 
Dreamshade: Niamago

A. J. Lath

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 A. J. Lath

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1

While he was still young enough to believe that he would never become older, Benjamin Crosskeys had a dream that changed the way he saw the world. It was not simply a nice dream, a happy dream, or even a fabulous one; it was a _great_ dream, and it left a mark on his waking life that would never fade.

There were other great dreams to follow, of course. They were few, and very far between. Yet that, in part, what was made them special. And none proved so special as the first.

It was a dream of fireworks, essentially. But that was like saying a child's doodle could be the equivalent of a Da Vinci masterpiece. For in this dream the fireworks cannonaded across a sky that was infinite, unbounded by the horizon of a land beneath, and it shone with stars so plentiful that it seemed as if all the galaxies of the universe had come to meet him here. He was alone amid this majesty, and he was not afraid. In this place he was the master, and the fireworks were his to command.

It was true: the screaming rockets, the fiery plumes, the flares; all were subject to his whim. If he so wished it, then the rockets might fall into formation, or divide, or change course; or the whole display might rearrange itself, becoming a vast, cartwheeling fire show that served him as solely as an orchestra serves its conductor. Astonishingly, there was a substance to these flames also, for he could ride those screaming rockets, or jump the cresting flares as easily as if he were using stepping stones to cross water. And when he tired of skating the sparks and catching comets by the tail, he reclined against a soaring blaze and simply let it carry him for miles and miles and miles. With the forbearance of a contented king, he saw no need to rush nor any need to be frivolous. His power in this realm was absolute. Nothing could challenge it.

Except the stars, perhaps. Gazing out to them, he began to wonder if they too might be just as compliant to his will. If it was so, then he would certainly have to be closer; his ability, he suspected, had little purchase on things so distant.

He therefore summoned a fresh flare, and ordered it to carry him further, ever further. But the stars ahead did not come any closer. So again he commanded: Further! More! And again, the stars stayed put, twinkling dimly and distantly. He thought, perhaps, that his flare was slower than it seemed, as an age had already gone by and he had made no headway. Yet when he turned and looked, he saw that he had travelled so far from the fireworks that they were now but a glimmer of glints to his eye. He realised then that to reach even the nearest star would take more than a lifetime. And with dawning awe, he understood that maybe even a thousand lifetimes would not be enough.

No matter how much he journeyed, he would never get close to them - and this saddened him. But then he heard singing birds and the chime of a clock; and saw the stars, once unattainable, slowly resolve themselves into the flecks of daylight that pierced the weave of the bedroom curtains every morning. He was awakening, and in a little time he had awakened enough to know that it had all been a dream ... and to know, also, that the dream had not entirely ended.

Because something, he felt, was with him in his room, and it was something remarkable. Being older now, he doesn't remember what it was, though he is sure that it was silky and shiny, and moved with the sinuous grace of a falling ribbon. He knows that it drifted away from him and slipped out through the gap at the bottom of the bedroom door. But he does not recollect how he spent the rest of that day searching for it, peering under the chairs and tables and rooting in every cupboard he could find; nor does he remember how his parents kept on asking him if he was feeling upset. To them, he looked like a small boy with too much of an adult frown on his face. They did not understand that this was a child who'd had his first ever great dream. Neither did they understand that, as with all great dreams, it had taught him something - in this instance, something to do with want and sacrifice and distance \- and left him a little more grown-up as a result.

It was not long afterwards that Benjamin Crosskeys began to believe that he _would_ become older.

***

In truth, the great dreams of his life had little impact that he was aware of, and at the age of eleven years and four months, Benjamin Crosskeys remained a largely ordinary boy with ordinary concerns and preoccupations. Age and wisdom aside, the only change of any note was that his father was now gone. He did not know why he had left; he was very young when it happened, and his mother refuses to elaborate upon it. "He just went," is all she will say, when asked. Nothing else. He 'just went' and was never seen again. So far, all he has learned of his dad was that he 'liked to travel' and 'enjoyed long walks'. In other words, he was precisely the type of person who could 'just go' and be never seen again. The only things he had left to his son were his surname, and a small but palpable sadness that sometimes arose whenever Benjamin wrote down his signature.

Nevertheless, it was a slight sorrow, and there were consolations. His stepfather Pete, for one, and the sister he had brought into the boy's life, Maddie. She was four now, and loved cats. Occasionally stroppy, as all little sisters can be, but always ready to laugh. Pete was a good guy too; he wore a beard, had long hair that was tied back into a ponytail, and his favourite photograph was one that Benjamin's mother had made for him, where she had used her computer to substitute a picture of an Afghan hound's head in place of his own (like his mother, Benjamin also enjoyed using the computer to tinker with photographs: he tended to be subtler though, preferring to impose very tiny changes such as making someone's fingers a little bit longer than normal or putting a shadow in the wrong place). He hung the picture in the downstairs lavatory, next to the original untouched photograph, and added a caption that invited the viewer to spot the difference. Benjamin's mother had cracked up at that. Since Pete has been around, she has laughed a great deal.

His home was a happy home, then, if not a tad eccentric. But in all other respects it was ordinary. He lived at twenty-three Chapterhouse Street, in a town that sat so deeply between London and everywhere else that he could never be sure if was part of London or everywhere else, and had a few good friends but not many. School was a vaguely bearable chore, and his favourite place beyond home was Wandringham wood, which lay only a short walk away from his back gate. Admittedly, he was regarded by some as slightly odd, but not to the extent of seeming outright weird. A few may have occasionally thought that there was something different about his eyes, but they could never say what, while the rest were just happy to let him go on by, an everyday sort of boy in an everyday sort of world.

***

Benjamin Crosskeys' life became extraordinary on a springtime night which followed a day as unremarkable as any other.

He had gone to school as usual, and returned knowing just a tiny bit more than the day before. Mrs. Dunstable, his teacher, had told him with some relish that Queen Elizabeth the First never took a bath, and Jack Beesley from form 3c farted during assembly. At break time, Benjamin's team lost the football match; Martin Linklow also lost his jumper, which had served as a goalpost. At lunchtime, a grave discussion amongst classmates about jellyfish had given them all a bit of a scare ("The sting of the box jellyfish is so painful," had piped Miles Kingdom, over macaroni, "that you scream _even when you're unconscious_!") while afternoon break time brought only the faint satisfaction of a score-draw. Just before the bell had rang for home time, Mrs. Dunstable reminded the class that the latest batch of essays needed to be in by noon tomorrow. Benjamin Crosskeys therefore departed with the sombre slouch of a boy condemned to spend the entire evening doing homework.

So went the day.

After tea, Benjamin's mother, tired of again having to explain to Maddie why she preferred to be called 'Jen' rather than 'Jennifer', sought relief by engaging him in a conversation about vacuum-cleaners. Apparently, 'Old Dougal' had drawn his last breath, and she was now in the market for a state-of-the-art bagless model. "But that doesn't mean it moves around by itself," his mother had chortled, pre-empting the obvious joke. Benjamin grinned, shook his head, and told her that he hadn't even thought it.

"Oh? Thought what?" asked his mother sharply. Judging by the tilt of her gaze and the barely contained half-smile, it was obvious that this sudden display of tetchiness was only pretend. Unfortunately, Benjamin had been caught completely off-guard by the reply, and his mother was now of a mind to capitalise on it.

"Well - nothing. You know. Hadn't thought of anything. Really," he said, hesitating a little.

"Hmmm," said his mother, eyes narrowing. "You think I'm an old bag, don't you?"

"No. Really. You're not - you're not old at all."

A bellow of laughter ensued, along with a loud clap. "Good one, Benjy boy. Nice one," his mother said. "Blessed is the mum whose son would rather think of her as a bag than old. Big good-guy points are hereby awarded. Well done!"

"No problem," Benjamin returned, laughing also. The mirth, however, did not last long. There was homework to be completed, and his mother was not shy in reminding him. Sighing, he withdrew to his bedroom, opened his books, and spent a long time puzzling over the two incomplete essays that had to be finished by tonight.

He began work on the one about life as a crew mate of Odysseus first. It was his kind of thing anyway - a story about a quest involving monsters and all manner of strange stuff. He'd so far written it from the viewpoint of a seasoned old sailor who'd seen it all before, and when he took it up again, he continued in a similar vein. Though he did not know it, he was the only child in his class who had approached the essay in this way. Everyone else had taken to it in the spirit of wonderment and discovery, writing as fledgling adventurers caught in a constant daze of awe. He completed it about a good hour later, and when he reread the final few lines - 'that is my story then and I hope you like it. I have many many more just like it,' \- he realised that it didn't really sound like it was finished. Nevertheless, with another essay awaiting, and tomorrow fast approaching, he had to concede that it would have to do. He stretched, yawned, pondered - for all of two seconds - upon why he hadn't had the sense to complete the essays earlier, and took a short break. After an interval involving a close up study of his nose in the mirror, and a quick session of faux martial-arts poses, he settled back down to his desk and brought all his attention to bear on the night's second piece of homework: a report of a recent class trip to a local museum, to be written as a stranger unfamiliar to the town. Grumbling with boredom, he sharpened his pencil, shuffled his exercise books, and set himself to the tiresome task ahead.

He was surprised to find that he was nearly finished by the time Pete knocked on his door. It had been another long shift for his stepfather, and he'd brought himself a takeaway on the way home. "How do, mate," he said, holding up a greasy brown paper bag as he peered in. "Got some prawn crackers - want me to leave you some?"

Despite not being the biggest fan of Chinese food, Benjamin was nonetheless a sucker for prawn crackers. "Oh yeah," he said. "Thanks."

Pete nodded. "Had a good day?"

"It was okay."

"Hm. Ah well." He paused. "Got some homework there, eh?"

"Yeah."

"Right. So I'll leave these crackers for you in the microwave. Don't have too many though. Your mum'll skin me if you do."

"Thanks," Benjamin said again.

"S'okay," said Pete. "See ya." And then he departed.

As ever, Pete had left Benjamin bemused. It always seemed as if he had more to say, yet could never quite get round to saying it. Still, that was Pete: he made mum happy, and knew a lot about Star Wars. Not the best talker, but good enough in all other respects. And he was still here, even after all these years, which was excellent. Unlike -

But Benjamin didn't finish the thought. He had homework to be getting on with.

The second essay was as good as done when his mother brought Maddie into the room to say her goodnights. Half-hiding her face behind her favourite rag doll, she mumbled "Bye," then ran out onto the landing with a giggle. Benjamin's mother raised her eyebrows in mock exasperation, and asked him how the homework was coming along.

"Fine. Finished," said Benjamin, closing the exercise book with a snap.

"Good stuff. Want to watch some telly downstairs before bed? You've got about an hour and a half to spare."

"I wan' telly," piped Maddie from behind her mother. "I wan' telly."

"Yep," said Benjamin, with more than a little delight in his voice. It looked as if the evening wasn't going to be completely wasted after all.

"As for you," said Benjamin's mother, turning to Maddie. "It's the land of nod for you, my girl. And no misering about it, either."

"All righty-ho," said Maddie, making sure not to huff so much that she might get told off for it. After that, both she and her mother were gone from Benjamin's doorway, and Benjamin himself was soon ready to exercise his Right as an Older Sibling to stay up longer than his little sister.

So went the night.

He watched a game show, then a nature programme about sea birds. Laughs aplenty came when one particularly annoyed sea bird attacked the presenter by being sick at him, and when Pete made a certain crack about how 'a nasty shag on the cliff-face will do that to you' - at which Benjamin's mother had almost exploded - Benjamin found himself in the embarrassing situation of pretending that he didn't get the joke. Later, he had a handful of the snack that Pete had promised, and then it was time to say his due goodnights. He took himself off to bed at nine o'clock, as was soon fast asleep. Nothing of the day, or the eve succeeding it, had offered any indication whatsoever that the twilight hours ahead were about to become the most amazing of his life.

***

When he awoke it was still dark. A quick, bleary eyed glance at the luminous figures of the bedside clock revealed that it was two forty-eight in the morning, and he would have turned over and gone back to sleep had he not heard that strange swishing, _sighing_ sound. It seemed to be coming from the room next door to his - Maddie's room - and when he was sure that the noise was not just a trick of the quiet, he sat up, turned his head to where his right ear felt like it could catch the murmur at its loudest, and listened. The sound, without a doubt, was real. He was not imagining it.

Sometimes it was like the sea, but distant; a rush and crash of waves against a faraway shore. Sometimes it was like a whisper in a foreign language. Sometimes a breath, drawn-out and long. Sometimes it was the whirr of a breeze in tall grasses.

It came from nowhere else; only beyond the wall that divided his room from Maddie's. It did not stop, either.

Benjamin wondered what he should do. The sound wasn't really frightening - but at the same time, he didn't quite want to know what was causing it. Should he call out to his mum and Pete? Probably not - if it turned out to be something ordinary, then a tongue-lashing from a mother who _hated_ to be roused at night was as likely as a poor result at algebra. Perhaps it was just the wind. He knew that his mother left Maddie's window open at night, as her room tended to accumulate stale air. So perhaps that was it, then: just the wind.

Perhaps.

But then again, wasn't there something familiar about the sound, too? Something infuriatingly recognizable about it, even though he was nearly certain that he had never heard anything like it before. I know it, though, he thought. I'm sure I do. But how? When? Maybe it was deja vu \- that odd feeling that he (and most people, he knew) sometimes got, where it would suddenly seem as if something has already happened. _It could be_ , he supposed. But whether it was this _deja vu_ thing or not, it didn't really help matters. The swishing noises continued; their provenance remained a mystery.

Then came a sudden, terrible notion: _what if it means Maddie is in danger?_ His heart skipped at beat, as if struck by a ghostly dagger. _What if it means Maddie is in danger?_ He lifted the sheets and swung his pyjama clad legs over the side of the bed, but hesitated before going any further.

If it's dangerous to Maddie, then won't it be dangerous to me as well?

Yes, it was a horrible, nasty, craven thought. But as horrible, nasty and as craven as it was, the thought wouldn't go away. _What if it wants to get me? What if it wants to -_

He took a deep, trembly breath, and ordered himself to get a grip. Aware that his imagination was getting the better of him, he decided to curb it by taking action: he stood up, reached out for the dim shape that seemed likeliest to be his dressing gown, and pressed his chilly feet into his slippers. _It's simple,_ he told himself, in as strong a tone of mind as he could muster. _It's just the wind, blowing in through Maddie's window. Nothing to worry about at all. And if it does turn out to be anything more than that, then I'll -_

He knew exactly what he would do: he'd stand at the entrance to Maddie's room and scream and scream and scream.

But to think now would be folly. To think now would cause him to dither, and in dithering he'd only become even more upset. _The horror behind the door,_ he remembered reading once, _is horrifying merely because you cannot yet see it. And very few things turn out to be as horrifying as you imagined when that door is opened._ And though it was probably true (he had already watched enough of Pete's old Dr. Who videos to know that the man in the monster suit was never so scary as when he was only being _glimpsed_ in the gravel pit) it still wasn't much of a comfort. But by the time he'd become aware of the depth of his reluctance, he'd already exited his room and gone out onto the landing. Beside him, in the dark, Maddie's bedroom door awaited. He pulled the dressing gown tighter to himself, then reached out with a shaky hand to take hold of the doorknob. Before realising that the best thing to do now would be to knock, the door was already open. And there, just ahead of him, was the reason why all those whispers, sighs and stirrings had seemed so evocative.

2

When he saw it, he was immediately taken back to that first great dream; of the fireworks and the stars, and the remnant left over which had caused him to search so earnestly that day. And now, before him, the remnant was there again; a sash of silver, luminous, twirling softly about itself; a shimmering streak of coiling mercury, dancing languidly in the darkness ahead.

He wasn't afraid now. The object had too much the aura of a lost treasure, or forgotten friend, for that. "I know you," he murmured, padding into the room. As if responding, the ribbon - or whatever it was - paused awhile, eddying gently in the air like a leaf trapped by a web. When Benjamin lifted a hand and reached out, it ebbed away a little, as coy as a pet surprised by the sudden attentions of its owner. "I won't hurt you," said Benjamin softly.

The uppermost end of the ribbon \- the one closest to the boy's enquiring fingers - seemed to regard him for a second or two, like a snake in thrall to its charmer. Then, as cautiously as an animal attracted to a curious scent, it inched towards him and contact was made. At the touch of Benjamin's fingertips, the thing resisted no more; fluttering, it coursed around his arm, his head, his body. And with every glancing brush and tickle, there came to Benjamin some part of what could have only been someone else's dream.

He saw a room - _this_ room \- but sunlit and vast; the door was monolithic, the ceiling a second sky. And everywhere - _everywhere -_ there were cats: cats talking, cats taking tea in the corner, cats reading newspapers, watching television, or queueing for a train at the windowsill. Every breed, every shape and size, all going about their pursuits and speaking to each other in a peculiar mewling chatter. There was only one voice that he recognised as human - a small voice that said _"hey pussycat, hey pussycat," or "why won't you talk to me_ , _pretty cat?"_ over and over - and though he was sure it belonged to Maddie, it didn't quite sound like her. So he whispered "stop!" and the dream vision fell away. Immediately, he went over to his sister's bed, being as careful as possible not to tread on any night-hidden toys.

From what he could make out, Maddie seemed fine. To be sure, he lowered his face to hers and turned his head so that he could feel her breaths against his cheek. Again, fine. For a moment, he considered waking her up, but thought better of it after imagining what her reaction to the silver 'thing' in her room might be like. No, Maddie was fine as she was; peaceful, very much asleep, and probably dreaming.

Probably dreaming, in fact...of cats.

That was it! Maddie's dream - _it was the dream he'd just seen_. But why had her voice sounded so different? Simple: it was like hearing yourself talk on a tape recording. In the dream, Maddie had spoken like that because that was how her own voice sounded to her. Case closed, then, as far as _that_ particular mystery went. What was not so easily explained, of course, was the very fact of being able to see into her dream in the first place.

He looked at the ribbon. It had moved away from him, and its dance was calmer now, more sedate. "What are you?" he asked, not honestly expecting an answer. "Just what on earth are you?"

Almost as soon as the question was voiced, the thing acted. With a twirl, it looped about the room, and before Benjamin could say anything else, it had flitted out through the bedroom doorway and gone out onto the landing beyond.

Benjamin was about to give chase \- then froze. Despite the chaotic jumble of his feelings - the excitement, the trepidation, the amazement, the doubt - he was still possessed of enough common sense to know that charging around at this time of night would not be a very good idea. So he took a moment to catch his breath and compose himself, and only then did he proceed. Cautiously, he crept away from Maddie's bed and began to follow the ribbon.

When he reached the landing, he thought, at first, that the thing had disappeared. The tiny spark of dismay that rose in him did not last long, however; peering down the staircase, he was gladdened to see that the ribbon was still here. It was slinking away from the foot of the stairs, the mute light of the hallway doing nothing to deter its gleam.

Benjamin ventured carefully, descending one step at a time. Though his eyes had already become well accustomed to the dark, it was still difficult to see clearly, and what he in his haste might take as another stair could quite easily be a potential accident in disguise. Even so, he did not dawdle; there was a determination about his quarry that seemed to verge upon impatience, and he felt that if he were to lose sight of it again, then there was every chance of losing it forever.

The object made its way into the kitchen, and Benjamin caught up soon after. The windows above the sink, he noted, had not had their curtains drawn, and the place was radiant with a shy, dusky luminosity. In this new light, the ribbon appeared to gain a thousandfold in how it sparkled; and when it sailed over to the door opposite - the one that opened out to the garden - it went no further. Like a snuffling creature that suddenly finds its route barred, it waited for a moment, then tried again - except that this time, it drifted downwards, toward the bottom of the door.

Benjamin walked closer. "You want to go out - is that it?" he said.

One end of the ribbon reared up, nodded - or seemed to - and then, like a withdrawing tongue, quickly slipped away through the gap below. Benjamin, blinking like a boy who has just woken up, could only stand there and stare at the place where, a mere second ago, this most amazing... _thing_ had been present.

He felt disappointed. It was gone.

It was over.

But then he noticed that the key was still in the lock; his mother must have forgotten to remove it when closing up for the night. His heart tattooing, he approached the door, and ever-so-carefully turned the key, then the handle. _Don't creak, don't creak,_ he thought, as he pushed the door open. Thankfully, the hinges kept quiet. Outside, the fresh, dewy air of springtime in darkness hit his breaths like menthol. He closed the door as unhurriedly as he had opened it, and left it unlocked.

Beneath a sky tinctured with morning light and demure stars, the pursuit continued. The ribbon was fluttering close to the back gate now, and Benjamin knew that it would not be long before it was in the alleyway beyond. "Where are you taking me?" he asked, as the ribbon, by way of reply, flitted out between the gate and the gatepost. Benjamin, left standing, was once more faced with the prospect of crossing a threshold as quietly as he could.

The gate was high, though the uppermost bolt was easily within reach. Catching hold of it, the boy carefully pulled the bolt down. It was cold and stiff, but generally noiseless. The worst of it was a slightly jarring _clunk_ that came when the bolt was finally released, but even the strange, enveloping silence of encroaching dawn couldn't offer much strength to the sound. Letting the breath he'd been holding go, Benjamin crouched down and likewise worked the lower bolt free. Once done, he gingerly pushed the gate open - and then halted.

_What am I doing?_ he asked himself, looking back at his house. All of a sudden, he felt vulnerable and uncertain, and not a little afraid. Where was this ribbon leading him? What did he hope to find at the end of the chase? He shook his head, frowning, and was on the verge of returning home when another, infinitely more _delicious_ thought suddenly swam up.

Why shouldn't I?

In the cold twilight of early morning, his house appeared gloomy and lifeless; no haven there, nor adventure. But out here? And further? Something more; something _amazing_. Something that had intrigued him once and been lost; something that might not only give him the right answers, but the right _questions_ to go with them as well. He smiled, and before taking up the chase again, he whispered, "don't worry mum, don't worry Pete. I'm only making the best of my dream, that's all."

And then he was gone to his secret pursuit, trailing the ribbon as it coursed away to who-knew-what, while the first, fluting notes of birdsong brought a tint of daybreak to the air. He thought about checking the time, then realised that he wasn't wearing his watch. Not that it mattered, in any case; he was more concerned, at that point, with the cold, and bemoaned the fact that he hadn't had the presence of mind to put on some proper clothes. Pulling his dressing gown tighter to himself, he picked up his pace, hoping that what he gained upon his mysterious quarry might also be matched by the heat of going faster.

He was not far behind, then, when the ribbon swooped into the short narrow lane that branched off from the alleyway. This was the very same lane that led to Wandringham wood, and before long, both Benjamin and his sinuous target had reached the small, scrubby field that lay between the houses and the woods themselves. When he at last realised where the ribbon was taking him, he faltered. Up ahead, the trees loomed like thunderous clouds. The ribbon did not stop.

Benjamin, panting, leaned over, his hands on his knees. No way was he going to go into those woods. As much as he wanted to see where the ribbon was heading, it simply wasn't worth risking it in a place so dark and sinister, where every furtive sound would make him wish that he was not alone. Wandringham wood had a reputation of being haunted, too. Perhaps not by daylight, but in darkness, certainly. No, he was not going to go there, no matter what the prize.

_It isn't that I'm scared_ , he thought, as he rose back up. _It just - it wouldn't be sensible to go there. Not when it's so dark._

Besides, it had been enough of an adventure already, hadn't it? To chase this marvellous thing all the way here from his house, and brave both the temper of his mother and the secrets of the night in so doing. Yes, without a doubt, it had been quite an adventure. And now it had come to an end, as all adventures are wont to do. If he wished it to be otherwise, then he would have to attempt the woods.

And that, he had decided, was out of the question.

Nevertheless, he lingered. Amid those benighted trees ahead, amid all that gloom and murk, was a treasure fast becoming unreachable, and it seemed a shame to let it escape so easily. Hesitantly, he took a few steps forward - then stopped again. Silently, he debated with himself: should he go onwards, or go back; brave the woods, or be left wondering, perhaps eternally, at what might have come from continuing with this remarkable escapade. In truth, however, he was stalling, and deep down he knew it. With an abrupt, almost adult finality, he thought: _it's over. The game is finished and I have to go home._ _That's the end of it._

He had never been a spoilt child, and was well acquainted with the fact that some things are just not meant to be. Tonight, he had experienced something truly incredible, and he would have to be content with it as it stood. The magical ribbon aside, at least he'd been daring, and gone out at an hour of night not usually reserved for children. So it was not so bad, really. He'd met the first stirrings of dawn, and heard the earliest calls of birdsong; shared a dream with his sister, and -

\- and he was still hearing the birds.

Slowly, he began to turn around, in the hope of getting a better bearing on the sound. Although the birdsong was louder, it was not because more birds had joined the chorus; as before, the calls were sparse, as if issued by only a few. Therefore, the only reason that they could be louder was because they were coming closer.

He turned, therefore, and looked, expecting nothing more impressive than a fleeting fly-past of sparrows or starlings. But the wonders were not yet ready to cease, and the adventure, it was clear, was certainly _not_ about to end.

3

Not far behind, there approached a large ornate cage, over which a fleet of singing birds seemed to hold court. It was some six or seven feet above the ground, and, at first, Benjamin couldn't quite grasp what he was seeing. A cage? he thought; birds? What is this? Recovering his sensibilities, he soon saw that the cage was not simply floating - it was being carried by the birds, who were themselves tethered to their cargo by means of numerous, intertwining threads. Astonishingly, he could discern a passenger within the cage as well. It was difficult to make out the details, but someone was definitely there, and this someone was also singing, very faintly and very softly.

In the face of such unearthliness, the boy found himself at a loss as to what he should do. He knew he couldn't run: both the birds and their unlikely burden were directly in front of his route home, while behind him there was only the woods - and he was _not_ going to go there. There was no point in heading off to the left or the right, either; he'd be easily spotted. In fact, all he could really do was just stand there, agape, and hope that this incredible visitant turned out to be friendly.

Which maybe wasn't such a bad plan. After all, the figure certainly didn't appear to be menacing. Yes, it was strange; the strangest thing he had ever seen, in fact. But by no measure did it seem hostile. His initial shock at seeing it was probably more down to surprise than fear anyway, and with the shock now gone, what else was there to do but make the best of the situation?

Besides, it was only a dream - wasn't it? Despite the play at realness - the frosty air, the grassy scent of night-time, the chill wetness of the dew that had soaked his slippers and the lower half of his pyjama bottoms - it _was_ all still a dream, surely. Birds do not fly around carrying people in cages; ribbons do not breeze around of their own accord and show you other people's thoughts. No, it couldn't be anything but the flimflammery of the sleeping mind; marvellous, enchanting, and completely unreal.

Or so Benjamin made himself believe. Deep down, he was far from convinced.

In the meantime, the bird-borne cage had drifted even closer, and he could already perceive that the person inside was holding out some sort of rod through the bars of the cage, fisherman style. Not only that, but to judge by the shape of the figure - who, he saw, was actually sitting on a small stool - and the quality of the voice now that he could hear it better, it was plainly evident that this unusual new arrival was female.

Strangely, he felt reassured by this, and not a little emboldened. As jaded as he so often contrived to be, he was still at heart a very young boy; and like all very young boys, he was conceited enough to believe that women were not a threat. Yes, they were fascinating; yes, they could be infuriating; but they were harmless. He was sure of it.

Nevertheless, he wasn't such a fool as to think his case watertight. Females, he'd recently come to suspect, knew a great deal more than they let on, and were probably inclined to smile sweetly at certain secret things which would otherwise make any male shudder. Not only that, but _this_ particular female was obviously no ordinary female, either. A note of caution crept into Benjamin's attitude; if he was going to do anything, it was likely to be more out of bravado than boldness now.

But before he could make up his mind as to what _precisely_ he should do - wave and call out a greeting, maybe, or just stand there and think a little more - the stranger took command of the matter. Withdrawing the rod, the silhouette stood abruptly (much to the chagrin of the birds, who squawked irritably at the slight but sudden tilt in the cage) and marked the end the song with a barked exclamation of "HEY!"

Benjamin made to reply - but couldn't, as he didn't know what to say. His heart started to jackhammer.

"Hey you," came the voice again. The figure pointed at him. "You see me? Hear me? What?"

Benjamin shook his head. He lifted his hands, held the palms out, then immediately returned them to the pockets of his dressing gown. "Yes?" he replied, unaware that he'd answered with a question.

"Oh wow," called the figure. "This is - hey, will you wait a minute? One second? Listen - stay there. Don't move. Stay there - you get me?"

"Okay," said Benjamin, hoping that his voice didn't seem as weak to her as it did to himself. He shuffled his feet, both of which felt numb and heavy.

The figure looked upwards, one hand on a hip while the other flapped in a downward gesture. " _Pipifret_! _Mansole_! All of you - down! Understand? _Nixletter! Nixletter!_ "

The strange commands were clearly meant for the birds, who pulled together into a tight cluster and began to lower both themselves and the cage. "Guess you don't get the _dinnywhit_ speak, eh?" the figure said, turning once again to Benjamin. "But no matter. They -" she nodded upwards, indicating the birds "- don't get it much, either. Birdbrains - ha! Sorry."

"That's alright," said Benjamin, unable think of any better response. The stranger, he noticed, had something of a clipped yet lyrical quality about her accent; something oriental. Which would be fitting, considering that her cage, now that he could see it better, was so patently pagoda-like in design.

"The problem, my sweet-faced child, is that I have never been very good at telling jokes," the figure said, as the cage touched down. "And so you must ask: why keep telling them, eh? Good question, good question. I often ask myself the same, but the conversation just gets too predictable; it's much better, I think, to drink some tea and forget about it, yes?"

Benjamin shrugged, watching as the birds gradually took roost on the top of the cage. A moment or two later, the whole front part of the cage swung open, and the occupant was free. With small, quick steps, she shuffled over and spared no time in making herself known to him. "I'm Lilac Shun - Ray," she said, holding out a hand. "That's Lilac zed, haitch, ee, en, are, ee, eye. Lilac Zhenrei; and it is an honour to meet with you, sir."

Lilac Zhenrei was a petite, pretty young woman of Far Eastern looks and Far Eastern style. She was dressed in a silky two piece suit, darkly greenish in hue, that was embroidered with a gold confusion of clouds, whorls and dragons. Her black hair was not too long nor too short, and had been pulled back into a frizzy, puffed-out ponytail. Her smile was warm, and her jet-black eyes glittered with good-humoured mischief. Benjamin's inkling that she had been carrying a fishing rod was also confirmed; tucked under her left arm, in the manner of a swagger stick, was the very same article, albeit much smaller than anything like those used by his uncle Terry. As for the other paraphernalia, it consisted only of a satchel at her side and a long trumpet-like object strapped across her back. When she crooked an eyebrow, it somehow managed to turn her unfaltering smile into the knowing welcome of a long-time friend. It was almost as if he had known her all his life.

"So?" she asked impatiently. "Are you gonna shake hands with me this year, or the next? But take a decade or so to think about it first; I wouldn't want to rush you."

"Oh, sorry," said Benjamin, clasping her outstretched hand with one of his own and shaking it as asked. Her palm was cool and very soft; her grasp gentle but firm.

"Thank you," said Lilac Zhenrei, unclenching her hand and then flapping it as if something nasty had been left on the fingers. "Though if I'd wanted kelp, I'd have asked for it," she continued, pulling an exaggerated frown.

"Kelp?" asked Benjamin, still as confused - as _unbelieving_ \- as ever.

"Your shake," she said, pointing sharply at Benjamin's offending hand - which, embarrassingly enough, he was still holding out. "It's flaccid. Like seaweed. Hence kelp. See?"

Benjamin hastily drew his arm back to his side. "Oh. Another joke," he said, hoping it didn't sound too sarcastic. Thankfully, it seemed to go unnoticed by the lady, who, with her arms now folded, was quietly regarding him by means of a slightly sidelong gaze.

"Well, child," she finally said. "Have I got some questions for you! Tell me - have you ever crossed the _Amar Imaga_? Or been to _Niamago_? Ever met with an _atulphi_ before?"

_Ammar-what?_ Benjamin thought; _Niya-who?_ "Um - no," he said.

"Right," she said. "Do you know of the dream-depths? Or the land of sweet visions? Anything?"

Benjamin shook his head. "No," he said.

"Hm. What about the _tulphic silfs_? Know what they are? We call them _silfs_ for short."

"No."

Lilac Zhenrei sighed, and with a finger tapping at her lips she considered for a moment. "Okay," she said at last. "Do _you_ know what you are?"

The question threw him utterly. Was it a supposed to be a trick? Or was it proof, by virtue of its sheer absurdity, that all this _was_ a dream? Benjamin didn't know, and, more confused than ever, he could only reply with: "A boy, I suppose."

"Yes, yes, yes, I know you're a boy. Okay -" she paused again "- I'll ask you what I should have asked in the first place, then: what is your name?"

Benjamin hesitated. Despite being a child whose years could now be counted in double figures, he was still young enough to feel distinctly uncomfortable when it came to giving out more information than seemed necessary to an unrelated grown-up. Yet at the same time he felt sure that if the woman really meant him harm, then he would have already picked up on it. Therefore, in the true spirit of encroaching maturity, he decided upon a supremely adult compromise: "Benjamin," he replied, and said nothing else.

"Benjamin what?"

Well, she'd caught him there. "Crosskeys," he mumbled, feeling a little defeated. As ever, he'd proven powerless in the face of adult authority; it was too much like talking to a teacher.

"Benjamin Crosskeys," the woman repeated, frowning. "No, I haven't heard it."

"Sorry," said Benjamin.

"Pah," spluttered Lilac, dismissing the completely unwarranted apology with a sharp flick of her hand. "Doesn't matter. _I_ know what you are, even if you don't; and an artist is still an artist even if he never picks up a brush. But I have to ask: what brings a boy like you out here when boys like you are normally asleep?"

Benjamin puffed out his cheeks. _What was she going on about?_ "Dunno," he replied, as much to himself as to the woman. Then, as his thoughts caught up with what she'd asked, he said, "Oh - yeah. There was this thing. I found it in my sister's room. I was out here following it when you -"

"Aha!" Lilac Zhenrei's eyes sparkled. "This thing - what did it look like?"

"A big ribbon." Benjamin briefly held his hands wide apart, like a boastful angler. "This big, maybe. And all shiny and floating around."

"Colour?"

"Oh. Silver."

"Silver," said Lilac, gazing upwards for a second. "Interesting. Did you touch it?"

"Yes," said Benjamin.

"Well?"

"Oh," said Benjamin again. "I saw - I think I saw my sister's dream."

"Of course you did," said Lilac, taking hold of the rod that was tucked under her arm. When it was free, and held upright, she wound at the reel for a moment, lowering both the line and the small dark object that hung from it. "What did it mean to you?"

"Mean?"

"Yes," she said, looking at the device rather than Benjamin. "How did it make you feel."

Benjamin rubbed at his brow. "I don't know," he said. "Like I'd seen it before. But when I touched it - it was different."

"How?" said Lilac, averting her gaze from the fishing rod. She looked at Benjamin intently.

Benjamin shook his head. "I - really, I don't know," he said, sighing. "This is all so weird. I'm very tired, and - and I think I need to go back to bed."

Lilac Zhenrei flicked a finger against the small pendulum, which immediately came alight with a subdued, fiery glow. "You felt wise, didn't you? Like you'd learned something."

"Yes," said Benjamin, before fully realising that the woman had pinned it down exactly. He _had_ felt like he'd learned something; but it was something elusive, as if it was not really meant for him. "And no," he continued, his face downcast. "Not completely."

Lilac walked closer and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Too much for one so young to take in, I think," she said, smiling again. "And too much yet to say for a night so near to its end. Pity. You have the eyes, Benjamin. You have the _gift_."

"The gift?"

"Never mind," she said. "Listen. I'm going to ask one more thing of you. Then you can go home."

"Okay," said Benjamin, with some relief ... and just a little sadness, too. As baffling as the whole adventure had turned out to be, he was sure that he'd miss it when it was all over. Not only that, but the idea that it could all turn out to be a dream had suddenly become dreadful to contemplate. The world at large, he thought, _deserved_ magic such as this; it would add so much to its meagre stock of promises. And it was no use pinching himself in order to find out for sure, either; he'd tried it many times before, in many other dreams, and it had always proved useless.

"Now, those trees," said Lilac, pointing to Wandringham wood. "The _silf_ \- the ribbon, as you say - it went that way, right?"

"Yes," said Benjamin, turning back to look at the dark, forbidding woodland. He hoped sincerely that the lady wasn't going to ask that he go there; the place was still out of bounds as far as he was concerned, and her presence, bold and commanding though it was, had done nothing to change the situation in that respect.

"Good, good," she muttered, as if thinking out loud. "And I would expect that the proximity of my _emberquick_ -" She glanced at the luminous object at the end of the fishing line "- has caused it to dawdle. In which case, Benjamin, you must call out to our silf, so we can see and be sure, yes?"

"Call it?" said Benjamin. It was an odd request - but better than what he was expecting.

"Yes. Call it. Use your mouth or your head. Anything. Just use your _gift_ , boy."

He was about to ask her about this 'gift', but the set look on Lilac's face soon put paid to that idea. So he gave the tiniest of shrugs, the barest example of a sigh, and brought as much attention as he could muster to the matter at hand.

But only for a moment.

"Um, miss?" he asked, turning back to the lady, his right hand raised slightly. "What do you want me to say to it?"

"Summon it," she said, glaring with exasperation. "Like a - like a lost dog, you know? You throw your stick too far, and the dog chases it too far; so what do you say? What do you _think_?"

"Oh. I get you," said Benjamin, resigned to the lunacy of it all. He returned his gaze to the woods ahead, trying to see if the ribbon was still visible. It wasn't - but he had the feeling that it was of little consequence anyway. "Ribbon?" he shouted, instantly embarrassed by what he'd just uttered. "Ribbon?" he called again, even more embarrassed. "Come back, will you? Come on. Come back," he cried, half-certain by now that Lilac was playing some sort of crazy joke on him.

But she wasn't. In fact, she appeared to be taking the whole event extremely seriously. Crouched down a few steps ahead of him, she peered at the trees with all the intensity of a front line soldier. While she watched, she kept the rod and line aloft, the luminous bait - the _emberquick_ , as she'd called it - swinging gently in the air before her. "Carry on," she whispered loudly, once she realised that Benjamin wasn't calling any more. "Keep at it, boy. If you don't want to speak, then use your mind. Just _don't let it go!_ "

"Right," said Benjamin, and he renewed his efforts at summoning the ribbon. As per the lady's advice, he called with his thoughts this time, and immediately felt much more comfortable doing so. It didn't last long, though; soon, enough fruitless seconds had passed to make Benjamin wonder if the constant mental recital of come back, come here, hey ribbon, come back was really worth the bother. But before he could ask if there was any point in continuing, something happened: Lilac, drawing the rod upwards, reached over with her free hand and carefully, cautiously, pulled the trumpet-like object from the large case that was slung across her back.

"What is it?" Benjamin said, when he saw that the trumpet-like thing was actually a blunderbuss \- an ornate rifle whose barrel funnelled out into a cone. The lady didn't reply, but then again, she didn't need to. The answer came with the sudden outbreak of _movement_ within the outlying coppices of Wandringham wood.

Benjamin made a noise of startled surprise, a combination of cough and hiccup that would have been laughable in any other situation. As for Lilac, she was already galvanised; it was almost as if she'd been expecting it. Tucking the rod under her arm (which would have ordinarily been an awkward task for anyone else, yet she accomplished it in the blink of an eye) she brought her weapon to bear on the area of the woods that seemed most afflicted by the disturbance, and shouted, _"Run, boy! Now!"_

Benjamin should have needed no second encouragement; it would have been a perfect opportunity to put all this madness behind him. But when he saw the ribbon swoop out of the woods he was instead struck by a sudden elation. It's worked, he thought, jubilant; I summoned it, and it came. He did not, however, get the chance to call out to the lady and tell her that there was nothing to be afraid of, because the lady herself was too quick in yelling first: "It's too late!" she cried, the sight of the ribbon doing nothing to assuage her alarm. "We're seen. Get away, boy - GO!"

"I don't underst-" he said - and stopped, when he realised that although the ribbon had attained a fair distance from the woods, the rustling agitation in the trees behind it was still continuing. "What is it?" he mumbled, unaware that he had taken a few steps backwards. Whatever it was that was causing the commotion, it couldn't be good; the birds roosting on top of the cage squawked madly, flapping and jostling in manifest panic; Lilac Zhenrei was already retreating, her gaze and the weapon resolved upon the source of the disturbance - resolved, that was, until the rod slipped from her arm and became caught up in her legs. She stumbled, still gripping the blunderbuss, and fell with a sharp and murderous cry of "NO!"

The noise of their mistress' distress seemed the breaking point for the birds: screeching, they began to rise, making a tangle of the threads as they pulled the rocking, shuddering cage upwards. Benjamin, distraught at the idea of leaving Lilac without her only means of escape, instantly ran for the cage, in the hope that he might catch hold of it before it was beyond reach. Admittedly, if the birds were strong enough to carry both her and the cage, then they'd find little trial in spiriting Benjamin clean from the ground also; but then again, his extra weight could be just what was needed to slow them down, and so give Lilac some time to catch up. With only another stride to go before the rapidly rising cage was within his grasp, Benjamin looked behind, back towards the woods.

Where the horror, crashing through the last outgrowths of foliage, was at last made abundantly, _hideously_ clear.

4

It was twisted and lumbering - but fast; it loped out of the woods, hissing, and immediately made for both Benjamin and the struggling Lilac.

The boy, frozen with alarm, could hardly bear to look at it, despite the fact that his gaze seemed unable to fall on anything else. When first glimpsed, he'd thought it was just a clown that he'd not seen quite right; a second later, and he saw differently. This was no trick of tired eyes and poor light. Far from it, in fact.

It was indeed a clown - but a clown taken to new levels of bizarrerie and nastiness. Its body - mottled by a pattern of harlequin diamonds that seemed more akin to the scales of an adder-snake than anything else - was long and oddly distended, as were its limbs; the overall impression was that of a huge, flailing marionette which had somehow come to life. As with all clowns, the face was painted; but here, with the head so thin and elongated, the effect of the makeup was truly monstrous: the slit eyes - uncomprehending, _blind_ almost - appeared evil under the garish scrawls of colour that caked the brow; the red bulb of a nose fungus-like against the corpse-belly pallor of its skin. Surrounding the mouth was a scarlet crescent that only served to make the vast, idiot grin within appear even more vast and idiotic, and it bore its array of appalling fence-row teeth with the all simple-minded purpose of the unflinching lunatic.

The size of perhaps two men in length, it scrambled towards them on all fours - though not in the way that an animal or a crouching human might. Instead, it seemed to _flow_ into the step ahead, as if there were something distressingly liquid, or unset, about its form. In shape, it was spiky, grotesquely spiderish; in its demeanour, much the same. And just in front of it there sailed the ribbon - sinuous, graceful - and it took only a moment for Benjamin to register that it was this very item that the clown was after.

He would have called out to Lilac then, but for the cage; before he even fully realised it, the edge of the lower deck met his palm, and he grasped instinctively. Immediately, he was pulled skyward, and not wishing to lose his grip, he swung his other hand up and caught hold of one of the bars. Surprised by this new addition to their payload, the birds screeched in protest; the cage dipped a little, but remained aloft. Soon, Benjamin was equally aloft, and rising. The birds, as suspected, had found it easy to accommodate the extra weight; within seconds, there was close to half a metre of air between the ground and the dangling feet of the boy above.

Benjamin, already aware of how fast he was ascending, should have wasted no time in alerting Lilac \- who was now back on her feet and taking aim at the monster - but instead he paused, suddenly distracted. A peculiar sensation had forced its way through his fear, a sensation not entirely unlike the one which had occurred when in contact with the ribbon. He was overcome, once again, with a feeling of _understanding_ ; he became aware of peculiar new sights and insights, just at the rim of his imagination. Preferring to dismiss it all as the effects of panic, Benjamin shook the feelings off as best he could, and hauled himself further into the cage. As he struggled to bring his left knee to bear upon the deck, he turned back to Lilac and, without any further thought, shouted:

" _Hurry! The birds are going up. There's no-"_

But it was at precisely the wrong moment. Lilac fired the blunderbuss - which discharged in a storm of electric-blue sparks - just as he issued the warning, and the interruption startled her. The report was deafening; the birds tumbled into one another, squawking, and the cage lurched brutally, the door swinging to and fro. Lilac, knowing at the instant that she'd missed, retreated with a sound of spluttered frustration and made for Benjamin with her head bowed and her fingers at work on the rifle. The clown had dodged the attack easily; with terrifying speed, it had leapt to the height of a house, flipped, and then come back down to earth with all the agility and ambush-ready precision of a panther. Benjamin's cry of alarm, it seemed, had achieved nothing except offer a smidgen of extra distance between himself, Lilac and the monster.

To the boy's relief, the lady did not offer any form of rebuke. As if realising that she'd forgotten both her _emberquick_ and the _silf_ \- which was now busy coiling itself about the tangle of line and rod just a few yards away - she instead hastened back a few paces, tucked the blunderbuss under her arm, and with no undue ceremony snatched the bundle up from the ground. Sprinting back, she pulled the ribbon free from the tangle and began the labour of stuffing it into her satchel with the only hand available. The clown, bounding ever nearer, hissed again, as if suddenly enraged. Lilac did not look behind.

Benjamin, at last attaining a foothold in the cage, stood up breathlessly. The door was still swinging wildly, the cage itself turning on its axis, sometimes to the left, sometimes to the right. Seeing how close Lilac now was - and seeing also that it would take only seconds before the cage was beyond her reach - he tottered forwards, pushed the door aside, and kept his hand there. The lady, seeing this, shrugged the satchel free and threw it the boy. Her aim, in this instance, was true; it hit him in the stomach, and though the weight was light and the force behind it minimal, he still couldn't prevent himself from doubling up. Automatically, his free arm curled round to take hold of his belly, and in the process it managed to snag the satchel by its strap. A moment later, and the rod hit the cage also - but failed to find purchase. Only about a quarter of its length made it onto the deck; after that, it slipped away, falling back down to the ground to a dismayed _"Gah!"_ from Lilac.

Hauling the satchel over his own shoulder, Benjamin stole a glance at the clown and saw that it had gained enormously. A few more lunges, perhaps, and it would be upon them. And then? He dared not wonder. Instead, he focused all his attention on Lilac; she was only a step or so away by now, and preparing to throw the blunderbuss. _"Don't miss this one, boy,"_ she cried, panting. _"Get ready!"_

She launched the rifle javelin style, and Benjamin - absolutely determined that he should not fail her - intercepted it with relative ease. But just as he was about to consider what he should do next, the cage suddenly tilted, and he found himself lurching towards the edge. His stomach leapt. Something collided lightly with his legs (a small footstool, to judge by the brief glimpse he caught) and toppled over the deck; just beneath him, a timorous female voice issued a yelp of surprise. Benjamin, with one hand still clasped to the door and the other clutching the gun to his chest, kept his feet planted as firmly as possible, and did as much as he could to keep his balance in tune to the pitch and yaw of his surroundings. Now on its downswing, the cage juddered again, but Benjamin was ready for it. A second later, and the cause of all the commotion was made clear: two sets of fingertips, clamped to the edge of the deck for dear life - just as his own had been only moments earlier - followed by the head and heaving shoulders of Lilac Zhenrei. Hooking a plimsolled foot over the threshold, the woman clambered up the framework with astounding ability, not coming to rest until an arm was safely knotted to a bar and her feet were at tiptoes upon the slight overhang that divided the entrance of the cage from the drop below. _"No time,"_ she bellowed, her face flustered, her free hand outstretched. "My gun - _now!_ "

Benjamin didn't dawdle. He flung the blunderbuss at her, and she snatched it away almost as soon as it left his grasp. To his horror, Lilac then released her grip and fell from the doorway.

" _No,"_ said Benjamin, neither knowing nor caring if the word came out as a scream or a whisper. Yet his distress was short lived. Looking down, he saw two feet wedged between the bars either side of the entrance. _Plimsolled_ feet. Lilac, as it turned out, hadn't fallen - she was with him still, only _hanging upside down outside the cage_.

As to why she was doing so, it was soon made clear: the clown - which Benjamin then noticed as an abrupt movement at the edge of his vision - had jumped. At that very moment, it was in flight, a mere breath away from catching hold of the cage. The boy gasped - then staggered as another ear-splitting report brought cloudless thunder to the night.

A cascade of electric-blue sparks struck the beast. Where they hit exactly, Benjamin couldn't say; by the time he was even vaguely cognisant of what had just happened, the monster was spinning away from him. Trailing both a cloud of inky black smoke, and a wail that the boy could only liken to the noise of the air-raid sirens he sometimes heard in old war films, the creature plummeted back down to the ground, becoming lost to the weave of shadow and sodium lit avenues of the world below. With the monster now gone, there came an brisk and triumphant shout of _"Hah!"_ from the woman hanging underneath, who immediately followed it with: "Hey, boy - you still there? Speak to me, please."

Benjamin tried to reply, but found that his throat was too clotted. He gave an _ahem_ , then said: "Fine. Still here. I'm okay, I think."

"Good," came the voice once more. "Now, keep that door open, will you? I need to get back up. Let me see your hand there, child!"

"Right," said Benjamin, realising that he'd retreated to the rear of the cage. It only required a single, somewhat shaky, step forward, and Lilac's request was fulfilled. With all the ease and agility of a gymnast, she curled herself upwards, took hold of the bars, and hoisted herself up to the entranceway. Gazing skyward, she called to her birds - _"Naffapret - go on! Slipfrit, Hammerty; be calm my darlings."_ \- then joined Benjamin within the confines of the cage, pulling the door to a clanging close as she crossed the threshold.

"Well," she said, shooing the boy aft with - typically enough - a flapping hand. " _That_ was not expected. And I say so as someone who once dated Folding Cecil."

"What was that thing?" Benjamin asked, the lady's flippancy compounding his shock. It was, for all the world, as if she'd just gotten rid of an irritating house-guest rather than a monster. Even in the way she looked - a slight sheen of perspiration on her skin, a few stray hairs at her fringe - there was nothing that really spoke of the daring and danger of the events involved. Rather, it seemed as if she'd simply resolved a tiresome but mundane task, such as washing the dishes or mowing the lawn - the kind of task, in fact, that anyone might reasonably expect to face day in, day out.

"Leopold," she said, lowering herself so that she came to a rest on her haunches. With such limited space within the cage, it meant that Benjamin had to shuffle even further back to accommodate her. "Though some call him _Papascrill_. Or _Peter Rot_." She paused, taking a moment to gaze out at the vista - which was now more sky than land \- beyond the cage. She had her blunderbuss slung across her knees, and her fingers drummed absently against the stock and the barrel as she reflected. "But most of us know him as the _warpclown_."

"Warpclown," Benjamin repeated.

"Uh-huh. And you know what else? He's an atulphi too - like me."

"Like you?" said Benjamin, in the manner of someone striving to get a punchline. The idea that this cool, fearless lady could be even remotely akin to that horror was laughable, surely.

