Dreamhunter Duet: Dreamquake Part 15

Nown followed her up onto the platform and studied the winding mechanism. He didn't touch it. He looked at her, waiting.

Laura glared at him. A minute went by, then she burst out, "This might be our only chance! I should go as far as I'm able!"

"Yes."

"Well-get winding then!"

"I can be made again, you can't. This is your only chance."

Nown was telling her that this was her only life. Laura lost her temper. "Let me make the decisions! I'm in charge!" she yelled.

Around them again came the rustling whisper of falling earth. Laura's knees gave way. She crouched down in the cage, her fingers gripping its mesh and the water skin pressed between her thighs and belly. She began to cry. She pressed her face against the grid of wire and sobbed. She cried because she was frustrated and tired, even of crying-she had spent a whole year in tears.

The cage quivered, then swung free. It was ascending. Laura stood up. Nown was winding the mechanism's great drum. The handles squeaked, and the greased cable wound in on itself with a sticky kissing noise. The sounds gradually receded. Then Laura could only hear the cage creaking as it swung. Nown and the platform grew small, and the cage slid up above the gray slope. The ground below Laura was as pockmarked as a glacier honeycombed by sun-heated dust and pebbles. It looked treacherous.

Laura felt no wind. The air temperature remained the same-warm and dry. The view opened up around and then below her, revealing a series of peaks back the way she and Nown had come, then all around, to the eastern and western horizons along the border-but not extending beyond the border into that visible but inaccessible hinterland that all dreamhunters looked into before crossing back into their own world. The Pinnacles were clearly a feature of the border itself. Laura could see the opening to Sanctuary Valley, several hours' walk along the branch of trail they hadn't taken. Flanking the valley, and stretching away Inland, was a forked tongue of gray pinnacles thrusting out from the main ma.s.s of peaks. The farthest fork was thick, a real barrier, like the main range. The other was slender, in places perhaps only three peaks wide. From ground level this fork might appear to be a real barrier, but from high on the cable car it showed as not much more than a fence or screen. For these peaks did screen the eastern hinterland from anyone on level ground.

As the cage swung gently up, Laura looked into the land beyond the narrow barrier. She saw gra.s.slands with, here and there, stands of dry trees like clutches of stilled smoke. And, as the cage b.u.mped against a wall at the back of the platform, Laura saw the rail line that ran, plumb straight, through the gra.s.slands till it faded into the vaporous brightness of the Inland horizon.

Laura opened the cage door and got out onto the platform. She waved at Nown. He didn't acknowledge her gesture.

Laura went to the far end of the platform and looked down. There wasn't another cable car. Instead, there was an aerial cableway. The rangers could let gravity do the work of carrying down loads of rails and other goods bundled in the canvas slings. For themselves, however, they had built a steel tower that had many flights of steps. The tower stood out from the base of the pinnacle and could be reached from the summit by a twenty-something-foot span of bridge.

Laura went back to the cage and waved to Nown again, this time to say not "I'm all right" but "Goodbye, I'm going." She thought she saw him shake his head, then knew he had, because he raised a hand to wave her back. Laura held up her wrist and touched her watch face. She spread her fingers, counted them off with the pointing index finger of her other hand. "Give me five hours," she signed. She hoped he would know that she didn't mean five minutes. Laura waited for her sandman to react, then turned her back on him and struck out across the bridge to the tower.

4.

INCE FIRST COMING TO THE PLACE, LAURA HAD SEEN SOME ROADS SO SMOOTHLY SURFACED THAT BICYCLES COULD be ridden on them. She'd seen rudimentary steps on slopes, latrines, well-leveled camping grounds, and even one stubby lookout tower. She had never seen anything that showed the purpose or industry of the cable car, tower, and rail line. All showed signs of heavy use, so that, looking at them, she knew somewhere, at the other end of the line, there would be a settlement of some kind, buildings and people-for the railway was a supply line.

