidy took a deep breath. Banner was his new captain, but in a war and an army he hadn’t signed up for. The Great War, the one that still remained a part of his mind in bits and pieces was simpler. Us. Them. He supposed that this was much the same with Banner, except for the lack of patriotic duty. No love of country to fuel his blood. Just survival. Loyalty to cap and crew. Could he live on that?