"Okay. Maybe not like me," she said, looking up at him and flashing a smile. " _I_ don't try so hard to be funny."

Benjamin, though still numb from the conflict, smiled in return. It was a pretty good joke, he had to confess. And a reassuring one, too.

"There!" she said. "See? I knew I wouldn't lose your smile for long. It's good to have you back, boy."

The boy in question, lost for an adequate response, made a small noise in his throat instead. In need of some further assurance that the danger had well and truly passed, he asked if creature was dead.

"No," said Lilac. "I didn't have enough charge in Mr. Personality here." She patted the blunderbuss fondly, as though it were a pet. "Besides which, the hit was skewed. So he's still alive, alas."

"And down there," said Benjamin, turning to watch the townscape below. All his fears of the clown dissipated when he saw how high they had already come; and fresh fears came anew when he remembered that there was only a thin deck between himself and what would be a very protracted fall. Fighting it, he forced himself to remain as collected as possible, doing his utmost to ignore the fact that the only thing keeping him aloft was a small flock of birds, and resolving to keep his eyes set firmly upon anything that wasn't outside. Which was difficult, considering the tininess of the cage.

"Are you all right?" asked Lilac.

"I reckon so," said Benjamin, even though he knew he really wasn't. "I suppose it's too dangerous to take me back now, isn't it? What with that...clown down there."

"Not at all," said Lilac. "He wasn't after you - or me. It was the _silf_ he wanted -" she nodded to the satchel, which stirred in the corner of the cage as though stuffed with restless animals "- not us. You'll be safe, I assure you."

"Oh," said the boy. Somehow, the news hadn't turned out to be as welcome as he thought it might.

"Or," said Lilac, pausing for effect. "I could let you come with me. To _Niamago._ What do you think?"

Of course, he knew all about the danger of accepting invites from strangers. As with most children, it had been regularly drummed into him since infancy: _don't take sweets from the stranger, don't get a lift from the stranger, and no matter what the stranger promises_ , _always say no_. It was sound advice, and Benjamin had heard enough playground horror stories involving _the stranger_ to be heedful of it. But, as he'd already surmised, Lilac was no commonplace stranger. In fact, she was no commonplace _anything_. Which made him wonder...did it make the present situation better, or worse?

And then, abruptly, he was struck by what she'd just said: _"...I could let you come with_ _me. To ny-amago..."_ So where on earth was this ny-amago place? How far away was it? How long would it take him to get there? Days? Weeks? Genuinely curious now, he asked her about it.

"Niamago is my home," she said, turning wistfully at the eastern horizon, where the first, tentative rays of the morning sun had woven a silk-sheen into the sky. "It's the land of sweet visions, set amid the corals of calling and the dream-shallows. It's a very nice place."

"How far is it?"

"Not far. It never is, not for anyone."

"How long does it take to get there?"

"To the _Amar Imaga_? Not long. After that, who knows. I can only guarantee that you won't be old and grey by the time we reach the shore."

Some reassurance that was. "Is - is it safe?" he asked.

"Is anywhere?"

"Oh."

Then Lilac looked back at him, her friend-winning smile writ large. "I jest. Yes, it is safe. And you would be made very, very welcome."

"Why?"

"Because you are of the _dreamshade_ , Benjamin."

5

Much calmer now, Benjamin took to the role of reposeful passenger with enthusiasm. The birds above, too, had settled somewhat; meeping softly, they carried their cargo with nary a waver in attitude or bearing. In all, it was a fairly comfortable mode of travel, and though there wasn't much in the way of space, the boy was quite ready to believe that he could get used to it.

Even the terrifying heights at which he was travelling had their benefits. The air, for example, was so refreshing up here. Minty, almost. And, surprisingly, not that cold either. Perhaps it was the magic of the cage that kept him warm; considered alongside all recent events, the idea was certainly not as outlandish as it should have seemed. Or maybe, after having faced such terrors, his mind had become greedy for the tranquil, and was therefore content to suffer any illusion provided it was amiable.

Well, whatever. All he knew was that he'd eventually agreed to accompany the lady to this Niamago place - for there were too many questions that needed answering by then - and had decided that there was nothing to be gained by any further fretting. Besides, it was only a dream anyway - wasn't it? No need to worry what will happen to your family when they discover an empty bed in the morning; not when you know that you will awaken there, safe and content, when the adventure is over.

In any case, there were better, less troubling things to think of: the view, the destination, the moment. And Lilac, of course, who was currently preoccupied with a large sheet of paper that was draped across her lap. She had described it as a map when she'd first pulled it free of the satchel (at which the silf had reared up inquisitively, only to be patted impatiently back down) though it was quite unlike any map Benjamin had ever seen before. For a start, it didn't appear to show any countries or landmasses; instead, it seemed more akin to some sort of constellation-chart. Secondly, there was no writing upon it that he could determine, only various lines of what looked to be mathematical formulae. The boy had asked about it, naturally enough; in fact, he had so much to ask - about everything, and not just the map - that it had warranted a raised finger and hard glance from the woman to stem the interrogation. _"Rest,"_ she had said to him. _"You're still panicked, child, even if you don't feel it. And all this babble will only make you feel worse. We'll talk in time, I promise. Until then, concern yourself with the stars and the sky and the air, and let me find our way home."_

It had proven to be good advice, as it turned out. Then, at last, Lilac looked up, scrutinised the sky for a moment, and gave a small nod, as if to say, _There!_ She promptly rolled the map up, set it down beside her and folded her arms. Still sitting cross-legged upon the deck, she took a deep breath, and said "Begin!"

"Um," said Benjamin, not knowing really where to start. He had become more relaxed than he'd thought, and his mind had drifted. Before he could utter anything else, Lilac began for him.

"Right," she said. "I'll start you off, and I'll start with this: when you see me, am I clear or faint?"

Benjamin shrugged. "Clear, I suppose."

"No 'I suppose' about it. I'm either clear or I'm not. So which is it?"

"Clear."

"Good. And let's not have any more of this 'I suppose' business, okay?"

"Okay."

And then, abruptly, the conversation stopped. An awkward silence ensued, until Lilac, making an exasperated 'hurry up' gesture, said "So ask me, then!"

"Oh. Ask you what?"

The lady tutted, rolled her eyes. "Ask me why I asked if I looked clear to you."

"Um," said Benjamin again, lost as to where the conversation might be progressing. Already, he was coming round to the idea that it might've been better to have not asked her anything at all, and just let whatever was to happen pass on by. When he finally complied, and spoke what she wanted him to speak, he made sure that his tone was a close as possible to the one employed when forced into apologising to his sister for some small, trifling slight (such as offering a light-hearted threat to one of Maddie's dolls). "Why did you ask if you looked clear to me," came the words, dully.

"Because if you didn't," said Lilac, falling back into the conversation as if there had been no interruption whatsoever, "then you would not be a dreamshader. Sure, some people - _sensitive_ people - catch glimpses of us. Usually out of the corner of an eye. They used to think of us a fairies, or -" and she snorted disdainfully at this point "- little people. But we _atulphi_ are nothing of the sort. Just a bit different, that's all."

Benjamin was ready for the cue, but found himself stumped as to what he should ask next. Should it be _"What is an atulphi, then?"_ or _"How, exactly, are you different?"_ Determined that he should not become a victim of his own confusion once more, he instead blurted out the next question that arose in his mind. "What is a dreamshader?" he said, hoping that he'd not dallied long enough to incur further flapping motions from his cool but admittedly waspish host.

"A dreamshader is someone - a _human_ someone - who is capable of transfiguring the tulphic silfs without material aid. Dreamshaders are also the only people who continue to see us throughout their lives, and they are rare. We've not had one in Niamago for...oh, ages, I think."

Nope. He had absolutely no idea what she was going on about. "How do we do it?" he asked, simply because he couldn't think of anything better to say. "I mean, transfigger these -" he stole a glance at the satchel "- silfs. How does it work?"

"I like that," said the lady. "You said 'we', not 'they' or 'dreamshader'. And you who have the dreamshade about you are always sure of what you are, even if you're not really aware of it. As to how you people do what you do...I don't know. But it's in you. It's intrinsic."

"Is that why you asked me to call it?" Again, he glanced at the restless satchel. "I mean, this silf thing. It obeys me?"

"Oh yes. And more."

"More," Benjamin repeated, letting the word trail off. He thought back, to when he'd first seen the ribbon, and recalled how weirdly _responsive_ it had been. And yes, it had indeed obeyed him - or so it seemed - later on in the proceedings, when he'd summoned it back from the woods. But what did it all mean? That the silf was _alive_?

"Unsure," said the lady, once Benjamin had voiced the question. "I would say yes, but then I am so easily charmed by pretty things. A few others think not; they suppose them to be essentially lifeless objects that are infused with a kind of reactive _anima_. In truth, child, most of us do not waste time chewing stones over it; just as you, I expect, would not ponder much upon the trees and plants which give you your air and food."

_Air and food_ , the boy thought, latching on to the insinuation; _trees and plants_. "So you'd die if the silfs weren't around, is that it?"

"Absolutely. But the silfs don't simply bring food to us; from them comes everything we hold dear: our homes, our cities, our civilisation itself. Even this carriage we sit in: it was all distilled from the silf-stuff."

Something clicked inside Benjamin's head at that point, and he found himself recalling the strange sensations that had occurred when he first climbed into the cage. If he was to press his hand to the bars - or any part of the structure - would the same thing happen again? Would he still feel imbued with some faint insight that lingered between knowing and not-knowing? Lightly, he brought his fingertips to rest against the floor, and closed his eyes for a while.

It was still there, but subtler now, like a noise in the background which seems loud at first, but falls to a near-silent drone once the listener gets used to it. Lilac, who had been watching him, smiled to herself. "You feel it, don't you," she said, when she saw a similarly self-absorbed smile arise on the face of the boy.

"I do," said Benjamin, opening his eyes. "What is it?"

"A remnant. A residue of the potentials inherent in the silfs used to build it. Dreamshaders past have always said they can sense them. We don't know why."

The boy nodded slowly, as if allowing it time to sink in. "Where do the silfs come from?" he asked.

"From you. From everyone in your world. Every time you dream, a silf comes into being, like a shoot arising from well-tended earth. Most are small - minnows, really - and fade as fast as the dreams which delivered them. But when there is a _great_ dream, one which -"

"I know that," interrupted Benjamin, unconsciously raising an arm out of schoolboy habit. "It's a dream you don't forget, isn't it. A dream that makes you... _think_ more."

Lilac grinned, and slapped her hands together. "Yes. A dream that makes you a bit more grown-up; though if being more grown-up equates to more thinking, then trust me child, the theory is about as likely as me making a good joke. But I understand what you are saying. Really, I do. A great dream is the one that leaves you _changed_."

In hearing such a deep and private idea confirmed, Benjamin warmed ardently to the subject. "In my first great dream, there were fireworks, and I could command them," he said, the words coming out in a torrent. "I could make them do - do _anything_. So I made them take me higher - because I could ride them too - and they took me high, _way_ high, into the sky. But there were all these stars there, and they never came closer; and when I looked back -" he paused, his tone quieting a touch "- when I looked back, and saw how far away I'd gone from them - the fireworks - I felt...afraid. But not scared. Not really. Just lost. And small."

"But you learned something important, yes?" said Lilac softly.

"I did. I learned that everything - all the world, the countries, the people in it - were too much for me. It was all just too _big_. And no matter how hard I tried at things, or how good I was, it wouldn't make any difference. But I didn't feel _bad_ about it. I wasn't sad, or anything. Because I knew that if it was okay for me - if I could keep on doing what I liked doing - then that would be good enough. It was what made me special. It was what made me _different_."

"If only I could dream the way you do," said the lady, staring pensively at nothing. Then, with a slight sigh, she looked over to the satchel and said, "when you touched that silf, you told me you saw your sister's dream -"

"Yes. I did."

"So what _exactly_ did you see?"

"Um - cats. Lots and lots of cats. Maddie - that's my sister, she's four - really likes them. They were all over her room, and talking. And she was there as well, but they kept on ignoring her."

"Do you remember what the cats were saying?"

"No. It was all in some weird language."

"Hm," said Lilac thoughtfully. "Cats. I wonder what we could get from that. Was there anything else?"

Benjamin shrugged. "Well, the cats were doing things that people would normally do, like reading papers and stuff. Some were waiting for a bus, which is strange 'cos they were on the windowsill. The room looked massive. And - oh yeah! - I _heard_ Maddie, but never saw her."

"Curious," said Lilac.

"Guess so. I could hold that silf for you again, if you want," he said, turning also to the satchel. "Find out more about it, or something I didn't see the first time."

Lilac shook her head. "No need. You got the important stuff, I'm sure. The rest would be too trivial to be worthwhile."

"Why don't _you_ have a look? You know more about all this than me anyway."

The lady held out her hands, palms up, and with a faintly downcast expression, said "I can't. _We_ can't. Only those of the dreamshade see, my child. Not us."

"Oh," came the response. And somewhere, deep-down, Benjamin felt a kind of guilty elation at the news. He was significant, it appeared; possessed of a wonderful and unique capability. Yet the very people that would benefit most from it - Lilac's people - were bereft of the talent. Many times had he heard the phrase 'bittersweet moment'; and only now did he know what it meant.

"Sometimes we can tell by the colours," the lady continued. "The silfs come in many shades. Silver, like the one we caught tonight, often resolves into small luxuries, or liquids. Gold might bring food and light. Duller hues frequently offer raw materials. But it's not an exact science. We get a _lot_ of surprises." She then raised an arch eyebrow. "A dreamshader could tell us the dreams that forged these silfs, you know. And much more besides."

"Is that what you'd like me to do? Help you find out what you might get from the silfs?"

"It depends on if you want to stay," said Lilac.

Benjamin swallowed hard and shook his head. "I don't think I can," he said.

The lady laughed. "Don't worry. You won't be bound to us. You could come and go as you please. But this is your first trip, and I'm sure you'll want to stay awhile. Especially when you see what your gift can really do for the people of Niamago."

"And what would that be?" he asked, intrigued - yet oddly afraid - at what he might hear.

"To take a silf - _any_ silf - and draw out the potentials without any need for distillation. Quite simply, child, you can transform the silfs into many different things, and it requires nothing of you but mere will. Of course, you'll feel tired afterwards - _exhausted_ , even - but I doubt it will deter you much. Besides, certain laws - like, say, those of thermodynamics - are a little looser in my realm. A little more _uncertain_. But always good fun."

Benjamin stared at the satchel. "So that silf in there-"

"Don't think it," said Lilac, cutting him off. "Else our carriage is liable to be filled with who-knows-what in an instant, and it would become very uncomfortable. When we get to Niamago, there'll be plenty of opportunity to put your gift into play. In the meantime, enjoy the anticipation; it's always the best part of anything, I find."

"Well, okay," said Benjamin, not wholly convinced by the lady's theory regarding his present predicament. He'd seen too many schooldays drag for what seemed an eternity before the bell rang for home time, and the final few days leading up to Christmas Eve had more often than not been tortuous (though in that particular instance, he did have to confess that it was not _always_ so tortuous). Nevertheless, he was hungry to test this so-called gift, and not just because he wanted to see what would result when he pressed his will upon the silf. More than anything, it was the possible confirmation of _power_ that engrossed him the most; the idea that he was not as ordinary as he had always supposed. And though he hardly dared to believe that what Lilac had told him was true - though why she should lie, he didn't know - he was still eager to find out for himself, and thus put an end to the restless, sniping doubt that was ever the inevitable companion to _waiting_.

But the boy did not ruminate upon the subject for long. A little while later, and Lilac was up on her feet and barking orders at her birds in that strange dialect. The cage, rocking, began to turn on a large arc in the air; Benjamin gripped hard upon the bars. "We're just about to translate planes," said Lilac, beaming down at him. "Are you ready?"

"Uh - I suppose so," replied the boy, understanding that even if he wasn't ready, it wouldn't make a jot of difference. Lilac would continue whether he liked it or not, and with no idea at all what this talk of 'translating planes' meant, he knew had little option but to keep his counsel and hope that she was as much an expert as she appeared.

"Good," said Lilac, taking her gaze eastwards once again. "I'm having to use the _Mirfak_ vertical, which is aligned to a very volatile aquastat. It'll be bumpy, but it's the only one available right now. The Amar Imaga is at hand, dear child; don't be disturbed by what you see outside, okay?"

"I'll try," Benjamin muttered, peering out into the silken sky, and then to the rose-burnished land below, half lost to the morning mist. And she was right: it _was_ disturbing. They were so high, so unreachable; a speck in the heavens, lost amid a nothingness which was every bit as oppressive as a cloying crowd. Then, as promised, the cage jolted - and the vision before Benjamin's eyes began to shimmer.

He blinked. The cage lurched, shuddered - and all the depth went out of the world. Suddenly, everything everywhere appeared _small_ , not huge. _Close_ , not distant. And flat, like a photograph, though one that seemed to ripple as if caught by the waves of a sea. And then he knew: there _was_ a sea out there, one that lay just behind this image - this _mirage_ \- of an English dawn. He tried to fight the idea, feeling it _wrong_ somehow. _I'm waking up,_ he thought. _I'm waking up, that's all_. But he was not: an instant later, and the image dispersed into an iridescent play of rainbows, like those seen when sunshine catches oil-slicked water; and what he was left with was not a reassuring welcome to the waking world, but a glimpse of something else entirely.

Benjamin put his hands over his eyes. His head throbbed. He muttered something, or cried it perhaps, but Lilac did not hear him. Instead, she yelled joyfully, "We're here, Benjamin. You've made it. Welcome to the sea of dreams. Welcome to the _Amar Imaga_."

6

How he had arrived here, the boy couldn't say. The best he could assume was that he'd somehow crossed dimensions, a deduction based solely on what he'd gleaned from superhero comics and Pete's collection of old science fiction videos. Either that, or it meant that there was an ocean in the sky \- which, of course, was impossible.

But wherever it might be located, there was no denying the evidence of his senses. That it _was_ an ocean was plain enough; he could see it, smell the salt air, even faintly taste it. Crisp, rolling breezes coasted off from the waves and buffeted the cage. Spume gilded swells clashed, erupting into a spray that tickled his skin with a thousand tiny chills. And yet, despite these details, it was as clear as day that this was indeed no commonplace ocean.

The Amar Imaga was a sea of strange colours. For a start, the overall hue was lighter than the greeny-greys or blues that he was more familiar with; it was milkier, as though infused with a whitish, kaolin-like pigment. Seen as a whole, the effect was unnerving; such a pale expanse should surely be the province of deserts, not oceans. Secondly, there were the pearlescent, luminous streams that could be seen to run through the water when the cage dipped close to the surface or narrowly missed a large wave. It was an effect that made the boy wonder if the sea was not so much _white_ , but comprised instead of a collection of shifting colours that only made it _seem_ white when seen at a distance - like the way the tiny, flickering elements on a television screen appear as uniform bars of red, green and blue when studied close-up, but resolve into completely different hues when watched from further away.

There was another attribute to this remarkable sea, also, though it was something which he couldn't quite bet on as being entirely real. Every now and then, some part of this Amar Imaga would appear as blurry, or undefined. It wasn't the spray, he was sure of that. In fact, it was fleeting and uncertain enough to leave him doubtful of what he was witnessing, and the boy eventually concluded that if it was not some optical illusion peculiar to this sea, then it could only be the lingering result of the crossing; the aftershock, echoing upon his eyes, of having seen his world melt away like a recoiling tide...

But at least the nausea had passed. That had been the worst part of this 'translating planes' business - or whatever it was that the lady had called it. The episode itself had been momentary; disturbing, yes, but done and over with in a blink. The resultant discomfiture had, unfortunately, not been so brief, though he was helped greatly by having fresh sea air to breathe and a companion who was generous in her soothing reassurances. Eventually, the sense of sickness eased off, and he became better. Not as well as he had been before the crossing (and even then, he had not felt that great) but definitely better, and possessed of at least a semblance of his former composure.

Lilac, naturally enough, had been left unfazed by the event, and was quick to resume her navigation once it was clear her fellow-traveller was fine. At the moment she was wholly immersed in the task, scrutinising the horizon by means of a small telescope that she had disclosed from her satchel. She didn't address him as she studied, preferring instead to hum to herself, as softly as if she were alone. And then, a little while later, the mood was broken; she lowered the spyglass, ended the song, and turned to her companion with a set, firm expression that could have been read as being either serious, faintly amused, or both.

"Benjamin," she said, her voice slightly hushed. She handed him the telescope and pointed to a nondescript portion of the seascape directly left of their current bearing. "Look over there. Tell me what you see."

Benjamin brought the device to his right eye, and did his best to comply with what the lady requested. A veteran of many icy winter eves spent watching the stars through Pete's battered old binoculars, the boy once more found it nigh-on impossible to keep the image steady. All he could see was a wobbly horizon, with nothing between the sky and sea but an edge. Or so he thought. Decreeing his efforts pointless, he was just about to give up when he noticed something _different_. It was only a glimpse, quickly lost to the sweep of his gaze, but it was enough to let him know that the scene was not as featureless as he had supposed.

Steadying the focus as much as he could, Benjamin carefully scanned again. Before long, the thing that had transfixed him was back, and held as tightly as possible within the aperture of the scope. Prior to reporting the find to Lilac, he took a second or two to observe it, so as to be sure of what he was seeing.

Far away, at the cut of the horizon, a small smudge of deep darkness made a blear of the line that normally distinguished above from below. True, the sky itself was dark; but this patch was darker still, and rent with faint, pinkish flashes. It was like watching a thunderstorm, but at a great distance - and then the boy understood that this was _exactly_ what he was witnessing.

After describing the scene to Lilac, he asked her if it was what she'd meant him to see.

"It is," she replied.

"What is it?" said Benjamin, still holding the scope to his face and the sight to his gaze.

" _Id Carnifor_ ," said the lady. "The place where our friend Leopold lives. The storms there never stop."

The boy turned to Lilac. "But you said that he was like you. An atulphi."

"He is," she said, the trace of a smile creeping into her lips. She did not look at him. Instead, she kept her stare set upon the place where this _Id Carnifor_ lay. "But that doesn't mean we can't inhabit different countries."

"Is that what it is, then? Another country?"

"A city," said Lilac, flashing a glance at the boy, her eyebrows raised. "In a land full of nightmares. Not a place for anyone faint of heart. Not a place for anyone, really."

"And Niamago is..."

Lilac chuckled. "Oh, _infinitely_ better. Trust me on that, okay?"

Benjamin nodded, and smiled back at her. Finally, he asked, "so...what are you, then? I mean - are you human? Where do you come from? "

"Me?" replied Lilac, yet again raising that mischievous eyebrow. "I'm from Peckham Rye. Well, that's where I started."

"Peckham?" said Benjamin, finding it difficult to believe that so astonishing and magical a creature could have such everyday origins. "I'm sorry. I don't get it."

Lilac laughed. "It's not a joke, my dear child. It's true. All us atulphi have our beginnings in your world."

"So why did you come here?"

Lilac Zhenrei took a deep breath, as if readying herself for some kind of confession. "So now the question arrives," she said. "Of who we are, what we are, and why we are. I cannot give you all the answers, Benjamin, because I \- _we_ \- know so little ourselves. But I shall offer you what I can."

"Okay."

"We start as companions to your kind. Sprung forth from your dreams, as are the silfs. Except the we are truly alive, and tend to stay around for a while. When those that dreamed us into being then begin to stop seeing, we come here. To our home."

"Who is it that dreams you? I mean - are you real?" asked Benjamin, who would have been completely mystified had he not felt such a strange rapport with what the lady had said. It was like being aware of a subtlety, or a hint, which he could not fully grasp, even though he was almost half-sure of its meaning.

"If you must interrupt," said Lilac, "then please have the courtesy to deal me one question at a time. Otherwise, we end up just like a pair of broken supermarket trolleys; a lot of clatter that goes nowhere, gains nothing, and ends up in a creek. Without a paddle. You get me?"

"Yeah," mumbled Benjamin.

"Okay. Now, I'll answer your second question first, because it's the easiest. Yes, we are real. You can take my word for it. If you doubt, then prove to me that _you're_ real. Understand what I'm saying?"

"Fine," said the boy.

"Good. And as to those who dream us...well, put it this way: have you ever met a human - a young human - who claims to have a companion that no-one else can see?"

"Yes," said Benjamin, suddenly aware of what it was the lady was actually talking about. "It's those kids who pretend they've got an imaginary friend. Like - like Carl Marsh, this kid I used to know. He used to say that he had a white rabbit-"

"Ha!" interrupted Lilac. "Another bloody _hurrix_. You can't get away from them back home. They're everywhere. But let me tell you something, my friend -" a note of seriousness crept into her voice "- most of those children are not pretending; what they say, and what they see, is true."

But Benjamin, somewhat preoccupied, didn't quite hear her. Abruptly, he spoke up: "The thing is...I'm sure I saw that rabbit sometimes. I think I saw it, anyway. It was ages ago. But I think I knew it was there. Would that be because-"

"Of the dreamshade?" Lilac finished. "Yes. As I have said, you are the only people amongst your kind who are capable of seeing us after childhood. You probably saw many more afterwards, I'd wager. And not just rabbits."

The boy shook his head. "No. I haven't," he began, then stopped. Could he be so certain? What about the shape he'd once seen in Mark Lemmon's back garden - the very same Mark Lemmon whose little brother professed friendship with an oddly contoured being named 'Mr. Gloamy'? What about young Stacey Wilds, and the hound he sometimes saw her with - even though her parents maintained that she never even owned a dog? And how many times, he wondered, had he actually glimpsed an atulphi - which, as Lilac had proven, could appear as entirely human - only to dismiss it as just another person? They were troubling thoughts; the kind of thoughts more suited to an adult who has seen his world-view smashed, and they made Benjamin feel uncomfortable. It all seemed too close to _madness_ for his liking.

"What _is_ strange," Lilac went on, ignoring the boy's abrupt turn to taciturnity, "is that no single dreamshader has ever spoken of having such a companion. I trust the same applies to you?"

"Oh. Yeah," said Benjamin, gathering his wits and thinking back in response to the query. "No, I never had one. Not as far as I remember, anyway."

The lady nodded. "So it goes," she said, letting that particular strand of the conversation tail off.

Eventually, Benjamin asked if the clown - Leopold - had been brought into life the same way as any other atulphi. "Because it seems weird," he said, "having an imaginary friend like that. I mean, was it some sort of sick kid who dreamed him up? Or was he okay at the start, but turned bad later?"

"I was looking forward to that question," said Lilac. "Because it's simple to answer, and makes me look good. Leopold, and all his like, are dreamed into being through _fear_ , not friendship. They begin as shady presences under the bed, or in half-open wardrobes; in old draughty fireplaces and creaking attics. They are wicked, callous creatures; as ugly in mind as they are in form. It's true that they and we are alike in essence, but there the similarity ends. _We_ leave our dreamers in genuine remorse; _they_ leave with but one regret: that they cannot spite further those who they blame for having wrought such a dismal existence upon them. Afterwards, they go to Id Carnifor; though as you have seen, some do occasionally return to impart further miseries upon the human world."

"How do they do that?" asked Benjamin. "If dreamshaders are the only people who can see them? Or -" he halted, then resumed in a more muted tone "- or is it only us _dreamshaders_ who dream them up?"

"Ask yourself, boy," responded the lady. "Did you ever fear the space beneath your bed? Or the empty wardrobe?"

Benjamin reflected for a second. "No," he said.

"Exactly. Those of the dreamshade cannot bring atulphi into the world. We don't know why, but there you go. No, the phragodols -"

"The _what_?"

Lilac, as was her wont when shrugging off an unwanted interruption, flicked a hand at him. "Our name for Leopold and his like. Phragodols. It's what we call them, okay?"

"Okay," said Benjamin meekly.

"Okay. Now, as I was saying - the _phragodols_ continue to cause misery in your world because they can. For some reason, your people - _human_ people - find it much easier to sense Leopold's kind than mine. Don't ask, as I don't know why. Maybe it's because you humans are more willing to take note of an adversary over a friend, or some melodramatic _bushwah_ like that; I don't know. The only time you people ever really get the chance to see _my_ kind - unless you're a dreamshader, of course - is at the beginning, and sometimes the end."

"The end?"

"The end. When you become _old_. Sometimes, if the chance arises, we come back to say our goodbyes to those brought us into life. Sometimes we stay with them, as company. And when our dreamer dies...we die as well."

"Oh," said Benjamin.

Lilac cleared her throat. "It's as if we need to be believed in, I suppose. There was only one atulphi who didn't die. And that was the first."

"The first?" said the boy - a little overeagerly, perhaps. The conversation had turned morose, and it ill-suited the lady. He was glad, therefore, to see the moment pass.

"The _Ruadahann_ " said Lilac, gesturing for the telescope. Benjamin returned it to her. "Dreamed into life by children when humanity itself was young," she continued. "Dreamed of yet still, and so he survives."

Benjamin repeated the name - Roo-ad-a-han - but felt nothing familiar about it.

"To some he is a gift giver; a jolly creature. To others, a mischief maker, an imp," said Lilac, as she brought the scope to an eye. "To early humans, he was a messenger, providing them with the wisdom of the gods. Later generations saw him as a raider, a trickster of the wilds. Feared by those he was said to have stolen from, loved by those who told of his generosity. Nowadays, most love him ... though plenty remain who aren't so sure."

"Who is he?" Benjamin asked.

"He's been given many names over the years," said Lilac. "By your people and mine. Odin, Loki, Robin the Hood, Pan. But most of you prefer to think of him as a jolly fat man who brings presents once a year."

"You mean Father Christmas? _Santa Claus?_ "

Lilac smiled, and the smile spoke volumes.

Benjamin was incredulous. It made no sense - or did it? When he thought a little deeper upon the subject, and began to consider the connections, then he had to confess that there was a kind of sense to it. Both the gift-giver of Yuletide and Robin Hood bestowed prizes upon the poor; both, at one time or another, had dressed largely in green. And though the boy knew little about the old Norse gods, he was sure that they had some association with mistletoe, the relevance of which needed no explaining. Even so, links do not make a chain; you also need something solid there, and Benjamin was all too aware that the connections were tenuous. Despite this, however, he had no good cause to doubt Lilac. Only a day ago, he had known that both the imaginary friends and fiends of childhood were not real. One what basis, therefore, could he presume that this Ruadahann character was not real, either?

"Being neither phragodol or one of us," Lilac went on, peering intently through the scope, "but having certain qualities of both, you won't find him in Id Carnifor or Niamago. He has his own place. An island. It usually lies between those two countries, but -" she lowered the scope and squinted "- I can't see it now."

"Are we off course?" asked Benjamin.

"No. What you have to remember, child, is that the Amar Imaga is changeable. Things aren't set. Between all the lands that bejewel her, distance is...well, erratic. Sometimes a place is close, sometimes far; it's a terror to map, but we usually get to where we want in the end. Speaking of which -" she handed the telescope back to the boy "- take a look ahead of you. See what you can see."

Benjamin did so. And, after a while, he saw of what Lilac was speaking; a faint crest of rises and dips, stark against the brightening sky. "Is that-" he said, turning to her. He did not need to finish the question.

"Niamago? Oh yes," replied the lady, beaming. And, for a while afterwards, there was no requirement to say anything more.

7

A few years ago, Pete had taken Benjamin and his family on a drive to the town of Arundel. It was part of a week's stay in the south of England, residing with Pete's mother in Portsmouth, and the fine, warm weather had seen to it that barely a day went by without some excursion or other. They went to Southsea first, and then the New Forest; afterwards, there was Arundel, and of all these outings this was the one that impressed him the most.

Approaching from the west, Benjamin had been struck breathless by what the view presented once the place was finally in sight. Here, ahead, was a hill dressed in all the finery of a medieval fortress, and crowned by the kind of ornate splendour that only such a renowned cathedral could provide; a fairytale metropolis of ramparts, keeps, battlements, spires and steeples; a hill that seemed not so much a hill, but rather a vast Byzantine citadel; a wonder that he'd only ever wondered at in stories.

Niamago, he thought, was much the same; but vaster, even more ornate, and more wonderful than he could have ever possibly supposed.

Stretching from one end of the horizon to the other, it appeared as a land composed entirely of architectural marvels; a vista of gilded peaks and tiered columns, gothic arches and traceried towers. If the centre point of Arundel had been but one such majestic hill, then this was a city of thousands. Upon every summit, a hundred cathedrals; at every mist-shrouded valley beneath, hundreds more. But the idea that this was a place filled solely with churches only went so far. As he closed in on the shoreline, and saw, with each passing moment, ever greater detail, it was soon apparent that this was a sprawl as cosmopolitan as it was luxuriant. Structures which had first seemed as gothic as any other when seen at a distance were eventually revealed as being oriental in design, or middle-eastern, or classical; some, such as the peculiar egg-shaped construction that was only just coming into view, were of a style all of their own. Many, he was surprised to see, were actually quite modern; here, a neon-gilded skyscraper, there a foundry-type edifice complete with smoking chimney stacks. In all, it was a place unbound by any unifying sense of era or fashion, where every single building was as removed from its neighbour as it was from time, and it was beautiful.

"It's amazing," Benjamin had said, as the rays of some rising sun (for he could not be sure if it was his own) gently glazed the city with morning gold.

"Isn't it," said Lilac, as if from afar. "I love it here. I think you will, too."

Benjamin nodded, his eyes still set upon the city. Then, suddenly, he squinted, as though something unexpected had taken his gaze. "What are those?" he said, pointing vaguely at some portion of the landscape ahead. "Are they birds?"

He'd seen tiny shapes flitting between the towers and spires - shapes that, despite his question, were not at all birdlike.

"Use the scope," said the lady. "But you'd be better off looking to your left, if you really want to know what they are." Just in case he'd forgotten where his left was, Lilac indicated the way for him. "Go on," she continued, when she saw that he'd finally caught notice of what it was she wanted him to see.

Numerous small specks, similar to those he'd espied just moments ago, were swooping about the sky above the Amar Imaga. In general direction, most seemed to be heading towards the city, though some were quite obviously venturing away from it. Curious, Benjamin brought the scope to his face, watched for a second, then abruptly took it away. "They're-" he began, before returning the spyglass to his eye.

"Atulphi," said Lilac.

And she was right. Magnified, it was as plain as day that beings with such outlandish methods of transport as these - and here he had Lilac Zhenrei as a touchstone \- couldn't be anything else. Firstly, there was the figure who appeared to be riding the sky on a pair of skis: he was being led, chariot-style, by two huge eagles in reins. Then there was the proud individual who stood, arms crossed and motionless, upon a spinning cone which belched out brightly coloured swirls of smoke from beneath; how he managed to not only keep his balance, _but remain completely still_ upon the device, was impossible to say. Then there was the small, thin creature who looked to be clutching the tail of a huge, paisley-patterned flying tadpole; then the man, running for dear life, within what could only be an overlarge hamster wheel - a wheel which, when the boy scanned a little way upwards, turned out to be suspended from some sort of rotund, chugging engine. Most remarkable of all was the fat fellow who didn't seem to have any means of propulsion at all, apart from that afforded by the series of regular, sparkling explosions which appeared to emanate from his feet. The man was obviously not in pain (he seemed rather gleeful, in fact) and when he wasn't in free-fall, he was being catapulted in an upward arc by yet another burst. Benjamin could only watch, agape, as marvel after marvel sailed by his gaze. It was only by dint of already having some acquaintance with spectacles of this kind that he finally allowed the scope to leave his eye. Otherwise, he felt, it was likely that he might never be able to stop himself watching.

He looked back at Lilac, in the hope of making some astonished remark, but she had turned away, and was now beckoning to a starboard-side atulphi who was gliding quite close to them. "Ichabod!" she called, as she took to her feet and gestured to the stranger with greater intensity. "Ichabod! How do, sir?"

The atulphi responded with a nod, then stood also, a large, good-natured grin on his dark face. He was a tall, barrel-chested black man who wore a light, stripy robe that put Benjamin in mind of a desert nomad, and he was travelling by method of a lengthy gondola, Italian in style, which was endowed with an array of large, undulating fins or fans on the underside. Brandishing, in one hand, a fishing-rod type device that was similar to Lilac's, and twirling a long, metallic-blue strip of material with the other, he bellowed: "Hi-yo, my intransigent finny! Have you a fine catch today?" He triumphantly held the metallic material aloft - which, Benjamin saw, was actually another silf - and shook it a little. "Can you match this, eh? A splendid azure, a stew of serenity to be. What have you now, my girl?"

Lilac snatched a glance at the boy. "It's Ichabod Dome," she said, grinning. "He's a sweet, but beware: his florid talk is contagious, and you must watch always for the hidden insults." She returned her attention to the man. "I have a song in argent, sir. And more!" she called, matching him, note for note, in haughtiness.

"Hm," came the reply, though the mouth that shaped it lost nothing in its smile. "So disclose to me the whereabouts of your emberquick. You've lost it again, yes?"

"Only because of that Gogmagog atrocity Leopold -"

"You mean old Rot?" The smile wavered, but held. "What was he doing there?"

"Ask Nitso Flange," said Lilac. "Ask Balbal Bean. They've all had run-ins with the _phraggoes_ lately."

"Indeed. I know. I trust Mr. Personality remained persuasive?"

Lilac briefly looked down, at the blunderbuss lying on the deck. "Persuasive enough," she said.

"I'm enlightened to hear it," the tall, dark man said. He then brought his gaze to bear upon Benjamin. "And what is this you have with you here? Has some unremarkable piece of phenomena pupped?"

The lady threw back her head and laughed. "Ichabod," she said. "Look at his eyes."

Benjamin, suddenly self-conscious, blinked. The atulphi opposite leaned forward, scrutinising, and the smile dropped. "By the ghost of ageless God," the man muttered. "Are you saying he has the dreamshade?"

"I need not say anything," cried the lady. "You can see it for yourself, yes?"

The man raised the fishing rod a little, so that the small item on the end of the line - which Benjamin presumed to be another emberquick - was level with his eyes. He studied the small crystal for a moment or so, then looked back at the boy. Finally, he broke the brief silence with a shout of "Ha- haaa!", and the broad, beaming smile returned. "Lilac," he said, as heartily as before. "Tis rare that you catch much, and a rarity beyond treasure that you should catch such a catch as this. And _you_ , boy -" he turned to Benjamin "- how does it feel, in having the honour of being caught by so hapless a hunter as she? Is it not as if all of everything itself seems now arranged for your benefit? That the stars of the sky might align as much to the shape of your favourite portrait? Or that the winds should scatter leaves to the design of your pimples? What say you?"

Benjamin opened his mouth, but found himself stuck for what to say. It was challenge enough deciphering Lilac's words; with this particular atulphi, it was nothing short of impossible. He stared up at the lady, and was glad to see that she was already spoiling to supply a riposte on his behalf.

"As with your sailing," she called gleefully, "you go overboard far too often. You are as a steady ship on an unsteady sea; much hot air blowing in your sails, yet you get nowhere. All bombast, no ballast; your broadsides are doomed forever to go over our heads. So begone from us, Ichabod Dome." She flapped a hand at him. "Begone!"

The man rocked with laughter. "As you wish, my darling finny," he said. He lowered himself into a sitting position, set his rod and emberquick down, and with his eyes and smile still upon Lilac and the boy, began to crank at a handle that was positioned roughly at the centre of his vessel. Immediately, the fins beneath the gondola rippled faster, and he started to overtake them. "I fear I shall not see you at the dock," he called back, chuckling. "The fair _Jaliset_ ever calls me. But I will let it be known that you and your prize are near, Lilac Zhenrei; gossip such as this cannot remain guarded for long, least of all by someone as I."

As soon as Ichabod Dome seemed safely out of earshot, Lilac turned to Benjamin. "Now, don't you think that was good?" she said, her face puffed with self-satisfaction. "What I said, I mean; all that stuff about broadsides and sails and going overboard. Sure, yeah, okay, so most of it _wasn't_ off the hip; I thought it up a few weeks ago, after he'd again castigated me for losing my emberquick, and I've been aching to get even with him since. Still, rehearsed or not, it's nice to have a comeback ready _before_ the event rather than after it, agreed?"

"Don't you like him, then?" asked Benjamin, watching as Lilac's sometime tormentor diminished into the distance, and wondering what would happen if he were to issue a call to that metallic-blue silf. The thought of Ichabod Dome, bellowing and stumbling about his boat as his prize escaped him, seemed not merely amusing, but just; his due reward, in other words, for all that highfalutin talk and cocksure posturing. But the lady curtailed him.

"He's great," she said, smiling \- and not a little winsomely. "So good with the banter. And such a charmer."

It was then that Benjamin understood that the atulphi were probably not quite as magical as he'd first thought. Just as it was in his world, those who appeared as enemies had turned out to be friends. Therefore, there was every reason to suspect that - again, just as it was in his world - there were plenty of atulphi here who were just as likely to be enemies masquerading as friends. The idea, he had to confess, saddened him a little; it was as if he'd learned something nasty about someone he liked.

***

They coasted on, the voyage uneventful - serene, even - until the cage suddenly rocked and sent its passengers sprawling even though both were sitting down at the time. Looking up, past the squawking birds, they discovered that another craft had just narrowly missed them. It was faintly blimpish in shape, a combination of fish and submarine, and though the pilot could not yet be discerned, the raucous, mocking cackle that the vehicle trailed in its wake appeared to leave Lilac in little doubt as to the identity of the miscreant.

"Wolfgang!" she shouted, springing back to her feet and waving a fist through the bars. "This is the last time, you _fleg_! I'll remember this!"

Now that the craft was in front, Benjamin could see that it was being controlled by a small, midget-like man who was pedalling furiously at a bicycle-like contraption that was itself attached to the top of his vessel. It was then that the boy noticed how crowded the area had recently become; numerous atulphi, and all their attendant vehicles, were now jostling for space in the air immediately to the fore. And the reason, he soon discovered, was clear: just ahead, and perhaps no further away than a good walk, there stood a pier so huge and grandiose that it wouldn't have been out of place at a Victorian seaside resort. Upon the deck, amid pavilions of all shapes, style and size, umpteen craft were either taking-off, landing, or bumping each other for space. It looked chaotic, and Benjamin was quick in warning Lilac of the danger.

"It's all part of the puzzle," responded the lady. "I've been through this hundreds of times." She turned her face upwards, towards her birds, and began issuing instructions to them. Instantly, the birds shifted in their course, the cage dipping violently enough to make Benjamin's stomach lurch. He was relieved, however, to see that the drop had at afforded them a clearer means of approach. Only seconds later, however, and some other atulphi was drifting in front of them. Lilac followed her exasperated _tut_ with yet more commands, the cage reeled, and the obstacle was swiftly surpassed. Benjamin, accepting that such near-misses were likely to be par for the course until they landed, left the lady to her navigation, and occupied himself instead with all the astonishing sights that were now available without the awkward aid of a telescope.

It was like being part of some fantastic migration; atulphi everywhere, near and far, swerving, dodging, skating the sky and skimming the sea. How none of these beings fell into the Amar Imaga while caught up in all this fraught congestion, Benjamin could hardly say. Maybe there was some kind of secret skill involved; or perhaps an order to the proceedings that was so complex it appeared as _dis_ order. Below, a lady held aloft by two large, spark-spitting kites - and who, like Lilac, appeared far-eastern - swerved speedily past an oncoming jumble of wrought iron and sails, over which three small figures clambered; above, an oversize spinning top-hat - whose pilot could be seen clinging to the rim whenever the rotation of the vehicle brought him into view - had a close scrape with a fast moving and futuristic device which put Benjamin in mind of an elongated, wheel-less car. He looked to the left, then to the right; to a man surfing on a sash, and then to two atulphi so strange and fascinating that he could actually look at them without becoming distracted.

Travelling roughly level with the cage was a long, raft-like platform, propelled by what appeared to be a belching furnace at the rear. Stooped over the furnace was a large, slumped humanoid whose head - fittingly enough - was laurelled with a crown of smoke and flickering flame. At the other end of the craft there sat, cross-legged, a bald green-skinned blob of a man who continually gesticulated as if in some sort of animated conversation. Benjamin, though agape, was not altogether surprised by the sight; Lilac had already indicated, over the course of their various exchanges, that atulphi could come in all shapes and sizes. Remembering this, he began to eagerly scan the sky for similarly exotic specimens, and was soon rewarded: above, and a little to his left, he found two overgrown pink rabbits whose efforts, in getting their balloon-elevated pedalo to go faster, seemed to gain them nothing but inches. Lower, and more to the right, a winged flower-basket fluttered by, bearing a manlike shape formed entirely of scribbles. Taking his gaze even lower, Benjamin saw something else that was noteworthy: in the sea, in the milky white of the Amar Imaga, a number of atulphi could be seen to be swimming. Any idea he'd had that these were the few unfortunate souls who'd actually managed to fall overboard was quickly dismissed; from what he could make out, they were obviously enjoying the experience, cavorting and splashing each other like holidaymakers. Listening to their giggles - and realising, too, how much noise was now in the air - Benjamin moved to the front of the cage, stared ahead, and saw that his and the lady's arrival upon the pier was not only imminent, but expected: amid a queue of colourful vehicles already berthed, a free area, uncontested by any other incoming atulphi, awaited, as did a small crowd whose faces (some human, some not so) remained set upon the cage. His legs protesting stiffly, the boy stood up and turned to Lilac. He had an abrupt urge to say something to her, but didn't quite know how to say it. She, catching his glance, looked back at him and smiled. "Why the frown?" she asked, in the manner of someone unable to understand why a friend should not be taking as much enjoyment in the situation as she.

Benjamin shook his head. "I don't know. It's like - all this, all these amazing things. I've never seen anything like it. And what's even weirder is that - I mean, I'm _famous_ here, right? Because of what -"

"Pah," interrupted Lilac. "Don't let your ego sprout too soon, my dear child. You can thank Ichabod for this." She pointed to the crowd. "He's probably talked you up as being the better of Gogmagog, and the rabble want their hero. Ignore it."

"Who's Gogmagog?" the boy asked. The name - and he was sure it _was_ a name - meant something, though he didn't know what. Had he read it somewhere?

"Never mind," came the reply. "It's not your worry. Just bask in the glory of it for a while, if you can; enjoy what I promised you."

"And what was that?" responded the boy, quite startled by the news that Lilac had actually promised him anything.

"That you would be made most welcome," she said, theatrically sweeping a hand ahead of her - and accidentally striking a bar of the cage in the process - as they both rushed in to meet their eager hosts.

8

The landing went much more smoothly than Benjamin had been expecting. With nothing more than a soft _'thud'_ as the cage touched down, they were soon safely docked between two other similarly bizarre vehicles, and ready to be met by the eager, jostling assemblage outside. Lilac, coolly ignoring the pointed fingers and shouted greetings that their arrival had incurred, instead offered some words of congratulation to her birds as they fluttered down to take roost atop the cargo they had so tirelessly carried. "Take it easy," she said to the boy, once she had finished with her praises. She shrugged her satchel over a shoulder and took hold of the rifle. "They're a good crowd, this lot. You're quite, quite safe."

"Uh-huh," said Benjamin, so fascinated by the scene ahead that he did not really listen to her. For there were people - no, beings \- out there so strange in form that he could invoke no superlative to adequately describe them.

Like the mannish silhouette, for example, whose entire shape appeared to be cast from some brilliant part of the evening sky. It was almost as if the creature were a mirror, reflecting a panorama of shining stars and misty nebulae. When another atulphi shoved it aside - in order to get a better look at Benjamin, apparently - an entire new array of magnitudes and constellations were revealed by the movement; the stars still shone and the nebulae remained misty, but they were different now, as if taken from some other portion of the nightly heavens.

Much less glamorous, and only mildly less interesting, was the atulphi which had pushed by so roughly. Initially, it had looked as if it was wearing a pink Jester's hat, but then Benjamin realised that the pate was actually bald, and replete with a nest of fleshly extrusions, each of which were appended by a small, tinkling bell. The tinkling, it should be said, became more pronounced when the star-strewn creature made clear its displeasure at being manhandled in such an uncouth manner. Nearby, a large, neon-streaked rabbit began to bounce wildly up and down on its hind legs, though whether or not it was in response to the 'starry' atulphi's increasingly heated diatribe, it was hard to tell; it didn't so much speak as twitter indecipherably, and what noise it did make was soon lost to the growing rumblings of the surrounding throng. Fortunately for all concerned, any potential trouble was quickly cut short by a stately personage, robed and dignified, who strode through to the forefront of the gathering and proceeded to brandish a long, glowing sword that left Benjamin mesmerised; this was the sword that almost every boy knew about, the one dreamed of from galaxies far, far away. "Paxy, paxy, paxy," the distinguished newcomer announced - at least, that was what it sounded like - and, in due course, the commotion began to subside.

"And greetings to you too," said Lilac, sauntering out on to the pier without ceremony. "Stirring," she continued, surveying the welcome party. "Really stirring."

But her sarcasm was wasted on the crowd. Their eyes, for the most part, were set upon the cage just behind her - the cage where a subdued Benjamin nervously awaited the moment when he too would have to take that step outside.

It wasn't that he was afraid. Rather, it was a feeling much like that of being called upon to do something that you know you could very easily fail. Like the time, a few years ago, when he'd gone to Jessica Howell's birthday party and had been asked to perform some card tricks: it wasn't that he knew that he _couldn't_ do them - back then, magic had been his hobby, and he'd already gained some proficiency at the art - it was just the idea that it would be so easy to do them _wrong_. It had made him feel conspicuous, as opposed to popular; that he was not really performing, but being _tested_. Yes, the challenge had excited him; but he'd only seen it through with good deal of reluctance. And he felt a lot like that now, even though nothing had, as yet, actually been requested of him. Nevertheless, it didn't change the fact that he was currently the centre of local attention - and for a boy generally used to being _in_ conspicuous, it was troubling.

He looked to Lilac, with a silent wish that she might be quick in taking charge of the situation. Thankfully, she was, and with the reassurance of a nod of the head and a wink, he was soon safely across the threshold and beside her. The urge to take hold of her hand was withstood quite successfully, though not as easily as he would have liked.

"So," said the lady, addressing the assembly. "I expect Dome has told you all already, yes? That we have a dreamshader in our midst. "

The crowd murmured. To Benjamin, it sounded like an agreement.

"Where is our dear Ichabod, by the way? Too busy to wait, I take it."

The crowd again mumbled an affirmation, though a little more furtively than before.

"Hm." She turned to the boy, a bemused half-smile playing upon her lips. "Well, if I ever needed a joke for the occasion, it was now. So what do you think, child? Anything to say that might get the clamshells clicking?"