When Laura reached the foot of the tower, she found a handcar, sitting on the rails and up against buffers. It was a simple contraption, a platform with plenty of room for freight and two seats set facing each other with a couple of levers between them. The levers, if pushed back and forth, would make the wheels turn. Once the handcar built up momentum, Laura imagined that it would go quite fast-perhaps as fast as a sprinting man.

She set out along the rail line. She didn't mean to go far. She was thinking she'd go just far enough to find herself even with some landmark, like a stand of trees, that she could later use as a sighting from the tower in order to make a rough estimate of the length of line she could see. If it took her an hour to reach-say- that stand of trees, the one that appeared to her novice dreamhunter's eye to be about an hour away, then later she might be able to make a rough estimate of how many hours were beyond that. Laura knew that the Regulatory Body would never have bothered to build a rail line for anything that rangers would regard as a reasonable walking distance. The line must be at least longer than a day's walk. Its final destination was, most likely, days away.

Laura ambled along, remembering the sorts of things that were at the ends of secret trails in books she'd read. "A diamond mine," she thought, "something precious that they don't want to share." After all, there was no reason to suppose that there weren't pockets of precious minerals in the Place, and that prospecting rangers might not have turned something up. She imagined Cas Doran and his friends with a growing reserve of undeclared wealth. She imagined a fortress and a vast army of soldier rangers training in maneuvers. A secret army. Then she remembered that guns wouldn't fire in the Place, so the soldiers of her imaginary army would have to be lying on their bellies, pointing rifles, and making gun noises with their mouths.

She giggled.

The stand of trees Laura had picked as a landmark was getting closer, but only very slowly. She sighed and picked up her pace. She was hungry, but that was no excuse for dragging her feet and daydreaming.

A while later, when she'd raised a sweat and her mind was just idling, the thought that had been trailing her for days-possibly since Rose first told her about the "surplus rails"- finally caught up with her. She remembered that the Grand Patriarch had asked her about the "Depot."

Laura raised her head and squinted up the line. The "Depot" wasn't the name of a dream-it was a destination, where something was stored.

What else had the Grand Patriarch said? There was something else, a name from a rumor, because hadn't the Grand Patriarch said that most of his intelligence came from rumors?

Contentment.

Laura stopped walking when the word came into her head. She stood still, shivering and short of breath. The world darkened around her as her pupils contracted. Dread had crept up and pounced on her. And, now that she was still, she understood that her footsteps had masked a vibration. A sound.

A steely rolling was coming from the line behind her.

Laura spun to face back along the line. She saw the handcar bearing down upon her, fast. Riding on it were six rangers.

Laura jumped down from the raised railbed and sprinted away across the meadow. She heard a shout, then the handcar braking. She looked back and saw four men pouring off it after her.

The rangers came tearing through the dry gra.s.s with a sound like a gra.s.s fire. They ran her down and grappled her. Laura fought them, punched and kicked. She was lifted up into the air and then dumped onto the ground. The wind was knocked out of her. For a moment her only thought was how to fill her lungs. They ached and struggled to expand again. She was making a sound like one of those enraged sea lions she and the lighthouse keeper's girls had disturbed sleeping on the sands of So Long Spit. She drew breath in a prolonged, barking howl, rocking with pain and effort. She wheezed, and tears poured down her cheeks and into her ears.

One of the rangers tore her shirt open and grabbed her license on its chain. He put his head down to read the copper tags.

"We haven't had anyone escape," another ranger was saying, "and look at what she's wearing."

"She's not one of ours," said the one who had hold of her license. "This is Tziga Hame's daughter."

5.

HEY TIED HER WRISTS AND ANKLES WITH THEIR BANDANNAS AND CARRIED HER BACK TO THE HANDCAR. THEY SET HER down among boxes and baskets and tall zinc milk cans that Laura guessed were full of water. She could smell oranges and apples and the sharp perfume of the cocoa and cinnamon in dreamhunters' strong bread.

An argument was conducted over her head. Someone poked her with a boot, not hard but carelessly. "Who broke the gates?"

Another said, not to her, "Whoever it was must have heard us coming and run off along the trail to Sanctuary Valley."