He looked again at the prodigies that had come here to see him; at the star-crossed creature that had first caught his attention; at the neon-burnished rabbit, now in denial of its species by acting sheepish. He saw again the robed character who had called order when the congregation had become fraught; he was now holding his sword at waist height, knight-style, with the point hanging downwards, and his mood appeared kind yet inscrutable. To the left, he found a chalk-faced woman whose body was lost to a shroud of billowing, rippling rags. Her eyes were sad, and so dark against her skin that they seemed obsidiate; yet they were hopeful eyes too, and when her gaze met with his she smiled wistfully. Further along, and towards the right of the crowd - which had formed itself into a rough semicircle, with both Benjamin and Lilac serving as the nucleus - he discovered a tall, elfin individual who looked to be juggling with his own hands; that is, he was literally flicking his hands from the wrists, and then intercepting them with the same blunt forelimbs. When his stare locked with that of the boy, he missed the next round of catches, and the hands tumbled grotesquely to the wooden floor. Stooping to retrieve them, the elfin-faced being never let his gaze stray from the young visitor; it was almost as if he was bowing, and Benjamin was sharp in noticing it. Other faces - all expectant, all enthralling no matter what the degree of strangeness \- flicked by as he studied the assemblage. All were rapt. And all, without a doubt, were as fascinated by him as he was by them.

The boy could not quite come to terms with it: that he, an average child from an average world, should be such an object of curiosity for the astonishing denizens of this far from average land. Even if he was not truly as average as he'd believed (he was, after all, supposed to be 'of the dreamshade', and therefore possessed of rare and remarkable talents) it still made little impact on the matter. Sure, to so many children, such an adventure as this - to arrive at some astonishing, fairytale domain, and then be exalted there - might seem the fulfilment of a lifetime of secret, midnight wishes; but to Benjamin, who was living this very dream, it did not feel that way. Instead, it felt kind of ... overwhelming. As if he was out of his depth. It was peculiar. And, he had to confess, embarrassing too.

But the occasion demanded that he act. So, with a quick glance at Lilac beforehand, he raised a trembling hand, took a long draught of air, and said "Hello."

Silence. He turned once more to Lilac, and found that although she'd kept the smile, an eyebrow had been raised. Had he done something wrong? He looked back to the crowd, and saw, much to his relief, that his greeting was at last being met in kind.

First to raise a hand in return was the stately, peaceable figure with the glowing sword. "Hello," he said, in a voice that was as calm and as measured as that of a grandfather imparting great wisdom. "Hello," said the dark-eyed lady in the rags, whose tone spoke of joys only a mite greater than those suggested by her appearance. "Hello," said another. A nod of the head from a fellow clothed in foil; a tip of the hat from a smartly attired gentleman whose sleeves scattered sparkles. "Hello," said someone; "'Lo," bellowed another. "'Ello," "'Lo," "Hiya," "Hile," shot the crowd, and before long it was impossible to discern one salutation from another.

Benjamin let go of the breath he'd been holding. _Well,_ he thought; _that turned out okay._ Stuck for anything else to say but a few further 'hello's in response, he sought - as was rapidly becoming his habit when things started to appear awkward - Lilac for advice. Unfortunately, the lady didn't catch his glance; she had her back to him, and was otherwise involved in the business of chaining her cage to a short, stout post nearby. Deeming it unseemly to call out to her (even though he didn't know why) he instead turned back to the crowd. Immediately, his gaze was drawn to the white-faced lady, and the delicate, coppery strand which she was now busily removing from some hidden fold amidst her rags.

"I have carried this for such a time," she said sweetly. Once the item was fully disclosed, she held it out to the boy beseechingly, her eyes wide and ablaze with a desolate yet fanatical hope. "A great dream from the one who herself dreamed life into me, and so, so rare. I'd wish that you were kind, sir, and work -"

"No," came another voice. It was the robed man. "Majefelin, the child is tired," he said, his tone firm but gentle. "You can see this. Don't trouble him just yet. Please."

"But it is so frail," the woman said, looking down at the strand as perhaps a mother would to a sickly babe. "It has not long. At least allow the dreamshader to see into it, and tell me. I'll ask for no more, I promise."

"Should've let it go ages ago," muttered someone at the back of the crowd.

"Aye," said someone else. "Cruel, 'tis."

The woman looked again to Benjamin, her cargo still held out imploringly. "Will you?" she asked.

It was odd, being petitioned like this by an adult; nothing even remotely similar had ever happened to him before. Odder still was the fact that it did not actually make him feel that much more grown up - if anything, he felt _weakened_ by the plea; helpless. If, after all, a world like this could produce an adult so needy that she could trust only in a young, unversed stranger, then where did that leave the young, unversed stranger himself? If only to shut out the unsettling idea that he was now at the mercy of an entirely new and unaccounted-for civilisation, Benjamin decided to speak. "It's - it's a silf, yes?" he said, indicating the limp skein draped across the woman's palms. The woman nodded. "And you want me to find out what it means, right?"

"I know it will not be much," the white faced woman said, with the wheedling eagerness of someone who senses the fulfilment of a slender hope. "It's old now. Mostly gone. But there will be enough, I'm sure. _Will_ you take it?"

Benjamin inched forward and offered his hand. The crowd, hushed, shrank back a little as the woman hurried over to the boy; it was as if a kind of fascinating transgression was about to take place, the sort of vaguely taboo affair that usually gets condemned loudest by those who were not there to see it. When the woman gave him the silf - and such a lank, thin thing it was too - it slipped into Benjamin's grasp so easily and readily, it made him wonder if the silf wasn't actually doing it of its own accord.

The boy held the item at eye-level, and concentrated. But he didn't have to concentrate hard: as slight as the thing was, it seemed no less eager to impart its secrets, however indistinct they might be: "There's...a house," he said, frowning heavily. "It's difficult to see, but I think it's white. It's in a desert, by itself."

"Yes," said the white-faced woman, her hands clasped at her chest. "I know that place."

"It has -" The boy paused. "No. It has something in one of the windows. But I can't make it out."

The woman looked down, slowly shaking her head.

"It's weird," Benjamin continued. "It's like the house is too small. Or that everything else is too big. I've felt it before. There's something wrong with the _surface_ of the house. And that thing in the window ... it feels like it should be bigger. It's the wrong size for the house."

"Just as the house is the wrong size for the desert," said the woman. Her smile had returned, even though there was more than a hint of regret in her tone.

"That's right," responded Benjamin. As there was nothing else to see, he let the hand that had been holding the silf curl open. "What does it mean?" he asked, as the woman reached out for her treasure.

"That Majefelin's dreamer knows how it feels to see a house in a place where it should be bigger," interrupted Lilac Zhenrei, who had finished securing the cage and was now, once more, at Benjamin's side. "Just as she will one day know how it feels to see someone starve in a place where food should be abundant, or see someone else get fat in an era of famine. Life's great injustices, in other words; all summed up in a dream that teaches the dreamer to never accept _wrongness_ , no matter how powerless she might feel in the face of it." She looked towards the white-faced woman, and then to the silf lying listlessly in her hands. "The yarns these threads spin, eh?" she said, as if to herself. "It must have been a long time ago."

"It was," said the white-faced woman. She stared down lovingly at the silf. "She must have learnt so much by now. And grown, too."

"But that will be enough today," said the stately gentleman with the glowing sword. He walked over to the woman and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Don't you think so, my friend?"

"Yes," she said, glancing quickly at Benjamin. For a moment, it felt as if she was on the verge of asking something more; yet she said nothing, and with her head down and the silf still cradled in her arms, she withdrew timidly back into the crowd.

"Okay people," said Lilac, her shoulders hitched and her palms held outward, as though she'd been caught in a shrug. "You've seen him, and you know what he can do." She paused, looked wearily at her young charge then turned back to the crowd. "His journey here has been long, and, in being his first, jarring too. As Beyno said, he needs some rest. So kindly disperse, please, and let us pass. Okay?"

There was a second of inaction before the robed man nodded, smiled, and drew away from them with a curt bow. In the wake of this cue, a number of others also bowed and retreated, and soon the crowd was dissolving with all the tenacity of an aspirin in water. Eventually, all that was left to linger were the stares of the departing welcomers; with the way now clear - or as clear as any reasonably well attended pier could be - Lilac wasted little time in proceeding onwards. "I'm glad that's done with," she said, when boy caught up with her. "I don't care for being the centre of attention; perhaps it's because I'm so shy."

"Shy?" Benjamin asked. "You?" If anything, Lilac Zhenrei had proven to be anything _but_ shy. Or was she simply making another joke, one whose punchline was lost on him?

But no, she was serious: "It's all bluster," she said, scratching at her neck. "When I'm in company I worry so much about saying the wrong thing, I cover it up by speaking a load of _bushwah_. Sure, I could keep quiet: but then I'd fear that my fellows might take me for a vacant lot. So I'll babble away like a brook, in the hope that every so often, something clever and profound comes out. Trouble is, when something clever and profound _does_ pop out, I've been so busy babbling that I haven't listened to the conversation. Ever said something like 'if life always ends death, then what is the business of living but making the best of one's murder' when people are talking about their favourite desserts? You just get a reputation for being pretentious. This is why I like making bad jokes; it's ironic, you see..."

"Hm," Benjamin said, his attention wandering elsewhere. Self-absorbed angst was not yet a big deal to him, and with so many new and marvellous sights rousing his curiosity, he soon lost interest in the conversation. Lilac, seeing that the subject was of little appeal to her audience, and suddenly - _painfully_ \- aware of how much she'd wittered on about her tendency to witter, let the matter drop. For now, and for the time being, she would just have to be content with the role of compliant tour-guide. Which wasn't so bad, really.

Benjamin himself was barely even aware that Lilac had stopped talking. Walking along the pier, his sensibilities had been caught completely by the ornate pavilions, outlandish vehicles, and all the milling atulphi in between. Everywhere he looked - left, right, ahead, up, down - there was something new, something unexpected. He passed an acrobatic unicyclist who pedalled the device with his hands; he saw a cigar-chomping woman that talked to a face in her top-hat. He found a pavilion, far-eastern in design (like much here, he'd already noticed) whose gables, shaped like dragon heads, belched flame; underneath, multicoloured atulphi of various ages, sexes and distinctions sat gossiping as something that looked very much like an animated teapot strode to and fro across their laps. A little further on, and he discovered the vendor stalls, where peculiar foodstuffs and bizarre seaside novelties - balloons that buzzed and radiated aurorae, stuffed toys which turned out to be edible - were fervently plied. And then there were the smells: coffee, toffee, spices and all the sweetest shades of sugar mingling with salt air and scents unknown. Above, birds too colourful to be seagulls whirled and cackled, along with those atulphi who preferred to keep their counsel up high. He was about to ask Lilac why the pier should be so busy so early in the morning, when a large, upright white rabbit (dressed, alarmingly, in gold pantaloons and a T-shirt illustrated with a pointing hand and the slogan: He's HARVEY, not me!) nudged by, an action which prompted another query instead.

"Why are there so many rabbits here?" he asked, even though he felt that somehow, he already knew the answer.

"What, the _hurrixes_?" replied Lilac. "I thought I told you."

Well, she'd mentioned _something_ about them, back when they were still voyaging across the Amar Imaga, though it was hardly a potted history. "Hurrixes. Is that what you call them?"

"Yup," said the lady. "And as for your question: well, it's all down to lack of imagination, I suppose. Too many of your kind seem to want the company of rabbits as children, and if they can't get one as a pet, then the inevitable happens. I blame the Easter Bunny."

"Oh," said Benjamin, happy enough with the explanation. Lilac, however, had more to say on the subject.

"The hurrixes, though, think differently," she continued, a note of disdain weaving into her words. "They think the fact of their abundance makes them special. Not quite, I say; they're simply common, and a nuisance with it. Believe me when I say, my child, that when one hurrix moves in next door to you, the next thing that happens is that the whole street becomes full of them. And then _you_ have to move out, because of all the trouble they cause."

"Trouble?" said Benjamin.

"Oh yes," said Lilac, affecting gravitas. "We've all heard the stories: of how the younger ones congregate in the alleyways and on the corners, muttering away to each other in that language of theirs; it might not be true, but it certainly does _feel_ like they're plotting something, and it makes a lot of people uncomfortable. And the problem is made worse because so many of them - the hurrixes, I mean - won't speak any other language; _they_ say it's because they find it difficult to speak the ordinary tongues, but I'm not so sure. Most of us reckon they do it just to be bloody minded. Either that, or they're lazy."

"Hm," said Benjamin, unwilling to oblige with a concrete response. The gist of what Lilac had been saying was disturbingly familiar to him, in that it was not so different from what certain boys in school often said about those with darker skin than they. Benjamin, it had to be admitted, was himself no innocent in this respect; like so many boys of his age, if it brought out a laugh in his classmates then he was prepared to do what was necessary, no matter how cruel the amusement might be. From Lilac, however, he expected better. And, travelling along the pier with a little less enthusiasm than before, he was again troubled by the feeling of having learned something nasty about someone he liked.

9

It was only when they were exiting the pier, and stepping onto the rich and teeming soil of Niamago proper, that Benjamin finally got round to voicing the obvious question. "Where are we going?" he asked, ducking as some buzzing creature swooped by his ear. Judging by the tone, and the fact that they were at the seaside, it was probably a wasp, though it was long gone before he had the chance to find out for sure. Oddly enough - and despite not having good reason to suspect otherwise - he found the idea that there should be insects in this place surprising. It was like discovering a gritty sugar-crystal in a tasty sweet, or an amusing glitch in a computer game; a flaw not entirely unexpected, nor even troublesome, but still strangely irksome in that he couldn't quite bring himself to feel comfortable with it.

"Dear child," said Lilac, in response to Benjamin's query. "Where are any of us going? But no -" she slapped herself lightly on the side of her face in mock self-chastisement "- you really shouldn't ask me things like that, okay? I'm trying to break my philosophical habits at the moment, and it's very difficult. You know, I once found myself ruminating on a piece of Rando cheese - which has very big bubbles - and upon seeing that most of it was made up of empty space, I realised that the essential definition of Rando cheese requires the component of nothingness. I mean, what was the cheese: solid matter, or the bubbles? That was when I decided to give up, because it seemed to be getting unhealthy by then. In the end I just ate my cheese and swallowed the idea - holes and all!"

"Right," said Benjamin, utterly nonplussed as to what she was getting at. "So where are we going?"

"Ah," replied Lilac. "That's easy: we're going to my place. After that, I expect we shall do some sightseeing. Meet a few of my friends too, I hope. First, however -" she pointed to a street that branched off from the promenade they were now walking along "- we must attend the Macallory Lane Market before going further."

***

The Macallory Lane Market, as Benjamin had imagined, was a bustling thoroughfare of stalls, marquees and hollered commerce. It wasn't that much different to the markets he occasionally attended back home (and again came that pang: that this was all a dream, and that soon, very soon, he would find himself awake) except that this particular example was, of course, a great deal more exotic. As ever, his gaze was drawn upwards: to the airborne atulphi trailing bunting and advertising banners, and then to the uppermost heights of the buildings either side of the street, where edifices gothic and oriental formed opposing cliff-faces of haphazard architecture; to the weave of linen-bedecked washing lines up high, and the slender walkways in between. Even the sky had something unusual to offer: against a narrow backdrop of cool morning blue, the few clouds skimming above were not like those he was used to. They might have been similar in general shape and drift, but the colours that swam through them - pearlescent streams, like those he'd seen in the Amar Imaga - were something else entirely.

He was soon brought back down to earth (or was it _dreamland_?) with a bump when someone nudged by roughly enough to make him stagger. Scowling, he turned round to glare at the offender - and was then greeted with the sight of perhaps the most peculiar atulphi yet seen.

Edging away from the boy, as if aware of what it had done, was what could only be described as a shimmering fountain of green. There was no real shape to it, no form; only a strange impression of _leafiness_ , or verdancy. And neither was there any sense of depth to the thing: it was flat, two-dimensional, and curiously irritating to look at. That it _was_ an atulphi, there could be no doubt; as well as being charged with all the subtle livelinesses that one finds only in the living, it _murmured_ as it retreated, issuing faint, indiscernible words that quickly melted into those of the thrumming passers-by. Eagerly, in the hope that he might catch her attention before the creature itself was also lost to the throng, Benjamin tugged at Lilac's sleeve. "What?" she barked, flapping her arm free of his grip and staring down it him with the vehement glower of someone rudely interrupted. She'd been perusing a fast-food stall, apparently; a place whose greasy scents remained just as cloying and pervasive as those of any other marketplace, no matter what the world.

"There," he said, pointing out the green thing to her. "That - what _is_ it?"

Lilac shrugged. "If I were more popular here, then I could tell you. Instead, all I can say is that not everyone in your realm sees - or even _dreams_ \- in quite the same way as your very good self."

"Which means?"

Lilac nodded towards the creature. "He, she, whatever, was probably given life by a child that never saw very far beyond the trees. Someone from a rainforest, I would expect. Or a jungle. That's my guess, anyway."

It was good enough for Benjamin, but only for a little while. Inevitably, Lilac's explanation had led to other questions, such as: what might a creature like that eat? Or - and more importantly - if that was the kind of atulphi that a _human_ could dream up, then what about the _non_ human kind? Could there be _alien_ atulphi here as well? Or even atulphi born of whales and dolphins, the two animals which were generally supposed to be as intelligent as humans?

Benjamin was just about to consult Lilac on the matter - because, quite frankly, questions like that needed answers as soon as they arose - but was diverted when he noticed the stares that he was eliciting. And these were not the lingering, interested kind of stares that he'd received on the pier, but the sort that (in _his_ mind, at least) one might expect if one was to go into town with one's flies undone. They were _furtive_ stares. Glances held a little longer than was polite, eyes that found it awkward to leave their subject. _Embarrassing_ stares.

He checked himself. Nothing amiss, save that he was wearing pyjamas and a dressing gown - and in a place as outlandish as this Niamago, wandering around in your jim-jams was _not_ likely to make you noteworthy. So what else could it be? Was it because the atulphi knew, somehow, that he was human? Or was it down to the fact that there was something _visible_ that marked him out as a dreamshader?

He brought his fingertips to his cheeks, just below the eyes, and recalled what Lilac had said to him not so long ago: _"You have the eyes, Benjamin. You have the gift."_ And then there was Ichabod Dome, who'd gazed so hard at his face before grandly applauding the authenticity of his condition. "It _is_ in my eyes," he said, in the hushed tone of someone confirming the truth of a deeply held suspicion.

"Hey, dawdlebug!" shouted Lilac. Looking back, he saw that she'd moved further down the thoroughfare, and was now busily waving a hand above her head, signalling for his attention. "Hurry up sometime, okay? I lose you, and you get lost - and then I miss a lot of stimulating parties looking for you. Quick now!"

"Yeah, yeah, okay," he called back, following with a light huff that was more the result of resignation than impatience. There was a definite strain of the harassed schoolmarm about Lilac Zhenrei, and he was fast finding out that it didn't always become her.

When he at last caught up, he found her waiting at another stall, one whose trestle-tables were covered only with sheets, an extensive scattering of small crystals, and nothing else. And behind it, conferring very quietly with each other, were two typically unusual atulphi: a man who would have appeared completely normal if it wasn't for the fact that he was dressed entirely in a suit of Venetian (or what Benjamin _presumed_ were Venetian) masks, and another man, bronze-skinned and rattish in his look, who scratched incessantly at a bright, spark-spitting light at the left-hand side of his nose. Benjamin only realised that he'd been staring at them when they caught sight of him and stared back. Faintly embarrassed, he let his gaze drop to the tabletops, at which point Lilac, guessing that he must be genuinely interested in what might be on offer there, spoke up.

"Do you know what these are?" she asked, picking up a few of the crystals. She held them out in an open palm, as if about to demonstrate something.

"Emberquicks," said Benjamin, glancing at the lady. "There was one on your fishing rod. You lost it."

One of the two stallholders snickered, and Lilac shot them both a look so sour it could curdle vinegar. "Correct," she said, bringing her attention back to the boy. "About them being emberquick, that is." She gently shook the crystals, and they began to glow a soft amber. "And I _didn't_ lose my last one. I know exactly where it is. Old Rot has only caused it to be temporarily misplaced, that's all."

Benjamin, mildly curious at how the crystals could convey such a light, reached over and took one from Lilac's hand. It was smooth, faceted, and cool to the touch. He brought it closer to his eyes, fascinated at how the luminescence seemed to brighten whenever he took a breath, and then became aware that there was a _sound_ coming from the thing too.

It was a dim chiming hum, almost musical, and seemed as much the product of his own mind as it might anything else. Back home, at night, and usually just as he was drifting off to sleep, he would sometimes jolt awake in the belief that some imaginary noise had really happened. The sound incurred by the crystal felt a lot like that - something imagined, yet with the effect of being almost real - and no sooner was the idea made clear in his thoughts, then the quality of the sound _changed_.

It was louder, for a start. And less calm. There was a jingling in the background, a subtle percussiveness. The boy pulled the object further away from his eyes, testing to see if perhaps it was _movement_ that was causing these slight changes in the hum. It wasn't. _What are you trying to tell me?_ he wondered, sure that there was some sort of rapport going on between himself and the emberquick. He held it higher, turning it one way then the other, scrutinising, until he was distracted by the whoosh of a swooping, skyborne atulphi. And once more, ever so discreetly, the sound became different.

For the tiniest fraction of a second he knew why. Then, instantly, it was gone. He lowered his arm, but allowed himself to keep staring upwards for a moment. _It was when I noticed the atulphi,_ he thought. _That was when the music changed again. But why?_ Overhead, the bustling skyscape remained unchanged: the flitting atulphi still flew; the glittering, shimmering clouds continued their meandering pilgrimages up high. _What does it mean?_ he said to himself, as he brought his gaze back down to the emberquick. It had not stopped glowing, and neither had the music ceased.

When he looked back up, he found that Lilac was watching him with a puzzled expression on her face. The two stallholders, too, were staring at him intently, as were a few members of the passing public. The moment had apparently been significant enough to draw a certain amount of interest; so what, exactly, had happened?

"Are you okay?" asked Lilac. "Did you -" she nodded at the crystal in his hand "- did you see a dream, or something?"

Benjamin shook his head. "No, not dreams," he replied - at which the hum, still at play somewhere in his mind, changed again. "There was a sound," he continued, his gaze falling again to the emberquick. "Music. I think."

"Music, eh?" said Lilac, casting a quick sidelong glance at the stallholders.

"Well, a noise," said the boy. "Can't you hear it?"

"Nope," said the lady. "Never."

"Oh."

"What does it sound like?"

Benjamin shrugged. "I don't know. It seems kind of far away. It changes, though."

One of the stallholders - the one with the itchy spark at the side of his nose - grunted at Lilac, who responded with an abrupt and strident stream of babble. It was obviously some sort of language, but one which Benjamin had never heard before; Lilac uttered it angrily, as though she were spitting poison darts, and it wasn't long before the stallholder began to reply in kind. The lady, however, was clearly not prepared to put up with much argument. She hushed the flustered atulphi with a raised hand, and made a show of her complete indifference to him by looking back at Benjamin and smiling sweetly.

She lifted her satchel and shook it a little. "He wants our prize - the silf," she said, cocking her head dismissively at the stallholder. "Thinks it should be worth the number of emberquick I need to replenish my stocks. Hah!"

"Don't you have any money?" asked Benjamin, not that he was really bothered by the situation: his only concern, at that moment, was what had happened with the emberquick. _Would it work with all of them?_ he asked himself, his gaze sweeping across all the other crystals on display as he placed the emberquick back upon the table. Though he would have liked to have kept it, something about the mood of the stallholders told him that it would perhaps be better if he didn't hang on to an as yet unpaid-for item any longer than was appropriate.

"Plenty," said Lilac, in response to the question. " _Florins, Talents, Caps, Porlans_ ; everything. But these _nonnads_ here have now decided that they'll only deal with _Chilicks, Drine_ , or bartered goods. I swear, they only do it to be fashionable."

"Couldn't you, um, use the official currency?" said Benjamin, mildly pleased that he'd managed to employ a genuinely adult term like 'official currency' without stumbling over his words too much.

Lilac smiled. "No such thing here, my child. It's all unofficial. No-one can decide what money we use because there's no-one there to decide for us. We just take our chances with whatever happens to be floating around at the time."

"But what about your politicians?" the boy asked, oddly offended by the idea that a society could be so blasé about not having any real money. It made no sense, not even in a place like this. "Don't they tell you what to use?"

She shook her head. "They try," she said. "But you've seen enough of us atulphi to know that we're...well, _individualistic._ Okay, so every now and then a few dumbelinas will get together and try to impose some sort of coherent government, but it never lasts. They always end up arguing with each other, and then they fall apart. It's rather funny, and we just let them get on with it. Prevents them from doing any real harm, you see."

"Don't you even vote?" asked the boy, surprised enough by Lilac's reply to even forget the emberquick for a second or two. "I mean, how do you manage with no-one in charge?"

"Vote?" said Lilac. "Absolutely not. The last thing we'd want is those _flegs_ getting ideas of legitimacy. As far as any of us here are concerned, if someone says something we like, then we do it. If not, we don't. And does it work? Sure, okay, maybe not that well - but it wouldn't be that much different even if we _did_ vote, and I have to say-"

But the lady was again interrupted by the spark-nosed stallholder, whose words, though foreign, were undoubtedly those of someone thoroughly fed-up with being ignored. He even went so far as to punctuate his tirade with the occasional jabbing finger, an act which was liable to make Lilac explode, in Benjamin's estimation. The lady, however, did not explode. She merely smiled sweetly, spoke soothingly to the irate atulphi, and, in a little while, a more peaceable atmosphere was established. Rummaging in her satchel, she then produced a handful of coins, which the now amenable stallholder took in exchange for a small amount of carefully selected crystals. Muttering what were presumably some words of thanks to both the vendors, she flicked one of the crystals at Benjamin, who surprised himself by actually managing to catch it. Once it was firmly in his grasp there again came that strange, distant ringing.

"Good ruse, eh?" said the lady, once they'd rejoined the milling, mulling ranks of the passers-by.

"Hm?"

She gave a slight nod towards the place where she'd so recently done business. "That pair. _Prentiss_ and _Voldok_. Seems that my Talents were of some value after all; it was just a case of stalling long enough to get Prentiss' hair flitting. He hates it when people talk politics around him, especially when he can't understand the language."

"Stalling. Like it," said Benjamin, more interested in his new emberquick than the conversation at hand.

"Eh?"

"Stalling. It was a joke, right?"

"Oh yes," replied Lilac, briefly putting a hand to her mouth as though she'd just said something embarrassing. "Stalling. Not bad. Pity it was more out of habit than deliberation - I never had a chance to savour it before saying it. Ah well."

Benjamin only nodded, content merely to let himself be led, quietly, to marvels new, with the wonder of the wonderful upon him, and the faraway chimes of the crystal playing gently on his mind.

10

Benjamin did not remain entirely spellbound by the emberquick while walking to Lilac's place; in this world, there were just too many curiosities at hand to merit much in the way of single-mindedness. Niamago, in fact, was a symphony - a _cacophony_ \- of distraction: let one wonder catch the eye and in moments it would be enchanted by ten more.

They passed buildings of brick and wood and something soft to the touch. And an edifice made of mosaic, where atulphi in hanging wicker baskets worked the tiles as though in the process of solving a giant picture puzzle. Then a dome formed of steps, upon which tall, priestly figures meandered round and round. They went through a claustrophobic alleyway of lanterns and signs, a place that could have been straight out of a postcard from Hong Kong had it not been for the creatures there; afterwards, they climbed to a nest of dizzying, stratospheric flyovers with no earthly equivalent. He saw shops, and wares both familiar to him and not so (and lots of radios, he noticed - especially the old-fashioned kind that he'd seen in television programmes about the second world war), and road-going vehicles of such design that it was sometimes hard to tell where the vehicle ended and the driver began. Eventually, he saw the children. _Atulphi_ children. A troop of six, as distinct in shape and size from each other as the rest of the population, but so full of squealing immaturity that they couldn't be anything but children. They were being led, in reins, by a stick-thin, crystal-seamed adult who appeared rather unimpressed by the behaviour of her - or possibly _his_ , as it was hard to tell - young charges. Even though there was no logical reason for it, Benjamin found himself surprised at seeing children here. In a blurt, he asked Lilac about them.

"What, you think we spring out as fully formed grownups when your sort dream us into being?" she responded, clearly amused at Benjamin's naivety. "Don't forget, children only want other children as playmates. And as they get older, then so do their atulphi offspring."

"But how did they get here? Who looks after them?"

"Oh, they find a route somehow. It's in their - _our_ \- nature to yearn for the Amar Imaga when our human counterparts begin to relinquish us. Once here, they'll either be fostered out to someone, apprenticed - like me - or get taken in by a charity. Some end up as foundlings, but it does them no harm. Some, I expect, never reach our shores at all."

"What happens to them? The ones who are stranded, I mean. Do they die?"

"I don't know," said Lilac. Despite the morbid turn of the conversation, her tone and demeanour remained rather sunny. "Maybe they survive. And get seen, occasionally. Just a glimmer, a presence; but enough to make a human suspect that _someone_ was there. And - hey, you want to know what I think?"

"What?"

"That your people might consider them _ghosts_ a lot of the time."

Benjamin recalled the wood near his home, and what was rumoured to haunt it. Then he remembered the clown - the _warp_ clown - and something clicked into place. In some ways it was nonsensical; there was, after all, a world of difference between that painted monstrosity and the sombre spectre of local legend. Nevertheless, he was sure that there must be a connection somewhere. Trouble was, it was difficult to put into words, and with so many new and marvellous distractions assailing his senses, the inspiration was lost long before he was capable of making a coherent enquiry about it.

He didn't forget, however. Not completely.

***

They came to another walkway - high, as usual, and ornately gothic in style - and there Lilac paused. Leaning over the parapet, she pointed out a structure which didn't appear all that notable when compared to the rest, and requested that the boy study it for a while.

"What is it?" he asked.

"See if you can figure it out," said the lady.

It wasn't located very far from them, though it resided at a level well below the walkway. Overall, it appeared to be some sort of industrial complex, a fairly unglamorous agglomeration of corrugated metal and chimneys. He noticed that there were open bunkers situated about the compound, all heaped with a dark flinty material, and a number of large, steam-belching trucks and containers as well. But the most enthralling aspect was just outside, at what he took to be the entrance to the place. It was a long line of atulphi, most of whom were either carrying a silf, or brandishing one as if it might be the banner of a victorious army.

"Distillation," said Benjamin. "Is that right? You said something about silfs needing to be distilled before you can use them. Is this where they do it?"

"Correct!" said Lilac. "Got it in one. And this is just one of many. You bring your silf here, you get money, and with a clever combination of spagyrics, good faith and emberquick filtering, the fellows in there make all sorts of useful things. This is what our entire -"

"Emberquick filtering? What's that?" Benjamin interrupted, fishing for - and finding - the stone in his dressing-gown pocket. Once more, there came that jangling, faraway music.

Lilac, apparently unperturbed at being cut off for the second time in so many hours, indicated the bunkers that Benjamin had noticed earlier. "You see those rocks in there? That's raw, freshly mined emberquick. They get crushed down, electrified, and are then employed to leech the crude potentials out of the silfs. Smaller lumps are what we use for hunting; the bigger ones go to places like these. But that's as much as I know, I'm afraid; most _archimy_ is lost on me."

Benjamin, turning the small nugget over and over in his hand, stared at the large deposits of crystal down below. _The emberquick attracts the silfs,_ he thought, unaware that the queue outside the factory was beginning to show signs of some consternation. _The emberquick changes the silfs as well._ The distant ringing became louder, more insistent. _I can do the same._ He lifted the crystal in his hand, so that he might study it again, but was cut short by a fierce tapping at his shoulder.

It was Lilac, naturally. Without a word, she nodded in the general direction of the atulphi below, who were now in considerable disarray. The problem, apparently, lay with the silfs. They had become quite agitated, and the sight of such outlandish personages wrestling with what appeared to be a collection of squirming scarfs and ebullient ribbons was more than comical enough to snap the boy out of his contemplations. "What's happening?" he asked.

"You," said Lilac. "You're thinking too much, and the silfs are reacting." She patted the side of her satchel. "Our little friend in here is so lively, anyone would think that my luggage was trying to escape me. Try not to concentrate so hard on whatever it is you're concentrating about, okay?"

"Oh," said Benjamin, as if it was all the most natural thing in the world. "Sure." He returned his emberquick to his pocket, and did his best to occupy himself with more prosaic things - which was no easy task in a place like this.

"They're calming," mused Lilac, again watching out over the compound. Benjamin followed her gaze and saw that the silfs there had indeed settled somewhat, though their attendant atulphi were still visibly rattled. "Call me an as yet unfinished upper storey if you like," the lady continued, "but I think we're attracting stares. Which would make it a good time to leave, yes?"

"Okay," mumbled Benjamin, unaware that he was rubbing at his lower eyelids. His legs felt a little shaky, and he was sure that he'd suddenly become even more tired. Perhaps, if he'd felt the need to rationalise it, he might say that he had overdosed on wonder; but all he wanted now was to get to Lilac's place and take some rest there.

***

Lilac, as it turned out, lived not in a house, but an apartment located upon the fifth floor of a tall, faintly Mediterranean tenement that occupied one corner of a narrow, bustling crossroads. It was unremarkable in that it was just as remarkable of any other building in the vicinity, with its elegant, wrought-iron balconies filigreed extensively by a sweep of lush, tumbling, yet entirely _albino_ plants. Unfortunately, it appeared as if its character was only skin deep. Inside, the foyer was gloomy and dishevelled, and had a distinct air of neglect about it. There was no lift, only a dank, badly lit stairwell; when Lilac, ascending, ran her fingers along the bannister, flecks of paint fell like leprous dandruff. Benjamin, quite frankly, didn't want to touch anything here, and he followed with his hands set resolutely in his pockets. His heart sank when he finally reached Lilac's door; the squalor, without a doubt, would surely be just as bad in her small quarter of this slum as it was everywhere else.

But no. It was fresh, in sight and smell, clean, and charmingly haphazard. The first thing that caught Benjamin's eye, as he was ushered in to the lounge, was what he initially believed to be a chandelier; one squint later, and he discovered that it was in fact a very large and intricate wind-chime. Lilac, it appeared, had a thing for them, for it wasn't the only one in the room: tinkling, glimmering elaborations hung like bejewelled stalactites from just about every spare inch of the ceiling, as well as any available window-arch and recess. Underneath all this, a magpie collection of furniture - chairs old and older, a coffee-table framed of ebony and topped with glass, sagging shelves laden with books and ornate trinkets - rested on a patchwork floor of numerous, overlapping rugs. True to Lilac's style, there was much of the orient on show also, with Chinese block-prints of misty waterfalls and austere cranes decorating the walls, and willow-pattern vases adorning the odd tabletop and window sill. A long, black, gold-inscribed cabinet stood against the furthest wall of the room; according to the boy's brief appraisal, it looked like just the sort of thing a stage-magician might use to make his accomplice disappear.

As was his habit whenever he entered someone else's house, Benjamin stood frozen to the spot, half-afraid that even the slightest movement would lead to a slapstick catastrophe of crashing ornaments and broken furniture. Lilac, brisk in observing the niceties of receiving company, indicated a chair, and the boy took it readily. It may well have been threadbare, and probably on the verge of collapse, but it was extremely comfortable. And best of all, it meant that the possibility of tripping-up and causing a disaster was now nothing to worry about - as long as he remained seated, of course.

It felt good to finally take the load off his feet. He hadn't altogether realised the extent of his aches until he was at rest, and his muscles seemed to almost _groan_ with the relief of it. He reclined into the warm softness with a sigh that made Lilac smile; his forearms fell against the rests like toppling trees. And again, he was made aware of that buzz he'd felt when he'd first ventured into the bird-borne cage; that _sensation_ of knowing and not-knowing, as occurs when you get a word stuck on the tip of your tongue.

"Feeling quite at home already, eh?" said Lilac, as she plonked her blunderbuss and satchel down beside the empty chair opposite. Rather than take the seat herself, she instead fussed at the coffee table for a bit, hastily rearranging the impedimenta there as though embarrassed by the original layout. "You must understand," she went on, "that I wasn't expecting any guests today. Especially ones of your stature. So please indulge me while I flit pointlessly about the place awhile. What do you think, by the way, of _chez Zhenrei_? Do you like it?"

"Oh - fine," said Benjamin, when it dawned on him that Lilac was referring to her home. "Really nice." Amazingly, he yawned. "Better than the rest of this...well, the stairs and that. The outside looks good though."

The lady, done with flapping around like an inconvenienced housewife, perched herself on an arm of the chair opposite, crossed her legs, and folded her arms. "I happen to think," she said, smiling demurely, "that a lot of this building has much to say in terms of derelict chic. It impresses my friends most deeply, you know."

Benjamin, less than impressed, could only nod politely.

"But saying that -" she held a finger aloft, as if struck by a sudden insight "- it could be that my friends are merely trying to humour me. It wouldn't be the first time, what with charming lies lying so much more sweetly than bitter truths, and all that. Would you like a drink?"

"Um," responded Benjamin, who was a little startled at having a question come at him so out of the blue. He also found himself wondering if she'd meant something alcoholic. "No, it's okay. Thanks anyway," he said, deeming it the safest reply given the situation.

"Some food then?"

"Um-"

"Excellent!" she declared, making sure to interrupt before her guest could offer another _nothankyou_. "I have some _Nash's Blossoms_ in the cupboard. And some _Crips' Tattleflit_ _Poppers_ , I think. Freshly baked - well, freshly baked two days ago - from _Azadeurs._ " She sprang up and made for a door to Benjamin's right. "You'll know nothing about them, which is a good thing: surprise always flavours the Garibaldi, or so the saying goes," she said, before disappearing into the room beyond. "They're _biscuits,_ my child," she called, to the tune of what sounded like rattling tins and creaking hinges. "Just so you don't get any funny ideas. Okay?"

"Okay," Benjamin returned, confused as to what, exactly, it was that Lilac was on. Then, remembering that Lilac Zhenrei was not exactly human, he concluded that it was just a natural part of being a wondrous dream creature living in a wondrous dream world. Content, then, to simply settle into the moment and take a break from thinking too hard about where he was, who he was with, what _he himself might be_ , and all the other paraphernalia thrown at him in the course of this mad adventure, he set himself to the sleepy, soporific task of allowing his gaze to wander aimlessly about the place.

With the moment now better suited to a more leisurely appraisal of Lilac's abode, new details were soon forthcoming. Near the far left-hand corner, for instance, Benjamin saw that a sideboard he'd previously dismissed as a typically over-the-top accoutrement was, in actual fact, a perfectly functional cabinet surmounted by one of those large, old-fashioned radios of the type he'd seen during his journey here (and then he realised that Lilac didn't appear to have a television set. Which was strange, but also strangely apt; the atulphi, for some reason, _seemed_ like the kind of people who would prefer radio to TV. He didn't know why; it just suited them). Further along, and against the wall opposite, he spied another well-stocked bookcase, and though he was curious to see what passed for literature in this realm, he couldn't quite muster the urge to walk over and study the volumes close-up. And then, directly to his right - and he was amazed to find that he hadn't actually noticed it until now - he discovered a small, round table topped with a framed pencil-drawing of the face of a young girl. The table was close enough for him to reach out and take the picture if he so wished, but Benjamin felt that to do so would probably be a breach of etiquette. She was apparently Chinese, this girl, and she looked a great deal like Lilac. But there was something about her expression (or, at least, in the way it had been caught by the artist) which told him that it was not an image of his new-found friend. Her eyes were too serious, for a start. Too _studious_. And there was a subtle downturn to her smile, a hint of someone who, despite her youth, might secretly believe that no fun comes without cost.

"That's _Rose Lin,_ " said Lilac, returning to the room with a tray of what looked like small, flat biscuits. She set the tray down on the coffee table, brushed some imaginary crumbs away from her midriff, and went over to the picture that had so caught Benjamin's interest. "Pretty young thing, yes?" she continued. She picked the picture up, studied it for a moment, and then brought it up alongside her face, image side out, so as to invite a comparison. "See the resemblance?" She pointed to herself, the picture, then herself again. "She'll be a lot older now, but I think you'd still find a lot of me in her." Carefully, she returned the picture to its place on the tabletop. "This is the girl who gave me life," she said, letting her gaze linger on the drawing for a while. "I hope she is well."

"What happened to her?" asked Benjamin.

"She went somewhere else," Lilac replied, returning to the coffee table. "I used to go back to her sometimes; to the places we played, or to her home. She never saw me. One day I went to her house, and it was empty. She was gone."

"Oh," said the boy, unsure if he should offer a commiseration or not. If truth be told, Lilac didn't seem all that fazed by it. "Did you ever try to find her?"

"For a while," she said, poring over the biscuits. "But not now. Maybe later, when she and I are both old, it might be worth it. Anyway -" she plucked a few biscuits from the tray and held them out to Benjamin "- that's enough of that, I think. Try these!"

As he reached over and took hold of his share, Benjamin glanced once more at the drawing, and understood - by virtue of the picture's prominence, and the lady's gentle handling of it - that Lilac was perhaps not as unaffected by the loss of the girl as she had appeared. This, after all, was the very same girl who had dreamed her into being, the very same girl who had been her earliest playmate, and a bond as intimate as that could certainly not be broken without anguish. Aware, however, that it was not seemly to press people on such matters (particularly if the experiences with his mother were anything to go by), Benjamin let it go. Lilac had dealt with it, had found her peace, and she needed no buffoonery from a too-curious-by-half young boy to remind her of it.

"I should just say," Lilac went on, as she gathered some biscuits for herself, "that _these_ -" she held one of the biscuits up "- are the Crip's Tattleflit Poppers. I thought I had more, but obviously not. I'm nearly out of them, as it happens. You might, uh, find them a bit stale, too."

Benjamin give a slight shrug, as if to say 'no problem'. He brought a biscuit to his mouth, took a bite, and actually found it a lot crispier than the lady had indicated.

"I should also say," said Lilac, returning to the arm of her chair, "that you probably aren't used to this sort of cuisine. Let me reassure you that the effects are perfectly natural, and nothing to worry about. But then again, you're a _dreamshader_ , aren't you? In which case, you'd -"

But Lilac had no chance, nor need, to finish; as per her plan, the effects that she'd only _half_ -warned him about were already happening. Yelling with surprise, shock, and more than a modicum of delight, Benjamin began to spit lightning at the ceiling.

11

Considering all that he'd seen of Niamago already, Benjamin should have guessed that there might be something unusual about the biscuit. Yet even if he had, he would have never surmised that it was loaded, in one way or another, with electricity. Obviously, it wasn't _real_ electricity, otherwise he would have been fried to a crisp by now. And neither did it hurt. No, it was magic, or the result of some strange science that was peculiar only to the atulphi. Whatever; all he knew was that it was amazing, astounding, and probably no more remarkable to Lilac and her kind than the idea that one could quite happily sail away and cross dimensions in a bird-borne cage.

At first, he had wondered if this biscuit-bestowed ability to shoot lightning out of his mouth was a condition unique to himself. Hadn't the lady, after all, hinted that the experience might be different for a dreamshader? But when she also partook of one of the biscuits, the same gleeful spray of electricity shot from her mouth as well, so it definitely wasn't that. Maybe something about the buzz - the very same buzz that had hummed quietly at the back of his mind throughout his adventure here - changed, though he couldn't be sure. It might have been louder, or a mite more insistent, but that could simply be down to the fact that he was making himself notice it more. Anyway, the deliberations were short-lived; with a sizzling arc just missing his right ear by inches, Lilac made it plain that she wanted to make a game out of this curious phenomenon. And Benjamin, suddenly energised, found that he was all too ready to oblige.

***

He couldn't tell how long it went on for. When one is feverishly exchanging lightning with one's friend - or firing it at the furniture, the wind chimes above (which tinkled softly with every strike), or at a mirror (just to see if the lightning would bounce back. It didn't) - one quickly loses track of time. The lightning, he soon discovered, was completely harmless; he was struck plenty during the contest, and it never left him with anything but a mild tingle in his skin. Everything hit remained intact and untarnished; no trace, not even a scorch mark, marred a single target. Few pastimes, he knew, could offer such an enjoyment as this, where nary a thought need be given as to the consequences. Consequently, when the game had to end because the biscuits were finished, it seemed as if hardly a minute had passed.

But the light outside the windows suggested different; a subtle ochre had crept into the day, implying that it was close to noon. He tried to count back the hours, from his awakening at close to three in the morning to the moment at hand, and approximated that he had been awake for about nine hours. Nine hours! Chillingly, he realised that if he had risen at his normal time, he would probably be having his tea right now. He thought of his mum, preparing an evening meal for a family of three instead of four, and imagined what it would be like for her _if this wasn't all a dream_. Somehow, he was sure that she would not leave an empty plate at his place on the dining table. It would be full, he knew it. Just as he knew it would be full the next day, and then every day after.

"Lilac?" he said, returning to his already favourite chair. "Can I ask-"

"Light energy," interrupted the lady. She was fussing at the coffee table again, busily brushing crumbs onto the plate which she'd used for the biscuits. "The Poppers were infused with it. It's energy that's so light, you can't really do anything but have fun with the stuff."

"No, I meant - will I still be able to go back?"

"What - home?"

Benjamin nodded.

Lilac regarded him seriously for a moment. Then she smiled. "Missing it already, eh?"

"I dunno. I think so."

"Don't you even want to meet some of my friends? Do the tourist thing?"

He looked out of the window; at the towers, the strange clouds, the atulphi soaring distantly. _What do I say?_ he thought. _What do I do when I don't know if this is a dream or not? Lilac said I could come back - but a dream like this may only ever happen once. And if this_ is _a dream, then I could stay for as long as I like, and not have to worry about hurting anyone._ And here was the problem: If he stayed, would it be because he was bold, or because he was being selfish? If he left, would it be down to his being _responsible_...or scared?

"I take it that you're not sure," said Lilac. "In which case I'll ask you this: do you want to go now, at this very second? Or later?"

"Um -"

"Later it is, then."

"Hang on-"

Lilac raised a finger. "Stop!" She cleared her throat. "If you really cared about quitting me so soon, you'd have said 'yes' to it already, right?"

Benjamin kept quiet for a second. He tried to glare at the lady, but found it impossible because, deep down, he _knew_ he wanted her to come up with a damn good excuse for staying. "I guess so," he muttered, trying his utmost to sound suitably chastised.

"Exactly. And I assure you that if we were on our way out of here, and I was taking you back to the pier at this very instant, you know what you'd be doing? You'd be looking for every reason to stay just that little bit longer. _'What's this?'_ you'd ask, when some odd trinket caught your eye. _'Who's that?'_ you'd say, when some passing stranger appeared more an exhibit than a person. And there's something you haven't done yet, either, which you'd regret if events conspired to make this your only trip here."

"And what would that be?"

"Find out what it's like to be a _dreamshader_ , silly!" said Lilac, triumphant.

***

If this _was_ a dream, it was unique in at least one respect: it was the only dream in which he'd felt the need to go to the toilet. The urge had come on while Lilac was entertaining him with the individual names of her wind chimes (making the things was a hobby of hers, as it turned out; their names, it should be said, were so arcane that he forgot them almost as soon as he'd been told them) and, as feared, the lady responded with pure ignorance when he finally got round to asking her where 'the washroom' might be.

The atulphi, apparently, were so far removed from the human that they did not require such facilities. Lilac, therefore, did not have a toilet. They were as alien to this world as flying cages and electric biscuits were to his.

This left Benjamin with the unsavoury prospect of having to inform Lilac just what it was he needed this 'toilet' thing for - and it wasn't, alas, the pleasanter of the two. Thankfully, he didn't have to explain in any depth - he didn't have to explain anything at all, as it happened - because the lady, unable to restrain herself, burst into a fit of giggles that told the boy everything he needed to know.

The atulphi, apparently, were not so far removed from the human that they did not know what a toilet was. Niamago was abundant with them. "Although some don't look like toilets at all, " Lilac said, once her mirth had subsided enough to allow a modicum of sensibility. "At least, by your standards. There's so many shapes and sizes and characteristics to accommodate. But you'll be pleased to know that my personal variation on the esteemed device is one you'd probably find agreeable; I wasn't just dreamed up to _look_ human, you know. And I'll leave it at that. So yes, go forth unto your exile, and do not return to me until the deed is done. Okay? You'll find it through there -" she pointed to another door, one he'd not yet seen her use "- first on the right. Enjoy!"

"It still wasn't funny," mumbled Benjamin, already en route to do 'the business'. His barely suppressed grin spoke differently, however.

Little needed to be said of Lilac's bathroom except that it was pristine, perfumed, and as well equipped as Benjamin had hoped. The only curiosity was the soap: yes, it was an ordinary-looking, discreetly fragrant white bar, but when he washed his hands with it something unusual happened.

He saw another dream. Not as clear as those conferred when he touched the silfs, but still distinct enough for him to get some idea of what it actually represented. He saw a waterfall, and a robed, alabastrine woman who seemed to be dancing under it. He felt the presence of soft white birds, and then found himself watching them as they took shape and flight from the spraying spume. The shadows they cast upon the lake below were thick and smoggy, but they sank into the water easily, somehow becoming a part of it in a way he could not discern. There was more to this dream, he was sure, even though he couldn't see it. He was sure, also, that there was connection with that persistent, resonating sensation which seemed to underlie everything he came into contact with here. The vision ended when he let go of the soap, and he was left with the impression of having solved one of those picture-puzzles where something - usually a dog \- could be made out if you looked carefully enough at what appeared to be a random, patternless arrangement of blots on a page.

He pondered upon it as he dried his hands: a dream that needed no silf to be seen; a dream strong enough to make its presence felt against all those indecipherable others that hummed so subtly in the background. What was its significance? He looked again at the soap, the fingers of his right hand tapping abstractedly at the pocket which held his emberquick, and tried to add-up what had just happened. Maybe it was all down to purity: that some things just had a lot more of one particular dream in them than others did. Soap, after all, was meant to be clean, wasn't it? And if cleanliness meant pure, then it stood to reason that its essence - in the shape of that balmy, aseptic dream - might be so concentrated, so undiluted, as to be entirely legible to someone such as himself.

Inevitably, his thoughts got round to the emberquick again, despite the fact that the buzz he got from it was completely different to the one just experienced. It was not simply a matter of degree, or even clarity; with the emberquick, the noise was genuinely musical, and responsive to his musings in a way that the dream residues were not. The only vague similarity he could think of was that the item seemed to be trying to tell him something whenever he took it into his possession - but what? Back at the market, he was certain that, at one point, he'd caught the gist of it; unfortunately, in being so vague and fleeting, it was of no more use to him than a half-heard whisper in a crowded room. Leaving the bathroom, he again took hold of the emberquick, tumbling it around the inside of his pocket like a piece of loose change. He considered luring Lilac into a conversation about the thing, before remembering she'd already demonstrated how little she knew about the subject both at Macallory Lane and the factory. Still, there was always the chance that she might have some clue to impart, and with that in mind he ventured back into the lounge in the hope of bringing the topic to the fore. Immediately, however, it was obvious that his enquiries were about to be left for a later time: he found her leaning out of an open window, otherwise engaged in a conversation with someone outside. "Ah, there you are," she said, when she caught sight of the boy. "Want to come on over and say hello to our guest?"

"Guest?" repeated Benjamin, stealing a glance about the room and finding no other person present but the lady herself. A little confused, he joined her at the window, guessing that the 'guest' must be on the balcony. And yet, looking out, he saw no-one there. He turned to her, a quizzical frown on his brow.

She nodded towards a building opposite that looked like a stocky lighthouse. Approximately two floors up, on the staircase that corkscrewed around it helter-skelter style, there stood a slender, manlike figure whose features were lost to a smoky, ever-shifting veneer of dark and light. It was as though cloud-shadow was constantly drifting across him, and it put Benjamin in mind of that star-flecked atulphi he'd seen at the pier. The figure raised a hand and waved. Benjamin waved back.

"Who is it?" he asked Lilac.

"Mickey Dim," she replied. "You can say hello if you like. But don't shout, okay? He hates it when people do that."

"Fine," said Benjamin, wondering how the hell this Mickey Dim was supposed to hear him. Still, if Lilac said he shouldn't shout, then fine; it wasn't his problem. "Hello," he said, with as much volume as he thought reasonable. "I'm Ben. Ben Crosskeys. How, uh, are you?"

At which the figure replied:

" _I'm fine, young sprout, and'tis good to hear,_

Some words of a shader, once far now near."

"Oh wow," said Benjamin - though he said it in such a matter-of-fact way that it made Lilac laugh. "How did he do that?" The boy could hear him perfectly, as if he were standing no more than a few inches away.

"I don't know," said Lilac. "It's just the way it works. He talks, we hear. We talk, he hears. It's as simple as that."

"Oh right," said the boy, accepting the lady's non-explanation as the best he was likely to get when it came to the mechanics of the thing. "So why doesn't he come over, then?"

"But he _is_ here," responded Lilac. "It's just that he has the unusual property of always being distant. It's impossible, in fact, to meet him up close. Hence the name: 'Mickey Dim'. It's how he was born."

At which the figure interjected:

" _A point of order, please, dear heart,_

Talk free of me, yes, but keep me a part."

"Sorry," returned Lilac. Then, leaning conspiratorially towards Benjamin, she whispered: "I don't think that was a joke, by the way. You know, the line about him being 'a part'. He's fairly sensitive in that respect. I recommend we don't make an issue of it."

The boy paused for a moment, musing, as a slight, wicked smile began to play on his lips. "Does he always talk in rhymes?" he eventually asked, all innocence.

"Oh yes."

"Why?"

Lilac shrugged. "Because he likes to, I suppose."

Benjamin brought his attention back to the figure on the helter-skelter staircase. "Hey, uh, Mickey," he said, successfully defeating the urge to shout. "Haven't seen any _oranges_ about, have you?"

But Mickey Dim was sharp in answering, as if used to being so challenged:

" _Orange fruit from earthly shores,_

Are not conducive to good discourse,

And though I must congratulate thee,

_For this fine attempt at repartee_ ,

Indulge me a moment, while I ask you this:

Are you not a tad young to be taking the -"

" _Thank_ you, Mickey!" interrupted Lilac. Unfortunately, the delirious grin on the boy's face informed her that her attempt at protecting his sensitive young ears from Mickey Dim's decidedly _robust_ response had been significantly less than successful.

***

They didn't talk with Mickey Dim for long. In his roundabout way, he informed them that he had business to be getting on with, and couldn't really dally. He also let it be known that notice of Benjamin's fame was travelling fast, and that it had already reached certain bodies of self-proclaimed authority. Lilac's nose wrinkled at this; the word 'authority' had much the same affect on her as a bad smell, and when Mickey Dim explained who these authorities actually were, the look on the lady's face evolved into that of someone getting a taste of the very thing that smelled so bad.

"The Proactive Burghmeisters of the Progressive Slant," she spat, "Are a bunch of silly old fools who think they know better than everyone else simply because no-one can make a square waffle of what it is they're going on about. The so-called Considerate League are bureau-prats who refuse to understand that something can exist quite happily without paperwork to back it up. Hand them a stone, and they'll argue to the death that stones aren't real because a clear definition of what constitutes a stone isn't available on dossier. And the only reason why so many people like the Highwicker Collectivists is because they're all so insane, nobody thinks they can do any real harm!"

But the lady's furious disdain was wasted on Mickey Dim; he was merely the messenger, and the message was that these 'authorities' already knew about the dreamshader staying with her, and were likely to visit. "Well, they won't find us _here_ ," she said sulkily, as Mickey Dim faded away with a wave of goodbye. Then, after reflecting for a moment, she sighed. "But they'll get to us eventually, as politicians always do. You just can't escape them. Damn that Ichabod Dome - may he move ahead and leave his hair behind! If he'd have kept quiet, I might've ... well, okay, I'm not sure what I'd have done, but I wouldn't have - right, fine, okay, so the powers-at-wannabe would have found out eventually, I can admit that, but -"

She stopped. "Why am I arguing with myself?" she said.

"I have absolutely no idea," said Benjamin.

"Good enough. I need tea. I _crave_ tea. And I need some more biscuits. How about you?"

It sounded like a good idea. But with no tea available and the last of the biscuits gone, it meant that they'd either have to find something else to eat, or go to the shops. Lilac opted for the latter - but with one condition:

" _You_ ," she said to Benjamin, "can stay here and make some snores. As much as I'd love to introduce you to the gentlemen bakers of _Azadeurs_ , or even to _Yin-Yin Makato's_ fine clientele, I think you need the rest more. Soon - very soon - people are going to want to see what you can do. I'd suggest you take a nap."

She went back over to the tatty old armchair that Benjamin had found so comfortable, and pulled the coffee table towards it. "You can put your feet up here," she said, indicating the coffee table. "Enjoy some peace and quiet for a while, yes?"

Benjamin complied. As much as he would've liked to encounter the type of atulphi that operated under such exotica as 'Azadeurs' or 'Yin-Yin Makato', Lilac's suggestion was immediately more appealing. He was worn-out, no doubt about it; gravity had become a curse, his eyes felt fat and sore, and his whole head seemed to ache with the labour of bearing a face. Also, if what Lilac had said to him concerning his powers as a dreamshader was correct - that deploying this 'talent' would leave him exhausted - then it was absolutely essential that he get some rest right now, lest he end up looking a complete fraud when the time came to prove his ability. True, he had little idea of what he would actually have to do to prove it, though mere common sense told him that being tired to the point of collapse was not going to be a big help.

"One thing," Lilac said, as she fished what sounded like coins from a box on a shelf. "Try to leave the silf alone, okay?" She nodded at the satchel on the floor. "Good as you are, there's still a chance that it could escape or get lured away, especially if you nod off in the meantime. In all other respects, though, feel free to treat this place as an extremely plush hotel that charges its clients of they break anything. Alright?"

"Alright," murmured Benjamin, as he sank back into the chair, yawned deeply, and began to entertain himself with all the soothing sights that came when his eyes were closed.

12

But sleep didn't arrive as easily as he thought it should. Several times, when he felt sure of drifting off, he found himself suddenly restless, and he'd have to fidget for a while before he could get settled again. At best, he probably managed a doze or two, but he couldn't be certain; the problem with sleep was that if there wasn't a clock to look at (as with television, Lilac's abode appeared void of the devices) you never really knew if you had been asleep or not. Sometimes, a dreamless night might pass in a single blink. It had happened to him before. Conversely, he was also aware that one can become so _over_ tired that the very idea of slumber itself seems like an impossible dream.

Unless it was the very fact of his being in Niamago that was keeping him awake. Perhaps he was still so astonished at finding himself here that he didn't _dare_ fall asleep in case he missed something he'd regret not seeing. Or maybe the real cause of his unrest was that buzz in the background: accustomed as he had become, it still seemed just a little too conspicuous when there was nothing but quietness otherwise. Or perhaps it was because of the thoughts he kept getting about his mum, and how he couldn't stop himself from seeing her at the kitchen table, silent and tear-streaked as she prepared another family meal without him there (or staring blankly at the telephone, her face severe, her hands knotted tightly together). Maybe it was all of those things. Or some. Or none. In any case, he knew that he was not going to get much rest by dwelling upon it all. Then again, what else could he do when he was exhausted, yet unable to sleep?

With a sigh that was part frustration and part resignation, he swung his feet away from the coffee table and planted them on the floor. Perhaps he _had_ been asleep: stiff as they were, his legs definitely didn't feel as leaden as they had when he'd first taken to the chair. He stood up, stretched, and decided that while he had at least a modicum of energy, he might as well try and find something to take his mind off things. It was better than just lying there and getting irritated, at any rate.

He looked around the room, and again saw the radio. Though he was curious to know what kind of broadcasts passed for the norm here, he didn't think it would be right to switch it on without Lilac's permission. He idled over to it anyway, if only to see if it held any similarities to those back home. Finding out that it did - superficially, at least - was enough. There was a tuning dial, an indication of the frequencies available (though he didn't know if they corresponded with those of earth or not), and what he reckoned was either an on-off switch or bandwidth selector. He had a good sniff, and discerned a waxy, plasticky odour about the thing, not unlike scorched Bakelite. Strangely enough, the smell seemed fitting, given the apparent antiquity of the device. It suggested that something inside was close to burning out, through age and overuse. It probably meant that it was faulty too, and therefore best left untouched.

After that, he went to the large bookcase that had caught his attention earlier. Surprisingly, he discovered nothing even remotely interesting there. Most of the spines on display had Chinese writing on them, or some other language. What few there were in English - _The Gardens of Bonbon O'Hoy_ or _Charlotte Efferby's Effortless Companion,_ for example _-_ appeared so inane as to barely merit even a cursory glance. He tried taking one of the foreign books out, simply to see if it contained anything more worthwhile inside, but found that it was wedged so firmly between the others that it wouldn't budge. He tried another, but again the book was packed-in too tightly to be of any use. He didn't bother trying any of the rest; by then, what little enthusiasm he'd had was already well on the wane. He took himself off to the window instead, where he could watch Niamago go by while waiting for something to do.

The fresh air helped; the window was slightly open, being the same one that he and Lilac had stood at while conversing with Mickey Dim. And although Mickey Dim was already long gone, the boy still found his gaze drawn to the spot where that strange atulphi had held court. He tried working out how Mickey Dim could maintain his distance if, say, he was met in an enclosed space without exits, or what would have happened had someone come up those spiral stairs and bumped into him. Would he sort of 'ping away' to somewhere else? What if he was caught in a crowd? And if, as Lilac had said, it really _was_ impossible to meet him up close, then how was he supposed to buy things at shops? Did the shopkeeper _throw_ the goods at him while Mickey Dim threw money back? It seemed very unlikely. Maybe the lady had simply been indulging in a wind-up. Considering the toilet episode, it wasn't as if she was exactly averse to the pastime...

But then again, this was Niamago, wasn't it? Where surprises waited at every corner, and magic was as mundane as September rain. Looking out over the city, and seeing those conceits made real - the towers of eras past and unknown, the iridescent skyscape, the glowing atulphi that streaked by on a balloon-driven sledge, and those who made a carnival of the streets below simply by being there - he understood how unlikely it was that the word 'unlikely' could be of much use here. Which meant, of course, that what Lilac had told him about Mickey Dim could very well be true. It also meant that it was virtually impossible to determine if _anything_ she said was a leg-pull or not - and he suspected that she was all to aware of the fact. Mischievous as the lady might be, however, she certainly wasn't mean. More jests would come, undoubtedly; but as long as they were light-hearted, and free of spite, then there should be no reason to make an issue of it.

Hopefully.

And then, just as he was deliberating upon what he could think about next, something caught his eye. It was to his right, resting on the outside edge of the window frame, and upon seeing it in full, his first instinct was to recoil. Only when he looked again, and saw that what he'd initially taken as a very large wasp was actually something much more freakish, did he draw a little closer to the thing - though not _too_ close, obviously.

Yes, it was a wasp. But unlike the wasps he was used to, it was much bigger, and had one striking physical difference that was as repulsive as it was compelling: in the place where a normal, home-grown wasp would normally have a striped sting-bearing tail there was instead a fat, distended appendage that looked, for all the world, like a _spinning-top_. In relation to the rest of the body, it seemed huge; and whereas the head and thorax of the wasp bore the usual two-tone pattern typical of the species (except that it was an arrangement of black and _orange_ , rather than the usual black and yellow), this spinning-top thing underneath was banded, the colours alternating between a mushroomy white and a fierce, cinnamon red. It was an intimidating beast, in all; the boy didn't know if it would be wiser to close the window now - and thereby risk antagonising the creature - or leave it until the thing decided to fly away. The latter may very well have been the safer option, but it meant that the creature could also fly _inside_ if it so chose, and Benjamin was not inclined to let that happen. So without pondering upon it any further - and without taking his eyes off the insect, either - he shot out an arm and pulled the errant pane to a close. He was glad he did so; at the snap of the latch, the wasp arched itself, and something jutted out from the rear of that bulbous abdomen: a sting, perhaps a centimetre long, with slight yet regular striations along its length that were disturbingly suggestive of a _drill-bit_. The creature then took off, but it did not depart. Instead, it hovered outside the window, its wing beats emitting a faint drone that the boy, his skin crawling, recognised as the same as that which he'd heard when leaving the pier.

But as abhorrent as the thing was, Benjamin had to concede that it did not appear hostile. Not overtly so, anyway. If anything, the creature appeared to be more _curious_ than wary; there was a spooky deliberation to its movements, the sense of some determined appraisal of what lay beyond the glass. Then, just as the scrutiny of the thing was about to become unsettling, it was gone. It launched itself away from the window and sailed far and up into the sky. Benjamin had only a moment to notice a flash of sparkling sunlight on its wings before it was lost completely to sight; and in that very second he heard a loud _crack_ which could have been anything from a misfiring vehicle to an unwonted firecracker. All thoughts of the wasp suddenly forgotten, he reached into his pocket and retrieved the emberquick.

He didn't know what had caused the noise. Nor did he much care. All he knew was that it had occurred at precisely the same instant as when he'd seen that play of light upon the insect, and that it had made him think of fireworks. Abruptly, he recalled what had happened when he'd held his emberquick aloft at the Macallory Lane Market. And finally, he understood what had really occurred there. This time, he would not let it go.

But the emberquick was silent. Its beguiling music had vanished. And when he brought it to his eyes, he saw that it was no longer glowing. Despairing, he studied the crystal as closely as he could, turning it, pressing it and rolling it in his palm like a half-blind jeweller (and had his concentration not been so fraught, he might well have taken greater regard of the sheen that was apparent when the stone was unlit). Then he remembered how Lilac had first made the object glow: she'd merely flicked it with her finger. Hardly daring to believe that it could be so simple, he drew a deep breath and did the same - at which both the light and that wondrous, resonating chime sprang back into life.

Now all he needed to do was think of that first great dream - the flares, the gulfs, his mastery of the show, his frailty in the face of that unending sky - and see where it led to.

***

When Lilac returned, she was met with a Benjamin that she had not expected. The boy was fizzing, all chatter and exuberance, and she had barely closed the door before he was exhorting her to join him at the window, so that he might demonstrate this marvellous _something_ that he had discovered while she was out. She wondered briefly if he'd stolen into the kitchen and tried some of the _Tintifferbing_ powder that she kept for special occasions, but a surreptitious check of the cupboards (which she made whilst depositing her wares in the pantry) soon disproved that idea. Eager, then, to find out what it was that had caused this sudden, effusive change in the child, she bid him cease with the babble, and start at the beginning.

Benjamin showed her the emberquick. "Ok," he said breathlessly. "You remember what happened at the market, when I said there was music coming from this thing?"

Lilac thought back. "Uh-huh."

The boy grinned. "I've worked out what it means."

"Really."

The boy nodded. "It's all to do with my dream. The one about the fireworks and that. I told you about it in the cage, remember?"

Lilac paused. "Oh yes," she said. "The great dream."

"Yeah, that one. Now, I've found out that when I hold this -" he held the emberquick up, in front of the window "- and think about that dream, I get this feeling."

"What kind of feeling?"

"The music," he said, looking fixedly at the crystal. "It's kind of - it's like the music _changes_ when I think about the dream. It's doing it now. But not just that..."

"No?"

"No. The music, the noise - whatever it is - it's _calling_ to me."

"Calling," The lady repeated, clearly intrigued.

"Yes. But it depends on the direction. You see, when I hold this thing here -" he turned, bringing the emberquick round with him, and locked his gaze to the wall at the other side of the room "- the feeling becomes faint and the music gets weird."

"Okay," said Lilac, drawing out the 'O' at the beginning of the word, as though troubled by some vestige of scepticism.

"But when I do this -" he returned to the window, and brought the emberquick to its former position "- the feeling becomes strong, and the music seems ... I dunno. But not _weird_. You get me?"

"I think so. I _guess_ so."

But the boy wasn't entirely convinced that Lilac understood. "Look - it's a compass." He gave the emberquick a little shake, as if for emphasis. "Whenever I think of that great dream, this thing always points me in that direction. It wants me to find out something. Something important. I don't know what, but it _must_ be something to do with the dream."

Lilac inched closer to the child. "This _is_ a mystery," she said, gazing at the crystal. "Doesn't it point anywhere else? Is it always the same way?"

"Always," said Benjamin, turning to face her. "Do you know what's there? I mean - any idea of what it could be trying to lead me to?"

"Show me," said Lilac. "Be as precise as you can."

The boy indicated with a finger. "Just by that tower there - the one next to the small blue one. It's always the same direction."

"There's nothing that way," said the lady, pausing awhile to reflect. "No, nothing at all. You get the city, the conurbations, then the villages; after that you get the ranges - the _Corla Sihan, Rhiannon Peck,_ and the brooding sisters. Could be that your emberquick is responding to the place where it was mined. The _Corla Sihan,_ for instance, had always granted big yields. Though what your dream has to do with it, I have no idea."

"Neither do I," said Benjamin. "I'd like to know, though."

"Would you indeed."

The boy nodded. A crafty glimmer flitted across his eyes. "Wouldn't you?"

Lilac folded her arms. "Are you trying to tempt me with the promise of adventure, child?" she said, without any reproach whatsoever.

"Yep," he replied, spicing it with the hint of a grin.

"You _have_ become the bold one while I was away, haven't you!"

"I dunno," he said, a little unsure of how to respond to the statement. "I suppose so."

"Well, you certainly have me intrigued," she said wryly.

Benjamin glanced pointedly at the emberquick, keen to get to the heart of the matter. "I mean, we could follow it," he said. "I'm pretty sure that the closer we get, the...better the music will become."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah."

"Then it would be best if we moved soon, don't you think?" said Lilac breezily, as if it had been he, and not herself, who had been responsible for the shilly-shallying. "There's no telling how far away this whatever-it-is could be. We might not even find anything."

Benjamin doubted it. "How long do you think it'll take?" he asked.

"I don't know. Ages, perhaps." The lady smiled - and more than a little knowingly. "There's really only one way to find out, isn't there?"

***

But first they had to eat. Lilac was insistent upon it. The cakes she'd bought from Azadeurs, she said, had been purchased at a premium, and she did not want to compromise their freshness. The same went for the tea she had procured at Makato's. "Blame the Londoner in me," she explained, as Benjamin made an impatient face, "for believing that time taken for tea and biscuits never fails to be time well spent. Which reminds me - you don't come so far from London yourself, do you?"

Benjamin mumbled something about his home town, but only out of politeness. His thoughts were elsewhere - in places where great dreams cavorted and adventures awaited - and he had no real interest in pursuing small talk. Lilac seemed to understand this, but it did not stop her from trying her luck. "Do you like it there?" she asked, and received a murmur that 'it was okay'. She queried him about his home, his friends, and his favourite radio shows, but the boy answered with nothing that required anything more than a few curt monosyllables. "Ah well," she said, as though resigned to some faintly disappointing fate. She handed him a plate containing a share of the biscuits. "If you must act like a busted instrument, then at least make like a broken drumstick and _eat_ , okay?"

Benjamin complied without protest, the sweetly warm smell of the edibles doing much to shake him out of his reverie. Setting the plate down on the arm of his chair, he pored over the titbits awhile, then picked out a plain, rather shapeless morsel that reminded him of a small rock-cake. Before bringing it to his mouth, he looked over to Lilac, in the hope that her smile might impart some clue as to the marvels in store for him should he take a bite. Would there be lightning, as there was with the last one? Or something different? The lady, however, was giving nothing away. "Just try it," she said, bringing a cake of her own to her lips and leaving it poised there. "Take the plunge. Show me what a great adventurer you have become."

The challenge left Benjamin completely unmoved, but he played the part of the good sport nevertheless, if for no other reason than to show to the lady that her dare had been wasted on him. When he finally tried the cake, he did his best to make it seem as if what he was eating was of no more import than a lunchtime sandwich.

But the surprise that he had been secretly bracing himself for didn't arrive. There was a good burst of flavour - it was almondy, like a frangipane - and the texture had that moist, tantalising, slightly-chewable crumbliness that never failed to make him think of happy grannies in old-fashioned kitchens. But aside from a slight heightening of the usual background sensations (which were now beginning to feel so 'usual' as to be almost unnoticeable), there was nothing else. Not, that was, until he wiped what felt like sugar from his mouth and saw, on the back of his hand, a fiery smear that began to spark and crackle as soon as he set eyes upon it.

Benjamin yelped. Lilac laughed. Benjamin shook his hand vigorously, like someone trying to dislodge a nasty, biting creature. Between giggles, Lilac reassured him that the effect was just as harmless as the lightning, and that it was would soon "sublimate and be gone, anyway." Benjamin patted his lips, in case any of the stuff had been left there. Lilac laughed more. "It's not that funny," the boy said, brushing sparks away from his growing smile. "Oh yes it is," replied Lilac, as she too began to eat, shivering as an incandescent ripple coursed all the way down from her head to her feet. Upon seeing how it had also left her cross-eyed, Benjamin finally let rip with all his pent-up humour. "It's not that funny," said Lilac, blinking like a hermit looking outside. "This could be permanent." Thankfully, it wasn't, and neither was Benjamin's particular example of this confectioner's sorcery. With each and every falling spark, the mark on his hand - and, presumably, his face as well - diminished in size until there was nothing left.

"So - that was rather spiffing, was it not, dear child?" asked Lilac, once she had finished eating and regained her composure.

"It was -" Benjamin struggled awhile, seeking a similarly styled response "- jolly. Rather jolly. Yes."

Lilac reached for another cake. "Again?"

"I wouldn't say no," said the boy, also taking another cake.

This time, he chose a squashy, bite-size article that bloomed in his mouth like a jam-filled doughnut, and charged his hair with so much static that it felt as though his scalp was trying to leap up to the ceiling. Lilac ate something flat and frosted, which caused little candle-flames to spring up from her fingernails. While she busied herself with blowing them out, Benjamin sampled some of the tea. Unlike the tea he was used to, it was clear and fragrant; he'd heard that this was how they served it in Japan and China. Looking closer, he saw that the beverage was also infused with a suggestion of that colourful fluorescence he'd seen in the Amar Imaga and the clouds, and he hesitated before taking a sip, wary of what might result from imbibing something so obviously magical. As it turned out, nothing happened - nothing _noticeable_ , that was. There wasn't even anything all that remarkable about the flavour, either; it was alarmingly insipid, and possessed of that peculiar kind of blandness that makes one feel vaguely angry at having to struggle so much to taste it. Disregarding the tea, he decided to concentrate on the cakes and biscuits instead, where both flavour and fun were at least guaranteed. Lilac, seeing what had happened, informed him that he ought to take the tea with one of the biscuits if he truly wished to see what the beverage was capable of; the boy demurred, so she proceeded to demonstrate. When the smoke cleared, Benjamin politely declined the offer to do likewise. He was already feeling quite full, he said, and told her that the biscuit he was currently munching upon was liable to be his last.

Lilac brushed her palms together, then placed the empty plate on the coffee table. "So," she said, chewing upon some final morsel. "That's my lot. How about you?"

Benjamin held up a hand, swallowed heartily, and nodded towards his plate. There was one more biscuit left.

Lilac waited while he finished it, and then waited yet further as the boy produced a number of popping noises that seemed to come from everywhere except his throat. When he was done, she asked him if he was ready to go.

"What - now?" he replied, as if he'd not quite believed that this moment would ever arrive.

"Uh-huh."

And Benjamin being Benjamin - a frequently ordinary boy with a talent for nonsense - enunciated his intent to take this bold new step in his adventure thus:

"Sure. Okay," he said.

13

Lilac was adamant that they were not going to attempt the quest on foot. It would, according to her, be akin to sending a slug out to look for whatever it was they were looking for. Neither, apparently, were they going to fly. "My dinnywhits need some respite," she said. "After a night like that, they deserve it, don't you think? Leopold, the voyage; it'll be a miracle if they ever want to carry me again. So no. They can rest. They've earned it."

So how _were_ they going to travel, then?

"We'll cycle," said Lilac, slinging the strap of her satchel over her shoulder.

"Cycle?" asked Benjamin incredulously.

"Yep," she said, patting the side of the satchel as the silf stirred anxiously inside it. Unnecessary burden or not, the lady was still determined that her catch should not be left alone. "And you won't have to worry about keeping up with me, either; we'll be using a tandem."

Benjamin's heart sank. Tandems were not, in his opinion, cool. They were like mens' open-toed sandals and Citroen 2CVs: undeniably useful, but embarrassing. When he issued his response, he made his lack of enthusiasm perfectly clear. "Right," he said dully, and left it at that.

"Indeed it is," said Lilac, who'd evidently sensed the boy's reluctance, but deemed it unworthy of comment. "Now, you still have the emberquick on you, yes?" she asked, as she made for the door. Benjamin assured her that he did, going so far as to produce the stone from his pocket. "Good," replied the lady, fishing for her keys. "We're all set, then."

She led him out into the grubby stairwell, which Benjamin began to descend before Lilac had even finished locking the door behind her. "Where are you going?" she asked surprisedly.

"Um. Downstairs," he said, as if it should've been obvious.

Lilac shook her head, smiling.

"So what - I was supposed to go up?"

"Yep," she replied, nodding towards the upward flight.

"But you said we weren't going to fly."

"No. I said that we would not be going by means of my birds."

Benjamin rejoined the lady at the landing. "What about the tand-" he said, stopping when he realised what she was implying. "Oh. I see."

"Come on," said Lilac, as she sprang up the steps two at a time. Benjamin climbed briskly after her, taking in a few more flights, until the staircase terminated in what would have been a dead end had it not been for the door there. With a flash of her keys, Lilac unlocked it, then pushed it open to reveal not another room, but sky, sunshine and fresh air. They were, as Benjamin had already guessed, on the roof of the building. And on the roof, just ahead, was a very large, open-fronted structure that looked a great deal like an oversized bicycle shed - though within it, racked in a line, were a number of tall contraptions that did not appear to be bicycles at all. Considering, however, that any tandem capable of flight was unlikely to look like one _in_ capable of flight, and that none of the other structures present seemed large enough to house anything bigger than a child's tricycle, Benjamin concluded that this was the place where their vehicle was stationed. Right next to it (and the boy almost jumped when he first saw it) was a small booth, much like a sentry-box, within which was sheltered an even smaller man.

"That's _Naranarra_ ," whispered Lilac, approaching the figure. "Communal bike-keeper. I'll need to sign with him before we get our ride."

Naranarra was old, with a face so dusky and wrinkled that it put Benjamin in mind of those parched riverbeds he'd see on the telly whenever some drought-blighted place made it into the news. His eyes were pale, almost completely white, and against the darkness of his skin they seemed to glare. The austerity of his gaze was matched by his dress, as he wore only a loosely wrapped turban and a robe whose flow suggested a single sheet which had been carefully folded, then entwined about his body several times over. He sat, cross-legged, on a stool - which didn't do any favours for his height - and held, in his right hand, the bowl of an extremely long pipe. Though he was sucking upon the pipe contentedly, Benjamin detected no smoke, nor even the faintest whiff of it. Beside this strange little character, at the foot of his stool, was a soup-size cup containing a clear, faintly green, liquid.

"Naranarra," said Lilac, looking down at him. She then followed this with a stream of dialect that sounded, to Benjamin's ear, a lot like _"hile-hey, whip up nary wey-bong bowata nara-pisan, whassay?"_

Naranarra replied in a similar style, taking a moment to glance at Benjamin as he uttered something along the lines of _"barinda-flag lopo eye-wraith sear, yeah?"_

Lilac nodded. Naranarra grinned. He then turned a little, reached back into the hut, and produced a chained-together notepad and pen, which he then offered to Lilac, alongside some more of those peculiar words. The lady, dashing what was presumably her signature onto the pad, replied with a polite laugh, and something akin to _"wilyup, eye-wraith sear, yeah but bowata biggim_ _fie-frim updown lie-sen, heyup!"_ before returning the pad and pen to their diminutive owner. The formalities complete, Lilac made straight for the large shed, leaving Benjamin in two minds as to whether he should tag along like a needy dog, or stay put with Naranarra, and feel - as he always did when he was in the company of someone he didn't properly understand (like teachers, or friends' parents, for instance) - vaguely impertinent, as though it would have been more proper of him if he'd not actually been there in the first place.

But Naranarra quickly put him at his ease. Catching the boy's attention with a sharp yet gentle tap on the arm, he jabbered out another flurry of dialect - _"wayet, eye-wraith sear, don grit hy-ups_ _pullen low, biggim jezwhit allava flit, kay!" -_ winked with sly good humour, then leaned down, dipped the bowl of his pipe into the cup of green liquid, and resumed his noisy sucking as soon as the stem was brought back to his mouth. Benjamin, though completely unversed in his strange patois, was sure that the old man had just offered him some friendly encouragement; there was something in the rhythm of his speech, the rise and fall of his inflections, that seemed to at least make the _gist_ of it clear, if nothing else. The boy responded with a dutiful word of thanks, but the old atulphi merely cackled, waved him away, and went back to his reedy pipe. Taking it as a signal that Naranarra now wanted to be left alone, Benjamin walked over to Lilac, who was in the process of hauling out a tall, spindly device from a rack in the shed.

"Um - so how the hell are we supposed to ride it, then?" asked Benjamin, once Lilac had the thing in plain view. Despite its height, which the boy estimated at around fifteen feet, it must have been fairly light, as the lady carried it without the slightest hint of effort. "Does it need more bits, or something?"

"Nope," said Lilac, brushing her hands together. Remarkably, the contraption - which tapered down to a pinpoint, and was completely unsupported - didn't topple over when she let go of it. "This is it. _All_ of it. Courtesy of my tenancy agreement."

Benjamin had already deduced that the Niamagonic take on the tandem would be different. But not _this_ different. To begin with, there was little that was genuinely bike-like about it; there were no wheels, it was upright in attitude (as opposed to horizontal, as a normal tandem should be) and decidedly _treelike_ in shape. From the needle-tip upon which it was balanced - and Benjamin was rapidly coming to conclude that the thing was probably gyroscopic - there extended a slender central pole, which culminated in a bristling nest of gears, chains, fans and propellers at the top. There seemed to be little order to this crown of machinery and impedimenta; it was as if someone had gone into a garage and blindly bolted together anything he could lay his hands on. Underneath, and roughly midway along the length of the pole, there extruded two brackets, one above the other, that were each supplemented with a saddle, along with an attendant pair of pedals below. A short run of pegs led from the bottom of the pole to the topmost bracket, and it was no coincidence that they resembled the kind of maintenance footholds one usually saw on telegraph poles, because Lilac was soon using them to clamber up to the uppermost saddle. Her weight, it should be said, caused the whole device to lean precariously during her climb, but it didn't fall; once the lady was seated, with her feet at rest on the pedals and a plump crescent of a smile on her face, the thing was quick and smooth in recovering its former poise.

"Not as flimsy as it looks, eh?" called Lilac, beaming down at him. "And don't worry about the keeling; my weight, minuscule though it is, will counterbalance you. Don't forget to strap yourself in when you sit down, either. That's most important. You'll find two belts hanging under the saddle; when you get on, just bring them round your waist, click them together, and we'll be ready to go."

Benjamin, keen to test the astonishing properties of this contraption for himself, needed no further encouragement in becoming its second passenger: surely, surely, it would fall over once he started to ascend it. Yet there was only a slight totter, which occurred just when he swung himself around to take his place on the lower saddle, and that was that. With an enthralled grin he looked up to Lilac, ready and raring to exclaim just how utterly amazing this thing was, and then stopped himself: above, all he could see of his companion was her bum on the saddle, and he decided that it would be best to not say anything, lest she make a rather embarrassing innuendo of it. Instead, he concentrated on getting himself settled in, using the belts underneath his seat as per the lady's recommendation. When done, he took a quick, cursory glance upwards - just to see if his effort at securing himself had followed Lilac's example - and found the lady peering back down at him, her face framed by each of her thighs.

"Lucky I wasn't in one of my _cheongsam_ moods today, wasn't it!" she said brightly, as though she was making another throwaway joke. If it _was_ a joke, Benjamin didn't get it; he had no idea what a _shong-sam_ was, and had no great desire to find out, either. All he was concerned with, at that point, was the vehicle, and how he was supposed to help steer it when all the pegs within reach (which served as perfectly functional handholds, he discovered) were rigid, and without any visible turning mechanism. Fortunately, the obvious answer came before he had a chance to make a fool of himself by giving voice to the question: the thing, in all likelihood, was controlled by its _topmost_ passenger; nothing was required of him except that he hang on, pedal, and remain calm in the face of the fact that there would really only be a saddle and a tenuous belt between himself and a giddying, interminable drop below.

"Right," said Lilac. "All set, yes?"

"Uh-huh," replied Benjamin, suddenly not so assured as to the sturdiness of the vehicle. He'd been thinking what it would be like to look down when the thing was in flight, and had found it somewhat disconcerting. "It is safe, isn't it? You've driven - well, _flown_ \- one of these things before, right?"

"Course I have," said Lilac, checking her satchel. "I pay a premium for this; I'm not going to waste it. So relax, okay?"

"Okay," murmured Benjamin, taking a grim hold of the two pegs in front of him. He looked over to Naranarra, to see if anything could be read on his face which might contradict the lady's confidence, but the old man's expression was faraway and inscrutable. The boy offered him a wan wave, which was returned with a lack of enthusiasm that Benjamin found reassuring; it meant that, like Lilac, the old atulphi harboured no undue doubts about the safety of the contraption. Unless devices like these were always falling out of the sky, in which case Naranarra's listless wave was one of sad resignation rather than indifference.

But that was merely fear talking, and Benjamin knew it. If the device were not so safe, would Lilac still be her usual chirpy self? Would Naranarra really be so indifferent? No, if there were problems, he would have already picked up on it. The lady was reckless, but she was no idiot. Of that he was certain.

Besides, she was far too proud to risk death by means of a faulty tandem. One only had to imagine the obituary to be sure of that.

"Here we go," called Lilac, at which the boy began to feel the pedals move under his feet. So it was happening at last. Instinctively, he took his gaze upwards, looking beyond the lady to the haphazard agglomeration of machinery above. Slowly, very slowly, the mesh of components started to move, to turn. In a little while, it almost looked as if they were beginning to _dance_.

Lilac was watching the unfolding display also, her body shifting slightly from side to side as her legs worked the pedals. Benjamin followed suit, and was soon cranking at his own set of pedals with the same steady rhythm as that of his companion. Overhead, the spinning junk whirled faster, its reverberations echoing throughout the frame, its momentum pulling the propellers and fans outward like a centrifuge. He could see now that where there had once been chaos to the design, there was instead a wonderful, pirouetting pattern of waltzing wheels and strutting shafts, whose elegance of motion did much to allay his qualms about the thing's ability to fly. To his mind, something so precisely engineered was not liable to lend itself to easy failure.

He suddenly felt himself swaying, as if he were upon a boat in a rough sea. Glancing down, he saw that the rooftop below was receding; they were taking off. With a few deep breaths, he contrived to convince himself that he wasn't afraid. _You'll get the hang of it_ , he thought, not so fearful that he couldn't appreciate it as exactly the kind of joke that Lilac would have enjoyed. He made a mental note to remember it should she call down and ask if he was alright, though if he'd still be sharp enough when the time came was another matter. With his rickety transport getting higher, and Niamago ever lower, he knew that whatever wits he possessed were, quite frankly, likely to be otherwise engaged.

But the device soon steadied, and that helped. Until Lilac shouted down and reminded him of the part _he_ had to play in the mission, that was.

The emberquick! He needed to get his emberquick out, so that they'd know where to go. Which meant that he'd have to hold on with only one hand! Not good. Not good at all. Sure, he could ride a bike one handed; that was no problem. Hell, he could ride a bike _no_ handed for anything up to eight seconds. But it was different when you were close to the ground; for one thing, it didn't hit you so hard when you made a mistake.

Still, what else could he do? Tell Lilac that he was scared, and that he wanted to come down? Well, yeah, he could; but it was she who was in command here, not him. And he knew enough of her by now to know that she was not about to give up just because her passenger was getting a bit wussy. People capable of fighting demonic clowns whilst hanging upside-down from mile-high cages simply did not do things like that.

So without thinking - in case he hesitated to the extent of believing that he had a good _reason_ to hesitate - he hooked his left arm around the central pole, and hugged it for dear life as he took his right hand away from the peg and plunged it into his pocket. His fingers found the emberquick without any undue fumbling - for which he was grateful - and once he had it in view, he saw that it was still glowing. With its song already in his head, he brought to mind his first great dream, and did his utmost to ignore everything that was making him afraid. Which was no easy task, considering that just about everything _was_ making him afraid at the moment.

"Hey flyboy," called Lilac, when she'd seen that Benjamin had done as asked. "So where do we go now?"

"Um -"

"Left or right. Or straight ahead. Where?"

He held up the emberquick and concentrated, inclining the crystal one way, then the other. With the feeling that the song had become a touch more persuasive on the rightward side, he let the lady know that that was the direction she should go.

"Is that a long right? Or a short one? How far?" she replied.

She was taking the mick, surely. "Oh - just keep going right. I'll tell you when you get there, okay."

"Get there? We haven't even started."

"I mean - when you're on track. Just keep turning, and I'll tell you when you're ready to go forward."

To his relief, Lilac took it in a long sweeping curve, giving him enough time to ascertain the intimations of the emberquick, as well as ensuring the turn wasn't so tight that it caused their transport to tilt. Inevitably, though, she overshot somewhat. "Left now," he shouted. "But not too much. Only a little bit."

This time, the turning curve was sharper. And the tandem _did_ lurch - but not as severely as the boy feared. In fact, the motion could have almost been described as serene. "That's fine," he said, with a good deal more confidence in his voice. "Yeah, I think you can just go straight ahead now."

And the lady did so, without quarrel, quip or question.

14

On the basis that Niamago's sun behaved like its earthly counterpart, in that it rose in the east and set in the west, Benjamin estimated that they were heading in a northerly direction. It wasn't a precise calculation; the sun was still at something of its noonday apex, so he could just as easily be wrong. Nevertheless, it _felt_ like he was travelling north, and that was good enough for him. Provided he kept to the course indicated by the emberquick, the only direction that really mattered was forwards.

It was difficult to tell exactly how high they were. Benjamin, like most schoolboys of his age, did not use feet or metres; he instead referred to an ascending scale based on the verbal impact of non-specific superlatives, such as 'pretty high', 'really high', 'bloody well high', and so forth. At the moment, he would gauge his altitude as being around the 'pretty bloody well high' range; he was roughly level with the uppermost storeys of the tallest buildings, though low enough to occasionally graze a jutting tier or dodge a looming walkway. Sometimes a hovel-stacked gully might make it seem as if they were higher; at other times the broad hump of a shanty-stubbled hill would make it appear that they were lower. Looking up, and witnessing so many atulphi driving their vehicles at even greater heights, Benjamin could easily believe that he was still at street-level. Looking down, and seeing the expanse below festooned with their equally numerous kin, he could just as easily imagine himself as being but a hair's breadth from the edge of the sky.

If he had to make only one safe conclusion concerning his bearings, then it would have to be that he and Lilac were definitely getting closer to their mysterious destination. By simply summoning his first great dream and then adjudging the strength of the emberquick's response - in much the same way as one would pay heed to calls of 'hot' or 'cold' in a game of hunt the thimble - he was able to make sure that the gap between themselves and their goal continued to diminish. As to how far away their objective might be was anyone's guess; for all he knew, hours and hours of cycling could lay ahead. He hoped not, of course; as much as he'd gotten used to the altitudes that they were travelling at (and he had to confess that the tandem was amazingly stable in its flight; if he closed his eyes, he could almost make himself believe that he was sailing in a gentle sea) he still didn't like it much. It was just a little too similar to hanging from a stalactite in a cavern, or dangling from a rope-ladder over a ravine; the fall was so deep, and the handhold so fragile, it often seemed as if a fatal slip was only ever a heartbeat away.

And yet the vehicle, and the mode of travel, was safe. On some deeper level, he was certain of it. After all, would Lilac still sing so nonchalantly - the same silky, lulling tune he had heard when he first saw her - if she nursed even a titbit of anxiety about the device? And Naranarra - again, he had to ask: would that old atulphi really have been so unconcerned? The belt that kept him fastened to the saddle felt tight and strong; the tandem itself flew with grace and measure. No sudden jolt, lurch or spin had marred their journey so far. No cry of shock or surprise had come from Lilac's lips. He remembered how he'd arrived in this land, a passenger in a vessel that had been held aloft and powered solely by a small flock of birds, and wondered if he had felt as imperilled then as he did now. _No_ , he thought, his response quick and concise so as to spare any delusion, _I didn't_. But then again, Lilac's cage had a floor and bars. It gave the impression of being secure in a manner that the tandem did not. Out here, there was no floor, however slight it might be, between himself and the plunging depths below. And neither was there any visible barrier to halt him should he topple.

The tandem, however, did have an advantage over the cage on one significant point: it was a machine. A bizarre, implausible machine, admittedly, but one which had more going for it in terms of logic and physics than a bird-borne carriage. And when it came to choosing between the lift of an iron propeller or the flapping wings of some temperamental birds, it had to be said that this particular advantage was a decidedly large one. True, there was a magic at work in Niamago that could make people ski in the air and belch lightning; but Benjamin was still too much the child of a safe, cause-and-effect world to entertain the idea that it might be on par with, or hold sway over, the secure edicts of science. Perhaps, when he was back on land, he might think differently. In the meantime, he could only look forward to it.

***

There were, at least, some distractions along the way; no voyage, however fraught, across a land of living dreams could ever be _entirely_ unbearable. They passed, for instance, over a street market - a smaller and more sedate affair than the one at Macallory Lane - whose spicy scents, drifting up, had left a pocket of pleasing, fragrant air. _"Mankilits,"_ Lilac had said, slowing the tandem so as to get the most out of this piquant diversion; _"nimply sauce. And feybrush. Hmmm."_ Benjamin took a few good sniffs himself, quite happy to have the chance to muse upon something other than his predicament. He caught a whiff of what smelt like a combination of vanilla and ash; then a rosy fragrance, similar to Turkish delight. Next came a warm rum-and-evergreen aroma that made him think of Christmas, followed by a pungency that was peculiar and indescribable. The last was a lingering, grassy balm; when it was gone, he heard Lilac murmur to herself (all he could make out was something like _'tiffbing'_ , and the words _'up high'_ ) after which she returned to her song, brought the tandem back up to speed, and resumed the journey with the blasé aplomb of someone thoroughly used to such interludes.

A little while later he saw a superhero. It was only a glimpse, but it was enough; the figure, caped, was flying without aid, his arms stretched out before him in classic comic-book style. He sped between two buildings, passing in the blink of an eye, and left in his track a lingering, luminous trail. Naturally enough, the boy was breathtaken - but not altogether surprised. Back at the pier, he had seen an atulphi wielding what could only have been a lightsaber, and if he and this flying character were anything to go by, then it was obvious that some atulphi here had qualities that were more the result of inspiration rather than imagination. It went without saying that a child could just as much desire the companionship of a wise and powerful space wizard than anything else, and that went for the prestige and protection that arose with being the best friend of a superhero too. Maybe there were cartoon atulphi about, or ones who looked like film stars. Maybe the atulphi themselves could be anything a child might wish for.

Immediately, Benjamin's imagination took hold: could it be that there existed atulphi capable of devouring worlds and snuffing stars with a breath? Admittedly, he'd never heard of a child in want of so godlike a companion, but that was beside the point. And if it _was_ possible that there might be no limits to the powers attributable to these beings, then where did that leave their dark counterparts, the phragodols? Did they, too, have the potential for omnipotence? Or was his imagination merely playing its usual trick, and getting the better of him?

Okay, so it probably _was_ his imagination. But they were disturbing, compelling ideas all the same, and not easy to dismiss. He thought of asking Lilac about it all, but couldn't quite figure out how to say what he wanted to say, so he left it. Hopefully, when they were both back on the ground, and safe and sound, he might find it easier to broach the subject. Until then, there was nothing else to do but plough on, and accept that whatever further distractions the immediate future held, they were not going to come in the shape of a diverting discourse.

***

As for Lilac, she was - unsurprisingly - not so reticent: "It's interesting," she said, not long after Benjamin had seen his superhero, "that you haven't asked why we should refer to this exquisite conveyance -" she patted the central stem of their vehicle, so as to emphasise what she meant by 'exquisite conveyance' "- as a tandem. I've seen the things that go by that name in your world; quite different, I'd say. Yet you haven't remarked upon it at all."

"Haven't I?" replied the boy, unsure of what she was really talking about. It hadn't occurred to him that there should be anything inherently _wrong_ about describing this peculiar vehicle as a tandem. It had two seats, pedals, and it travelled - so what, exactly, was the issue here?

"Nope," said Lilac.

Benjamin, whose interest in pursuing the subject was entirely negligible, responded with a curt "Oh well." If it had been polite enough to do so, he would have quite happily said nothing.

Lilac seemed to get the hint: she went silent for a moment, and looked down to him with both a quizzical frown and an impish half-smile on her face. But it was soon obvious that she wasn't deterred. "I bet you're wondering," she said, with the faint haughtiness of someone who doesn't care that what they are about to say might be unwelcome, "how this machine could possibly work. In fact, I expect you must be puzzled about how any of these devices -" she swept a hand ahead of her, indicating all the soaring vessels about them "- manage to do what they do. To your eyes, they must appear ridiculous, yes?"

"I suppose so," said Benjamin diplomatically. Despite having to admit to a great deal of curiosity concerning these machines (as well as just about everything else in this world) he had little inclination to make a conversation out of it. As with the ideas that had arisen from seeing the superhero, it was just too massive a subject to get one's head around when one is dangling so high from so spindly and ludicrous a contraption.

Still, Lilac went on: "In your world, the physical rules are much more rigid. It's awkward sometimes, but at least you know where you stand, yes?" She paused, taking time to giggle. "With us, though, they're more flexible; more like guidelines. Often things work, often they don't. It's maddening, but the surprises are many. Not that the predictability that you're used to is a bad thing; I'd imagine it seems fabulous when a good pie comes out good every time you take it from the oven..."

Benjamin, who resolutely did not want to hear about the quirkiness of Niamagonian engineering, decided that he would be better occupied by taking stock of their progress. With a little luck, the emberquick might give some hint that journey's end was near, and when he brought his mind to bear on the crystal, he was pleased to find that this was so. There was now a definite air of coherence about the song, an idea of something recognisable in the jangling, tingling morass. In many ways, it was like tuning a radio, and hearing snippets of conversation and music amid the static; you might not know the content of the broadcast, nor the frequency, but you certainly knew that you were close to it. To Benjamin's relief, it meant that the remainder of the voyage could now be measured in minutes as opposed to hours, and he wasted not a millisecond in letting Lilac know about it.

"What's that, you say?" she called, surprised - but not outwardly irritated - at the boy's interruption. Prior to that, she had still been musing upon the technological differences between her world and his, and had gotten round to arguing with herself as to why Niamagonic machinery was still perfectly capable of functioning even when translated into Benjamin's realm (from what little the boy heard, it was probably something to do with 'para-dime bubbles' - whatever _they_ were!)

"I said we're getting close." He briefly held the emberquick up, so that she'd know what he was talking about. "The song. The noise. It seems like we're getting nearer."

Lilac brought a hand to her brow, shading her eyes. "Hm," she said, peering ahead. "I can't see anything unusual. Do you want me to stay on course?"

"Yeah."

"Straight ahead then, yes?"

"Yeah."

"How long, do you think?"

"What - to get there?"

"Yes."

"Um - dunno. Not long, though."

It wasn't as precise an answer as Benjamin would have liked to have given, but Lilac made no complaints. With a jaunty "Okay!" she took the boy at his word and spoke no more. For a while the journey continued peacefully, with Lilac singing softly to herself and Benjamin just about learning to relax, until it was broken by a sizzling, white-hot rocket which whizzed by and missed them so narrowly that the boy was sure he felt the heat of it being conducted by the frame of the tandem. It was only by virtue of being startled out of his senses that he did not release his grip upon the peg that served as his handhold, fearing - as he did in that terrifying, incandescent moment - that it was about to become hot enough to melt his fingers to the metal.

"You fleg!" Lilac yelled, and for one dismaying instant Benjamin thought she was referring to him. As it turned out, her ire - exemplified by a shaking fist as well as the shouts - was directed elsewhere: to a red-brick tenement, located about thirty metres to the right, and more particularly, to a very short man who seemed to be waving gleefully from one of the uppermost balconies. Tellingly, this very short man was standing next to what appeared to be a small array of tubes, all of which were set at angle, like an arrangement of mortars. Even more tellingly, one of the tubes was smoking.

"I'll have you for this," Lilac shouted. "That's three I owe you now - three!"

The little man - who, from what Benjamin could discern, was wearing an old-fashioned flying helmet, complete with goggles, and a suit comprised entirely of straps and buckles - made a peculiar gesture, as though he was manipulating an invisible sock puppet. He then ducked out of sight, and re-emerged a second later as a shower of sparks fountained up from behind the row of tubes. It was obvious what was about to happen - and Lilac Zhenrei didn't flinch in stating it: "He getting another," she cried, calling down to the boy. "Pedal - now! As fast as you can."

A second rocket whooshed by, this time to the rear. Though it wasn't as close as the first, it burst with such a crack that Benjamin's ears were left numb. Not just his ears, either; the shock seemed to thunder throughout his body, and for a terrible, deadening instant, he thought his hold on the emberquick had been lost. It required only a glance to see otherwise - to see that the crystal was still tight, and safe, in his grasp. Greater relief came when, turning back, he saw the little man toddle sheepishly inside as two other atulphi closed in upon the balcony. One was riding a pair of flapping, mechanical wings, the other jogging upon a rotating barrel in the style of a log-runner; and if they were not coughing, or waving away clods of smoke, then they were making free with curses potent enough to transcend language.

" _Ha - haaa!"_ cried Lilac, whose fist, once threatening, was now held aloft in triumph. "He overshot! Did you see that? Poor, foolish Wolfgang - he's brought a gullybag of trouble on himself, and I didn't need to do anything. Ha - _haa_!"

_Wolfgang?_ Benjamin thought. _Would that be the same Wolfgang who -_ and then he saw the plump, iron-crested dirigible at rest on the top of the tenement, the same dirigible that had tried to roller-coaster over them when they had been coming in to land on the pier. "So what was _that_ all about?" the boy asked, his heart pounding so hard that it seemed to punctuate his words with tiny hiccups. "Why the hell was he -"

"Oh, he wasn't trying to kill us," said Lilac, in the same matter-of-fact tone as used by dog owners when excusing their pet's viciousness on the grounds that he was 'just playing'. "No, no, no - that was never part of the deal."

"Deal?"

"Yep. A pact. A bargain. Wolfgang and I - well, we were bored, so we thought we'd, uh, make a pledge to liven each other's lives up. This was before the phragodols became such a problem, back in the days when silf-hunting was a much duller business."

It was insane, but reasonable enough considering it was also just the sort of caper he could see Lilac getting herself involved in. "So you decided to play, what, tricks on each other?"

"Well, not _tricks_ as such; not always. We wanted scares, mostly - harmless ones, that is."

"And what happened just now was part of this deal."

"It was."

"A harmless scare."

"Are you harmed? Am I?"

"So you and Wolfgang are friends, really."

"I'd say so."

"But I don't get it - if the phragodols are around now, and you and Wolfgang are mates...then why don't you stop?"

"Oh, I've tried. Trust me. But the _fleg_ always thinks I'm figuring to steal in with a secret."

"What's that mean?"

"Um - pull the wool over his eyes. A fast one. You know."

"But that's just stupid."

"Isn't it! And before you ask, boy - _no_ , he's never made the same offer to me either. And even if he did, I wouldn't take him up on it. Which makes me no better, I know, but that's the way the wayfarer has chosen, and no way but that way can lead him astray. Which means -"

"You've sort of made your bed, and you have to lie in it."

"Indeed."

_It's just too daft,_ the boy thought, somehow both amused and disconcerted by the idea that Lilac hadn't had the sense to include a get-out clause in the arrangement. And it was patently clear that no such arrangement existed, otherwise the subject wouldn't have cropped up in the first place: Lilac and her companion would have drifted on by, and Wolfgang at the balcony wouldn't have thrown them anything except, perhaps, a cheery wave. "So why didn't you or Wolfgang agree upon, you know, a code-word or something, that you could use when you wanted to finish the game?" he asked, unwilling to believe that she could be quite so foolhardy as to make a deal without knowing how to end it.

"Put it like this," she said. "I'll never again imbibe more _soakly-wen_ than is good for me."

"So you were drunk," said the boy, finding a moment amid his anxieties to be impressed by how blithely grown-up he had sounded on the matter.

"Something like that, yes."

At which Benjamin, who had once sneaked a taste of Pete's beer and found it weird and bitter _,_ decided that he would remain teetotal for the rest of his life - though what the rest of his life would amount to up here, where his only defence against the dangers of the drop below (not to mention the belligerence of rocket-bearing midgets) came in the shape of so crazily reckless a dream-creature as Lilac, was not something he really wanted to contemplate.

***

But the boy soon calmed when he brought the emberquick back to his attentions and realised that they were ready to begin their descent. They had reached an area where the metropolitan cram of towers, walkways and overstuffed streets was beginning to give way to a more leisurely expanse of suburbs, and it was to there - or more particularly, to a certain point within that sprawl of smaller, though no less outlandish, structures - that the crystal indicated they should go. He called up to Lilac, told her of what adjustments she should make in their course, and asked if there was anything of note in the area of their apparent destination. The lady shook her head. "It's just part of the conurbs," she said. "Houses, some big, most small, nothing grand. Nothing special, either. You sure that's where we have to go?"

Just to be certain, the boy rechecked, holding the emberquick before his gaze and recalling his dream of fireworks (which this time came coupled with the strangely disturbing idea that it may well have been one of Wolfgang's rockets, exploding in the distance, that had spurred this mad little quest in the first place) as he aligned the crystal to the spot where its music seemed most lucid. To be doubly certain, he tapped the emberquick against the tandem's central stem, so as to ensure that its glow - and, by implication, its power - would be at its fullest, and checked once more: "Yes," he replied, pointing. "It's there. We're dead on course. No two ways about it."

Lilac shrugged. "So its not leading us that way," she said, indicating a stack of Arabic domes that lay some miles rightward. "Or there," she continued, referring to an isolated, many-tiered tower, situated even further away than the domes, that loomed over the urban landscape like an imperial citadel.

"Don't think so," said Benjamin.

"Oh well."

The mystery, then, would not be solved until they were right on top of it - or even inside it, if Benjamin was right in supposing that the answer was probably within one of those houses below. But with no clue forthcoming, he reserved his speculations for other issues, primary amongst which was the fact that he was seeing snow here, even on so warm and sunny a day as this. By Niamagonic standards, it was probably nothing unusual ... except that this snow had somehow contrived to fall only upon the trees and bushes, leaving the roads and buildings completely untouched.

15

Winter, as it transpired, had not come to these summery suburbs, and the whiteness of the trees, bushes, lawns and gardens was not due to snow. Instead, it was the flora _itself_ that was white: every leaf, every flower and - now that he was low enough to see it - every branch and twig in between; all completely colourless, with no single stalk being creamier than the other, nor a single tree-trunk appearing icier than the rest. The cascading plants at Lilac's flat had, he remembered, been similarly monochrome, and he devised an idea that maybe _everything_ that grew in the soil of this land was bleached. But if he should be amazed or appalled by this, he couldn't decide. Like so much of what was at large here, it was just too strange to be settled by an easy opinion.

It was not his most pressing concern at the moment, in any case; that honour was reserved for the emberquick, and more precisely, what it was that it was leading him to. And there was no doubt about it now, either; in one particular house in one particular street (for the emberquick refused to sing tunefully if focussed anywhere else) there lay the reason for this mysterious connection between the crystal and his first great dream. What he expected to find there, he didn't know - and neither did Lilac. "Puzzles fall here like rain does in London," she had said, by way of comment. "And given the choice, I'd take the puzzles; more tolerable, more refreshing, even if they should be a bit more prone to leave you scratching your head."

The house in question was detached and small, and lay amid a length of equally detached dwellings that were as unique as one to the other as were the towering complexes of the city proper. Though each was surrounded by a comparable amount of garden, the houses themselves could be any shape, any style, and any colour whatsoever. There was, for example, a dwelling not unlike a squat stepped pyramid; and beside it, a tiny palace whose pink columns and elaborate cornicing made it appear more like an oversize wedding-cake. Opposite this there stood an ugly, fungal-looking thing that exhibited more doors than seemed necessary; and next to that, a circular, cornerless abode topped with a bristling crown of chimney stacks. The house that Benjamin was concerned with appeared to be a flinty, bulging cottage with a roof so bowed that it looked almost a cartoon of itself. Its garden was wildly overgrown, a white tangle of frosty fronds, gossamer strands and trees that loomed like avalanches waiting to happen; it was even worse at the back, where the untended shrubbery had merged into a giant, impenetrable mass that completely obscured the rearward part of building. Initially, though, it had seemed cosy enough; a charming, if scruffy, portrait of the kind one might find on a seasonal stamp. A while or so later, the boy found cause to think differently when he was close enough to see that the house was very probably deserted.

Without the provision of pavements, Lilac gently brought the tandem down to a spot on the cobbled roadway just outside the front gate. "So this is it, eh?" she said, as the boy unstrapped himself from the saddle. "It is," he responded, without bothering to check with the emberquick. Glad to be on the ground at last, he as good as jumped from the vehicle, all thoughts about the house and its secret temporarily forgotten as he basked in the brief delight of a safe touchdown. Lilac descended more soberly, taking each peg one by one, and not flinching at all when the tandem gave its customary lurch. Checking the locale, Benjamin noticed a small group of outsize rabbits loitering at the far end of the street. Recalling the lady's disdain for these 'hurrix' things, he half-expected to see her scowl when she caught sight of them; but there was only a flick of a glance, made as she stepped off the last peg, and an assurance - which may or may not have had anything to do with the matter - that their ride was safely locked, and thus not liable to be stolen.

(Another thing he noticed, regarding the rabbits: he actually started a little when he saw them, as if shocked by their appearance - which was palpably odd, considering it was not the first time he'd seen such creatures. And compared with some of the other Niamagonians he had encountered, they weren't all that outlandish either; which made his reaction even more unfathomable.)

"What do you reckon, then?" he asked, after joining Lilac at the gate and taking a moment to silently appraise the place.

The lady shrugged, then shook her head. "Unsure," she muttered, the fingers of her right hand drumming lightly against the gatepost. "I'd vouch for it being empty, but beyond that - well, who knows. Tell you what -" she vaulted over the gate, the action so fast and unexpected that Benjamin didn't have time to believe what he was seeing until she was on the other side "- let's go and find out, eh?"

"Um -" he pointed to the house, but kept his eyes on his companion "- we're not trespassing, are we?"

"No-one to trespass against," she said, as she turned and began to wade across the unkempt foliage. "Come on. No need to be shy."

Stealing a look at the gang of hurrixes, and finding, thankfully, that they didn't appear at all interested in what he and Lilac were up to, the boy cautiously followed. Preferring to simply open the gate rather than vault it (it was so rickety, he doubted it would survive another attempt), he traversed the garden by means of a short, brick pathway that was now mostly lost to albino undergrowth, and caught up with Lilac at the gashed, greying row of planks that served as the front door. There was no letterbox, nor keyhole; only a small, cracked pane through which the lady peered like an impatient visitor. "Can't see much," she mumbled, her hands cupping each side of her face like blinkers. She then stepped back, perused the frontage for a second or two, and went over to the nearest of the four shuttered windows that were set into a bay at the left hand side of the house. "Hmmm," she murmured, peeking between the array of slats that comprised her chosen shutter. "You know, I think we're going to have to go in. Can't see anything from out here."

"Are you sure there's no-one inside?" asked Benjamin, taking a quick look round to ensure that they were not attracting the attention of the locals. Fortunately, he didn't spy any twitching curtains in the places opposite, nor a nosey neighbour in any of the gardens. But that didn't mean that he and Lilac had gone unnoticed.

"Absolutely," came the reply. "And if I'm wrong -" she suddenly began to tear at the shutter, pulling the slats away in fistfuls of dry, flaky shards "- then I expect we'll know about it very soon."

Benjamin, feeling a lot like a little brother who has gotten himself involved in one of his elder sibling's escapades, could only watch, gobsmacked, as Lilac sprang up on to the window ledge and then proceeded to throw first her satchel, then herself, through what remained of the shutter. Once she was inside, he heard her shuffle about for a moment, after which she issued some appreciative noises, and a remark that the place was 'interesting'. "I think we had a scholar here," she said, before exhorting her companion to join her with another call of "come on!"

Doing his best to ignore the nagging thought that just because Niamago had no government, it didn't necessarily follow that it had no police force either, Benjamin complied; he ambled over to the window, checked to see if there was any broken glass about, and when he was satisfied that the only injuries he was likely to sustain would be those incurred by splinters, climbed his way in. He was not as nimble in this task as Lilac, hampered as he was by the care he had to take in not snagging his dressing gown; once he was certain that the greater portion of his body had made it through the gap, he didn't so much jump, as _plop_ down on to the floor within. Ordinarily, he would have been embarrassed at so clumsy an attempt, as it was a matter of pride that he could usually clamber with some finesse. Right now, however, he was simply not bothered by it.

He found himself in a room where the sunlight, streaming in through the spaces between the slats and the ruptured shutter, provided enough illumination to render its furnishings in dim but clear detail. As it happened, the furnishings were few and decrepit, and if that fact alone wasn't enough to convince the boy that the place was deserted, then the atmosphere of disuse certainly did: the floorboards were bare, the walls stripped and stained; an empty iron bucket sat upon a neglected hearth, where the grate, devoid of one leg, stooped down to a pile of ash as though half-sunken into it. By way of a seating arrangement, there was only one solitary stool; by way of home comforts, nothing.

But the room was not without its fascinations, foremost of which was the picture hanging above the mantle. It was large, possibly poster-sized, and if it had once been mounted behind glass, then that glass had long since fallen from its doughty frame. The image itself was faded, the design confused by mildewy marks and creases. But what it depicted was clear enough: a crescent, in essence; the shape was ragged, both by intent and neglect, but it was a definite crescent, with its cusps pointing downwards and its arc sketchy but fat at the crown. Drawing closer, Benjamin could see that there were symbols on the picture: carets, wavy lines, crosses, arrows and asterisks, all dotted about with no discernible pattern, save that most of the wavy lines were outside the crescent and everything else was within it. There was writing there, too, usually near one or a cluster of the symbols; closer examination proved that it was a Roman script, highly ornamental, but nevertheless legible: at the tip of the rightward cusp Benjamin found an asterisk, supplemented with the word 'Niamago'. Opposite, on the leftward cusp, another asterisk, and two words this time: 'Id Carnifor'. Between them, upon a small diamond with arrows radiating out from it, was 'Ruadahann'. And above, at the centre of the whole arrangement, there was written, in an extravagant, decorative example of calligraphy: _Amar Imaga._

"It's a map," said Benjamin.

"Uh-huh," said Lilac. "But don't get carried away with it. It's far from exact." She pointed out a series of arrows, bolder than the rest, that were also tagged with numbers. "Our friend has been trying to get some _nous_ on the fluctuations. Nothing in the Amar Imaga is fixed, remember."

He remembered that it was nothing like the map Lilac had used to bring him here.

"It's interesting, though," the lady said, before sidling off to some other part of the room. "Beautiful craftsmanship."

But it wasn't the craftsmanship that Benjamin found most intriguing, nor even the map itself; rather, it was the idea that the land - no, _continent_ \- it depicted should exist as such a perfect shape. He knew a little about geology, and was aware that such processes as erosion and continental drift could not possibly produce this sort of symmetry and structure. Perhaps, as Lilac had claimed, it wasn't a true representation of the landscape at all; maybe it was something more along the lines of the famous map of the London underground, whose topography, though wrong, nevertheless served its purpose well in guiding the harried traveller. But correct or not, it remained a treasure of scintillating curiosities, particularly in the area where the crescent was at its thickest: here, around which the cartographer's work had become scribbly and uncertain - whether it was a portrayal of mist or ignorance, the boy couldn't tell - he discovered more symbols, like tiny upside-down egg shapes with black ovals inside, and the word _'Prestadomus'_. To the left of this hazy patch were two more asterisks, one complemented with _'Dis'_ , and the other, lower down, appended with what looked like _'Leng'_. To the right, there was only one other place visible (and places they were, he was sure of it) which was called _'Nemmasin'_. There were other asterisks about, some with names that he couldn't discern, some with no names at all. Niamago and Id Carnifor were, he noticed, the only coastal locations.

When he was finished with perusing the map, he went over to the next most fascinating thing in the room: a small desk, heaped with books, papers and dust, which only really came to his attention when Lilac was using the door beside it to venture out to what was presumably the hallway. The desk itself was nothing special; ramshackle and age-worn, a creak given shape. The books were more beguiling, but they were so thick with dust that they seemed somehow _infested_ , and Benjamin didn't want to pick them up (he also had the notion that if he were to offer even the tiniest touch to one, it would crumble to powder). The papers, however, were immediately captivating: like the map, they bore a script that was legible to him when not muddied with dirt, creases and shadow. The only difference here was that the handwriting was exactly that, with no calligraphic flourishes at all.

Benjamin offered a little puff of air to the topmost sheet, loosening away some of the dust. Then he began to read:

...speaks of blooms and eidola. I will have nothing to do with it, come whatever appeal. Alexander rejoices at it, all the time, even when he is talking of 'abomination'. He sees no contradiction in it, rather he sees no contradiction in HIMSELF. I think he is mad, or wicked, but what if he is right? He jokes that we cannot sin in dreams, yet deems Parment a heathen for referring to his blooms as fetches...

Fairly nonsensical stuff, then, assuming he'd read it correctly. After this there were a few more paragraphs made illegible by stains and scribbles - though he could still make out the odd reference to these 'blooms and eidola'things \- and then there was one final segment, located in what looked to be the second to last paragraph, which was as clear the first:

...I cannot be content with apports forever. I know this, and so does Alexander. He is convinced I will give in and form for myself the bloom of my dreams, but I've seen the horrors there. If the art were perfected, would I think different? Yes...

This was followed by two more lines, utterly unreadable, which ended with:

...a promise of secrets, which he calls revelations. But I will not give in to Alexander Gogmagog. Not ever.

Gogmagog. He'd heard that name before, back at the pier; a name that had, even then, seemed oddly familiar, though where he had heard it prior to that he didn't know. And now he had a first name to go with it as well. But who was he?

"Looks like we won't be able to go upstairs," called Lilac from the hallway, and Benjamin remembered the hints she'd dropped concerning this Gogmagog: that he was a dreamshader, and perhaps the greatest example of such ( _"...he's probably talked you up as being the better of Gogmagog, and the rabble want their hero..."_ ); that he was closely involved with a certain phragodol ( _"...that Gogmagog atrocity Leopold..."_ ); that he was someone to be feared ( _"...never mind - it's not your worry..."_ ). Eager to find out if any of the other papers on the desk had much else to say about this strange and elusive character, Benjamin carefully brushed the topmost sheet aside with his fingertips, uncovering the one beneath. It turned out to be no more legible than the one he had just read, despite there being a dust-free imprint as left by its predecessor. The colour of the ink was slightly different also \- fresher, and a little bolder - which led him to believe that it must have been written at a date later than the first.

_...what happened to them is that they went. All of them, or all that I knew, anyhow. Isa Raphael went. So did Li Enlai, Antonio Pella, and Robert Kraczkicz_. _We mustn't forget Alexander Thorn, either. Some might dispute his inclusion, but I won't..._

There was more, but an interruption from Lilac - "Boy, I think you'll want see this," she cried from somewhere else in the house - saw to it that he didn't have a chance to study further. The papers were interesting, but the summons took precedence in that it promised fresh curiosities, and he departed the room without lingering. In the hallway, he found a collapsed staircase (only three stairs remained intact, descending from the landing into empty space) and, comically enough, a broken toilet bowl, resting upon a stack of broken stairs like some peculiar pyre-piece. Though the light was murkier out here, with the only source being the small pane in the front door, the entrance to the room opposite was nevertheless visible, and the route towards it free of any shadow-obscured hazard. The door to this other room was ajar, and he espied Lilac even before he stepped over the threshold. "He wasn't just a scholar," whispered the lady as the boy entered. "It looks as if our absent friend was a collector as well."

Again, there was not as much light in this room as there had been in the first, largely because the shutters here were still intact. But his eyes had become accustomed to the gloom, and he was able to make out the surrounding features without difficulty. Essentially, the room should have been a dining area - there was a large table in the centre, a few musty chairs, a doorless, decrepit wall-cabinet - but it was evident from the amount of paraphernalia heaped about the place that it had probably lost its purpose even before the house had become deserted. The room, in fact, was a trove; the tabletop was covered with objects - bottles, orbs, rods, stones - as was the wall-cabinet. Even the seats of the chairs were hoarded with clutter. But why? After all, if the pieces were valuable, then the owner would have taken them when he departed, wouldn't he? Unless his departure had been of the permanent sort, in which case one had to wonder why some grieving relative or lamenting friend hadn't seen to it that the collection had gone to a safer place.

He walked over to the nearest corner of the table, where his eye had been caught by a cylindrical item which appeared to be carved out of marble. There was some kind of label underneath it, or tag, but if there was anything written on it then it was hidden by the item itself. If the boy had not been hindered by the idea that he was still a trespasser (for he was all too aware that an unoccupied house wasn't necessarily an ownerless one) then he would have picked the object up without hesitation; but it required glance at Lilac, and a nod of her head in return - an unspoken contract of shared responsibility, in other words - before he allowed his fingertips to make contact with it.

As soon as he did so, images swam into his mind; of shining faces all smiling, and a wand that could mark the moon. He grinned. "It's a dream," he said. "A great dream." He took his hand away and let his fingers settle on another item: a ball this time, made apparently of glass, with a large, rough gouge on the surface. Once more there came a dream, startlingly clear, and in this one he found himself in a field, painting mirages upon the horizon. "Yes," he said, in a hushed tone. It was as vivid as the dream he'd seen when he had touched the soap at Lilac's place, but with much more in the way of meaning: "A dream of dreams," he continued, the smile wavering a little. "It's a dream about ... wishes."

Afterwards, he tried another object. "Loneliness," he murmured, the smile lost. Then another; the smile returned, but he did not say anything.

"So what do you think?" asked Lilac, assuming that Benjamin's turn to taciturnity meant that he was finished with his testing.

"They're all great dreams," the boy said, stepping back from the table to appraise its contents as a whole. "Very clear as well."

"That's nothing unusual."

"Maybe -" he held his palms out and shrugged. "Maybe whoever lived here just liked to collect these really pure dreams. Well, the things that were made from them, anyway."

"But to see them, he'd have to have been a dreamshader."

"Yeah," said Benjamin. Then, just as he was about to say something more, he stopped. "Hang on," he exclaimed, pulling the emberquick out of his pocket. "I think ... I've got an idea."

The emberquick's song was now so strong that he felt almost as if he could understand it. And he found, as suspected, that it was at its strongest when aimed at one precise place in the room. "It's a lullaby," he said, his eyes gleaming. "The first one my mum sang to me. I can feel her breaths on my face." He walked towards the wall-cabinet, the shining stone held out ahead of him. "Yes, it's here. It's definitely here."

Lilac made no comment. The purpose of their quest was about to be unveiled, it seemed, and she did not want to disturb the boy with some glib remark. Noticing that the silf was beginning to fidget, she patted her satchel, as quietly and as softly as she could.

In the meantime, Benjamin studied the cabinet in front of him, the fingers of his free hand running lightly over certain of the articles stacked there. Finally, he turned to his companion: "Here," he said, flicking the emberquick over to her. "You'll have to hold this. I need to be sure."

"About what?" asked Lilac, pocketing the crystal.

The boy grinned. He reached out and took something from one of the shelves in the cabinet. It was - at least, it _looked_ to be - a dark, glassy orb, small and hollow, with a jagged hole in the top, suggesting a gourd that had lost its neck. "I was right," he said, holding the object between his cupped palms like a divine relic. His gaze, appropriately enough, would have appeared reverential had it not been for the indulgent smile underlining it.

"What is it?"

"My first great dream," he replied. "And this is what was made from it."

16

It was all there: the fireworks, his sorcery, the limitless sky and the stars so far and unreachable. As vivid now as it had ever been, it struck his mind with all the brilliance of an epiphany. It didn't matter that it was old. To see it anew was every bit as glorious as seeing it for the first time.

Yes, there had been other great dreams in his life. Offhand, he could remember two: one about a book whose words had scampered away from the pages and hidden themselves all around his house (from which he'd awoken with the strange idea that nothing was real unless it could be described) and another involving a number of fat women emerging from a lake, who fell to squabbling over whom should wear the lake itself as a garment (which had left him with the even stranger idea that there should be absolutely nothing wrong with the notion that people could dress themselves with water). But neither were possessed of such evocative power as this, the first, where his caperings in that resplendent gulf had led him to understand so much about his place in the world at large. Having rediscovered it to the tune that his mother had hummed to him in his cradle - the very same tune which the emberquick had finally resolved itself into before he flipped it back to Lilac - only compounded the emotion of the moment. He guessed that this was what he would feel like if, as an old man, he was able to return to the sunniest day of his childhood.

"You okay?" asked Lilac, from what seemed a thousand miles away.

"Oh yeah," said Benjamin, as though emerging from a daze. Letting go of the dream a little, he took a moment to study the surface of his prize, observing the smoky glass and how it glittered from within, as if a million tiny stars had been caught by its casting. He pondered as to how his dream could have forged such a thing, and what possible relationship, be it symbolic or physical, might exist between a broken gourd and a vision of fire-laced eternity; but there was nothing, apart from a vague idea that the glittering was perhaps more akin to a _twinkling_ , and that the dimness of the glass might be somewhat alike to a dark and crystalline sky.

Lilac sidled closer. "So this is what we came for, eh?" she said, gazing intently at the gourd. "A neckless bottle. You know, if I had more of a _mindermirf_ on me, I'd be inclined to say you could pour jewellery out of it."

"Guess so," the boy mumbled.

"It's amazing, though; I never thought you people could do that."

"Do what?"

She pointed to the gourd. "Divine things by emberquick. Because that's what it amounts to, right?"

Benjamin nodded, then turned to Lilac with an uncertain frown on his face. "You think it'd be okay to keep it?"

"Can't see why not."

The boy didn't respond, preferring to look down at the gourd, which he cradled carefully in his hands.

"It's not like we'd be stealing," said Lilac. "I mean, look around you. Whoever left this place left everything in it at the mercy of whoever comes on by. It all remains here for a reason, child - the reason being that none of it was important enough to keep."

"Yeah," said Benjamin, clearly not convinced, but unwilling to part with this strange and wondrous object. In truth, it didn't feel like he was stealing anyway - but at the same time, it didn't seem proper that he should simply just take it. Still, Lilac had said enough to make up his mind for him. He pocketed the gourd, and let settle the wistful smile of someone who knew what he was doing was right, even though it didn't quite feel like it..

"Excellent," chirped Lilac. "And now -" she brought her hands briskly to her hips and quickly swept the place with her gaze "- I think it's time we went, yes?"

Benjamin agreed, and was just about to make for the door when the lady, rather than take the exit, instead headed sharply towards the shuttered windows. "Did you hear that?" she asked, her face becoming a kendo mask of banded light as she squinted between the slats.

"No," said Benjamin. He'd heard nothing, though it didn't prevent him from being alarmed at the idea that he and Lilac had been discovered.

"It sounded like scurrying." She retreated from the window a little, a finger raised as if calling for hush. "Just listen..." she said.

And then Benjamin _did_ hear a noise. A distinctly animal sound (which came as something of a relief, as it probably meant that he and Lilac had _not_ been discovered) like the furtive rustlings of a cat in undergrowth. Lilac stepped back to the window, peered again, then suddenly made a rush for the hallway. "One moment," she said as she bypassed the boy. "Wait here, okay?"

"Okay," he replied, baffled as to why the meanderings some animal - the Niamagonian equivalent of a badger, perhaps - should be such a cause for disquiet. A note of his earlier alarm crept back; maybe Lilac had good reason to be suspicious of the noise. The people of this world, after all, came in all shapes and sizes, and it could very well be the owner - the _diminutive_ owner - of the house who was creeping around out there.

He listened as Lilac hoisted herself through the broken shutter in the other room, expecting, at any moment, a clamorous response from the interloper outside. And yet no noise came, save for the usual snuffling issues. Benjamin went to the window and peeked through the slats, but found only a riot of albino leaves; this particular room, he remembered, overlooked the side of the house, where the vegetation was so overgrown as to be impenetrable. He would have disengaged then, and gone out to join Lilac, had he not glimpsed, at the lowermost point of his gaze, a movement in the undergrowth that did not speak of a stirring breeze. Realising that the gaps between the lower range of slats would afford him a better view, he crouched down; as he did so, he was sure that he heard the pitter-patter of small feet. Yet when he looked, he again saw nothing - at first. Then, just beyond a dangling leaf that quivered as though recently disturbed, he saw, in the thick of the shrubbery, more movement. He couldn't make out the shape - the surrounding brush made an inkblot puzzle out of the whole scene - but the nature of the movement was definite: something was there. And though he couldn't see it, he had the disturbing suspicion that it was somehow malformed. He didn't know why, as there was nothing visible that should lend itself to such an impression, but neither could he deny it: there was something _wrong_ with whatever-it-was that was lurking in those bushes. It felt as if its hands had too-few fingers. It felt as if its body was grey and incomplete. It seemed broken - _collapsed_ , somehow.

The pitter-patter noise receded, and then the creature, along with the peculiar sensation it brought to its observer, was gone. _Just my imagination,_ the boy thought, standing back up. He was tired, he'd seen a lot of weird stuff already, so it stood to reason that his mind was liable to play a few tricks now and then. Nevertheless, he wasn't entirely convinced, and figured it would be best to catch up with Lilac as soon as possible; deserted houses with sinister noises outside were not the sort of places where he preferred to be alone.

He returned to the room through which he'd entered, and - deeming it best to follow Lilac's example \- exited by means of the broken shutter. The lady, as expected, was still in the front garden, where he found her peering down the side of the house, intent upon the foliage that had harboured their snuffling intruder. "Did you see it?" she asked, having apparently forgotten her request that the boy stay inside.

"No," said Benjamin, deciding that the strange intuitions of earlier were probably irrelevant, and unworthy of being divulged. "Did you?"

"Nope." Lilac stepped back from the bushes and stretched. "Ah well," she said, relaxing. "Probably just a _falliwray._ Thing is, with friends like mine, you get jumpy. Hope I didn't scare you."

"Not a bit," said Benjamin.

"Hm," responded the lady, as though she detected some bravado in the boy's reply. "Have you still got the ... you know, the thing we came for?"

Benjamin fished the gourd out of his pocket and held it up for her to see. He smiled, the dream glistening against the surface of his thoughts like sunshine on a river.

"You happy enough to keep it?"

"I think so." He looked back at the house, then the bushes, if expecting an accusatory remark to emerge from both.

"Fine then," said Lilac jauntily, as she began to stride across the overgrown lawn towards the gate. Once the gate was successfully vaulted, she clambered back up to the topmost saddle of the tandem and awaited her companion. The matter, it seemed, was decided. The gourd was his to possess, and their excursion was at an end. Now all that remained was another skybourne journey back to Lilac's flat, and then ... well, who knew what.

But there was something about this little adventure that Benjamin, in being preoccupied with more immediate concerns, did not notice: that all the plants in the garden - the white leaves, the white fronds, the white flowers - were dead to his touch, and devoid of the lively dream-hints that imbued the structures and artefacts of Niamago. And had he stayed around longer, he would have seen something truly marvellous unfold: for a number of those leaves turned green and lush after a while, as did certain of the stalks and fronds; and he would have seen bleached flowers become luxuriant with the hues of their earthly kin - though only if they were fortunate enough to grow in the places where he had walked. Otherwise, the flora remained pale, and stark against the carpet of springtime colour that arose between the gate and the door.

Of those who watched it happen - the hurrixes from the other end of the street, the passers-by, the neighbours who'd detected a commotion fomenting outside, and had come to look and glean their share of gossip - only a few reckoned it to be the work of a dreamshader. Most regarded it as just another of those everyday anomalies that abounded in Niamago, and they returned to their lives brighter in mood but not in mind. For one, who peeped out of the bushes at the side of the house, it was a sad reminder of better days, when there had been some hope to stem the misery, and the kind words of a master to allay its grief at being alive.

***

The return trip was uneventful (thanks, in no small part, to Lilac's idea of detouring away from Wolfgang's abode) and seemed to go by faster; in a trice, they were back within the bounds of the city, weaving between the towers, ducking walkways and dodging the odd fellow voyager. Like before, they travelled high; but Benjamin found it much easier to bear this time, his faith in the tandem having been bolstered by experience. As such, he was able to relax a little, and let things other than the plunge below take precedent in his thoughts. One of these things, naturally enough, was his find at the cottage, but he didn't dare take the gourd from his pocket in case he dropped it. And when he was not thinking about that, he was pondering upon what else he had discovered in the house: the map, the books, the creature outside, the treasures on the table; idly turning them over in his mind, like the details of a recently seen film. He didn't muse too deeply, and it was not until he got round to thinking about the papers on the desk that he decided to delve deeper, and broach the subject with Lilac.

"Who is Alexander Gogmagog?" he asked.

"The lord of Id Carnifor," she said. "Why do you ask?"

"I heard - well, I _saw_ his name back at the house - and I remembered that you had mentioned him before."

"Oh," said Lilac, pausing a moment. "Have I?"

"Yeah." Then Benjamin paused. "Is he a dreamshader?"

"He _was_. And still is, I imagine. Nowadays he seems happier ruling the phragodols - the kind of _plesh_ who'd rather be a king of a dunghill than not a king at all."

"I read this thing about him. It was weird. Something about 'blooms', and -" Benjamin tried thinking of the other word he'd seen there - 'Ei' something-or-other - but couldn't remember it in full "- all sorts of stuff. Whoever wrote it knew him, I'm sure of that."

"Really?" said Lilac, with genuine surprise in her voice. "I should have looked myself. Was it in a book, or something?"

"No - just these pages, lying on that desk by the door."

"I don't recall. Well, I recall the desk, but not the pages. What else did they say?"

"Oh, that Gogmagog was mad and wicked -"

Lilac laughed.

"- And there was a list of names there, too: Isa - Isa Raphael, and Robert Kracks-kicks. I think that was his name, anyway; it was foreign. There were some others, but I've forgotten them."

"Isa Raphael - yes, I've heard of her. She was a dreamshader. But this _Kracks-kicks_ ; no, I've not heard of him."

"Is Isa Raphael still around?"

"Not any more."

"Is she dead, then?"

"I have no idea. From what I was told, she just disappeared. I was very young when she was about, and didn't have such an ear for tattle as I do now."

"Alexander Thorn!" Benjamin blurted. "I've just remembered - that was one of the other names."

Looking up, he saw Lilac shake her head. "I don't know," she said, as if struggling with a memory she couldn't quite retrieve. "Gogmagog used to go by another name, but I can't be certain it was that one. It was all a long time ago, way before I was here."

"What do you know about him?"

"Who, Gogmagog?"

"Yeah. I mean - what's his story?"

Lilac sighed, and waited awhile before speaking. To Benjamin, it felt as if she was resigning herself to talking about an off-limits subject; a taboo. "It's hearsay, mostly; and what there is is little. All I know is that Gogmagog once came to Niamago, and tried to set himself up as its ruler. He was an extremely capable dreamshader, and religious with it - he was a follower of Joshua Lam. He decided that we atulphi were damned, and needed his guidance; we atulphi merely ignored him. He was angry; he killed many. And then he disappeared. When his remaining accomplices were rounded-up, they said that he had discovered a secret which had sent him mad. None of them knew what the secret was, and neither did they know if he'd killed himself or gone into exile. There was some trouble afterwards - the accomplices were lynched, and mobs took to the streets, looking for those they suspected of having sympathy for Gogmagog's cause. But things settled, as they do, and there the story of Alexander Gogmagog was supposed to end."

"But it didn't."

"Nope. Because a little while later, something happened to the phragodols. They became bold; they began to hunt silfs, like us. No one suspected it had anything to do with Gogmagog at first; but _something_ had changed in them, that much was clear. You see, the phragodols never used to have any interest in the silfs; they were content to either haunt the human world or slope off to the shores of Id Carnifor. Sometimes one would claw its way into Niamago by mistake, and we'd have to put it to death; but they were never a great problem, and no one gave them a great deal of thought - until, as I said, they began to stalk the silfs, and Mallicore Moon had his famous run-in with that basket-case fraggo _Choazan of the Thaw._ It was then that people got the first inkling that Gogmagog was still alive."

"What happened?"

"What happened was that Mallicore Moon died from his injuries - but before he died he told his ministers that Choazan had delivered his wounds on behalf of the 'Great Gogmagog' himself. And later, other silf hunters started to claim much the same. For some reason, the phragodols had begun to harvest silfs in earnest, even to the extent of maiming, or even _killing_ atulphi to get them; and they were doing this in the name of Gogmagog. At the same time, anyone who voyaged close enough to Id Carnifor without being harmed spoke of seeing towers there, all scaffolded, and pylons: huge, _huge_ pylons that seemed to be catching the red lightning. You have to understand that the place had only ever been a wasteland before; the phragodols couldn't build anything because they had neither the silfs nor the nous to do it. But now things were different; the phragodols were stealing our silfs, and using them to raise a city in their dump. And it didn't take a genius to figure out who was behind it all."

"Gogmagog."

"Yup."

Benjamin expected Lilac to continue, but she didn't. "So what happened after that?" he asked.

"Nothing much. Anyone who hunted silfs for a living went out armed, and the clashes with the fraggoes went on. But that was all. And if Gogmagog was happy to rule them instead of us, then that was no bad thing. There's plenty who still demand justice for Gogmagog, of course; but most of us reckon that to end up as lord of so miserable a lot is a kind of justice in itself, and think no further on the subject. Gogmagog and his phragodols have their realm, and we have ours. And there it stays."

The conversation clearly over, Benjamin quietly digested what he had learnt. And what he had learnt was this: that the atulphi were cruel. Lilac had talked of lynchings (he didn't know what a lynching was, exactly, though he was aware that it was something ugly and painful) and had mentioned the 'putting to death' of unfortunate phragodols in a way he didn't like: she was too offhand about it, too casual, and it led him to wonder if such callousness might be the norm here. When it came down to it, there was no reason at all to assume that someone could not harbour a cold heart just because they were brave, or had the glamour of magic. And perhaps, too, the same could be said of a city, a country ... and maybe even a world.

"Are you and the phragodols at war?" he asked, eventually.

"No, I don't think so," she said.

"Do you ever think you might be?"

"I don't know," she replied, after a time.

17

Once Lilac's tenement was in sight, it soon became evident that Naranarra, if he was still around, wasn't alone on the rooftop. In fact, there was quite a crowd there. Whoever these people were, however, and what their purpose might be, was a mystery ... until Lilac, gazing intently, issued the kind of gasp that spoke of someone suddenly recalling something that shouldn't have been forgotten.

"It's Beyno," she said, shielding her eyes with a hand. "I can see his sword already. And - oh the surprise - we have some representatives from the Considerate League. You know what this means."

"What?"

"That it's time. For you to show what you can do as a dreamshader."

"They want me to -"

"Transfigure the silf." She drummed her fingers against the satchel. "You know, I must wonder: is it lucky that I brought our little darling with us, so as to save time in dealing those fools who become more foolish the more they try not to be fools? Or would it have been better to have left the silf behind, so that we could at least fortify ourselves with some tea first? What do you think?"

"I think -" Benjamin squinted, discerning the scene ahead. He spied the stately Beyno immediately; as Lilac had said, his sword was hard to miss. Naranarra, as it turned out, was there also, still sat on his stool and apparently indifferent to what was going on around him. There were about twenty or so others, none of whom the boy recognised. "- I think you're crackers."

"So I'm flaky, but a fine accompaniment, yes?" she said, laughing. "And thin. Mustn't forget that."

Benjamin shook his head. "I haven't got the slightest idea of how I'm meant to -" he looked up, nodding towards the satchel "- to transform that thing, you know."

"You'll be fine."

"But what if nothing happens?"

"Then our self-appointed great and good go home disappointed. Fine, I say."

"I'll look like an idiot."

"You'll be all right."

_I bet I won't,_ he thought, without saying anything more. The test had come, and further argument was useless. He would either prove himself, or he wouldn't. It was as simple as that. There was nothing else to say, and nothing else to do except await the moment, and hope that the art of being a dreamshader really was as instinctive as Lilac had promised.

He looked again to the satchel, envisioning the silf inside. _You'll help me, won't you_? he asked silently. But if the silf gave a response - a twirl, maybe, within its confines - he didn't see it.

***

Benjamin's nervousness was not helped by the discovery that his audience was more expansive than previously thought; as he closed in on the tenement, he was able to see that a large assembly had gathered in the crossways below, its gaze set skyward, its babble excited. He had no doubt that these people were there for him, either; the abrupt hush at his arrival, coupled with a groundswell of pointing fingers, was enough to satisfy his curiosity on _that_ count. As to what, exactly, they were waiting for, he didn't dare contemplate. All he wanted, right now, was to keep his fears in check, and deal with nothing until events demanded it.

Lilac brought the tandem softly down to the rooftop, the gathered newcomers shuffling back a little to grant space. Benjamin, trying his utmost not to appear self-conscious - for he was all too aware of the eyes on him at that moment - asked the lady, as casually as he could, if he'd need the emberquick to succeed in his task. The lady, thinking for a second, said that she didn't think so. "I _did_ give it to you, didn't I?" queried the boy, patting his pockets and feeling only the gourd. Lilac replied that he had, and that it was quite safe; she also told him that it would be best if he disembarked now, lest dinnywhits took nest in her hair.

With limbs that were both stiff from fatigue and shaky with anticipation, Benjamin climbed down from the saddle. As on the pier, he found himself standing there, unsure of what to say or do, while those who had been awaiting him lingered awkwardly and did nothing. Only Beyno, catching his eye, offered some semblance of a greeting: a raised hand and a faint smile, but that was the extent of it. The rest just tarried, murmuring uneasily amongst themselves, uncertain, like Benjamin, of what they should do or say next.

Thankfully, Lilac was quick in getting to his side. Unfortunately, she didn't take command of the situation by means of some fey remark or quip. Looking to her, he tilted his head in the direction of the assemblage and mouthed the word "Well?" Lilac, much to his disappointment, turned her face to their audience, sniffed, then brought her gaze back to the boy and said, "It's your show now, Benjamin. You can take it from here."

The boy glared at her and shrugged hard. _No, I can't take it from here,_ he thought. _I don't know how!_

Nevertheless, Lilac's words had been enough to incur a ripple of consternation amongst the gathering - most of which came from a fat, robed atulphi who seemed to be sitting, cross legged, on a cushion of agitated air. Though he spoke in a tongue that the boy could not understand, his words were immediately made intelligible by the translation of the thin, emaciated attendant into whose ear the floating, globular character spoke.

"Oh behalf of the Considerate League," the attendant said, before leaning down to accept another stream of babble from his companion. "That is, involving all esteemed members, patrons and interested parties." Again he paused, receiving yet another set of words to interpret. "May I, Toft Sofferine Adi -" he held out a hand, indicating the fat man "- and my associate, Eriddy Card -" he then pointed to himself "- extend our greetings to you, Lilac Zhenrei, and to the child -" he glanced towards Benjamin "- who is purported, by popular _varia_ , to be of the dreamshade."

"And may I," Lilac returned, "who am representative of none and unafraid to show it, express my unappreciation at your attendance here and my absolute disinterest in whatever notions, ideas and conclusions that you may hold, now or retrospectively, pertaining to the proceedings. And as for _you_ -" she shot her gaze at another member of gathering, a plasticky-looking bald headed man whose smile seemed to be moulded into place "- what _you_ are doing here, I cannot guess."

This plasticky-looking man, Benjamin observed, was not alone; huddled just behind him were three imposing figures, all of whom were clad in long, hooded overcoats that obscured every feature apart from their glowering eyes. They would have been identical had it not been for the fact that each individual was carrying some discrete accoutrement. The figure on the left, for example, was holding a large carpet-bag at his side, while the one on the right cradled a huge book in the crook of his arm. The last of these three, the one in the middle, was clutching a set of strings which appeared to lead - alarmingly enough - into the back of the plasticky-looking man's head. As if restraining a heedless dog, this figure abruptly tugged at the strings, at which point the plasticky-looking man, utterly unperturbed at having his cranium jerked back so, proffered his reply to Lilac.

"We are here," he said, the smile still fixed, "to ensure that propriety is observed; that our holy law is not transgressed; that the proceeds of this becoming are not wholly recorded by secular observers."

"Which means what, exactly?" said Lilac, enunciating what Benjamin had also been thinking.

The figure with the book heaved the tome before him, opened it, and leafed through a number of pages before settling on one which he pointed out to his accomplices. After a brief whispered conferral between all three, the figure holding the strings again pulled at the head of his plasticky-looking representative, and in so doing brought forth another reply: "Stanza one-one-seven," the plasticky-looking man said. "Where we are told that the least of our laity may have dominion over the bondless, or those who refuse to believe. To us is trusted the recording of what passes; for through us must the ages be seen, when the bondless are gone, and the hierarchies of _Jah-Way_ are established."

_Well_ that _helps,_ thought Benjamin, as the fat floating man - Toft Sofferine Adi - embarked upon another flurry of incomprehensible chatter, which his associate, Eriddy Card, deciphered thus: "We feel it necessary to inform you that the Congregation of the Apt -" he indicated the plasticky-looking man and his aloof cohorts "- is not officially recognised by ourselves, nor any of the major parties, in whose lieu we stand here today. And furthermore -"

"That's rich," countered Lilac. "Coming as it does from a bunch of _nommocks_ who claim a non-existent mandate from a non-existent electorate. Tell me, Toft Sofferine -" she glared at the buoyant atulphi "- why are you here, my friend? Afraid that your lucrative holdings in all those _archimy_ concerns might be jeopardised by this boy beside me?"

"All my interests are declared," said Eriddy Card, on behalf of his spluttering patron. "And in the public domain. Your insinuations -"

Lilac again cut him off. "Just because you've _declared_ it doesn't make it right."

And then the plasticky-looking man interjected. "Hypocrite," he said, prior to another tug of his strings. "Stanza four-twenty-three: ever will some decry their equal, to the end of becoming alone in their estate; for many would rather rule an empty household than be humble amongst hosts."

"Oh?" said Lilac. "And how many do _you_ represent?"

Once his strings were again pulled, the plasticky-looking man held up a finger. "If only one should believe, then it is enough."

"That is an untenable position," ventured Eriddy Card, over the voice of his fulminating companion. "If a mandate is not to become the design of tyranny, then it must require the consent of a significant majority."

"At least the _Aptists_ are honest about it," said Lilac, turning the focus of her ire back on to the two men from the Considerate League. "Since when did _you_ ever have the public on your side?"

"There is every good reason to act in lieu of government when there is none," replied Eriddy Card, translating still. "That we do not, as yet, have an official mandate is immaterial; there is no harm in practising government for the sake of attaining it."

"Please," said Lilac, holding out the palm of her hand. "Can't any of you ever stop proclaiming, and just _talk_?" - at which a cry of 'hear, hear' sailed down from someone overhead. Looking up, Benjamin saw that a number of airborne atulphi had drawn close to the rooftop, and were circling it in a way that made him think of seagulls on a hot day. His audience, he realised, was growing; and if the unappreciative catcalls of the crowd below were anything to go by , then it was obvious that it was growing bored, too. He recalled how he had felt when Lilac had hinted at the cruelties of her kinsfolk, and pondered as to what a crowd of those selfsame kinfolk might be capable of if something didn't happen soon.

As for Lilac's plea, it had gone unheeded; the Considerate Leaguers and the religious people continued to argue with each other in that peculiar stilted way, only now they had Beyno between them, attempting to mediate. Naranarra, as per usual, was doing nothing. "I'm sorry about this," said Lilac, turning to the boy. Her expression bore both a frown and a half-smile; she was, it seemed, both wearied and amused by this turn of events. "I should have let you do what you needed to do. It's just - they get my back up, you know? These people -" she gestured towards the squabbling assemblage "- they make me see the pleasure in having to count all the pebbles in the world."

"Who are they?" asked Benjamin, who was at a loss as to what they were actually arguing about.

"I could well ask the same. You see now, don't you, of why there was no reason to be afraid of looking like an idiot."

"Yeah," replied the boy, who was not quite so nervous that he couldn't allow some hint of a smirk to surface. "You know, I think we should surprise them."

"Oh?" said Lilac, in a tone that told him she knew precisely what he was thinking of.

Benjamin took a deep breath. "I reckon it's time," he said. "To do that thing with the silf."

Lilac began to unbuckle the straps of her satchel. "I think so too," she said.

***

Benjamin was never able to fully appreciate what happened after the silf drifted out of the satchel and entwined itself about his arms. All he can clearly remember is that the argument ceased, to be replaced by a rapt silence on the part of everyone around him, and then everything became hazy. He again saw his sister's dream - the cats, the gossip, her oddly-timbred voice - but did not know if he only imagined telling the assembly about it. He heard someone say 'make it dance', but then he heard a bout of laughter which seemed to have no cause. A burst of applause sounded out from the throng below, but if it was before or after the event he could not say. Someone in the gathering decried Toft Sofferine Adi for farting, yet Benjamin had no recollection of who it was who spoke, nor of the offending act itself. From somewhere, Lilac rested a hand on his shoulder and told him not to worry.

In his transfiguration of the silf, he found himself - as expected - confused as to what, exactly, he needed to do. At some point, he was sure he commanded it to transform; and when it did not transform, he asked it to _tell_ him how he should make it transform. But the silf only continued to swirl and curl between his arms, cool and silvery and adamant to his appeals, while the dream it brought to him remained as unfathomable as a Chinese puzzle.

_What should I do?_ he asked himself, with a calmness he found surprising. The cats chattered on, waiting for their trains or reading their papers. He tried asking them, but they were completely aloof. The scene was utterly immutable; he could see and hear, but play no part. Undeterred, he decided that if all he was able to do was observe, then he would observe. He thought about the subtle meaning of the dream, how it seemed to be saying _this is what you are not; you are different_ , and realised that Maddie would never again see herself as the equivalent to any animal. Just a day ago, she would have accepted a cat as a friend or a partner, but not a pet. A day onwards, and she would probably consider it all three.

But what was the connection between the message of the dream, the details of the dream itself, and the prize that he was supposed to produce from it? What was the _link?_ The message of the dream was about the recognition of distinction; the substance constituted cats that talked, read papers, and waited for trains on windowsills. He pondered upon each, trying to tally the two. He watched the cats talk; _this is what you are not; you are different_ ; he watched a cat flick a page of its newspaper; _this is what you are not; you are different_ ; he heard Maddie calling to a pretty cat; _this is what you are not; you are different_. And then, finally, the breakthrough came: the dream had a shape. How it occurred to him he didn't know, only that it had happened when he'd found himself thinking of both - the details and the message - at the same time. The dream had a shape, like a maze of curves, though much of it was nebulous and undefined ... and yet it was within those undefined areas that the essential clue resided, for whenever he tried to make sense of them he became awash with dizzying insights, and the silf would tighten against his arms, as rigid as a frightened animal. _These are the potentials,_ he thought, recalling Lilac's words on the matter; _all the things I can draw from the silf._ _And there are thousands of them._

There were many ways he could make the shape of the dream complete, and each one conferred some new concept of what could be distilled from the silf: a thread, tabby-striped in silver and black, from which exquisite garments might be woven; a liquor, rare, that tasted of ginger and caused its imbiber to see the route home when lost; an ore that could be forged into a ring that kinked the fingers of liars. Of these three \- which were themselves only a small example of many - it was the last that Benjamin decided upon, simply because a ring that kinked the fingers of liars was funny. And when the decision was made, the rest was easy: the silf fell away from his arms and began to thrash wildly on the ground; it spat sparks; it squirmed, convulsed; and then it exploded, leaving a mess of small, dark smoky stones and nothing of the sublime ribbon from which they had been wrought.

" _It's catshadow_!" he heard someone cry. There was a cheer from the crowd below, and an assortment of hurrahs from the atulphi circling above. _"Felicitine!"_ said someone else. _"He drawn out felicitine. Oh the joy!"_

Benjamin felt a powerful surge of elation when the silf transformed, the kind of joy he would later liken to having drawn a truly amazing picture, even though he had never picked up a pencil before. Unfortunately it did not last, as immediately afterwards a kind of lethargy sloshed through him, and his legs buckled. He fell, but someone, probably Lilac, caught him, and the next thing he can remember is that he was lying on the floor, feeling strangely sad that the silf was now gone. He watched as Eriddy Card - directed, as ever, by an excitable Toft Sofferine Adi - scrabbled about on all fours, feverishly collecting the stones, and thought of the morning, the dawn, and how he'd chased the silf in the twilight. He saw that two of the overcoated personages were also hastily gathering the stones to themselves, with both their plasticky spokesman and the one with the carpet-bag looking on impassively, and he recalled how _friendly_ the silf had been, like a pet that truly treasured its owner. _"Please,"_ he might have mumbled somewhere; _"That was my sister's."_ Then he closed his eyes, and time seemed to slip him by. When he looked again, he was disturbed to see the plasticky-looking man being stuffed into the carpet-bag by one of his overcoated companions; even more disturbing was the fact that there appeared to be a taut but bendy _looseness_ to the plasticky-looking man, as if he were not a man at all but a man-shaped balloon. He must have been alive, though, as he giggled at one point. Benjamin, not liking what he saw, closed his eyes again, and gave in to his exhaustion. _I didn't see it,_ he told himself as he drifted into sleep; _it was just a trick of my eyes._ But in truth he was too tired to care much, and before long, he was oblivious to both it and everything.

18

Benjamin slept dreamlessly, though when he awoke he initially thought otherwise; there was a moment, just before his eyes were open and his ears alert, when he believed that his adventure here _had_ all been a dream, and that it would only require one bleary look to see that he was back in his world, curled up in his bed, with nothing so wonderful as the muted music of his mother's voice in the kitchen downstairs.

The idea had some merit, too: with the peculiar clarity that comes with impending wakefulness, he was able to see, quite easily, how being immersed in his Homeric homework could have led him to dream of so fantastic a voyage, and how Pete's suggestion pertaining to Chinese food might have inspired such oriental flourishes as Lilac, her pagoda-like cage, and the dragon-gabled pavilion on the pier. He'd watched a programme about birds, and had thus dreamed of being carried away by them; he'd written of how it feels to be a stranger amid curiosities, and so had become that very stranger. Finally, lucidity stole upon him, and he at last let his eyes open to Niamago. He was back in Lilac's flat, in the same room and upon the same chair as earlier, and looking out through the window to see a sunset he would never see on earth, where the opaline clouds, prismatic to the lowering light, had turned the sky into a vast and breathtaking vault of shifting, rippling rainbows.

Earlier, perhaps, his heart would have leapt at the sight. But now it made him feel afraid. This world was real, not a dream, and he was very, very far from home.

***

"You're awake, then," said Lilac, who was too involved in the radio on the sideboard to look up. From Benjamin's perspective she appeared to be tuning the thing, albeit somewhat unsuccessfully; whenever some strain of music or talk managed to filter through, it was invariably overlaid by the hiss and whine of interference. The clearest broadcast she could find was one involving a curiously breezy, seasidey sort of tune, and it was this that Lilac finally settled upon. "I've been looking out for news on you," she said, as she crossed over to the chair opposite. "But the squalls are pretty bad today. That's the best I can get."

"News?" asked the boy, rubbing his eyes.

"Oh yes," said Lilac. "You're the cake of the hour right now. On everybody's lips." She nodded towards the window. "There's still a fair lot outside. Can't you hear them?"

Benjamin listened. "Yeah," he murmured, before pausing to look thoughtfully at the window. "Have they been here all the time?"

"What, while you were asleep?"

"Yeah."

"They've been there for a while," she said, following Benjamin's lead and taking a little time herself to stare at the dimming realm outside. The music in the background, jaunty as ever, played on without interruption.

"It's getting dark, isn't it," said Benjamin, finally.

"It is."

"Will it be getting dark in my world, too?"

"If by that you mean Britain, then yes," said Lilac, after a moment. "Niamago is almost concurrent with your meridian, so our days are shared."

"Funny," said the boy, in a tone that spoke the opposite. "I thought that time would be different here. I thought I might stay here a year, and have only a second, or something, pass in my world."

"Thought?" said Lilac, smiling a little. "Or hoped?"

"I dunno," said the boy wearily. "I just think ... that it's time I went home."

"Don't you want to stay a while longer, and tell me how extraordinary it is to be a dreamshader?"

"I could tell you on the way back."

"Of course you could." Lilac's smile was broad now. "But what of my wonderful city? Are there no more sights you would wish to see?"

"I could return. Couldn't I?"

"I think so."

_So what's the problem, then?_ Benjamin thought of asking. But he did not. "You _can_ get me back home, can't you?" he asked instead.

"I can. There's just one thing, though."

"What?"

"Who's going to compensate me for the loss of my silf?"

Benjamin was on the verge of issuing a surprised _'What do you mean?'_ , when he saw the look in Lilac's eyes and stopped himself. "You're just winding me up," he said, deadpan.

Lilac gave a honking, hearty laugh. "But I made you wonder, eh? Dear boy, dear child - I shall miss you."

Benjamin nodded, his gaze downcast, his face self-absorbed. "I will see you again, though," he said - and said it in such a way that it did not emerge as a question, but as a statement of intent.

***

Lilac decided that they would walk back to pier, on the assumption that the spectators below might follow if they saw their dreamshader cycling away on the tandem. "They won't expect us to go on foot," she had said as she packed her satchel and shouldered her blunderbuss. "They'll think you're far too grand for that."

"But won't they see us outside?" Benjamin asked.

Lilac tapped the side of her nose. "Not if we take the side door at the back, the one which - oh! - no one but the tenants of this fine mansion know about."

But Benjamin's fandom was not entirely confined to the streets; upon exiting Lilac's quarters, he found that a few had gained entry to the communal hallway and staircase of the tenement, though the lady prevented too much of a hubbub by levelling 'Mr. Personality' at the closest atulphi - a dwarfish creature whose hair was like an array of peacock feathers \- and made it clear, by means of a sweeping gaze, that her warning was to be taken by all.

"Quiet, please, my friends," she said, so sweetly that the context made it menacing. "The child here is tired, and needs not your clamour. Let us leave in peace."

"Will he come back?" said the plumed yet crestfallen figure as they passed him.

"He will," she said.

And that was enough for all, it seemed; the boy and the lady descended the stairs without incident, and any atulphi they met on the way enthused only to the point of smiles, muted handclaps, or hushed congratulations. Once they had reached the ground floor, Lilac - with the boy still in tow - made a quick dash down a small side-corridor to eventually arrive, after a turn or two, at a room which she had to access with a key. "Maintenance area," she said, after locking the door behind her. It was a gloomy place, not much bigger than the inside of an average shed, and strewn with tools and buckets; what meagre light existed came not from a window, but a greasy lamp set into a wall. "We'll have to wait here for a while," she explained, perching herself on an upturned bucket. "Those we crossed on the stairs will already be telling their friends outside that we've left, and they'll be on the lookout. Give it a breath or two, and things will have died down enough for us to make our getaway."

Benjamin found a bucket of his own to sit on, and plonked himself down next to Lilac. He felt shaky, and slightly sick in his stomach. "Are we allowed in here?" he asked, unsure as to whether his nervousness was down to tiredness, the exhilaration of fame, or just _everything_.

Lilac held up her keys and jangled them. "Condition of contract," she said. "We take care of the place as we see fit."

"Won't anyone else come in?"

"Nope," sniffed Lilac. "Because no-one sees fit to take care of this place anyway."

It was just the thing to bring a smile the boy. "Fair enough," he said, without raising a single thought as to why the owners of a block of flats should employ a communal bike-keeper, but not a maintenance man. An ordinary child might well have wondered; Benjamin Crosskeys did not.

***

While they waited, Lilac and Benjamin chatted, and it wasn't long before the subject turned to the events on the rooftop. The lady was eager to hear what her charge could recount of it, though there wasn't much that he could remember. "I _do_ know that there was a time when it was like seeing a pattern with bits missing," he said, relating to the actual act of the transformation. "And when I thought about all the ways I could finish it, I got some new idea of what I could make."

"So you saw _all_ the potentials?" asked Lilac, in a tone which suggested that she had previously thought the idea improbable.

"Most of them," said Benjamin, who then went on to summarise some of the possibilities that had occurred to him while communing with the silf: the fine thread, for example, and the drink that prevented its drinker from becoming lost.

Lilac slapped her hands together with glee. "And yet you chose the catshadow - the very thing that would show up our self-proclaimed great and good as the suspicious, grovelling _curbitlanks_ they really are. It was a masterstroke. Leaguers and Aptists, together in the dirt and scrabbling like _fenrikay_ for the only thing that could unite them: a lie-detector." Lilac laughed. "Boy, you have glamoured the iris of many atulphi now, I can tell you."

Benjamin smiled, but could not join in with the mirth wholeheartedly; he suddenly found himself thinking of the Aptists' spokesman, and the peculiar - no, downright _disturbing_ \- method of his departure.

"You okay?" ventured Lilac.

"Oh yeah," said Benjamin. "It's just -" he paused "- who was that guy with the strings in his head? You know, the one who was talking for those Aptists."

Lilac shrugged. "Just the front man. I don't know his name."

"Did you see -" he paused again, ascertaining the right words to use "- did you see what happened to him at the end?"

"No. What?"

"They - well, one of the ones behind him - they sort of folded him up and put him in that bag."

"Oh - that." Lilac made to laugh, but stopped when she saw the look on Benjamin's face. "What about it?"

"It's a bit creepy, isn't it?"

"When it comes to the Congregation of the Apt, _everything_ 's creepy."

"He laughed though. When they were putting him in the bag. I saw it."

"Good for him."

"It's just too weird. It was like he had nothing inside him but air."

"Your point being?"

"I dunno. It's just kind of - it's hard to forget, that's all."

Lilac waited a second before responding, pursing her lips in the way that people do when they need to quickly mull something over. "Let me ask you something," she said. "Has it put you off having to deal with anyone even remotely like the Congregation of the Apt? Be honest now."

"Well, yeah. It has."

"Excellent," came the chirpy - and unexpected - response. "Just the answer I was looking for."

"Why?"

Lilac leaned forward, placed her hands on Benjamin's shoulders, and looked gravely into his eyes. "Because, " she said, lowering her face a little, "they are a load of rubbish."

The words were so out of kilter with her expression that Benjamin could not respond with anything but laughter. "What the hell does that mean?" he asked, amid a stifle. "That's the funniest thing I've heard all day!"

Lilac leaned back. "The funniest?" she said, placing a hand upon her chest in mock affrontedness. "Well, I am insulted. All that work I put into my laboured wordplay, and you think it's funny because I think that you shouldn't waste your time thinking about the Aptists because I think they are not very good."

Benjamin shrugged, and let his laughter subside. "It's still funny though. It's like something my mum would say."

Lilac made to reply, then hesitated. "Is that so," she eventually said, as if a little taken aback by the idea that Benjamin might have a mother.

"Yeah."

The lady nodded, but remained quiet.

"What is it?"

"Listen," she said. "Do you hear?"

"Hear what?"

She turned towards a corner of the room, where Benjamin spied a door amongst the shadows and the clutter. "The people outside. They're gone, I think. Most of them anyway." Then she looked back at Benjamin - and though she was smiling, there was something in her eyes that suggested she was not. "It's time for us to go," she said.

***

Owing to the boy's new-found popularity, they took a circuitous route back towards the pier. As such, Benjamin was not really able to establish his bearings until they came upon a road that he could recollect as being one which they had taken when leaving the Macallory Lane Market. From then onwards, the journey advanced along a familiar path, and in no time at all they were venturing into Macallory Lane itself, whose market, much to Benjamin's surprise, was still running, despite the darkening hour.

"Won't somebody see us here?" he asked, as Lilac guided him through the bustling crowd.

"Possibly," she replied. "But it would only be a glimmer, I expect. The lantern-light isn't as strong as the day, and it leaves us merely as faces within the many. We'll be fine."

And the lady was right; they bypassed the milling assortment of atulphi without incident, and attracted not even the slightest amount of attention. It was hard work, however, and it seemed to Benjamin that the market was even busier now than it had been in the morning. In fact, it seemed as if the _whole_ of Niamago was busier now than it was before; by the time they had reached the promenade, it was clear to the boy that the noise and bustle of this most remarkable city was not about to be diminished by the onset of night.

"Is there a concert on?" he asked, listening to the distant cheer of what must have been a vast audience, and the echo of drumbeats. He saw the beam of a searchlight glide across the sky, striated by the shadows of flying atulphi, and thought, perhaps, that he had imagined it.

"There's lot of concerts going on," said Lilac. "Niamago is only just becoming alive."

"What is it - a festival, or something?"

"No. It's like this always."

"Don't you ever sleep?" he asked, more in the spirit of jest than genuine enquiry.

"No," said Lilac. "We don't."

Benjamin looked thoughtfully at her, and she looked thoughtfully back. "Never?" he asked.

"Never," she said.

He wasn't sure if never having to sleep was a good thing or a bad thing. It had its bonuses, true, but there was much to be said for just closing your eyes and letting the world drift by. But he didn't pursue the matter. The curtness of Lilac's responses had told him pretty much what he needed to know anyway: _that humans sleep and atulphi do not, and that is all there is to it._

Ahead, the pier was already in sight, grand with lights both of its own and those provided by the firefly contraptions that were either alighting upon it or ascending away. Inevitably, his gaze was drawn to the shore from which it projected, and then to the milky sea, where atulphi splashed and cheered amid colours glossed by the gleam of the setting sun.

"They were there this morning," said Benjamin, recalling the time when he had first set eyes on the beach. "There seems to be more now."

"Lots of people like to swim in the night," said Lilac. "It's chillier, but the atmosphere is fantastic. The _striats_ \- the colours - become so much richer."

"Have you swum in there?"

"Many, many times."

They walked on for a while, taking care not to bump into any of the seats and tables left out by the warmly lit cafes that lined the promenade.

"There's a tradition associated with swimming in the Amar Imaga," said Lilac, after some reflection. "A belief."

"What is it?"

"That in immersing ourselves in that sea, we bring dreams to the people of your world."

Benjamin did not reply immediately, as it felt as if the lady was about to say more. When it was evident that she was not, he asked her if it was true.

"I like to think so," she said. "It seems right. It seems like it _should_ happen that way."

Benjamin considered what she had said, and found himself in agreement. Yes, it did seem right; it had symmetry to it, a kind of poetry. The atulphi brought dreams to people, and the people, in turn, returned those dreams as the silfs from which the atulphi had raised a civilisation. It reminded him of what he knew of nature, about the _circularity_ of things - like the clouds that rose from the oceans and brought snow to the mountain tops, from which came the rivers that fed back to the oceans - and he could only conclude that if it wasn't true, then it certainly deserved to be.

"It's amazing," he said, as if thinking out loud. "All of it."

"I know," said Lilac.

"I mean everything - not just this place."

"Oh?"

"The way it all connects. My world and yours. It fits. And it explains...so much."

Lilac nodded. "But here's a poser for you," she said. "You say 'my world and yours' - but which one do you _really_ think is yours?"

Benjamin smiled, knowing that the question was a trick. "Both of them," he said. "Because they're just two halves of the same thing, aren't they. Like two rooms in the same house."

"Or two houses in the same street, perhaps."

"Or two streets in the same town," said Benjamin, his smile widening.

Lilac ruffled the boy's hair. "So I can hope, then, that you won't feel so far from us when you're gone?"

"I reckon so," said Benjamin.

"Good," said Lilac, as together they made their way along the promenade, towards a pier, glittering in the dusk, that the boy now saw not as a stepping stone between worlds, but as the first true step of a voyage home.

19

There was an unwelcome surprise awaiting them when they reached the pier and found the cage: most of Lilac's birds were absent, their tethers either snapped or cut. "Now who could have done this?" she said, in what was almost a dismayed whisper. She reached out to one of the two remaining birds \- both of which were roosting quietly atop the roof - and spoke softly to it in dinnywhit speak. When the bird hopped on to her hand, she brought it to her chest and gently stroked its head. "He seems fine," she said, giving the creature a little kiss on the beak. "As does _Rubidee_ there; whoever did this had no intention of harming my darlings, I'm happy to say."

"Was it Wolfgang?" asked Benjamin.

Lilac stared silently at the cage for a moment. "No," she said. "It's not like him."

Benjamin looked around, to see if any of the nearby atulphi had anything on their faces that might suggest guilt or complicity. Not that he knew what a guilty or complicit face looked like, but he was prepared to put in the effort for Lilac's sake. It was the first time he'd seen her genuinely upset, and he didn't like it. "Anyone see what happened here?" he called, when his search proved fruitless. "Come on," he yelled. "Someone must have seen something!"

A few atulphi shook their heads. Some just stared. The rest gave him a glance, and those that didn't become entranced by his eyes simply went back to their business. "T'was like that when I got 'ere," said one spindly specimen, a few yards away. "All them threads, 'anging dangly-wangly; I did spec 'pon it, yeah. Can't help ya, though. Gone _crummin_ , y'see." Another atulphi spoke up, and though he talked in an even obscurer dialect, Benjamin got the gist of it. As with the first, he had seen nothing, done nothing, and it was like that when he got here anyway.

Lilac put a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder. "Don't worry," she said. "It's not the first time they've gone. They'll be back. It just means I'll have to wait for them, that's all."

"But didn't _anyone_ see anything?" said the boy.

"If they did, my friends would have told me," she said, following it with a call of "isn't that right, dear hearts?"

Most of the atulphi within earshot murmured their agreement. "So there you go," Lilac continued, again speaking to Benjamin. "We all look out for each other here. Whatever happened must have happened a while ago, of that we can be sure."

"What will you do now?"

The lady gave a tremulous sigh. "I don't know. It could be a long time before my darlings return. I might have to go out and call for them."

"I could wait. I could help."

"No," said Lilac, managing, at last, to raise something of a smile. "If you're not due for the alignments -" she nodded towards the horizon "- then you'll have to wait for tomorrow. Which will not do."

Benjamin gave no response. Part of him wanted to go home and part of him wanted to stay and help; but he couldn't go home unless he helped Lilac find her birds, in which case he had little option but to stay in Niamago until tomorrow. _Would it be so bad_ , he thought, _to make mum wait a day longer?_ Yes, it would - but what choice did he have?

"No need to fret," said Lilac, setting her bird free to flit back to its perch atop the cage. "Like I said: we all look out for each other here. I'm sure we'll find someone to take you home."

"Like who?"

Lilac considered for a second. "Strifer Dyne," she said. "I thought I glimpsed him earlier. He won't mind a little excursion into my territory. But there's just one thing..."

"What?"

"Remember his surname: it's dee-why-en-ee, _not_ dee-eye-en-ee. He doesn't like it when people pronounce it with an 'i'. Okay?"

***

Like Lilac, Strifer Dyne was a silf-hunting atulphi who kept his transport berthed on the pier. He was a young-looking yet striking figure, with spiky hair so blonde it appeared almost white, and bare arms covered with tattoos that seemed to shift restlessly under his skin. He was clad in a sort of sleeveless, tie-dyed set of overalls, and slung over his left shoulder was what Benjamin could only describe as a Victorian electric guitar, in that its body was brassy, heavily riveted, and furnished with a diagonally-inclined array of funnels at the rear. In hearing him greet and then confer with Lilac, the boy placed his accent as being American; and his transport - which he occasionally glanced at while talking, as if assessing its capability in taking on an extra passenger - was, quite plainly, just about the coolest piece of hardware Benjamin had yet seen in Niamago.

Put simply, Strifer Dyne's vehicle was a flying saucer. A _small_ flying saucer admittedly: it was about five metres in diameter, and far too thin to contain even one human-sized occupant, but it was still very cool, in any case. The main body was dark and smooth and seamless, and it thrummed in the way that the engine of a really good sports car might thrum: quietly, yet with a deep, reverberating power that told you it had nothing to prove. The upper part of the device, Benjamin saw, was flattened slightly, and surmounted with a circular railing, which was itself interrupted only by a gap, which he guessed was for access, and some kind of control console directly opposite. Underneath, where the bulge of the disc was fatter, the smoothness was unbroken, leaving the mechanism that allowed it to hover there, at the lip of the walkway, a mystery - though not such a mystery that it didn't prevent the boy from wondering if he might be able to build something like this for himself. _Okay, I'd need some time, and a lot of silfs,_ he thought, suddenly flushed with excitement. _But I could do it. I could build a flying saucer. Just like this. I could build anything, in fact..._

A wave of elation flooded him, so fierce it felt almost like panic, as he began to imagine all the possibilities - all the _potentials_ \- that were open to him as a dreamshader: he thought of building a robot, huge and seraphic in shape - like a _mecha_ from a Japanese cartoon - which he could pilot from within; he imagined building a _fleet_ of robots, an army, which he, and he alone, could command. And then he remembered how tired he had felt after transforming one mere silf into a handful of stones, and decided that it would probably be better if he stuck to smaller things. Strangely enough, he felt relieved at this, but couldn't say why. Maybe it was not so much the ecstasy of being a dreamshader which had caught him, but the ecstasy of _power_ \- and that, he knew, was something entirely different.

After a while, Lilac beckoned the boy over, a cheerful smile on her lips. Strifer Dyne looked a touch uneasy, but was ready with a grin and an outstretched hand once Benjamin was close enough. "Good to see you," he said. "Dreamshader, eh? I heard the talk. Didn't believe it, mind. But you got the eyes."

Benjamin instinctively brushed his fingertips against his lower eyelids. _Just what is it with my eyes?_ he asked himself, as all his ambitions about creating an army of robots wilted away. For want of anything better to say, he replied with an 'alright', and followed it with a comment pertaining to how much he liked the flying saucer.

"Ah," said Strifer Dyne, looking proudly at his vehicle. "Millicent, yeah. She gets me around."

_Millicent?_ Benjamin thought incredulously. _He calls his flying saucer...Millicent?!_ He tried, very briefly, to imagine what it would be like to be at the helm of a giant Japanese mecha called 'Rodney', but just couldn't do it. "Nice name," he said, by way of a smirk. He glanced at Lilac, who was glaring back at him with a fixed, don't-you-dare-laugh expression on her face.

"Thanks," said Strifer, without a trace of irony. "It suits her, don't you think?"

***

Finally, then, it was time to go. With Strifer stationed on his craft, poring over the map that Lilac had given him, all that remained were the goodbyes.

"Well," said the lady. She looked at the boy awhile, then cast her gaze towards the sea. "I hope your stay here won't lead you into too much trouble when you get home. Your mother would be worried now, I think."

Benjamin nodded. "Probably, yeah." He'd never had to give a serious farewell before, and was at something of a loss. "Will you be okay?" he asked.

"Certainly," she said, turning back to look along the length of the pier, towards a Niamago now resplendent with music and sweeping light. "I can indulge in some parties while I look for my darlings. Do some shopping, too. Which reminds me: I need to get a new rod. Must remember that."

The moment seemed to call for some profound or touching statement, but Benjamin couldn't think of one. Instead, he inclined his head in the direction of Strifer and asked, "will he be able to take me back to where you found me?"

"As close as," said Lilac. "That won't be a worry, believe me."

A disturbing thought surfaced in the boy's mind. "What if -"

"Yes?"

"What if the clown is still there?"

Lilac gave a soft yet constrained smile; the kind of smile his mother used when reassuring him. "Leopold only wanted the silf, not you. So he will not be a problem. I've warned Strifer about him anyway. If he _should_ still be around - which I doubt - I expect an outburst from _Calaphay_ will be just the thing to see him off for good."

"Calaphay?"

"Strifer's guitar," she said, glancing over to the atulphi who wielded it. "It has some ... remarkable features."

"Calaphay. That's much better -"

"I know..."

"- than _Millicent_."

"Oh, I know," repeated Lilac, turning her face away from Strifer so as to snigger freely. "We've all asked him about it," she whispered. "But we can't get anything from him except that he thinks it's a really nice name."

"Calaphay's cool, though," said Benjamin, feeling a slight but not serious need to defend Strifer somewhat. The atulphi, after all, had been generous enough to offer him a lift home. "Calaphay's neat."

"Millicent, however, is dreadful. And do you know what the most dreadful thing about it is?"

"What?"

"That I cannot think up even the _poorest_ joke about it."

They both laughed then, at which point Strifer Dyne saw fit to intervene. "We're ready to go, guys," he called, hoisting a satchel and rod over his right shoulder. "It's in your own time, now."

The laughter subsided, to be replaced with set, tight-lipped smiles.

"So," said Lilac.

"So," said Benjamin.

A quiet moment passed.

"Thank you for bringing me here," said the boy.

"Pleasure," said Lilac. She offered him a hand. "And thank you ... for being such fine company."

Benjamin took hold of Lilac's hand, believing it to have been offered as her part of a handshake. Instead, she pulled him towards her and engulfed him in a hug. "Be well," she said. She kissed him on his forehead. "Be wonderful."

She smelled, he noticed, of roses. And though he quite liked being hugged by her, he was glad that it was brief, and no big deal. Apart again, she ruffled his hair. "You know," he said, patting his hair back down. "That's just what my mum would have done."

"What - the hug or the ruffling?"

"The hug bit. She's always doing things like that."

"Is that so," Lilac responded, letting it trail off into nothing. Her dark and entrancing eyes shone brilliantly, like polished glass. But were they sad or happy? He couldn't tell.

"Think I'd better go now," he said, feeling strangely bereft, as if he'd already said that final goodbye.

"I think so too," said the lady.

He jumped on the rim of the saucer and took a few steps toward the centre. Then he turned to her once more. "I've just remembered," he said. "I don't know how I'm supposed to get back here."

"I'll find you," said Lilac. "Or you can find me."

"How do I do that?"

"Just keep on chasing the silfs. You'll see me, eventually."

The thrumming of the saucer deepened. And slowly, very slowly, it began to draw away from the pier. "What about the map?" He pointed to the one in Strifer's hand. "I could use that."

"No," said Lilac. "You couldn't."

"Sorry," he said, raising his voice a little to make sure that he was heard.

"Don't be," called Lilac. "You'd need a lifetime."

"I'll come back."

"I know."

The saucer rose; the space between himself and Lilac widened. She raised a hand, and he did likewise.

"I'll watch out for the silfs," he shouted.

"I'll watch out for you, too," she cried.

He would have said that he would watch out for the phragodols as well, but by then Lilac was too far away. Which was for the good, perhaps, as he felt it a bad note to end their parting upon. _I'll just chase the silfs and avoid the monsters,_ he thought; _chase the dreams and keep away from the nightmares._ He smiled, enjoying the poetry of it. "You'll let her know I'm okay, won't you?" he asked Strifer, as Lilac became smaller and smaller in his gaze. "You'll let her know I got back safely?"

"Sure," said Strifer, looking over his shoulder as he busied himself with the console. "All done an' dusted. She wouldn't have let me take you otherwise."

"Good," said Benjamin. "Thanks." And he waved at her and she waved back, while the night-called swimmers splashed in the waters below, weaving dreams (probably) amid the ever widening sea.

20

He couldn't say that he was missing Lilac already; he had only just left her, and had known her for no more than a day, anyway. Nevertheless, he did feel a curious _hollowness_ inside himself as he watched her drift out of sight, as if their goodbyes were somehow final. He kept his gaze on the receding cityscape long after the lady was gone from view, and when it occurred to him that he might have forgotten something (like the broken gourd for instance) he felt a flush of joy at the idea of having to go back to her in order to retrieve it. But the gourd was still in his pocket, alas, though he wasn't _too_ disappointed; it was, in a way, a part of the parting itself, a memento of a good time spent together. And more, of course. As both an artefact of the world that housed it, and the repository of a dream that played some role, however small, in keeping that world alive, this was no mere souvenir. It was too personal for that, and too powerful in what it seemed to symbolise. But if it wasn't some simple keepsake, then what was it? _It's important,_ he thought, tumbling it in his hands. _To me, it's important. And it doesn't need to be anything else._

He smiled to himself; it was good enough. Niamago - and Lilac - would always be close as long as that broken gourd was there. And he resolved never to lose it.

***

The saucer was fast, and so incredibly smooth in its flight that it made Lilac's bird-borne cage look positively cumbersome (though no less magical, it had to be said). It was nimble, too, and wove its way through the other vehicles, both departing and oncoming, with an ease and fluidity that seemed almost choreographed. As for the atulphi who piloted it \- one Mr. Strifer Dyne - he was ... _unusual._ Not as unusual as Mickey Dim, perhaps, but certainly more so than Lilac.

For a start, general chit-chat had revealed him to be a gadget-freak. Not that being a gadget-freak was unusual, of course. No, the unusual bit came in the shape his two favourite gadgets - the flying saucer and the Victorian electric guitar - and what he told of certain other devices he claimed to own, such as boots that allowed the wearer to walk on walls and ceilings (which Benjamin thought was excellent), a radio which could pick up the noise of colours (which Benjamin thought was strange), and a remote-control unit for his clothes (which Benjamin couldn't understand, though it sounded intriguing). He had also vowed, he said, to get himself a similar control unit for his tattoos, and when the boy expressed nothing but utter incomprehension at this, he proceeded to demonstrate the second unusual thing that marked him as one of the more outlandish atulphi.

He turned away from the control console, held up an intricately illustrated arm, and told the boy to watch. "I need to get my mood right," he said. "Make sure they go fast enough for you to see." He tightened his fist, then loosened it, flexing his muscles in the process. The tattoos moved a little. Again he bunched his fist, and this time the tattoos shifted themselves into a completely new design. Where there had once been florid arabesques, there was now a pattern of flowers and wires. "That's the configuration of Gregorio's last repast," he explained, as if Benjamin was supposed to know what he meant. He then lowered his arm and shook it, at which the tattoos abruptly burst into hundreds of tiny commas that skittered, bug-like, around his skin before coming to rest as an image of criss-crossing, interlocking chains. "Great, huh?" he said, letting the arm drop. "But they're not all that compliant sometimes, which is why I need the remote," he continued. "They get aggressive when I'm around someone I don't like."

If nothing else, the fact that Strifer had been required to _cajole_ his tattoos into action served well to show that he was probably okay with Benjamin's company. As a result, the boy deemed it good time to ask him about his origins.

"I come from Iowa originally," the atulphi said, going back to his control console. "Can't remember much, 'cept that cornfield I used to meet Jay in. We used to hide from the rains." He chuckled, shrugging the guitar that was slung over his shoulder into a more comfortable position. "Good times, good times. Then Jay got older, and forgot about me. Guess you know the story. Same kinda thing happened with Lilac. Happens with all of us."

"How did you get here?"

"I just waited, out there on the farm. Then one day - no, it was night - I see this guy fishing in the air. _Piclo Taberneam_ his name was. He's dead now. Told me all about this place, asked if I wanted to go with him. Seemed like a good idea. An' it was, I guess."

"Is that how all the atulphi arrive here?"

"Reckon so. I ain't heard any story different. Apart from the Ruadahann, that is. Lilac tell you about him?"

Benjamin thought back. "Yeah," he said. "A bit of Father Christmas, a bit of Robin Hood -"

"An' a bit of Paul Bunyan, an' every cowboy you probably heard of."

"Yeah, I suppose."

"Keep looking over there," said Strifer, pointing to an area of the horizon which, to judge by the last rays of the setting sun, was probably west. "You might see his island."

Benjamin looked, but saw nothing except the rolling sea and the glorious sky above - which were, in themselves, more than fascinating enough anyway. He watched as, overhead, the rippling bands of colour (which were fainter now, he saw) shimmered over the first few stars of night-time, while below, other colours shimmered amid the milky waves, beneath those reflected from above. It was beautiful, but strangely confusing to the eye. He recalled those faint, indistinct areas he'd seen when he had first crossed over to the Amar Imaga; and he remembered, too, that the crossing itself had been an uncomfortable business. But he didn't worry about it much; in the face of such grandeur as provided by this otherworldly nightfall, there were better things to entertain oneself with.

He turned around, to see if the moon - if this place could lay claim to such - had risen yet. It hadn't, though the sweep of his gaze had led him, once again, to the coast of Niamago, and the sight of a city made celestial by its crown of weaving searchlights and glinting flares. Instinctively, he touched the gourd in his pocket, and wondered if the crash of the fireworks he then heard had come from his first great dream, or the city at play. Or maybe it had been part of the music, a certain cymbal-clash amongst the drumbeats that echoed out from the metropolis and came to his ears as a distant concert, waxing and waning on the sea air. Then there came another noise, like a chugging, as they passed a craft so splendidly lit that it appeared as a chandelier in the sky. Upon seeing it he was reminded of Lilac, and the elaborate creations that hung from the ceiling of her home. And then he thought of what she must be doing right now, and felt a pang of sadness as he pictured her meandering about the city like someone lost, calling out names and finding no reply. He hoped that what he knew of her was true; that she really was as indefatigable as she appeared, and that the moment of vulnerability on the pier was just that: a moment. In which case, he was sure she'd be conducting her search with a good deal more cheer than he imagined. Otherwise ... well, there was at least the comfort of knowing that the lady had survived long enough in Niamago without him. _She'll be all rig_ ht, he said to himself, with as much certainty as he could muster. And with a wan smile and silent wish of goodwill to her, he returned his gaze to the horizon opposite, to the end of becoming so engrossed in looking out for the island of the Ruadahann that he might forget the bittersweet side of his departure.

He saw it eventually, or so he thought. A spike of rock the size of a mountain, far out in the distance. Were there lights on it? He leaned over the railing, squinting - and was just on the verge of asking Strifer if he had a telescope when he noticed something _flutter_ at the corner of his eye.

It was a wasp, like the one he'd seen at Lilac's flat. Same black and orange body, same fat, wicked-looking tail. It was sitting on the railing close to his right elbow, and as soon as he saw it he recoiled, making a small, girlish noise in his throat. "What's up?" asked Strifer.

"Oh, nothing," said the boy, a tad embarrassed at how he'd flinched. "Just a wasp."

"A wasp? Where?"

Benjamin pointed it out. "You have some really ugly bugs here, you know."

"We don't -" then Strifer saw it. "Oh," he said. Suddenly, his tattoos were rampant, coursing up and down his arms in oily streamers.

"What is it?" said Benjamin.

The atulphi made a move towards the creature, but it flew away before he had even the remotest chance of getting close. "It's bad news," he said, scratching at the shifting skin of his arms. He kept his eyes on the creature until it disappeared, and then - with his gaze still set on the area where he had last seen it - he quickly shrugged off his satchel and rod. "We've been followed," he said, looking behind, ahead, above. "Keep watching."

Benjamin looked left, right, and all around; he saw nothing except the sea, the sky, the receding city and the pinprick light of the last craft they had overtaken. "What am I looking for?" he asked, feeling jittery and afraid. Whatever this 'bad news' was, it was made even worse by the fact that he was unable to see it.

" _Vespinner_ ," said Strifer, as he pulled a lead out from the back of his electric guitar and plugged it into the control console of his vehicle. "Now listen," he said grimly. He hauled the guitar off his shoulder and handed it to the boy. "You're going to have to take care of the thing while I get us on auto. It means I'll have to pre-program our course, and it'll take a little time - but it's our best bet." Once more he scanned the sky. "Look out for - for something that looks like a swarm. And when you see it, _hit_ it!"

The guitar fell awkwardly into Benjamin's arms, though it was not as heavy as it appeared. "What am I supposed to do with this?" he said, grimacing as he looped the strap over his head. He had never even carried a guitar, let alone play one, and it showed.

"When you see it -" Strifer tapped the headstock of the guitar "- aim this at it. All you have to do is strum. Don't even _try_ to play, okay?"

"Okay," said Benjamin.

"It should be enough," said the atulphi, returning to the console. "It shouldn't take long for us to get back." He began to tap feverishly at the controls. "Hell, might even _outrun_ the thing if we're lucky."

" _What_ thing?" asked Benjamin, as he stared aft and levelled the guitar like a rifle. At any other time, such a moment would have been as cool as hell. But not now. Now it was simply as _chilling_ as hell.

"Vespinner," replied Strifer, intent on the console. "Gogmagog's chief assassin and spy - or so the rumour goes." For one second, it sounded as if there was a smile in his voice. "Never thought I'd see it. Dunno if I should feel privileged or ..."

"Or what?" said the boy, as Strifer's words petered out to silence. He swung round, fearing the worst - that this _something_ , this _Vespinner_ , had caught the atulphi unawares - and was relieved to see that nothing, as yet, had happened. Strifer was still standing, busy with the console, his tattoos raging in fountains of black fire.

"Don't worry about it," came the response. He turned his face to the boy, revealing a blank, strangely terrible smile. "Just do what I say and you'll be fine - _We'll_ be fine, I mean. If I can take Vespinner ... it'd be a hell of a blag. You know what I'm saying?"

Benjamin nodded, not because he understood what Strifer had said, but because the turn of conversation seemed to call for it. "Is he a phragodol?" he asked, needing to get some handle on what they were dealing with.

" _It_ is a phragodol," said Strifer, returning to the controls. "One of the worst."

"What does it want?"

"Beats me."

The boy tried to swallow, but found it difficult. He tasted metal on the back of his tongue, felt a lightness in his chest. It had, he remembered, been like this when he had fought the clown. "What does he look like?" he asked falteringly.

"A swarm," said Strifer. "Of wasps. A kind of amalgam. A _heap_."

"I suppose -" he cleared his throat. "I suppose I'll know him - _it_ \- when I see it. Right?"

"Right."

A moment of calm. _I'll be fine,_ he either thought or whispered as he turned back round and waited, his eyes as wide and as searching as those of an ill-omened soldier. He heard a change in the sound of the saucer, a kind of rising drone underlying the hum. But any notion he might have had that they were speeding up - and therefore escaping their unseen pursuer - was quickly dashed by Strifer's response to it.

"You hear that?" the atulphi called.

"What - the noise?"

"Guess you do." He punched hard at a series of buttons on the console. "But it doesn't matter now, it -"

And then his words were lost to the noise of the drone, as hundreds and hundreds of small, fiery bodies flew up from below, ascending in a whining, spiralling funnel which, for one deadly second, encompassed the craft so completely that it felt as if they were caught in the core of a tornado _. "The goddamn fleg was underneath us!"_ Strifer yelled, as the insects - for they were wasps all, each and every one identical to those seen on the railing and outside Lilac's window - began to mass above them. _"They're gonna strike,"_ cried Strifer, following it with a shout: _"Hit them - now!"_

Benjamin lifted the head of the guitar, taking aim at what he guessed must be the bulk of the swarm. But it was difficult; his hands felt cumbersome and saggy, _unready_ for the moment. He tried to strum and missed; the second time his fingers brushed the strings but made no discernible sound. "One sec," he said, in a small, tremulous voice that spoke of just what he was: a boy so suddenly panicked that he couldn't even comprehend the obvious. He checked the guitar, with some vague notion that there might be something wrong with it _. "No_!" Strifer screamed, glancing feverishly to the sky, then back to the boy. _"Let go of the neck - LET GO OF THE STRINGS!"_

"Oh," said Benjamin, looking at his left hand which - as Strifer had indicated - was gripped tightly to the neck of the guitar, his fingers clamping the strings flat to the fretboard. He let the hand fall away, and again took aim, this time levelling it by means of his forearm. The swarm, he saw, was descending fast; he thought of the stings that these creatures carried, the little drills. With a yell, he strummed again, thrashing the strings so hard that he feared they would break. They didn't - not that he had time to care anyway: at the instant of his attack, a spray of blue electricity burst out from the headstock, accompanied by a boom of discordant, ear-thumping noise that cracked the air like a thunderclap. "YES!" yelled Strifer, jubilant. And while the sound rang out, then so did the shower of electricity continue; and the boy hit the strings again and again, blasting blue fire into the sky, drenching the swarm as a firefighter drenches a conflagration.

But Vespinner was quick - so horribly quick. Benjamin might well have picked off some of the wasps, but on the whole it was like trying to hit smoke. "No good," he murmured, as the swarm diffused into a vast umbrella, the creatures becoming so scattered that it was impossible to make a decent assault. "No good," he said again, sinking down to his knees as the fearsome, humming veil coursed down to meet him. He punched the strings once more, his onslaught catching only a few; and then the wasps were upon him, alighting on his clothes, his neck, his hands. Shrieking, he batted out at them, revolted by how they squirmed against his touch, gagging at the smell of burnt hair they brought to his nostrils. He covered his eyes with his hands, lowered his head. He heard Strifer struggling nearby, his cries and curses muffled. He heard, too, a high-pitched whirr, similar to that of a dentist's drill - and felt the tears well-up as he thought of the pain to come.

He thought he might die. Thought he _would_ die.

There was a sound of tearing fabric, and the guitar fell away from his body.

_I could run,_ he said to himself, in a final rush of defiance. _I could jump the railings, or crawl under them and fall into the sea._

It didn't matter that he might drown, or emerge, falling, into the sky of another world. Right now, both options seemed better. But first he had to take his hands away from his eyes - and when he did so, he was surprised to see that there was really no need to escape.

Not yet, at least.

21

Strifer had fallen, he saw, and was immobile, his splayed body now the province of the wasps, which were alighting en masse, blanketing him in an ugly, seething shroud.

Benjamin himself was free of the creatures, though at first he had thought otherwise, yelling and patting wildly at his gown before realising that it was merely the skin-crawling effect of his own revulsion. Vespinner, it transpired, had decided to leave him alone - not that it made him feel any better. The only sign of the monster's infringement was the guitar, lying in front of his buckled knees, its strap severed cleanly in two.

He turned away, unable to bear the sight of what all those stings could do to Strifer if, as he suspected, it had only taken one to cut the strap. He waited, expecting the dentist-drill whine to arrive at any second, yet the seconds passed and nothing happened. Steeling himself, he looked again at Vespinner, which by now had established itself as a looming, whirring termite-tower that almost completely engulfed the prone atulphi at its root. The boy brushed wetness away from his left eye and sniffed; from what he could see, Strifer appeared to be dead.

"What do you want?" he said, daring, at last, to speak. His words were thick and clotted, and they seemed to hurt his throat when they came out.

Vespinner was both as still and as silent as such a creature could be. It moved only as much as its elements moved, a shape immobile but in flux. It was quiet, but only by cause of offering no other sounds than those supplied by hundreds of humming wings and scurrying bodies.

"What do you _want_?" the boy said again, shouting a little when he reached the last word. Again, the defiance; again, that surge of fear so powerful it felt like rage.

And this time, Vespinner _did_ reply.

You. To join us.

The words came out of it like a breath; a whisper. It crumpled when it answered, the top of the peak lowering like the tip of a tentacle. It seemed to be looking at him.

Benjamin said nothing. He had not, in truth, expected the thing to respond with words. An attack, maybe; a sign. But not words.

It spoke again: _dreamshader,_ it said.

I have been watching you.

"Yes?" The boy's voice was meek. Small.

Yes. I know all about you.

The lowered peak moved up and down, up and down, as if it were nodding.

You know nothing about me.

And then the peak darted forward, causing the boy to scramble as far back as the railing posts would allow - which was not far. Yet the thing did not strike; rather, it levelled itself at Benjamin's face, as if the extrusion was there to serve as a face of its own.

Am I not clever?

Benjamin did not reply.

_Ah well._ The tentacle-tip retracted somewhat. It curled over, seeming to point at the guitar.

I did the same to the birds. Cut their bonds and set them free. Swish - swish! And nobody saw.

Three - no, four - wasps sailed out from the mass, alighting on the guitar.

_T'was me!_ came the voice, as one of the wasps twitched.

_And me!_ it said, as another of the wasps also twitched.

_And me!_ A twitch. _And me!_ A twitch. And when the performance was over, the wasps took off, merging with the tentacle-tip as it withdrew to its former, upright position.

_So now you see,_ said Vespinner.

Benjamin said nothing, only stared at the thing. As confused and as panicked as he was, he could still understand the gist of the confession: that it was Vespinner who had sabotaged Lilac's transport, not Wolfgang. But did it mean that the monster had killed the birds, too? Some had survived, admittedly - but what about the rest?

He again pictured Lilac, wandering, calling to darlings that would never come. He wiped his eyes, and found, once more, that the tears would not go away.

_Nothing to say?_ came the voice, mocking.

Benjamin shook his head.

A shame.

Benjamin remained silent.

I did it for you, you know.

The boy glared at the creature.

Yes. I did. I wished to talk with you on land, hence the need for the delay. But I did not count on the surety of friends, nor of your desire to be gone from this world so quick.

The boy blinked. A teardrop fell on his hand.

Why is that? Why did you want to leave us so fast?

"I wanted to go home," said Benjamin, recovering his voice - unimpressive though it was - at last.

_Home_ , said Vespinner, as reflectively as it could. _Where your mother waits, yes?_

"Yes."

And your father?

"No."

_Hm._ And then the creature was silent for a while.

"What do you want?" asked Benjamin again. There was no defiance this time, no demand; he only offered the question because there seemed nothing better to do.

_To give you a chance for greatness, dreamshader,_ it said, visibly shaking itself out of contemplation in a fall of insects. _On behalf of my lord Gogmagog._

"I - I don't understand."

My lord wishes to offer you a place at his left. To learn his greatest secret. To make and unmake. To live, to rule; to be at his side when he conquers the blasphemous island; to share in his supreme triumph when he takes all the world. For this he needs seven, but has only six. And if you refuse -

The flittering pile abruptly collapsed into a heap that left nothing of Strifer Dyne except his outstretched limbs.

\- if you refuse I will kill this one. I will go into his mouth. Then I shall kill you.

Yet the threat, in bearing a disclosure that the atulphi was still alive, did not move Benjamin as much as it should. True, he was still terrified - but now there was a grain of hope in the idea that if he were to play for a little time, then there was every likelihood that Strifer might come round. Of course, he might not; the monster might kill them both. And besides, even if Strifer was roused to the point of a fightback, there still remained the possibility that Vespinner could defeat them. The boy, however, refused to think of that. He had seen a chance, slim though it was, and he had to take it; he had to act, play along, and believe, wholeheartedly, that he no longer had to simply sit there and die. The fact that Vespinner had already proposed an alternative - to join it and its master in war and nightmare - was as good as lost upon him. Benjamin had heard only the threat, and could see no other course than to escape this horror, no matter what promises it gave.

_Now do you understand?_ it said.

The boy nodded, rubbing away what might have been the last of his tears.

So what say you?

He told himself to think carefully; to not appear too eager, nor too cringingly afraid. "What will I have to do?" he asked, fighting the temptation to raise the quaver in his voice in case it seemed too contrived.

Do what all of them have done.

"All who?"

The dreamshaders who assented before you; who met with my lord and found greatness with him. Malakin, Enlai, Raphael, Pella -

And then it gave a name which left Benjamin shocked.

\- _Crosskeys -_

After which there came another name, which went unheard: "That's my name," he said, blurting it out over the words of the monster.

What?

For one instant the mound became utterly still. Then it surged forward, stopping at Benjamin's feet before cresting up like a sluggish wave.

What did you say?

"My name. You spoke my name," the boy said, pushing his head as far back as it would go. The crest had become a tumescent, gibbous bulge, and it was only inches away from his face.

What name?

"Crosskeys."

_Cross-keys,_ the horror said, retracting a little. _Cross-keys_ , it repeated, drawing out the word as though it was considering some element of the name itself.

Benjamin spoke without thinking: "It's my dad's name," he said.

Is it now.

"Yes."

And suddenly, just as it seemed as if Vespinner was about to say more, the pitch of the saucer's engine changed; and from the place where the monster had perched itself, at the foot of the heap, there emerged the voice that Benjamin had been longing for.

"I got you now, you stink!" said Strifer Dyne, rising unsteadily to his feet, the buzzing congeries collapsing all around him. "You've _LOST,_ boy!"

Vespinner exploded, every wasp launching outwards as Strifer lunged towards the guitar. Strange grey gashes marked his body, and his tattoos had broken up into scurrying squiggles; he was hurt badly, stumbling to his knees as he grabbed the instrument by its neck and pulled it towards himself. Nevertheless, he was quick - and quick enough: as Vespinner began to swarm back at him, he was already in the process of lifting the headstock, the body of the guitar held snugly against his ribs by an elbow. He gave a cheer - a cowboy cheer of _"YEE-HAW!"_ \- and wrought out a series of powerful, chiming chords. From the headstock there emerged not the fountain of electricity that the boy had incurred, but a steady stream of pulsing, crackling, _disciplined_ fireballs that erupted, upon hitting their targets, in bursts of glowing, equally lethal shards. Within moments, Vespinner had taken some terrible hits, though the loss of so many of its constituents had left it far from being beaten. It had spread itself wide, encircling the now lilting saucer, and was soon launching assaults from every direction; wherever Strifer fired, it immediately sent interceptors from the sides or behind. If he aimed high, it attacked from below; if he levelled his weapon low, the sorties came from above. Despite what the atulphi had said, it was clear that it was not the monster who was about to lose; it was clever, and fast, and already settling on the reeling Strifer in furious, seething clumps. In seconds the atulphi would be engulfed again - and, no doubt, _killed_ this time - and the boy, sensing the terrible speed with which this could happen, wasted nothing in coming to his aid. Screaming, he lashed out at the clumps, batting them away in feverish desperation, ignoring his disgust, his terror; but then the wasps turned on _him_ , too, and before he was even barely aware of it, several had alighted upon him, their backs arched, their stings whirring. One scrabbled violently in his hair; two - or three - scratched and buzzed and fluttered at his neck. He staggered away from the atulphi, beating at himself and the air around him; a wasp clawed at his right shin, seeming to bite; another clamped itself, pinching, to his left hand. He shrieked when he felt the sting at his wrist, the pain of that needle-thin drill as it slipped through the skin; he punched, punched, punched at the spot with the other hand, not stopping until the wasp, pulped, dropped to the floor. Immediately afterwards, two more landed on his face, one of which gripped his right eyebrow while the other scrabbled at his chin and lips. With his jaw set tight, he clawed them away. Then came more - landing on his hands, his face, his legs, his scalp. Then more. And more.

And then the world changed.

He did not notice it at first. Only the nausea in his belly, which he assumed to be the inevitable result of so fraught and hopeless a struggle. Even when he saw the wasps, twitching morbidly at his feet, he had no other thought than that these were the few amongst the still living, still murderous many. He glimpsed the sky, finding it cloudless, colourless and clear of all but a lambent quarter-moon, and heard something on the air which he could scarcely believe: the absolute absence of Vespinner's evil, droning hum. As understanding dawned, his gaze turned to Strifer. The atulphi, kneeling, was braced against the railing, supporting himself with a trembling arm, the guitar fallen on the floor beside him. The grey gashes on his arms outnumbered the tattoos now, and there seemed to be wispy strands of mist rising up from him. He was obviously not well, but he was alive, and grinning.

"We made it," he said thickly, panting. He stared down at the wasps, scattered all around his knees and spasming as if in great pain. "We beat it."

Benjamin leaned over the railing, and discovered that the sea had gone, to be replaced by a night-cast landscape of glowing street lamps and moon-glossed rooftops. And beautiful though the Amar Imaga was, this was even better.

Then the aftershock of panic; he brushed vehemently at himself, certain that the conflict was not yet over, that Vespinner was somehow still at large. But the look in Strifer's eyes told all ... as did the fact that he then crushed one of the wasps under his fist.

"How?" asked Benjamin, eyes wide and incredulous. "I thought we were -"

Strifer shook his head, and gave the best smile his shattered state would allow. "Just tell me," he said, extinguishing another wasp. "Are you home?"

The boy again studied the landscape below. In this light, the place could be anywhere; but he could see the spire of St. Jude's, he was sure; and the distinct floodlights of the football pitch, where only five out of the six were ever lit. Using both landmarks, he was readily able to gain his bearings.

His house was probably a mile away; but yes, he said, he was home.

22

Strifer did not take him far. "I gotta conserve everything I can," he'd said, during their descent. "I'll land you, but can't afford to take you to your door. Is that okay?"

Benjamin told him that it was. As a result, they touched down without going any further, at a place almost directly below the area where, the boy guessed, they must have emerged into the earthly sky: the disused railway that lay between Gerald Street and Tavistock Road. It wasn't as close to his home as he would have liked, but it was certainly within good walking distance. Provided his legs held up (and right now, he wasn't entirely sure they would) he was likely, once the farewells were done with, to be back at his house within twenty minutes.

It was odd, to feel so elated after such terrors; when he stepped off the saucer, and onto the weedy, overgrown grass, he thought he might be sick. Sheer bloody relief, it seemed, was not always what it was cracked up to be. All the same, it was welcome, dizzying and nauseating though it was. Very, very welcome indeed.

He retched once, and that was it. Then he turned, and prepared himself for another goodbye, this time with Strifer. The atulphi was still on his saucer, standing unsteadily at the gap between the railings, his hands gripped to the small posts either side. He did not look healthy, and appeared to totter as he kicked the last few lifeless wasps away from the deck. Instinctively, Benjamin stepped back when the remains tumbled to the grass, but was soon reassured. "He's gone," said Strifer, bringing the back of a hand to his mouth as he coughed. " _It_ 's gone, I mean. Couldn't survive the translation. One part of him here, another part of him there." The atulphi cackled. "Cut him right in two. Destroyed his cohesion. Killed it outright." He gave a snigger which mutated into a raspy wheeze. "Hope it was painful."

Benjamin nodded. "Are you okay?" he asked, as the atulphi issued another hacking, gravelly cough.

"No," said Strifer. He held out his arm, displaying the grey gashes. There was little light about, but enough to reveal that the tattoos had transformed into bruise-like clouds around the wounds. "My _tats_ can patch me up pretty good," the atulphi continued. "But Vespinner got too much venom in me. I won't last ... much longer."

Benjamin abruptly lifted his left his left hand, remembering that the wrist below had been pierced. There was some pain there, and a small blob of blood. "Venom?" he asked, walking closer to Strifer. Again he felt sick, and not with relief. "Does that mean I -"

With a speed that belied his condition, Strifer snatched hold of the boy's hand, turning it over so that he could see the wrist. "Ah, that's nothing," he said, offering a smile and a wince at the same time. "Enough, I guess, to make you feel ill for a day or two, but nothing to cry over."

Benjamin tried to pull his hand back, but Strifer didn't let go. "Just wait awhile," the atulphi said, gripping tightly. The boy felt a tingling at the wrist, and when he looked he found that some of Strifer's tattoos were at work on _his_ flesh too, right at the point where the creature had stung him. "Vespinner didn't count on this, y'see," Strifer continued, watching as the tattoos, like little clouds, busied themselves with his friend's skin. "Figured I'd be out for a lot longer." Again, he laughed. "Didn't stop to think ... what I could really do. Didn't stop to think what _Millicent_ could do, either." Another laugh, but strained now; he wiped his mouth with his fingers. "Took us through on auto, at exactly the right time. Caught the stink unawares, just when it thought it had won. Ha!"

The tattoos were soon finished, leaving in a rush of itches as they coursed away from Benjamin's wrist and returned to Strifer's hand, then his arm. The boy scratched at the place, wiping the jewel-drop of blood away, and stared, squinting, at where he thought he had been stung. There was nothing, only skin. Intact and unbroken.

"Hurts?" asked Strifer.

"No," said the boy, bewildered. Despite all the magic he'd already seen, he had not expected this. The pain, as well as the mark, was completely gone. "How did you -" he began, before realising that there was no explanation needed. Strifer's tattoos healed, and if their bearer wished them to heal someone else, then that was that. "Thank you," he said instead, returning his gaze to the atulphi, and the grey wounds on his arms. There were fewer now, he saw, but many still remained. There was no blood, only thin streams of luminous vapour which rose up from them like cigarette smoke. Unless, of course, this was the way in which a creature such as Strifer _did_ bleed: in mists, rather than rivulets.

"Did he get you anywhere else?" asked the atulphi, still holding out the shaky hand from which Benjamin's cure had come.

"Don't think so," said the boy, bringing his fingertips to his neck and then his eyebrows. "No, I'm alright. I'm fine."

"Good," said Strifer, letting the hand drop. He turned round a little to look at the control console. "I gotta be going soon. Got a lot of news to pass on." He wheezed. "Don't have much time, either."

"Are you going to die?"

"Yeah," said the atulphi, without the slightest hint of defeat or distress. "Probably. But it won't stop me from telling them what I know." He turned back to Benjamin, giving a wide, toothsome, razor-lipped grin. "Vespinner thought I was out, but I heard it all. What he said about Gogmagog, the war, and what happened to all those other ... dreamshaders." He coughed, and stared down for a second. "Wouldn't have let you get hurt, though. You know that, don't you."

"Yes," said Benjamin weakly. A peculiar, empty sadness welled up inside him; he didn't want the adventure to end like this, in death and despair. "Maybe you'll -" he said, groping for assurances. "Maybe you'll be okay too. You might find someone to -"

"Maybe," said Strifer, holding up a hand. "Whatever. As long as I have the time to tell enough people what happened, I'll be fine. Now I need to ask you -" he paused, adding gravity to the question that followed "- did Vespinner say, or do anything which you think I ought to know about? Doesn't matter how small it might seem. Just tell me."

It came to Benjamin in a flash; no consideration was needed. "He said my name."

"Your name? When?"

"He was talking about these other dreamshaders. These ones that had -"

"Gone over to Gogmagog's side."

"Yeah. And then he said my name \- Crosskeys - as well."

"Crosskeys," muttered Strifer, turning the name over in much the same way as Vespinner had done. "Yeah ... I remember you saying something about that. Didn't catch the name itself, though. You sure you didn't mishear?"

"I dunno," said Benjamin. Vespinner's voice had been so unearthly, there was every chance that he _had_ misheard. But he couldn't be certain. "My dad's the only other person I know who had my name. And he's ... well, he's not around now."

Strifer nodded, and stifled another cough. "You're the only Crosskeys _I've_ ever heard of," he said. "If there was another ... I'm sure I'd have known."

"So you don't think -"

"Who knows. But my guess is that Vespinner was jerking you around. Seems like the kind of thing he'd do."

"But how could he have known my name? I didn't tell him."

The atulphi shrugged. "He was a spy. An' he said he'd been watching you. I figure he picked it up, and decided to torment you with it. As I said, it's the sorta thing he'd do."

Benjamin wasn't convinced, but neither was he of a mind or mood to pursue it. He was tired, he was sad, and he wanted to go home. "Guess so," he said, and left it at that.

"I'll let Lilac know, anyway," said Strifer, as he limped over to the control console and set his machine into motion. Slowly, it began to lift. "In the meantime - take care." The atulphi held up a hand. "Have a good life or somethin', yeah?"

Benjamin waved, smiled, but offered no reply. He could have said his 'goodbye', of course, yet he did not; Strifer, rising, was doomed, and though he was only _almost_ sure of it - as he did not dare himself to think that this brave and astonishing atulphi's fate was certain - he was sure enough to sense that the farewell would add a finality to the scene that he was not prepared to accept. He wanted Strifer to live; he _wished_ that Strifer would live. But to present that wish in words felt wrong, somehow, so he did not say it. Instead, he continued waving, smiling, and offering no reply, until Strifer and his craft (and God, how he regretted sniggering over the name bestowed upon it) were but a dim light in the sky, which faded out like a star at morningtime. For a while afterwards, Benjamin stood there, staring up and rubbing at the wrist which the atulphi had so eloquently remedied. And when he was done with rubbing the wrist he reached into his pocket to retrieve the gourd. He looked at it for a moment, smiled again, and put it back. He took one last, searching look at the night sky, gave a wave that seemed closer to a salute, and then he turned, to take up the journey that would lead him back to Chapterhouse Street.

He did not hurry; there were a few lifeless wasps to tread upon first. Yet the noise and feel of them as they popped under his slipper did not seem as satisfying as he thought it should. Not only that, but many of the bodies were issuing wisps of silvery smoke similar to those he had seen emanating from Strifer, and they appeared to be dissolving, too, though that could have been a trick of both the murky light and unkempt surroundings. Still, they were dead, and that was what was most important. Strifer had given his life - probably - to see that this monster was defeated, and there was perhaps no other means for the boy to repay that profound debt but by doing what the atulphi would have wanted him to do. And that was to simply go back home, and not linger on the way.

***

It was his town, his world, his home - but something was different. He passed a local pub, The Cricketers, and though it looked the same, smelt the same, and sounded the same, something was awry. And he didn't know what it was. He peered through the windows as he passed, seeing a counter racked with drinkers, glasses clinking amid the raucous chat, and found nothing to suggest as to why this sense of _deadness_ should prevail. True, a world such as this would indeed seem lifeless after the one he'd just visited - but somehow, he did not feel that this explained it. He passed the houses on Tavistock Road, and passed the laundrette on the corner of Denham Street. Everything was as expected. He passed cars both still and speeding, and passers-by who, bemused though they were by the sight of this boy wandering the streets in his pyjamas and dressing gown, behaved exactly as ordinary passers-by should. They stared only an instant longer than was necessary, then quickly averted their eyes, as if there was something vaguely shameful in noticing someone dressed in the wrong clothes. Admittedly, he didn't recognise anyone out here, but that was not unusual. And he didn't recognise what it was that _was_ so unusual until, as per his normal habit, he brushed the fingers of his right hand against the barred fence of the old waterworks on Gables Lane.

_Of course,_ he thought, when the answer came to him. In Niamago, everything he touched (with one exception, though he couldn't remember what it was) had given him a strange sensation of being more than what it was supposed to be; the residuals, Lilac had said, of the dreams from which all these things had been forged. He'd become so accustomed to the effect that, in the end, he had no longer noticed it. But now he was in a world built not of dreams but bricks, mortar and steel. And here nothing resonated to his touch; it was all silent, all sober, and almost livid with lifelessness.

Whatever small consolation he had gained from having solved this mystery - and it was a _very_ small consolation - was soon dashed by the surge of panic he felt at the idea that his gourd might now be similarly affected. It didn't matter that he'd already tested the item, shortly after Strifer's departure, and found it to be fine; he needed the certainty that it was still alright, that it had not been tainted by the dullness of its present realm. So again, he reached into his pocket ... and again that first great dream breached the forefront of his mind. He sighed, relieved, and let go of the gourd. Everything was fine. Everything was as it should be.

***

Finally, then, he turned the necessary corner, and found himself in Chapterhouse Street. And here, everything was _not_ as it should be, as there was a police car parked outside his house. Trembling, he pushed past the front gate, listening out for the creak it normally gave, and went to the front door and rang the bell. After a second or two, it was answered by his mum. Her face was a wasteland of spent cries, her eyes red-rimmed, her mouth pallid and tight. At first, she didn't appear to believe what she was seeing. "Benjy?" she said, as if supplying a tentative answer to a question she wasn't sure of. "Benjy?" she said again, blinking back the tears. Then she swept him into her arms, and began a call of _"Oh my BUH! Oh my BUH!"_ It was like she was trying to say 'boy' or 'baby', but couldn't manage it for sobs. She pulled him inside, into the living room, where an ashen Pete stood up as soon as he saw them, along with a policeman, a policewoman, and another woman with a folder under her arm. _"He's back,"_ his mother shouted, in triumph, relief, grief, and joy. _"My boy is back,"_ she said, hugging him tight and bestowing kiss after kiss upon his head. The policeman said something; the woman with the folder said something. But Benjamin didn't hear them. He was lost to the embrace of his mum, and her tears were becoming contagious. "I'm okay, mum," he said. "I'm okay."

And he was; it was wonderful to be back with her. Niamago, Lilac, heaven and hell - they meant nothing now, now that he was home. His mother was everything, everywhere; and she smelled, he noticed ...

... of something warm, and very nice.

23

Naturally, she wanted an explanation. They all did: Pete, the policeman, the policewoman, and the lady with the folder under her arm. The only one who did not meet him with a call of _'where have you been?'_ or _'what happened to you?'_ was his sister, Maddie. She merely emerged from somewhere, hugged him, and then went off somewhere else. As for his reply ... well, what else could he do but tell the truth? Or, at least, something approximating the truth, but entirely more believable.

So he told them that it was all a dream. At such short notice, it was the best he could come up with. He told them that he dreamed of chasing a silver ribbon out into the dark, and of meeting a strange and marvellous lady who travelled in a cage held high by birds; he told them that he'd dreamed of being carried away to a magical city, and had then returned by means of a flying saucer. He did not tell them about Vespinner, or the clown; they were unnecessary embellishments, and ones he didn't want to talk about. By the time he reached the end of his tale, and spoke of how he'd woken up, terrified, in the disused railway, it was clear to all concerned that he could very well be recounting the phantasmagoria of a sleepwalk. The obvious flaw with this, of course, was the fact that a sleepwalk was not liable to continue throughout the day. But once he'd recognised it, the story was finished. As expected, it was his mother who was the first to pick up on the unlikeliness of his account.

She was sitting next to him, close and warm, and had an arm around his shoulders. "You sleepwalked outside? And _all day_?" she asked, drawing him a little nearer to herself. "Is that really what happened?"

"Yes," he said. "I guess so." It was either that or the absolute truth, and as he'd already surmised, the absolute truth was about as believable as a fairy tale. He didn't like fibbing to his mother, especially when she had suffered so, but what choice did he have? He'd gone to a place that adults do not understand, and they would not accept his tale unless it was garnished with lies. It was sad, but it was so; his adventure wouldn't ever be shared with those who cared for him.

Thinking about it caused tears to well up in his eyes, but he quickly rubbed them away. His mother, again, hugged him tightly.

Then the policeman spoke. He was large and stocky, and bore a greying moustache. "Did you meet someone out there?" he asked. His voice was friendly enough, but his small eyes seemed as hard as flint. "I mean, was there anyone else?"

"No," said Benjamin. He heard - and felt - his mother release a pent-up sigh.

The policeman nodded and looked down awhile, at which the woman with the folder under her arm ventured a question: "How are things at school?" she said.

"Fine," said Benjamin.

The woman nodded, smiling sweetly. "Plenty of friends?"

"Yeah. A few."

"What about enemies; kids that don't like you."

"Um," he said, considering the query. Until now, school had been a million miles away from his mind. "There's Tim Staples. He keeps giving me a dead arm. But he does it to everyone."

The woman took hold of her folder and looked at the back of it. "Does he ever make you feel like you'd rather be at home than at school?"

"No," said Benjamin. "Not really."

The woman nodded again, and took a pen from inside her jacket. "So generally, you prefer school to home, yes?" she said, as she began to scribble something on the back of the folder.

"No. I prefer being at home."

The woman's smile became broader. "And why's that?"

"I dunno," said Benjamin. "I just do."

The woman dashed her pen across the back of the folder, as if she were either underlining something or crossing it out. Apparently satisfied, she clicked the pen once, returned it to a place inside her jacket, and brought her folder back to its nest in the crook of her arm. "Good," she said, grinning now. "I'm pleased to hear that, Benjamin."

His mother asked him if he wanted a cup of tea. He replied that he did. "I'll get it," said Pete, rising from his chair. Some colour had come back to his face, though there was still a visible tremble in his hands. Before going out into the kitchen he asked if anyone else wanted a cup, and received a chorus of yesses in return.

While he was away, the policewoman asked the boy if it had all been a prank. "I mean, it's all right if it was," she said, in a slightly northern accent. "I don't think anyone's going to be upset with you. Not now, anyway. So you can tell us, if that's what happened."

Benjamin shook his head. "I just had this weird dream," he reiterated. "And then I woke up on the old railway line."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said.

The policewoman nodded, and gave a light half-smile. As she did so, the policeman took a call from his radio. It was not the first time he'd utilised the device; earlier on, he had used it to assure the station that the boy had been found, and that he appeared safe and well. This time, he gave a brief recap of the boy's account, listened awhile, and when the call was over he informed Benjamin's mother that a doctor would be here in about five minutes. "It's nothing to worry about," he said, as Pete returned with a trayful of steaming mugs. "Routine procedure, when ca - when things like this happen. Needs to be checked for exposure, you see. Minor injuries, stuff like that."

"Okay," croaked Benjamin's mother. Her voice was hoarse and raw, but her smile had the healthiness of joy about it, and her eyes glistened in little diamante dots. She kissed her son's head and patted him upon the chest, close to his left shoulder. "I'm so glad you're back," she said. "So glad."

***

The doctor was an old-fashioned looking old man who had a mane of white hair that curled upwards at the back of his neck. His examination of Benjamin was brief: he shone a small torch into the boy's mouth and told him to say 'ahh', pressed lightly under his eyes, asked him a few simple sums, placed a thermometer under his tongue, and when he was finished his diagnosis proved equally as concise. "He's fine," he said, taking a sip of the water that he'd requested in lieu of tea. "A slight temperature, but in all other respects absolutely fine."

Benjamin's mother, though clearly relieved by the news, was not entirely satisfied with it. "But what about the sleepwalking?" she asked, biting at her lower lip. "He's never done anything like that before. And why would he be out there _all day?_ It just doesn't seem -" she turned to her son and frowned a little "- it just doesn't seem like him."

"It's unusual, yes," said the doctor, stroking one side of his silvery head, then the other. "But somnambulism - sleepwalking - is still something of a mystery, even to the medical profession. Most people never sleepwalk; others do so regularly. A few sleepwalk just once, or a couple of times, in their lives. Given what I know of his history, I'd suspect that your son is unlikely to make a habit of it. As for the oversleeping -" he paused a moment, as if to collect his thoughts " - well, I have a theory about that: his dream, from what you told me about it, was probably very lucid, very strange. Like a fever dream, in fact. And, as I said, he has a slight temperature. So to my mind, it seems as if this episode - this sleepwalking - was brought on by the onset of an illness. That he fell asleep for the rest of the day is only to be expected, if he spent most of the night outside. Remember that when sleepwalking, the patient is never really fully asleep; the resultant tiredness, as well as the fatigue associated with his fever, would be enough, I think, to send him to sleep soon afterwards."

"Even outside?" said Benjamin's mother.

"It's possible," replied the doctor. "People don't have to be in bed or indoors for it to happen." He gestured briefly to the two police officers. "We've dealt with people who have nodded off at bus stops, in supermarkets, at the wheel of a car. It's surprising what turns up. And not all of them were drunk, either; nor did any suffer from narcolepsy - sleeping-sickness. Some admitted to feeling tired beforehand, others did not; some confessed to being unwell, while the rest said that they had felt fine. Considering that we have never had to deal with these people again, I would presume that each incident was isolated, and - as with your son - limited in its cause for concern. The important thing is that he does not appear to show any signs of hypothermia, nor any of the effects of exposure. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that for what he's been through, he actually seems to be in surprisingly good health."

Benjamin's mother smiled. "So there's nothing to worry about."

"I'd say not," said the doctor, as he began to pack his case. "Though I would recommend that you make an appointment for him to see his usual GP, just so he can get a fuller examination. In the meantime, keep him off school for a while and let him rest. It's probable that he'll be coming down with a flu-like illness as well, so be ready for that. I don't expect him to go walkabout again, but be prepared for some disturbed nights. If there is anything that alarms you in the coming days, don't hesitate to call me -" he presented Benjamin's mother with a small card "- your GP, the hospital, anyone. But try not to fret needlessly over things, either. He's probably going to be out of sorts for a little while, which is to be expected, but I'm sure you know your son, and I'm sure you'll know whether something is seriously amiss or not. I'd also recommend that both you and your partner -" he nodded towards Pete "- take some time off work too. The stress associated with this incident is likely to leave you feeling quite ill for a day or two. I can get you a note, if necessary; or you can get one from your GP. Who is your regular doctor, by the way?"

"Oh. Doctor Mahmoud," said Benjamin's mother.

"Ah yes. Allinson Road surgery?"

"Yes."

The doctor took a pen and notebook from inside his jacket and jotted down some details. "Is he the boy's GP as well?"

"Yes. He's our family doctor. We all go to him."

"Good." The doctor finished jotting, and returned the items to his jacket. "I'll let him know about it. As for myself -" he picked up his case "- well, I think that's everything. As I said, The boy - Benjamin - is very probably going to be fine, barring the flu. And even that may not happen. As I said, let him rest and see what develops. I'm sure it'll be nothing extreme."

***

When all were gone, and his mother had ceased making jubilant phone calls to friends and family, Benjamin was given a hearty tea of pie and chips, and sent off for an early night. He didn't protest; he was exhausted, and the lure of clean pyjamas and fresh, fragrant bed-linen was irresistible. In the other room, Maddie gurgled cheerfully as Pete told her a story; it was a nice sound. Beside him, his mother sat on the recliner that she and Pete had hauled up from downstairs. She had made it clear that she was going to sit by him tonight, and Benjamin had neither the will nor reason to refuse her.

In the soft light of the bedside lamp that she had brought in from her room, she stroked his hair. "You can look forward to this tomorrow," she said. "And the night after. And the night after that as well. I won't be able to sleep otherwise."

"S'alright," said Benjamin, drawing the quilt tighter to himself. It didn't matter that the bedding held no dream-resonances, no sense of something other than what it was. He was more than happy with the simple warmth it provided, a cocoon of blissful comfort.

"You're very hot," his mother said, resting her cool palm upon his forehead. "How do you feel?"

"Not bad. Very tired." He yawned. "I think I could sleep forever."

His mother smiled wistfully at him, then yawned too. "You don't mind me being here, do you?"

"Nope."

She sank back into the recliner, and gazed up at the ceiling. "I still can't believe it," she said. "Not really." She turned her face back to him. "Is that _really_ what happened?"

"Yeah," said Benjamin. One of his eyes was sore and watery, and he rubbed at it.

"You know you can always tell me if - if something's wrong. You know that, don't you."

"Yeah," he repeated.

"You can tell me _anything_."

"I know." He yawned again, pulling the covers up and over his lower face. His eyes flickered to a close.

It was quiet for a moment, and then Benjamin's mother whispered "Love you, Benjy-boy." After that, she let him sleep.

On the bedside table, next to the lamp, was the broken gourd. Benjamin had left it there when getting changed. Though he had no reason to hide the thing - _"Just something I found,"_ he could say, if anyone questioned him about it - he had every reason to expect his mother to take notice of it, as she tended to spot anything new in his room without fail. Yet she had said nothing; it seemed, in fact, as if she had not even seen it. He wondered, as he drifted off, if it was invisible to her, and recalled what Lilac had said about adults: that they could not easily see the atulphi. Perhaps it went for their devices, too; their artefacts. Drifting further, her envisioned his mother trying to pick the item up, and failing, her hand always passing through it as if it were made of some sort of ghostly material. He then pictured himself attempting to pick it up, and finding it equally as phantasmal. His last thought, before sleep took hold of him completely, was that the broken part of the gourd was sharp, yet it had not cut him. _All a dream, then,_ came a voice, similar to that of Lilac's. And he replied, in his mind, that it was, and no less real for it.

***

His sleep, deep though it was, did not go without interruption. He awoke a couple of times in the night, often from dreams which he forgot as soon as he was aware that he was awake. The only dream he could _vaguely_ remember concerned Vespinner, though this time the creature was not many, but one, and it was a giant. It was hovering over the prone form of Strifer, and it said, giggling, something along the lines of _'beware the endless stripe, it shall not stop you from seeing.'_ Yet that was all he could recollect of it. Beside him, his mother slept, breathing deeply and with a slight whistle. He fell back asleep soon after.

He awoke another time (if it was before the nightmare about Vespinner or afterwards, he couldn't tell) to hear his mother talking to Pete in hushed tones. _"He didn't explain anything,"_ he heard her say, in a slightly irritable tone. _"He only explained it away. It's not the same thing."_ Pete murmured something about the doctor, at which she replied, _"you talk to him. You talk to him. He might be more open with you."_ Pete answered her by saying that he'd try, then mumbled something else. _"Goodnight,"_ she said, as Pete went away.

Later on, he awakened again, though it was not for long. It was dark, and mostly quiet, save for the sound of his mother's breathing, and the intermittent snuffling noises that seemed to be coming from the vicinity of Maddie's room. For one second he jolted wide awake, reminded of the last time he'd heard strange sounds next door. This, however, was not the swishing, airy sound of the silf. It was more like the noise of something scratching furtively on the carpet. He lifted his head from the pillow and checked the glowing digits of his clock; much to his surprise, it was not two forty-eight - the time at which he'd been awoken the previous night - but just gone four o'clock in the morning. Listening hard, he tried to make out what could be causing the sound; but by then the sound had stopped, and a little while later he was again falling asleep, convinced that the noise was merely a remnant of yet another half-forgotten dream.

24

The next morning, he awoke refreshed, sprightly, ready for the day; if he was due for a dose of flu, it certainly didn't seem like it. His mother had gone, but he could hear her voice in the kitchen downstairs. She sounded bright, with nothing of the fraught edginess of yesterday, her tone a pleasing harmony against the percussion of clinking cutlery and clunking crockery. He could hear Maddie, too, chattering away; and Pete, mumbling in response. He heard laughter. The first expression on his face that morning was a smile.

Before he went to get dressed in the clothes his mother had laid out for him (jeans, tee-shirt, the kind of apparel that told him today was not a school day) he checked the gourd. It was still there, in its place on the bedside table. Tentatively, he reached out to touch it. His smile didn't falter, and yet neither did it broaden. _So it was all real,_ he said to himself, as the fantasia of fireworks again played in his mind. Over this, he thought of Lilac, her gleaming eyes, her splay of hair; and the towers of Niamago too, teeming and tall. He thought of Strifer, and his end. He thought of Vespinner, and was appalled.

He drew his hand away from the object and stared at his palm. "I'm a dreamshader," he whispered. "I mustn't forget it." Then he remembered what Vespinner had said to him, how some turn of its voice had formed the sound of his surname.

Crosskeys.

Cross-keys.

He mouthed the shape of the word, and pondered as to whether or not he ought to ask his mother what had happened to his father. Something inside him urged that he shouldn't; that now was too soon, that it should wait until all the distress associated with his disappearance was over. His mother, despite her apparent chirpiness, was still probably too raw from the events of the day before, too _broken_ to face questions about a subject that she had never really been keen to talk about even at the best of times. So no, he decided; not now. Another time, perhaps. But not now.

Besides, there was something else he had to find out today, something which was likely to be just as important. There was a test to perform, and - as if cued to do so - the voice of Maddie sailed up the stairs: "Where's Ben'min?" he heard her ask. "Is he still away?"

***

His mother served him up a breakfast of toast and bacon, which he ate eagerly, despite her insistence that he didn't have to eat it if he didn't feel up to it. He told her (again) that he felt fine. She asked him if he was telling the truth. He said that he was. Somehow, the evidence of his well-being did not seem to appeal to her as much as he thought it should.

But she was sunnier today, without a doubt. He'd heard her humming tunefully in the kitchen as she prepared the food; heard her talk back to the radio when someone (usually a politician) came on and said something she didn't agree with. Pete was better too, even though it was clear that he'd heeded the doctor's advice and taken a day off work. He munched his toast in his usual manner, brushing crumbs away from his beard and frowning as he did so, as if inconvenienced by his facial apparel (not that he'd ever shown even the slightest inclination to shave it off: when Benjamin's mother remarked, a few months ago, that the beard made his face look like a goat's bottom, Pete had merely shrugged, replying that it said more about her that she was happy to kiss it!) Maddie was sitting cross-legged on the floor, slurping from a bowl of instant porridge. Everything was as near as normal as could be, save for the dark circles under the eyes of the adults, and the occasional glances they gave each other whenever some passing uncertainty tainted their smiles.

Prior to breakfast, Benjamin's mother had taken his temperature. "Still high," she'd said, flicking the thermometer so that she could be sure the reading was correct. "But lower than yesterday." After breakfast, she took his temperature again, and found it to be the same. "You definitely feel alright," she said, raising the inflection at the end and making a question out of it. Benjamin replied that yes, he felt okay. His mother tapped her lips with her fingers and glowered at the thermometer for a moment. "I'll call the doctor anyway," she said, taking the thermometer into the kitchen and running it under the tap. A little while later and she was on the phone, making an appointment to see Dr. Mahmoud for that very afternoon.

As for the rest of the morning, it progressed uneventfully. Aunt Karen popped round to see if everyone was alright, and there were phone calls from friends and family, as well as a courtesy call from the police. Other than that, there was nothing to engage Benjamin's attention except either the glib inanities of daytime television, or the world beyond his bedroom window, which he sometimes watched with the gourd in his hands and a faraway look in his eyes. It was difficult to actually _do_ anything - draw, read, mess around with the computer - because he didn't really _want_ to do anything, except take the gourd to Maddie and test her with it. Until that moment came, the morning was almost Sunday-ish in its lack of lustre, more a day off from life than a day off from school.

Maddie was in the garden, gingerly patting a mud pie into an old hubcap, when the chance to be alone with her finally arrived. As he approached, he carried the gourd in plain sight, in the hope that it might catch his sister's attention without him having to cajole her into noticing it. After all, if his reckoning was correct, then his sister should be able to see it without any effort whatsoever.

"Hiya," said Maddie, as Benjamin went down on his haunches beside her. He tossed the gourd lightly from hand to hand, as if it were of no more importance than a cricket ball. "Whassat?" she asked, when the object finally caught her eye.

"What, this?" said Benjamin, holding the gourd up and in front of his grin. "Well," he paused, "what do _you_ think it is?"

Maddie reached over for it.

"Uh-huh," said Benjamin, pulling the item away from her. "You have to tell me what you see first."

Maddie gave an exaggerated shrug and folded her arms. "Silly boy, silly games." She huffed, looked up, and rolled her eyes. "It's just a ball," she said. "And it's broken." She held out a muddy hand. "Can I have a look now?"

Benjamin hesitated, but was curious to see if the gourd had the same effect on her as it did him. "Be careful," he said, placing his prize on her mucky palm. "I think it's glass. Sharp, remember."

"I know, I know," said Maddie, cupping the object in both her hands and drawing it carefully towards her chest like some sort of small pet. "Whassit do?" she asked, gazing down on it.

"I dunno," said Benjamin. "It's just something I found."

"It's speckly," said Maddie.

Benjamin nodded. "What do you think about it?"

"It's nice," she said, in the same haughty sing-song tone as used by his mother when she wasn't really impressed by something. She gave the gourd back to her brother without a second glance and returned to her mud pie.

That was that, then: Maddie wasn't a dreamshader. If she'd sensed what Benjamin always sensed whenever his touch was upon the gourd, then she would undoubtedly have told him. Nevertheless, she could still see it quite easily, which was something: Maddie might not be of the dreamshade, but she was young enough to be aware of the artefact in a way that her parents were not. It helped, too, to know that he was not the only one who could see it. Somehow, it made the gourd - and, by extension, his whole Niamagonian adventure - seem more real; more _solid_. But then again, it made the dark side - Vespinner, the clown, Strifer's fate - seem equally as real and solid too. Confused as to whether he should feel joyful or uneasy, he made to leave. Realising, however, that there was more he needed to ask, he crouched back down beside her.

"Maddie," he said. "Do you remember the dream you had last - no, it was the night before. A dream about cats."

His sister's face brightened immediately. "Yeah. I had cats all over my room," she said, completely unfazed by the fact that her brother should know what she had been dreaming about.

"And they were talking, weren't they."

"Yeah. But I dint know what they said."

Benjamin waited for his sister to continue.

"They were bad cats." She frowned a little. "They dint listen to me."

Benjamin waited a little while longer, gathering his thoughts. "Do you remember anything happening yesterday? It was around -" he tried to recall when, exactly, he had transfigured Maddie's silf "- well, it was in the afternoon. After lunch."

"Mum was crying." She looked hard at her brother for a second. "She was crying all day."

"Yeah, I know." Another pause. "But was there anything else you remember? Anything _strange_?"

Maddie shook her head and turned her attentions back to the mud pie. "You went away and everyone got sad. I was scared. After I wenna bed I woke up and -"

But she was cut short by her mother, calling out from the back door to let Benjamin know that it was time to get ready to go and see the doctor. "Okay mum," the boy replied, leaving Maddie to burble to herself as she began to garnish her pie with weeds. As usual, he made no attempt to hide the gourd from his mother; he even went so far as to bounce it in his hand as he walked past her. Like yesterday, she made no remark about it, nor showed any clue that she had actually seen the thing. It was almost as if it was invisible to her.

***

Doctor Mahmoud's examination was a little more thorough than that of the police doctor - it involved, amongst other things, an extensive check of the upper arms and a lot of questions about feeling sick or dizzy - but he came to the same conclusion: the boy had a slight temperature, was liable to feel quite ill in the next few days, but was generally fine. "See what tomorrow brings," he said. "And keep him off school for a week or so." There was, he reiterated on behalf of the police doctor, absolutely nothing to worry about.

As they walked back home, Benjamin's mother asked him something that caught him completely off-guard. "What's up with your wrist?" she said.

"Eh?" he replied, immediately bringing up his hand to look at the place where Vespinner had stung him. "Nothing. Why?"

"You seem to be rubbing it a lot."

He hadn't noticed.

"Does it hurt?"

"No," he said, letting his arm flop nonchalantly back down to his side. "It's alright."

"But you knew which one I was talking about, didn't you."

She had him on that one. "Yeah," he said, extending every effort to make it appear that the topic was irrelevant to him. "It itches a bit. That's all."

"Let me have a look," she said, halting so that she could lean down and take hold of his hand. "Hm," she murmured, scrutinising both his palm and the unmarred wrist below. She turned the hand over to look at the back of it. "Seems alright." She let the hand go. "Not red or anything. Maybe something bit you out there, when - well, you know. During your sleepwalk."

"Could be," said Benjamin, as they resumed their journey. "But it feels okay."

"I'm sure," she said, a touch of brusqueness in her tone. She did not say anything after that, but the silence spoke volumes. It was a silence that said she didn't quite believe the doctors; a silence that said she did not quite believe her son, either, when he told her that everything was fine, that he'd simply had a weird dream and woken up on the old railway line. Benjamin knew this - but, like his mother, there was nothing he could say about it, and nothing he could do.

He felt sad, all of a sudden. He coughed; the air was cold. His mother ruffled his hair and gave him a quick, fleeting smile. It was strange; he'd always wanted an amazing secret, something astonishing that he and only he knew about, like being a superhero or secret agent. And yet, now that he had that very thing, it didn't feel so great. His mother would probably never see the things he'd seen; never voyage as far as he had gone. Dreams, to her, had no more impact on her life than a missing penny. It struck him as a terrible shame, but he dared not cry (even though he wanted to) for fear that she might ask him, outright, what it was he really wanted to tell her.

***

"Now that's interesting," said Pete, without looking up from the newspaper. It was evening, just after dinner, and Benjamin's mother was upstairs helping Maddie tidy her room. From the sound of it, his sister was being difficult, and before Pete had spoken he had heard his mother ask, exasperated, why she would want so many toys kept under the bed. He didn't catch the reply; by then, his stepfather was already talking.

Pete was sitting on the sofa opposite Benjamin, his paper - the local, to judge by the masthead \- held nearly upright by the crook of his leg. "Couple of people saw a UFO last night. Round about the same time as when you were out, by the look of it."

"Really?" said Benjamin. Inevitably, his thoughts went to Strifer and his remarkable craft - _Millicent_.

"Yup." Pete flicked the page. "Coloured lights. There were a few calls to the police station. Busy night for them, eh?"

"Yeah," said Benjamin, giving a sort of half-snort because he didn't know if he should be amused or not.

"Daffy old ladies, probably." He turned the page. "Did you see anything?"

"No," replied Benjamin.

From the way the top of Pete's head was bobbing above the paper, it was clear he was nodding. "Ah well. Such and such, eh?"

It was one of those remarks Pete used when he didn't really know what to say. And he used them often. "Yeah," said Benjamin, giving the best response he could think of.

There was quietness between them for a while; the telly droned on in the background, as did Maddie's protestations that she wanted her toys kept under her bed. Then Pete lowered his paper and said, "you know, if there's anything you don't think you can talk with your mum about, you can always tell me. I mean, if there's things like girls and stuff -"

"I know," said Benjamin, feeling his cheeks prickle.

"Yeah," Pete returned his gaze to his paper. "You know what I mean. Embarrassing stuff. Growing-up sort of stuff. That kind of thing."

"Yeah," repeated Benjamin, the conversation being typical of those he had with Pete in that it did not so much peter out, as never really start. Still, there was enough there to make him ponder - and not about girls: the UFO, Strifer's craft, the obvious connection between the two. But he did not ponder for too long; it was getting late, and if truth be told, he was beginning to feel a little tired of thinking about it all. He rubbed at his right temple, as if to physically erase all those questions whose answers only ever seemed to lead to questions more. And when he took his hand away, he realised that his head was aching slightly.

He coughed, not for the first time that day, and when he finished clearing his throat afterwards, he noticed that it was starting to feel a little sore.

25

He went to bed early that night, and slept without interruption, his mother on the recliner at his side. When he awoke, it felt as if he had hit a lead wall.

The previous day had simply been the calm before the storm: the illness that the doctors had portended was now upon him. His sheets felt stifling, and he was shuddering; the very act of getting up seemed as remote an ambition as scaling a mountainside. His mother, still in the room with him, placed a balmy hand on his forehead and told him that he was burning up. "Stay in bed," she advised. "But keep the covers down. You need to be cold, I'm afraid."

"But I'm shivering," he protested.

"I know," she said. "But it won't help if you overheat. I'm sorry, Benjy-boy, but that's how it goes when you have the flu." She leaned down to kiss his brow. "You'll be okay."

She went downstairs and returned a few minutes later with a tray of cornflakes and juice, which she placed on his lap after urging him to sit up. "Can't eat them," he said, pointing at the bowl of cereal. "Throat stings," he croaked.

"At least drink the orange," said his mother, once more brandishing her trusty thermometer. "It'll help cool you down." She placed the thermometer under his tongue, and told him to keep it there for a little while. Afterwards, when she took the device out and checked it, she whistled. "Whoa," she said. "You're sizzling. Could heat the house with you; save on the bills."

Benjamin gulped on the drink, wincing as it sluiced down his throat. "Hurts," he muttered, plonking the half-finished cup back on the tray and rubbing under his chin. "Not nice."

"It'll do," his mother said, removing the tray but leaving the cup on the bedside table, next to the gourd. "If you don't feel up to drinking it, then don't. We don't want you being sick as well."

"'Kay," said Benjamin, flopping back down onto the pillow and giving an "Ow!" as he did so; his head was absolutely killing him, so much so that even the slightest impact gave some cause to wince. Afterwards there was little else to do but lay there, wait for the minutes to pass, and hope - wish \- that the day ahead might bring something better than what it had brought so far.

***

He was ill, but not because of the flu. He was ill because of Vespinner, and he knew it.

He had been warned, of course. Warned by Strifer, who had been so thoroughly poisoned by the monster that he could only conclude that his life was over. Admittedly, the atulphi had reassured the boy that the same thing was not about to happen to him, though his head was currently too addled with fever to fully appreciate it. The creature's strike had been slight, relatively speaking, and so had the resultant contamination. In some ways, it was a blessing that his illness had left him so vague; it prevented him from latching wholeheartedly on to the idea that Strifer might have been mistaken, and that Vespinner's toxin was more potent than believed. Now and then he might have asked, "What if..?" but the question was soon clouded by the mental miasma of his sickness, or pounded to nothing by his aches. And if not those, then it was lost to sleep (which stole upon him frequently) and the dreams therein.

Yet even then, he did not dream of Vespinner. In the last that he could recall, he dreamed of his mother, who was opening draws and cupboards in his room as if searching for something. There were many more draws and cupboards than normal, but he had no problem with that; in dreams, the most bizarre things can seem ordinary. However, it did not seem so ordinary when she pulled out one of the draws and revealed the tucked-in shape of the plasticky figure he'd met on the top of Lilac's tenement, the one with the strings coming out of the back of his head, and who had ended up being stuffed into a bag. Oddly, it did not appear to bother his mother as much as it did himself; she left the drawer open and went on to the others, even though Benjamin was crying out to her to close it. The plasticky-looking man, all squashed and folded, did not move, but he was certainly alive; the boy could see one of his eyes moving, half-hidden by his bent-backwards hands. When the dream finally began to ebb, Benjamin came round to find his mother opening the curtains in his room.

"I'll close then if you like," she said. With the curtains parted, she then opened the window, though only as far as the security locks would allow. "But I think some sunshine and fresh air will do you good."

"Wha'?" murmured Benjamin. He covered his eyes with his arm; the sunlight seemed to blaze beyond even the golden.

His mother went over to his side. "You were asking me to close them," she said. "Or were you dreaming?"

"Dreaming," Benjamin said.

"Thought so." She picked up a cup from the bedside table. "Here, have this."

"Don't like it," said the boy, grimacing again. "Orange hurts my throat."

"It's not orange," his mother replied. "It's medicine."

He looked at the table and saw a bottle and spoon next to his gourd. Lifting himself up, he took the cup his mother offered and drank the contents down as fast as he could. It was bitter, but he ignored it; and it didn't sting his throat as much as the orange juice had done. "Good show," said his mother when he had finished. She offered him two spoonfuls of the stuff from the bottle, and again took his temperature. "Still high," she said with a smile. "But no higher. Which is nice."

"Doesn't feel like it," said Benjamin, easing himself back down. "Feels horrible."

"Course it does," said his mother. She began to stroke his brow, her hand as marvellously cool as ever. "That's why you need to rest. You were asleep for two hours, you know."

She was very upbeat about it all; happy even. But Benjamin was in no state to wonder why. "Think I'll sleep again," he said, turning on his side. With the window open, a faintly chilly breeze was now about the room, but it was not unpleasant. He could hear birds twittering, passing cars, a barking dog; and Maddie, playing downstairs.

"Lunch will be soon," said his mother, leaving him with a kiss on his cheek. "Try to eat something, okay?"

"Yeah," he said.

And with that she departed - though not before giving a slight but wary glance towards the open window.

***

No dreams this time, and no sleep; only a pleasurable drifting sensation, made better by the languid, carefree sounds of the world outside and the snippets of chatter he caught from downstairs, between his mother and his sister. Had he not been so ill, he might have thought of it as being almost like a Saturday morning, with its sunny redolence and promise of no school. Instead, he merely accepted it as nice, and something like a due reward for having to feel so unwell.

***

By midday, he had brightened enough to eat most of the toast and honey that his mother had brought him for his lunch. His temperature had lowered a little, and he felt ready to get dressed and go downstairs. His mother asked him if he was sure, and he replied that he was; he was tired, true, and still felt pretty bad, but it seemed a waste of a day just to spend it in bed all the time. His mother agreed (it was her, after all, who usually said the same thing to him whenever it was the weekend), and - shakily - he got up and got dressed. Downstairs, he found Maddie playing with her play-blocks, studiously ignoring the news on the TV. Pete, quite obviously, had gone back to work.

He did little that afternoon, except remain on the sofa and stare listlessly at the television. His limbs ached, his head swam, and he had to muster extraordinary reserves of energy for even so much as a toilet break. His mother ferried a constant stream of icy drinks to him, while Maddie treated his condition with the kind of bratty unconcern that one finds in the very young: she huffed when he refused to play with her, whined when he was given a drink and she was not, and clacked her play-blocks together even harder when her mother asked her to stop. "Go and draw some cats," her mother said, urging her to play quietly. Maddie told her that she didn't like cats anymore, and threw a handful of blocks very hard at the bucket in which the rest were stored. The noise made Benjamin wince; Maddie was hauled upstairs and given a severe telling off. "I don't know what's got into that girl lately," his mother said when she returned.

"It's 'cos she's getting older," Benjamin replied, knowing the lesson that his sister had so recently learned, by way of her first great dream. "She can't help it."

"Aw, bless you," his mother said, mistaking her son's response for charity. "But I think she was just being selfish; that, or she's coming down with what you've got."

"Yeah," said Benjamin, listening to the sobs of his sister upstairs. "Maybe."

But Maddie was soon in more of a congenial mood; half an hour later, and she could be heard humming to herself as she played in her room. Benjamin continued to feel slightly better, and his mother continued to fuss around him, offering yet more drinks, trying to get him to eat a snack or two, taking his temperature, and so on. Pete came home at around three-ish, having started his shift very early. "Get the boy some chicken soup," he said, when discussion got round to what they wanted for tea. Pete swore by what he called the 'good old Jewish penicillin' when it came to alleviating ills; Benjamin's mother agreed.

By teatime, however, Benjamin was beginning to feel rough again. He was shivering, and couldn't finish his soup. There was more medicine, and his mother, not quite so unconcerned now, ran him a cold bath. The boy resisted, but she would not budge on the issue, and Benjamin simply wasn't up to the task of arguing his case anyway. The water was chilly, and unagreeably so; his teeth chattered and he shuddered even harder. When he was finished he felt just as hot, but it was nice to be clean. "It's always at its worst in the mornings and the evenings," said his mother, as she tucked him into his bed. Again, she took his temperature: "Getting there," she said. She took her station on the recliner, and waited for her son to fall asleep.

And sleep came quickly; his mother did not have to wait very long at all. But before he drifted off completely, there was a moment of near wakefulness, and his thoughts suddenly became very clear and very precise. It was a nice feeling; in that moment he didn't feel even slightly ill. And with his mind so crystalline, and his body so restful, he realised why the fact of his illness had seemed to brighten his mother so much.

Quite simply, it allowed her to get a handle on why he had disappeared. To her, it was no longer inexplicable; her boy did not go sleepwalking, be it outside or not, unless something was seriously wrong ... and it so happened that the only thing wrong with him was flu. True, she hadn't completely trusted the doctors when they told her to expect as much; this was probably due to him being in such good health the day after his return. But when the disease hit - and as far as she was concerned, it _was_ a disease - the doctors were validated. Her son had gone sleepwalking because he was unwell. It was strange, it was unusual, but it was all his mother had to go on, and it was enough. It was just a symptom, and no more than that. Even the doctors had said so.

He smiled. It was nice solving things, working it all out. He wondered why he didn't save _all_ his niggling problems for this time, when his mind was so apt for the task. Then he understood that he did, but usually forgot about it the next day. A sigh, therefore, followed the smile; but he was not too unhappy, because soon - so very soon - that sigh became the sigh of an iridescent sea ebbing from an unearthly shore.

26

He felt better next morning; much, _much_ better. He rose without too much trouble, and managed to eat a well-stacked bowl of cereal for breakfast. He still wasn't great: his limbs continued to ache, and his head seemed stuffed full of cotton-wool. There was, however, an undeniable liveliness in him that wasn't there before. His mother, delighted, said that she could _see_ that he had changed. "There some colour in your face," she disclosed. And then, ominously, she revealed that there was something she needed to ask him.

"What?" said Benjamin.

She placed a freshly made bowl of instant porridge on the table, and considered it a moment, her hands on her hips. "This," she said, tilting her head. "Maddie's breakfast."

"What about it?"

"Do you think your sister would appreciate it if I coloured it green and put some marzipan trees on it?"

"Mum," replied Benjamin. "Is your life really that empty?"

His mother gave a burst of healthy, good-natured laughter. "Cheeky sod," she said. "Yeah, you're definitely on the mend. But don't get too cocky just yet, my boy."

"Why?"

"Because it looks to me like it won't be long before you're back at school."

Benjamin coughed ... but not very convincingly.

***

Now that it was easier to think about things, Benjamin discovered that he needed something to fill his mind. And he found it on one of the bookshelves, after idly scouting around for something to do that didn't involve too much strenuous effort: a chain-store volume called _'Mysteries of the Millennium: UFOs, Ghosts & the Paranormal'._ There was a picture of something blurry yet distinctly saucer-shaped on the front cover. The author was one Louis Chapel.

He picked it up because it reminded him of what he and Pete had been talking about a few nights ago. And he decided to read it because he remembered that Lilac had said something about certain stray atulphi being mistaken for ghosts (and _fairies_ too, if memory served). Suddenly excited, he realised that he could be holding the answers to much of what the book might reveal: that UFOs were not alien spaceships at all, but Niamagonic vehicles; that ghosts were not really spirits of the departed, but lost dream-companions. His imagination, starved by his illness and now hungry, was already at work even before he turned the first page; perhaps he held the answer to _every_ mystery as presented by this tome. Sadly, this turned out to be not the case; after a good half-hours' worth of avid reading, the puzzles remained as perplexing as ever. Yes, the UFOs could be Niamagonian; but the array of flying saucers, flying triangles and cigar shapes could just as easily be not. Those photographed were either too blurry, too inconclusive, or too fake-looking to be of any use. The reports of ghosts were genuinely ghostlike, as opposed to being atulphi-like, while most of the accompanying pictures were not as convincing as the text tried to make them out to be (a notable exception being one of a sinister figure, hooded and blank-faced, standing transparent before an altar). He skipped the article about spontaneous human combustion, because it was too scary (according to his wide-eyed pal Miles Kingdom, it involved people 'bursting into flames - _for no reason!_ ') and didn't seem to relate to his Niamagonian adventure at all. The section on alien abductions was scary too, but he had to read at least _some_ of it because there was a remote possibility that the aliens themselves might be phragodols. As it transpired, they probably weren't, though he was sure it wouldn't stop him wondering. All in all, it was beginning to feel like a pretty inconclusive exercise until he found a small section concerning a woman named Alexandra David-Neel. Back in the 1920s, she had travelled to Tibet in order to train with a reclusive group of monks who were supposedly able to generate 'thought-forms'. And they referred to these thought-forms - which were creatures apparently sprung from their own imaginations - as ' _tulpas'_.

He noted the similarity of the words: tulpa; atulphi. Was there a connection? He read on:

_...the Tibetan Lamas did not so much consider their tulpas to be real, any more than they believed the world to be real. Everything was resolved from the 'mind-stuff', a rarefied substance that, they believed, permeated the universe. In general, the adepts used this mind-stuff to shape religious figures; Mme. David-Neel_ , _having become skilled in the practice, decided to create a fat, jolly friar. By her own account she succeeded, though the monk eventually became disruptive, and had to be dispelled..._

It was certainly _close_ to what he knew about the atulphi; beguilingly so. But the book had far too little else to say on the subject for him to be entirely persuaded that a tulpa was indeed the same thing as an atulphi. As with the names, it was close - but not quite close enough. And it was the same when, reading further, he found another interesting possibility, this time in a subsection about mythical lands:

...we have seen and heard many who are overwhelmed by such madness, carried away by such folly, that they believe and assert that there is a certain region called Magonia (The Magic Land), whence ships come in clouds...

According to the book, these were the words of a ninth century saint, Agobard, who had been responding to local claims concerning the arrival of four strangers who, witnesses observed, had descended from one of these 'cloud-ships'. St. Agobard, as it turned out, was decidedly unimpressed, but Benjamin was not; 'Magonia' was clearly an anagram of Niamago, and the idea of 'cloud-ships' could just as well apply to any number of Niamagonian vehicles. But why 'Magonia', and not 'Niamago'? Had the atulphi, for whatever reason, rearranged the name of their city in the intervening centuries? Benjamin couldn't dismiss it as a coincidence - that Magonia was nothing more than a fiction, and mere chance had made the word an anagram of a _real_ magic land - because it just didn't _seem_ like one. The Magonians came in 'cloud-ships'. Their realm was supposed to be magical. And, he discovered, those peasants dismissed by the good saint Agobard were not the only ones to have claimed sight of one of these elusive 'cloud-ships':

_...writing circa 1211, the chronicler Gervaise of Tilbury tells of how, one morning, a number of parishioners left their church to find a cloud-ship anchored to a gravestone (presumably by accident). A 'cloud-sailor' was then said to have shimmied down the rope to free the anchor, but he was captured before he could climb back up to his ship. With his fellows sailing away, the cloud-sailor expired in the arms of his captors like a man 'stifled ... as a shipwrecked mariner is stifled in the sea_ ' _..._

By now, Benjamin was beginning to feel as though he was genuinely on to something here, though nagging doubts remained. Why, for example, did the accounts only ever appear to regard the 'cloud-sailors' as otherwise normal people? The atulphi came in a multitude of shapes, colours and sizes; so why no mention of such? And how was it that so many _adults_ seemed capable of seeing these atulphi - if that was what those cloud-sailors really were - when he knew, both from personal experience and a trusted source, that most couldn't? Was it because people were more superstitious in those days, more willing to believe in the supernatural? Possibly. And yet, if he had to put his faith into these accounts, he would also have to put his faith into the fact that they did not altogether tally with what he already understood about the atulphi and their world. For instance, why should a cloud-sailor suffocate in our atmosphere? Lilac hadn't, and neither had Strifer - and besides, why should this supernal visitor find the air so disagreeable simply because it was closer to the ground? Hadn't he already been happily sailing in the sky, breathing that very same air beforehand? To Benjamin, it seemed like a mistake, a misinterpretation of an even more mysterious event - which meant, unfortunately, that the whole thing was suspect.

The tales, after all, were old. As such, they were likely to have been subject to a great deal of error and embellishment over the ages. Bearing that in mind, he found that he _still_ couldn't dismiss them out of hand. There was definitely _something_ there; some grain of truth, of being in concert with a world he _knew_ to exist. They might be muddied by virtue of being beheld by primitive eyes ... but essentially they _had_ to be true. Otherwise, what else could he do but accept the near impossible fact that Niamago - or Magonia, call it what you will - had left not even the slightest mark on human history?

In need of something more substantial, he flicked to the index and abruptly found the word 'aquastat' almost as soon as he had begun his search. He recognised it, of course, because Lilac had used that very same word just before she and her passenger had crossed-over to her realm. _"Volatile aquastat,"_ she had said, or something much like it. More than intrigued, Benjamin immediately turned to the corresponding page.

Aquastats, he learned, were part of a mysterious network of pathways called 'leys'. These 'leys' - and he was certain he'd heard of them already, though usually as 'ley lines' - had been discovered in the 1920s (when, Benjamin recalled, Alexandra David-Neel had taken her journey to Tibet. Was there a connection here, too?) by a man called Alfred Watkins. He had been standing on a hill one day, surveying the countryside, when he noticed that certain landmarks - church spires, standing stones, ancient earthworks and the like - appeared to span the landscape in a straight line, as if they had been set down along a singular but _invisible_ route. Excited by this, Watkins began to research old maps, and came to realise that there were many such routes, all over the world. He published his findings in a book called _The Old Straight Track_ , where he dubbed the routes 'leys', and asserted that they were prehistoric trade routes, or sacred paths. Initially, he maintained that these leys were no more mystical than any forgotten trail or ancient site; but later, in the following decade, another researcher, Guy Underwood, decided they were something different, and a whole lot stranger:

_...by using a dowsing rod, Underwood came to some very provocative conclusions. He held that the leys were actually 'energy paths', and were often not as straight and as singular as previously thought. Sometimes they ran in parallel lines - he dubbed these 'aquastats' - and sometimes they spiralled, usually at the ancient sites themselves. Controversial as they were, his theories_ _nevertheless proved popular_ , _providing the germ for many other unusual ideas. John Michell, writing in the 1960s, even goes so far as to suggest that leys might be UFO flight paths..._

Despite the slightly mocking attitude of the author (who had hitherto been quite happy to act the true believer no matter how outlandish the topic) Benjamin found Michell's hypothesis engaging. It meant - providing he had heard Lilac right, and that she really had said 'aquastat' - that these 'leys' could very well be the essential link between his realm and that of the Amar Imaga. It also meant that, given enough time to study the subject, one might learn how to cross these two realms _without_ an attendant atulphi. He thought back to what Lilac had said to him, during their goodbyes: that it would take a lifetime of study before he could achieve such a thing. Then again, _she_ had obviously managed it, and she was still young. So why shouldn't he?

He checked the book, to see if there was a map of these 'leys', though in his heart of hearts he knew he wasn't about to learn the secrets of atulphi navigation in a single afternoon, and wasn't all that surprised when the pages failed to disclose what he was looking for. By nature of being so inclusive, the book was necessarily brief when it came to the respective phenomena, and he found no more upon the subject of ley-lines than what he had already read. Finally, then, he put the volume aside, and blinked a sting away from his eyes. He had been reading for about an hour and a half, and hadn't noticed that his mother had come into the room in the meantime. When she saw that she had caught his attention, she asked him why he had been reading that particular book.

"Oh, I dunno," said Benjamin. "Seemed more interesting than the others."

She nodded. She was sitting on the sofa and sipping some coffee. "Must have been _very_ interesting," she said. "You were well away."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I didn't think you were into that sort of thing."

"Well, I'm not," he said, suddenly tired. His thoughts were becoming muddy again, dulled by the head-sapping symptoms of what remained of his illness. "Not really, anyway. I was just bored; needed something to read."

"I'll say," said his mother, returning her gaze to the magazine on her lap. "It was like you were in another world there, for awhile."

27

Another day passed, and so did the illness. Left with only a lingering cough, he was, in all other respects, in fair health. He was not yet ready to return to school (his mother had decreed that a good few day's rest was essential after such a debilitating attack) but it was certainly on the cards. His uniform was washed, pressed and tidy. His books, pencils and homework waited in a neat pile next to his schoolbag. Life resumed its normal course, and everything settled back to being the same as it had always been. For the first time in so many nights, his mother left him to sleep alone, the recliner returning to its place downstairs. And alone he happily slept - for the most part.

He awoke at around midnight, perhaps by a sound, and found that he couldn't get back to sleep. So he rose, walked over to the window, drew the curtains and gazed out into the dark. He didn't quite know what he hoped to see - Lilac, maybe; another silf - but the urge to look outside was strong, and he saw no reason why he shouldn't do so. He took the gourd with him, in order to be sure that what had happened to him had _really_ happened, and that his journey to Niamago had not been merely a dream.

He didn't know if it was the result of being in darkness, or of having already become so used to the numbing lack of _residuals_ in this realm, but his first great dream came back to him with extraordinary force. He even stared up, above the benighted terraces opposite, as if expecting to see a sky profligate with thunderous, coruscating fireworks. And while he watched, with the dream cavorting at the back of his mind, he pondered, replaying his adventure and attempting to make sense of what it meant and where it might lead him.

And what _did_ it mean, exactly? He wasn't sure. Dreams were more than they seemed, imaginary friends were real, and the world had gateways to places that most may have only glimpsed; so what? But then again, was there not a profound and intimate link between his realm and that other? Did not the atulphi bring dreams to this place, dreams which they then took back and took life and sustenance from? Lilac had hinted as much, but even she had not been sure. Still, it was enough for him, in being young enough to not yet understand the difference between charm and meaning.

Mostly, then, he thought of what his journey to Niamago might portend. Would he see Lilac again? He reckoned so. But would it be soon? He didn't know. He hoped that Strifer had lived long enough to tell her that her young charge had gotten home safely, because then it would be likely that she might come searching, to see if her friend had indeed arrived without incident. And if she didn't ... well, he simply refused to contemplate it. She would arrive, eventually. Even if Strifer had failed to reach her, she would still come looking, needing to be sure that he was alright. There was no question about it.

He wondered if Lilac had found her birds yet; strange, how it was that a place so apparently far felt so close. He hoped that Strifer had died without pain. He thought about what Vespinner had said. He wondered if his father was a dreamshader, too.

' _He just went_ ,' came the response, whenever he asked his mother about him. She would never tell her son where he went. She said she didn't know.

' _Crosskeys,'_ had said the monster - or something very close. And if Vespinner had indeed said his surname, what was he supposed to make of it? That his father had joined with the phragodols, with Gogmagog? But for what purpose?

_To learn his greatest secret,_ came the voice, mocking, of the creature. _To make and unmake. To live, to rule; to be at his side when he conquers the blasphemous island; to share in his supreme triumph when he takes all the world._

He remembered it all. Every word of it.

So why couldn't he recall if the creature really had said _'Crosskeys'_ , or something that was merely similar?

What if he didn't _want_ to remember?

Thankfully, his ruminations were interrupted at that point by the sound of a door opening out on the landing. Quickly, and as silently as possible, he closed the curtains and returned to bed, placing the gourd back on the beside table. The footsteps outside were light and stealthy, definitely those of his mother; but she went into Maddie's room, not his, and moments later he could hear her voice, murmuring softly to his sister. He was too good a judge of his mother's character to take a chance at the window again. His good judgement was borne out when his mother left Maddie to check on her son; she pushed his door ajar and whispered _"Benjamin?"_ twice. He did not reply, preferring to breathe deeply, as if he were asleep. If it was urgent, she would soon attempt to rouse him with something more strident. She did not, however, and in a little while the door was closed again.

***

So came another day, otherwise uneventful. He found time to play on the computer, but had to resist the temptation of searching the Web for references about ley-lines, tulpas, and the like; his mother had a means of finding out what people looked at on the Internet, and she would probably end up asking him questions that he couldn't answer. Anyway, he could always explore some other time, when the fallout from his adventure had dispersed. In the meantime, he occupied himself with one of the stock images that had come with the computer's photo editing software. It was a picture of some Chinese ribbon-dancers, caught in mid-leap against a background of neon dragons and carnival floats. As per his habit, he altered the picture very slightly and very subtly, so that no-one would immediately notice that some of the dancers had tiny birds on their shoulders, or that the ribbons, frozen in a blurry twirl, had a silvery brightness that did not fit comfortably with the way the light played upon the rest of the scene.

***

In the night that followed, he did the same as the night before; he rose, pulled on his dressing gown, took his gourd and went over to the window, where he watched, waited and thought. It was half-past one in the morning. Outside, the dark had been made darker by low, sodium tinted clouds; there was no moonshine, nor wispy starlight. The landscape was a black silhouette of rooftops and chimneys; apart from the odd insomniac light, it was featureless.

Not a good night to watch for silfs, then; the inkiness beyond could conceal anything, no matter how unusual. Remembering that he was a dreamshader, he called out with his mind, just to see what would occur; but after a good minute's worth of hard concentration, it was clear that there were no errant silfs at large tonight. And with no silfs, there was not likely to be any atulphi around to pursue them, either. Unless, of course, Lilac Zhenrei should happen to be out there, searching for her friend.

He took his gaze towards the area in which Wandringham wood lay, though he was unable to see much of the wood itself, as the larger part of it was obscured by the intervening buildings. Being the place where she had first met him, it was entirely feasible that it would be exactly where she would go if she wanted to see him again. And yet he felt that tonight, she most probably wasn't there. He didn't know why, but he was sure that someone like Lilac would do more than simply hang around and wait for him to appear. It didn't matter that she might not know where he lived; some sign or signal would suffice, perhaps a burst from her blunderbuss, a flash in the night sky. So no - she was not there. Not at the moment, in any case.

He let his gaze fall from the woods, then, and concentrated on his gourd instead, bringing both hands to it and giving himself over to the lustrous spectacle of his first great dream. He was tired of the questions now; all he had done, in later days, was ask and brood and want. He wanted to find out if Vespinner truly had said his surname; he wanted to know what had happened to his father. He wanted to learn more of what he had read in that book yesterday, to traverse the Internet with the aim of finding out if Niamago _really_ was such a great secret; he wanted to find other atulphi, those still earthbound, and silfs with which to test himself as a dreamshader. He wanted to find Stacey Wilds again - she of the imaginary dog - but he didn't know if she had moved house or not. He wanted to find out if Mark Lemmon's little brother wasn't yet so old that he had forgotten his friend, Mr. Gloamy. He wanted to know how he might cope with seeing this invisible population of the world, day after day, and cope, too, with not telling his mother about it; he wanted and wanted and wanted and ...

And now he wanted a rest from it all. Some respite. Not answers - because answers, as he already knew, would only lead to more questions. No, he just wanted something to think about that wasn't to do with Niamago, Lilac, or being a dreamshader. Something _ordinary_. Something wholly and completely earthbound.

He let go of the gourd; it wasn't helping. Wonderful as it was, it was too closely related to his adventure to leave him thinking of much else. Neither did it help to hear, just seconds later, a noise in Maddie's room. It reminded him (as had a similar noise a couple of nights before) of the silf ... and also the place where he had found his gourd, the derelict house where he had listened as something snuffled outside.

He stretched, yawned, and took hold of the gourd. "Enough," he said, as the dream returned. He dropped the object into the pocket of his dressing gown and closed the curtains. He would have gone back to bed sooner, but he decided to linger awhile instead, to see if he could make some sense of what he was hearing next door.

Yes, it was definitely a snuffle; not the swishing sound of the silf - nothing like it in fact - but something that gave the impression of scraping, or sniffing with a rasp. Was it an animal? A rat? Probably not; it was much more likely to be the work of a breeze, riffling at his sister's books and sketching papers. Not a rat, not a mouse; just a draught, blowing in through the open window.

And then he realised that his mother had been keeping all the windows closed at night - a peace-of-mind measure, made in the wake of his supposed sleepwalk. So what, exactly, _was_ causing that sound?

He sat on the edge of his bed and listened harder. In truth, he was beginning to feel a little alarmed. But then it came to him: Maddie was starting to feel unwell. His mother had implied as much in the previous days. She was coming down with what her brother had just gotten over, so it was only to be expected that she might fidget loudly in her bed, with her sleep disturbed by fever.

Except - except Benjamin hadn't really been ill. He had been poisoned, and poison, he knew, was not contagious. So what was it?

It sounded as though it was low to the ground; there seemed to be some sense of a pawing, or _clawing_ , at the carpet. But it was more than that; there was an idea of something scraping against a skirting board, muffled and sluggish. It brought to mind an injured animal, trying desperately to escape to some place other than where it had been so hurt. It brought to mind something _living_.

Benjamin silently berated himself: again, it was just his overactive imagination. He had heard the noise before, and no harm had come of it. Besides, his mother would probably go in and check the room anyway. So there was nothing to worry about.

Nothing at all.

But then again, he knew he would not find sleep easily if that noise was going to continue. And so far, it had shown no sign of abating. So he lifted himself up, tightened the belt of his dressing down, and crept out of his room and onto the landing, where he found Maddie's door to be slightly ajar. He was nervous, but only by virtue of being alone in the dark. He did not seriously believe that there could be anything strange in Maddie's room, because two strange occurrences in there within a week were, he felt, seriously stretching the boundaries of chance. No, it was probably just something ordinary; a cooling radiator, perhaps, or a roving toy that she had forgotten to switch off. Certainly not another silf, nor anything even remotely as fantastic. Just something plain and everyday, but with the added glamour of being noticed by someone who had discovered that things were not as plain and everyday as most people believed.

Quietly pushing the door aside, he went in. Immediately the noise stopped, and he didn't like it; it gave the impression that there was a furtive intelligence behind the sound. He looked around the room, but found nothing untoward; taking a few cautious steps further inside, he saw that his sister \- or what he could make out of her in the murk - was asleep, though it appeared, from the way that her bedclothes were all bunched up, that she had been fidgeting quite a lot. So maybe it _was_ her; maybe she hadn't been sleeping very well for some reason, and had been loud in her restlessness.

She was okay, though. The only sound now in the room was that of her breaths, deep and serene. He turned, and was about to depart - when those _other_ sounds started up again.

He whipped round, his gaze instantly falling to the place where the noises were coming from. And from that place, under his sister's bed, a shape tumbled out on to the floor.

Benjamin gasped. The shape, almost indiscernible in the dark, looked to be a small bundle of clothes; and yet it was _moving_. He stepped back, his eyes fixed rigidly on the sight. The bundle pulsed, like a creature taking air; a tendril of some kind, or a loose sleeve, sprung out from it, flopping onto the carpet. And then, like a knot unfolding, a hand appeared at the end of the sleeve, large and thin-fingered, pale in the dark. There seemed to be a pattern of light and shadow about the thing; a hint of what might be found on the back of a snake. And as it expanded - and it _was_ expanding, Benjamin could see it - it hissed, a chorus-call of insensate aggression that the boy, terror-struck, recognised immediately.

It was Leopold. The warpclown.

And it had been under his sister's bed.

He took another step back, and then another, until his back nudged against the half-open door. He would have dashed out, then, and screamed for his mother and stepfather - but something stopped him. _They won't see it,_ he thought, his hopes giving way to the witless pessimism of panic. _They won't know what to do. They won't be able to help._

The hand groped grotesquely at the floor, crablike and blind. Another tendril extruded from the pile, seeming to reach for his sister's bed.

Stifling a yell, Benjamin ran over and _kicked_ the thing. Hard. He was barefooted, and it felt like striking a dense pile of laundry. The shape rolled flabbily away from Maddie's bed, hissing wildly, and stopped halfway between the bed and the window. The act had made it furious; it was larger now, and coiling angrily, like some huge, overgrown grub. Two further extrusions began to unfurl from the main mass; it was developing legs.

There was no time for a decisive course of action; it was growing too fast, and if he didn't act soon, the creature would be fully formed, and ready to strike back. At the moment, there was a weakness about it that needed to be exploited; it was the only advantage the boy had. If he did nothing, then he would have to face the horror when its maniacal, thrashing strength was at the utmost - and this time, there would be no Lilac to defend him.

Not daring to jump it, Benjamin ran round the creature, heading towards the window. Tearing the curtains apart, he found his suspicions confirmed: the window was indeed closed. But was it locked? Perhaps - but there was no time to worry about it. He gripped the handle, released the latch and - much to his relief - found that his mother had _not_ locked it. He offered a silent word of thanks, and pushed the window open. But it opened only about an inch and a half outward; any more than that, and it would not move.

The boy gave a small cry of frustration; she had locked it! And there was no time to find the key, because it was probably in his mother's room, and even if he should be lucky enough to find it, the monster behind him would already be fully formed, and at its most lethal. Maddie would be alone - unless he could carry her out of here. And then they'd have to escape. But was there enough time to convince his parents of the danger they were in? Enough time to convince them that his terror, his urgency, was not down to some simple nightmare? Of course there wasn't - there wasn't enough time at all!

For one moment - just one little moment - Benjamin managed to push away his terror and think clearly. And it was enough: he realised that it was only the action of the _security_ lock on the window frame that prevented it from being fully open; and it was a lock that did not require a key. It was just a hinged button, and it only needed to be pressed in; he found it, hammered at it - and then the window swung wide, leaving a gap that he could only pray was big enough for what he needed of it.

The warpclown, still furled, still squirming, still hissing, was now about the size of his little sister herself. The boy went over to it, grabbed hold of what he could and, keeping his nerves as steady as possible, hoisted the thing aloft. It was heavier than it looked, and he had to struggle, but the adrenaline surge of strength left him more than capable: he hauled the thing up and, holding it to his chest, he stumbled towards the open window. The unfolding monster was greasy in his grasp, like an oil-soaked heap of rags; it stank, too, of bad breath and rubber. He felt it fight against his clutches, felt the spiralling limbs whip against his head and arms. Refusing to look at it - because that would only add to his revulsion - he concentrated solely on the fact that the thing would not have to be in his grasp for long; if the window was wide enough, he could push the monster out, and then Maddie would be safe. After that, he didn't know - and didn't care - what happened afterwards.

He plumped the foul shape onto the sill, and pushed as hard as he could. It was not easy; it was like trying to shove a quilt into a shoebox. He punched at it, but to no avail; its hands - because now there were two - were gripped to the frame, the body puffing out against the confines of the opening, trapping it in place. Benjamin gave a yell and shoved at it with his shoulder; it budged, but only a little. He pounded at it, elbowed it, pushed, pushed, _pushed_ ... and finally, the monster gave way.

Deliberately.

The monster slipped through, and Benjamin, carried by the momentum of his last shove, nearly slipped through with it. But nearly was not enough; the creature, falling backwards, grabbed hold of the boy's arms, overbalancing him. Benjamin shrieked; he heard Maddie awaken with a cry. His feet left the floor, his upper body fell forwards; and before he could wonder how he might save himself, he was plummeting, along with his hellish adversary, towards the tenebrous ground below.

28

Fortunately, he did not land hard; the creature, plunging ahead, cushioned the impact. He had no time to feel relieved, however, as he needed to escape, and fast. At that very moment, he was elbow-deep in the creature's ragged mass; a moment later, and he might be within its grasp.

He pushed himself up and sprinted away as quickly as he could, aware - at the outset - of a jarring pain in his left knee. Unlike the rest of his body, it must have been unprotected when he and the clown collided with the cold, tough slabs of the patio, but he refused to let it stop him. He scrambled onto the lawn, and kept running until a jolt of pain caused the leg to buckle, forcing him to stop. He had not gotten far; perhaps only three or four strides. Sobbing, he crumpled to the grass, clutching at his aching knee. _Don't be broken_ , he thought, fearing the worst. _Please, don't be broken._

Behind him, the hissing had evolved into a drawn-out, guttural snarl. Reflexively, Benjamin looked back, to see the mass almost upright, supported precariously by its two spindly, malformed legs. It was shaking itself from side to side, in a kind of frenzy, the arms flailing like those of an empty jumper. Already, it was twice his size, and growing yet still; the boy had no doubt that, within seconds, it would be back to its original shape, long and spiderish and as furiously agile as when he had first encountered it. There was nothing else to do, then, but get away - and get away as soon as possible.

But then he noticed the light go on in Maddie's room and realised that he was not the only one in danger here. If nothing else, he had to be sure that it was only he _himself_ that the creature wanted, and not his family. So he forced himself to wait, in the desperate hope that he would know what to do when the creature's intentions became clear.

_Stay away, Maddie,_ he whispered, wishing he had the courage to shout it. _Stay away from the window. Don't let it see you._

He pressed into the flesh surrounding his kneecap, then released. Pressed again, and released. It still hurt. Once more, he cajoled it into being well. It was fruitless, but it was better than thinking that he was going to die.

Still keeping his gaze upon the clown, he watched as a pale, egg-like form pressed itself out from the space between the threshing arms. And suddenly, it all seemed to spring open like a trap: the arms became fuller, the body less amorphous, the legs longer and more substantial, all in one go. The pale, egg-like shape rolled upwards, revealing the two dark smudges and a bulbous extrusion that could only be the nose. Underneath, a fist of teeth could be faintly seen, surrounded by a garish splay of mouth. In the dimness of the night, everything appeared black and white, though the monster was no less grotesque for it: Benjamin knew all the features of this abomination; to him, the shadow occluded nothing.

With its head fully emerged, the clown glared at him through the darkness. Benjamin could see no more of the eyes than a glint, but the rictus mouth of the thing, coupled with a drawn-out, deepening growl, was enough to tell him of the malevolence there. It had not yet reached its full height; it was doubled over, standing on all fours, and would have seemed motionless if it had not been for the visible tremor in its limbs. At first, the boy thought it might be because the thing was bunching its muscles, readying for a strike, but then he spied a certain misty phosphorescence about it, similar to that which had emerged from Strifer Dyne's wounds. The thing was _injured_ \- and then he remembered: Lilac had shot at it, blasted it out of the sky just before they had sailed for the Amar Imaga; but she had not killed it. Left it damaged, certainly - but not dead. _Still alive,_ she had said, in the aftermath of that terrible confrontation. _Still alive, alas._

The phosphorescence seemed to be concentrated around the creature's left side, but Benjamin couldn't see the source itself, the injury. It was there, though, somewhere. A rupture, a rip, a tear in the ugly fabric of the thing; as long as it hurt, he didn't care.

_But it might make it angrier_ , he thought, recalling something he had heard once - something about dangerous animals being at their most dangerous when they are harmed. And suddenly, he _did_ care.

What if it's dying, and knows it doesn't have anything to lose anymore?

He tried to push the idea away, but fear - cloying, stifling, all-encompassing _fear_ \- demanded that he dwell upon it.

What if it's dying and wants revenge on me?

He heard a noise from Maddie's room; it was the sound of a door closing, overlaid by a muffled voice that might have been his mother's. He looked up and saw that the light was still on, though no-one had yet come to the window. At the periphery of his gaze, he noticed movement. The clown, hissing harshly, began to inch towards him.

Benjamin bolted, making sure to use his good leg as he left his mark. If he could count on one thing now, it was that the monster wasn't intent upon anyone but himself. He made for the back gate, half running, half stumbling, the pain in his knee rising to a sickening spike every time his left foot hit the ground. He didn't quite know what he hoped to achieve when he reached the gate; it was tall, and its bolts were too stiff to offer him a chance of exit before the monster was upon him. He could climb it, of course - but only if his left leg was up to the task. At the moment, it didn't seem capable of scaling even a single stair.

Behind him, the clown bellowed; he felt a rush of air at his back and heard a terrible _whomp_ as something thudded against the soft grass just beyond his heels. The monster had struck out at him and missed by mere millimetres. If he needed any extra impetus to make good on his escape, then that was it; the gate, fast approaching, would have to be climbed, and the pain, ever more acute, would just have to be ignored. There was absolutely no choice in the matter.

Once it was within striding distance, Benjamin leapt at the gate, again making sure to spring from his good leg. As soon as his fingers caught the top edge, he hoisted himself upwards, his bare feet scrabbling against the rough wood, his bad knee protesting with numb agony as his legs sought purchase. Nevertheless, the ascent proved to be easier than he had feared, and he had succeed in hauling his right leg over the top before a terrific thump nearby interrupted his efforts.

Glancing over to the left, he saw that the clown had jumped and landed on the roof of the shed that abutted the back fence. He didn't even consider his next move when he saw the clown lift one of those huge, pale hands; he simply rolled off the top of the gate and let himself drop into the alleyway that lay on the other side, uncaring of how painful the fall might prove to be. As he descended he saw - so very briefly - his former perch explode into splinters. The clown had struck at him again, and missed again; and then the boy was on the ground, landing on his side as the creature above issued a tremendous, siren-like howl of rage.

It was angrier now - _much_ angrier; the boy's nimble dodge had not impressed it.

Getting to his feet as fast as he could - which was no easy task, considering that the drop had left him with an aching shoulder to go along with the bad knee - Benjamin scrambled away, in the direction of the amber-lit street that lay at the eastward end of the alleyway. There, he knew, he would find people, roused by the commotion and watching out; if he was lucky, there was every possibility that the clown might be shy enough of those spying eyes to call off the chase. It was a small hope, but it was all he had. Either that, or he was acting as only the truly doomed can act, and grasping for the light even though he knew that, deep down, it was hopeless.

Whatever; he simply ran - or ran as much as his injuries would allow. And just as he was beginning to believe that he really _could_ reach that tear-hazed light, he chanced a look up, only to see that nasty, twisted form spiralling overhead, the arc of its descent carrying it to the one place where he did not want it to go.

The clown had leapt - another of those huge, incredible lunges that he'd seen it perform at their previous engagement - and was coming in to land ahead of him, blocking off the route to the lights. Benjamin turned, not finding time enough to despair, and ran - _limped_ \- towards the other end of the alleyway, the one which led to Wandringham wood. He thought, briefly, of the grassy area that lay just before the trees, but could not bring himself to hope that Lilac might be there, waiting for him. Life simply did not have that much promise.

But what else could he do? _Where else could he go_? Home? And endanger not just himself but his family too? No, not a chance. True, he could batten upon the gate of a neighbour who might, just _might_ , come to his aid - but the monster would not give him a moment to spare. If he stopped, he was dead, and he knew it. So no, he would have to just keep on running as best as he could, and pray and pray and pray that tonight was not his night to die.

It was hard, though; so terribly hard. There seemed to be hurt everywhere - in his knee, in his side, in his cold, splinter-scratched feet. Every breath seemed to pack his lungs with cold ice; every heartbeat arrived as a hammer-stroke of dread against his breast. He could not decide if he wanted to look back and see how much the clown had caught up with him - but he looked anyway, his eyes somehow making the decision for him. The clown, as it turned out, was further away than he had thought; it must have landed badly - due to its injury, no doubt - and found it difficult to rejoin the pursuit. It was lingering beside a fence, and for one tiny second Benjamin actually believed that the monster had given up on him. No such luck, however; an eyeblink later, and he saw that the clown was _tearing_ at the fence, ripping the slats away from the posts as if they were as slight as balsa. And _why_ it was doing this was soon apparent: grasping a large strip of broken slats, the creature savagely threw the bundle at the boy, performing a kind of ghastly, flailing pirouette as it did so. Benjamin ducked, the projectile bursting into a rain of broken wood as it hit the garage beside him. A few whirling slats caught him on the back, but he was left unharmed. Hauling himself upright, he immediately made off again, taking a quick glance backwards to ensure that another missile was not already on its way.

There was still a decent amount of space between himself and the clown, but he could not count on it lasting; the monster, despite its wound, was too strong, too quick. The moment he dithered, the instant he stopped - then it would be over. He had to keep on running, keep on _existing_ \- and not let himself die.

He recalled a television programme he had once seen, involving a fox chased by hounds. _Is this how it feels?_ he thought, as he reached the smaller alleyway that led off from the main. _Does the fox feel like I do now?_ He remembered the capture of the fox, the hounds squabbling furiously over the body. _No,_ came the voice of his mind, nearly incoherent with fear. _No it won't, I won't; must live_ , _must not die._ Something else now: the image of a rabbit, twitching, as a stoat tore viciously at the soft fur of its neck. The eyes of the rabbit bulged; its sides pulsed rapidly as it stole its final, desperate breaths. _It knows_ , came that voice again. _It knows it is going to die._ A fresh wave of tears flooded his eyes, blinding him as he rushed down the side path. Behind him, the clown crashed against something metallic, something which resounded with a hollow boom. A garage door, maybe. He heard the monster snarl, heard it scrabble at the ground; it had jumped again, and landed awkwardly again. He didn't need to look back to know that it had gained on him. He didn't _want_ to look, either.

_If it comes,_ he thought, daring - at last - to confront the fact of his own death. _If it comes, let it be quick. Don't let me see it. Let me be unaware. Let my life go suddenly. Let it be like the end of a dream._

His limping footsteps found grass; his gaze, clear now, was suddenly filled with a benighted field and a horizon silhouetted with trees. Soft blades brushed against his soles and toes. The air, cool and moist, was redolent with alighting dew.

He had reached the field, then; the place where he had first met with his pursuer. Back then, he'd had the fortune of being with someone who knew how to deal with this monstrosity; now, however, he was alone. Hurt and sad and alone.

_Mum,_ he said to himself, closing his eyes. _I'm sorry._ But what did he have to be sorry about? Nothing, really. A few tantrums from his early childhood; an explosion of rage when his mother refused to buy him some trinket from a toyshop. _I wish I had been better_ , he thought, knowing that, in truth, he hadn't been so bad. _I hope I made you happy. I hope you won't be too sad when I -_

And then, crying, he fell to his knees, his hands covering his face. There was nowhere else to go.

I'm sorry mum. I have to stop.

Something smashed into his back, though he hardly felt it. The next thing he knew, he was skidding along the grass, gasping for breath, a dry, hard ache in his shoulders. The clown had hit him, propelled him forwards, and left him winded but not dead. Opening his eyes, he saw that the attack had caused him to spin round, and he had a chance to see his assailant prowling stealthily towards him, its hiss interrupted by a series of pauses that made it sound like the chuckle of a mute, before he closed them again. Laying there, without the strength or the will to get back up, his hand went to the pocket where he had stashed his gourd. He couldn't quite remember if he had taken it with him. He thought it would be nice if he could see his first great dream again. If he died amid that dream, maybe it would last forever.

And yet, though the dream did indeed return, the gourd did not. Instead, his hand found only shards. Pulling some free, he brought the handful as close to his face as he could, so that when he opened his eyes he would not have to see the clown when he looked at them. The shards were sharp and unyielding. Like broken glass. And when he saw them - dim in the dark, but not invisible - his fears were confirmed: his gourd was broken. Smashed to pieces in his pocket, probably as a result of his fall from the window or his drop from the gate. Shattered. Useless.

His head fell against his arm, and his grip tightened around his ruined treasure. It hurt, but so what? Everything hurt now. Even the sight of his first great dream, still intact despite the damage done to the thing that conferred it upon him, brought more sorrow than grace. It reminded him too much of an age when he did not fear, when the world was a simple place, and life seemed eternal. It caused him to regret, which made it worse because he knew, deep down, that there was _nothing_ he needed to regret.

_Why should I?_ he thought, a pinprick of anger piercing his grief. _Why should I be sorry? Why should I just sit here and die?_

He forced himself to glare at the clown. _Why shouldn't I live, freak?_ The clown glared back, no longer approaching directly, but taking a sideways course; it was beginning to circle him, though for what reason he couldn't tell. Maybe it wanted to eke out the torture a little; maybe it wanted to savour the sight of its quarry in distress. Who knew? If it was happy to delay the killing stroke, then so be it. Benjamin didn't care. Right then, all he cared about was his death, and the fact that it was not about to go unchallenged. "So why _shouldn't_ I live?" he yelled, his voice cracking at the end. He hauled himself up to his knees, defiantly brushing the tears from his eyes. He held the shards, bunched in his fist, out to the monster. And then he asked the question that he had asked of Vespinner; the appeal, the last pining call of the desperate. _"What do you want?"_ he cried ... and in so doing, he finally saw how he might live.

29

_My lord wishes to offer you a place at his left,_ had said Vespinner. _To learn his greatest secret. To make and unmake. To live, to rule; to be at his side when he conquers the blasphemous island; to share in his supreme triumph when he takes all the world._

The words were stark in his mind, like a brand. And when he reviewed them, silently, he found that four of these words seemed to persist in his thoughts, as if there was something significant about them - something important, but subtle. Or maybe not so subtle - maybe it was something so overwhelmingly obvious that he couldn't quite allow himself to believe it.

To make and unmake.

He took his gaze away from the clown - which had paused, glaring with dumb stupefaction at this sudden show of recalcitrance in the boy - and brought it to the shards in his hand. He asked himself why he was thinking about this now, with his span about to be cut so brutally short. Was it because he had surpassed all terror now, and become mad? Or was it because there was a genuine clue in those words - a clue which should be immediately apparent, but somehow remained obscure.

To make and unmake.

He whispered what he had whispered to himself when he had awoken on the morning after his return and found the gourd on his bedside table: _I'm a dreamshader,_ he had said. _I mustn't forget it._ And then his thoughts turned to Lilac, and the strange analogy she had made at their first meeting: _an artist is still an artist even if he never picks up a brush_.

He didn't understand it then. He understood it now, however. And he couldn't say that it proceeded to all click into place, because it had _always_ been in place. He just hadn't seen it - or rather, hadn't _needed_ to see it.

_I'm a dreamshader,_ he pronounced, but not aloud. _I've always been a dreamshader, and always known it. I make and unmake. I shape and unshape. From the dream comes the silf, and from the silf I create. But what I create can be uncreated; what I shape can be unshaped._ _Ashes to ashes; dust to dust. Dream to silf, silf to dream_. _I make and unmake; I shape and reshape._

He took one last, hard look at the clown. It was shuddering, though not with fear. Its wound, wherever it was, was finally getting the better of it. _It's now, then,_ he thought. _I die or I live. What is it to be?_

He closed his eyes and, keeping a tight hold of the shards, immersed himself completely in his first great dream. He knew that the clown would not let itself perish until its murderous mission was accomplished. He would have to be fast.

_Ignore the pain,_ he said to himself, letting the dream flood his mind. _Ignore the hurt. Ignore the fear. I die or I do not. Let's see what it shall be..._

And it was easy; so, so easy. He may only have achieved one transfiguration, but it seemed to have imbued him with a lifetime's worth of practice. Admittedly, he was having to work the craft in reverse, but it was no difficult matter. _An artist is still an artist even if he never picks up a brush._ The shape of the dream was indescribable, but it was clear, and all he had to do was let it become vague. After that, there were perhaps a hundred other shapes waiting to be invoked; it was just a question of finding the one most suited to his purpose.

He felt heat in his outstretched hand; and a tingling, like pins and needles. _It's becoming a silf again,_ he thought. The clown issued a guttural bark. Was it surprised? Possibly. If it was, Benjamin couldn't count on it being surprised for long; to a beast such as that, an event such as this presupposed only danger, and it would be quick in snuffing it out.

Nevertheless, he couldn't rush; he had to take as much time as was necessary. And neither could he panic. If he did, he would find nothing amid the potentials currently unfurling before him. He had to keep his mind composed, and his thoughts centred solely upon the task ahead. And if the clown should charge at him in the meantime, then ... then he could simply not think about it. Only hope - and hope and hope and hope that he had time enough to find _something_ amongst all those potentials that might help him fight back.

But there were so _many_ \- and of those he had discovered already, not one offered even the slightest hint of aiding his cause. There was, for example, a filament that, when lit, shed light on places far not near. And a textile whose radiant colour would always match the ambition of its wearer. He fathomed a glinting glass that could capture starlight, keeping it even after the stars were gone (had it been the chief constituent of his gourd, perhaps?); he saw motes that danced to song. Beautiful things, _fascinating_ things - but nothing that could save him.

And frustratingly, against all this, there was the _conceit_ of the dream, the message it had conveyed to him all those years ago: _your life is short; your aim is long_. Against this backdrop of pyrotechnic wonder, limitless skies and magical mastery, the same incessant, defeatist idea. _Your life is short; your aim is long._ It was not what he wanted to hear. Not now, not when his only wish was for his life to be long and his aim -

And then, instantly, he understood. For the device that he needed to draw out was right there, at the forefront of his dream. Not subtle, not obscure; right there, right in front of his vision-rapt eyes.

It's the fireworks. I can use the fireworks.

He realised then that the lesson as taught by his first great dream was not just a lesson for life. It was a lesson for every moment, with revelations waiting to be called upon whenever he required them.

_This is the first great dream of a dreamshader. As such, it is special. It has already taught me what I need to know. It exists, like the fireworks within it, for me to command._ _My life is short; my aim is long. But my aim_ is _life, and I want my life to be long._

His eyes snapped open. The warpclown was lumbering towards him, its maw wide, its cry terrifying. He smiled. It had not taken as much time as it seemed. In his hand, where there had once been broken detritus, there was now a silf, writhing angrily in his grasp. It was silver, and so very slight; yet it coiled, shedding sparks, with a vitality that utterly belied its appearance. Clearly, the thing was on the verge of its transformation. Just a second more, perhaps, and it would be primed.

Benjamin drew his arm back, his shoulder protesting with pain. And without taking his eyes away from the looming face of the nightmare, he flung the turbulent silf towards his assailant.

There was no time to wish or pray or hope that the silf would be transfigured before the clown reached him. It would happen or it would not. One more breath, if he was lucky - and after that, either life or death.

The silf could not be thrown far. It was too flimsy, and the air had a greater hold over it than momentum. As soon as it left his palm, it was already fluttering to the ground. Even so, it was enough - but Benjamin didn't pause to gape when he saw the clown make the fatal mistake of attempting to brush the distraction aside. He caught a glimpse of the silf becoming snared in that sweeping, contemptuous hand, and then he was feverishly scrambling backwards, half-falling, half-rolling, desperate to get away lest he get caught in the -

A flash. Blinding. And a thundercrack boom. He shielded his eyes with a forearm as a series of further reports - bangs and whizzes and a screech that might have come from the clown - filled his ears. A wave of heat passed over him; something hot flashed by the right side of his face. He stole a glance; he had to see it, had to _know_ that the monster had been hit, but the lights were so bright that he did not know what he was looking at until he closed his eyes again and saw the afterimage that the conflagration had left upon his retinas.

The clown, in terrible negative, frozen amid inky splashes of blackness. But the blackness, he knew, was really white. And the clown was not dancing, even though it appeared otherwise.

He quickly shut his eyes again. The cracks continued, ear-splitting, over a rising wail which was certainly _not_ the noise of a rushing rocket or screamer, as the boy had heard it before, when Lilac had shot at the beast. It was the sound of the clown in pain, the siren cry of its distress. And as horrific as it was to his ears, the boy could not deny the joy it brought to him, because it meant that he _had_ hit it, _had_ successfully struck back. But he was still too afraid to be complacent, and could not yet assure himself that he had actually defeated it. Even when the cry was abruptly cut off by another tremendous report, he kept himself huddled to the ground with an arm covering his head, and he did not dare to look up until the air was ringing with silence, the final firework spent.

And when he looked, and saw that the clown was gone, he got shakily to his feet. He smelled sulphur, and something else; something like melted rubber, but not quite. He found that it got stronger as he approached the place where he had last seen the creature. All about the ground there were small fires, many of which were being kindled by strange, papery remains. Like the smell, the remains were concentrated at the spot where the clown must _surely_ have died, but he still couldn't bring himself to really believe it. Not until he discovered the flame-licked fingers - long and greyish pale in the places where the skin was not already burnt - did he understand that he had won. But he did not cheer, even though the urge was strong. He just waited, standing there, and watched as the flames ate the remains far faster than any earthly fire, until they themselves died out, flickering away to darkness.

There was nothing left. Nothing at all. Not even, perhaps, a single singed blade of grass. Nothing.

His hand went to his pocket and came out empty. His tears returned; the first great dream did not.

***

It did not feel like a victory. It felt like a tragedy. Trudging back towards his house, he remembered that a teacher had once told him that there was a word for this sort of thing: a _thirrick_ victory, or something like that. It meant that you won, but at a terrible cost. Of course, to remain alive was anything _but_ a terrible cost: it was good, it was wonderful, it was the joy of joys. But there was no glory about it, no sense of triumph. If anything, he could only concede that he had survived, and that mere relief was the best emotion he could expect of it. No imaginary fanfares, no self congratulation; only a gladness to be alive, tempered by the pity of having had to kill in order to achieve it.

Yes, the clown had to die. It would have slain him if it had not. There was no mercy in the thing. No reason. It had to die. And yet ... well, he didn't know what to think. His head told him that his deed had been right, his heart said differently. Neither held sway over the other; he would probably just have to live with it.

_Well at least I_ can _live,_ he said to himself, drawing a smile out of the sadness. And, seeing no shame in his survival, he smiled on, allowing - as best as he could - the pity of it all to settle, and become comfortable, in his heart.

***

He reached the small alleyway that led to the rows and terraces surrounding Chapterhouse Street, and paused, surprised by what he could hear: the night was alive with chatter. And not just chatter, either; many of the houses from which these hushed voices emerged were lit, their windows blazing against the blackness like domino spots.

Surprised as he was, it was easy to guess why so many people should be up at this time. The noise of his struggle, the baying of the clown, the crashes, the cries; they were not easy things to sleep through. He tried listening out for something definite amid the babble, something that might lend him a clue as to what his neighbours must have made of it all, but drew a blank. It was just subdued murmur, so quiet as to be almost inaudible. Yet he continued to listen anyway, simply because there were no other sounds to distract him.

And then, finally, he did hear some other voices. They were loud, and clear in the night air. They were not unknown to him, either. In fact, they may well have been as familiar as his own shadow.

Benjamin?

Benjamin, where are you?

Benjamin?

It was his mother. And he was sure that he could hear Pete talking, too. And another voice, calling his name: Maddie.

He caught sight of them at the opposite end of the small alleyway. At first they were indistinct, like ghosts, but it did not take much time for him to recognise his mother's dressing gown, as well as the diminutive shape of his sister, walking hand in hand with her father.

"Benjamin?" said his mother. She stooped down a little a she asked his name, as if she felt that she could only see him clearer if she were lower to the ground.

"Hello mum," he said, a little dreamily. His exhaustion had lent a calmness entirely at odds with the situation; he was almost blasé.

"Benjamin?" his mother repeated, approaching now. "Is that you?"

"Yeah," he replied.

She hurried towards him - but, contrary to his expectations, she did not bestow a hug once she was within arm's reach. "What happened?" she asked, clutching gently at his shoulders instead. There was no urgency in her tone. If anything, she seemed as dazed as her son.

"It was the clown," piped Maddie. She pointed at her brother. "Ben'min threw him out of my window."

Pete hushed her with a "shhh!" and picked her up. "Come on, girl," he said, holding her at his side. "Enough of that."

"She's right, though," said Benjamin, so tired that he couldn't even summon up the effort for pretence. "It was a clown. I killed it."

"He saved me," said Maddie.

"What are you talking about?" his mother asked.

"Didn't you see it?" said Benjamin.

She shook her head slowly, as if she could not quite deny what she wished to deny. "I saw ... something. I don't know -"

"There was nothing there," said Pete. His voice was even, but firm.

"There _was_!" barked Maddie, clearly affronted by her father's remark. "It was the clown under my bed. I told you about him. Don't you 'member?"

"Yes, sweets, I remember," said Pete. "But I didn't see any clown. You must have imagined it."

Maddie protested further, but her words were drowned out by her mother. "What happened to the gate, Benjamin?" she asked, with a deliberation that suggested she was straining very hard to remain calm.

"The gate?"

"Yes. The back gate."

"Oh," he said. "That was the clown. I climbed over it, but he smashed it up. I'm sorry."

Benjamin's mother didn't reply, though he got an idea that she was biting her lip in the dark.

"Come on," said Pete, patting Maddie on the back. "Let's go home. It's too cold to talk out here."

"Yes," said Benjamin's mother. She took hold of her son's hand, but instead of guiding him away, she drew herself down, so that she could look at him face to face for a moment. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he said.

"Is this anything to do with what happened when - you know, when you disappeared that time."

"Yes," he said.

He saw the outline of his mother's head nod. "Is it over now?"

"I think so." But he sensed some dismay in his mother's silhouette at this, so he had no choice but to follow it with "Yeah, it's over. It's gone. It's over."

He thought his mother might wait, and offer the kind of tight-lipped silence that demanded he elaborate. But she did not. Instead, she hugged him, stood back up, and, with her hand still closed upon his, began to lead him back home.

30

That night, after Benjamin had killed the clown, an old man in Italy awoke to the darkness and discovered that he was no longer afraid. He had never known what, exactly, he had been afraid of; all he knew was that he had once been frightened of something, and now it was gone.

Afterwards, in the morning, he called his son's beloved _bambinos_ , and offered to take them to the circus that weekend. There would be trapeze artists, he said; there would be lions and elephants, and - much to the joy of the children - there would be clowns, too. Sadly, his wife, Gianna, had to remind him that there was no circus in town that weekend _. You're an old fool_ , she said, laughing, and told him that if it were not for her, he would forget where the ground lay. He shooed her away with a wave of his hand, and apologised to his grandchildren. But he left them with this promise: that the next time the circus arrived, he would certainly take them there, and together they would eat spun sugar, watch the trapeze artists, see the animals, and laugh, like never before, at the clowns.

***

It was a similar story with Evangeline, an African woman who, no more than a week ago, had also found herself free of some terrible, nameless dread. In the days that followed she let the hatred she held for her uncles go, and impressed her aged mother with how fearlessly she tackled the wasps' nest that blighted the westward eaves of the farmhouse. From then on, she met the days in good cheer, and saw the evenings in with eyes not lifeless, but serene. She appeared older than her years, but was already beginning to look younger. Her mother asked her if it was due to man or magic, but she rebutted her, giggling, by saying that it was neither. She giggles much, now. Her mother still suspects it is the work of man or magic.

***

But just as Evangeline had suddenly found the means to laugh again, someone else - a young man, living in New York, but who had grown up amid the wheatstalks of rural America - found cause to laugh a little less. He didn't know why; his companion pressed him on the matter, yet all he could impart was that he felt as if he had lost a friend. He became troubled by the memories that remained of his childhood, of Iowa, of the cornfield. They felt incomplete, as if there was something important about them that he was missing. It was odd, because he had never thought much about those days. Once, and not so long ago, he was caught in a rain shower, and he felt as if he was going to cry.

He went to see a doctor, who gave him the name and number of a professional he could talk to.

He has yet to call him, however.

***

And in a town close to London - so close, in fact, that one can never be sure if it is part of London or not - a boy, once ordinary, talked with his mother and told her truth of his nature. He was a dreamshader, he said; he was different. He had travelled very far, and discovered things about himself that marked him as unique. He was a dreamshader, he repeated, and he explained to her that he had destroyed a nightmare by calling upon the first great dream that he could remember.

His mother's reaction was peculiar. She said that she sort of believed it, but at the same time, she did not. "You're tired," she said. "I'm tired. We'll talk about it another day."

It was a pity, because there was so much more he wanted to say to her. Yet he let it go, because he could at least be satisfied that he had managed to broach the subject without the luxury of lies. From now onwards, he might be able to tell her everything: about the lady who travelled in a cage held high by birds; about the monster that his mother hadn't quite seen; about wondrous atulphi and dark phragodols; about his father, perhaps, and what he believed had become of him.

For the time being, however, he would simply have to wait, and let his answers go unsaid and his questions stay unanswered. Nevertheless, he hoped that he would not have to be patient for long; his defeat of the clown had lent a slew of terrible new puzzles to ponder upon, and he feared that if he didn't solve them soon, then the danger might multiply a thousandfold. Leopold, after all, had been aware of where he lived. _How_ the monster had discovered this, he didn't know - it was just another of those terrible conundrums - but he was sure that if one phragodol had found out, then others would as well. And if another of these creatures came, what then? His only weapon was spent. Neither could he presume that the attack, when it arrived, would be centred solely upon himself. Leopold had waited under his _sister's_ bed, not his. Again, he didn't know why. But it was fair to say that he was no longer the only one who had caught the attention of the spurned Gogmagog. His sister, his mother, his stepfather: all were in jeopardy now.

Yet these fears, pervasive as they were, did not get the better of Benjamin Crosskeys. He had already defeated two adversaries, and that counted for much in his mind. He had seen a city built of dreams, and sailed a sea exempt from any earthly map. Even so, he had to ask: was it really worth seeing such sights and travelling so far if it meant being so imperilled? Would it really have been so bad just to have remained ordinary, neither seeing any sights nor going so far, if it also allowed him to be safe? If it had involved only himself, then he would have said yes. Now that he knew otherwise, he would have given a definite no. But then, one night, he caught something in his reflection while he was brushing his teeth. It was only a little something, but it was enough to make him pause; and at that very moment he understood why the question did not really matter.

_I'm a dreamshader,_ he said, staring at his face. _And it is inevitable that I will find glories and terrors wherever I go._

In his eyes he saw a sheen, very slight, that was familiar to him. A subtle amber-tinted silveriness, which he had only seen before upon the surface of the emberquick. It was the glimmer, he realised, that never failed to catch the notice of strangers, though he was sure that to some - the strangest of these strangers, perhaps - it must appear as more of a shade.

THE END

of

Dreamshade, Book I:

Niamago

###