"That's only conjecture. Still, I guess someone should go back and track them. Look-I'll go. And you come with me, McIndoe. The rest of you go on and raise the alarm."

Again the boot prodded Laura. "Who are they? Your accomplices?"

Another man said, "How did they know what they were looking for? What have you got to say for yourself, girl?"

"Let her alone," another man said. "She'll tell us afterward anyway."

After what? Laura thought, and bunched herself up into a tight, defensive ball.

The handcar bounced as two men jumped off it. Laura heard the sloshing of water skins being settled. One of the men who was leaving said, "Be as quick as you can. Those gates will have to be fixed as soon as possible."

Laura wondered where her sandman had hidden. The cage would have been on the summit when the rangers reached the cable car-after pa.s.sing through two broken gates. Not just broken but exploded. Laura remembered the stretched-licorice look of the smoking chain. Nown would be burrowed in somewhere probably, with only his roughly made back exposed. He could look as natural as a big stone when he really needed to.

The four remaining rangers settled themselves on the handcar. Laura heard a spring squawk as someone sat on one of the seats, preparing to work the levers. She mustered her courage. She unclenched her body, rolled onto her back, and looked up at one of the men.

He met her eyes, and his face creased with worry. "You're really only a baby, aren't you?"

"How far is it if you go around the long way?" Laura asked him.

"How far to where?" one of the other men said, impatient.

The handcar was moving now. The landscape slid by, faster every second. None of the crankshafts or levers made a noise; all were too well greased. The only sound was the creak of springs in the seats as the rangers' weight shifted while they worked. That, and the ponderous rolling noise of steel wheel rims on steel rails.

The man who was looking at Laura said, "She means, is there another way around The Pinnacles? She's hoping her friends will be able to follow her on foot."

The other man laughed. "There's no long way, girlie," he said. "Only a wrong way."

Laura never did learn how long the journey was. They removed her watch, so she couldn't tell the time. They didn't try to talk to her anymore. She sat slumped against a basket.

The rangers worked the levers in shifts. The Pinnacles faded into mistiness before they fell behind the horizon. The plain across which the handcar moved was bald and seemed to swell toward the sky as though showing the curve of the planet. Hours went by, and Laura fell asleep. She ran through some colored rags of dreams, too fast to take in anything from them.

When she woke up, stiff, her face numb on one side and printed with a pattern of basketwork, one ranger remarked, "It would have been easier for you if you'd stayed asleep for just another half hour." He pulled her to her feet. She stood propped and teetering between the stacked baskets as the handcar reduced speed and rolled in among some buildings.

The ground was dusty and lightly embossed all over by footprints-boot prints and bare feet. The compound consisted of a cl.u.s.ter of huts, several long, barrackslike buildings, and shelters with canvas roofs and walls, the walls rolled up like window blinds to reveal rows of pallet beds. Some of the beds were occupied by people, either sleeping or reading. They were all wearing yellow cotton pajamas. More yellow-clad figures sat around on benches, or stood where the gra.s.s began again, facing away from the buildings, or lay on their backs gazing up into the unremarkable white sky. There was even a group of pajama-clad young men playing a not very energetic ball game, all barefoot and scuffling in the dust.

The handcar pulled up at a platform. More rangers appeared and began unloading the supplies, carrying everything into one of the huts. Laura was lifted like baggage and put down on the platform. She waited as people went by her with boxes and baskets. She ignored the rangers and tried to catch the eye of one of the people in yellow. Most were men, but Laura did see a few young women among them. They all looked well fed, well rested, and reasonably clean. They were not at all interested in Laura's appearance. Their eyes went across her as though she were no more surprising than anything else they looked at.

Laura didn't like their yellow uniforms or their vulnerable, unshod feet. But she could see that none of the people seemed sedated. They were all active and coordinated and clear-eyed, only strangely calm.

Several more rangers emerged from one of the barracks and came over to Laura. The one wearing a white coat and stethoscope frowned as he came up and said, "Untie her immediately."

When her hands were free, Laura pulled the gaping front of her shirt together.

"There's no need to do that, young lady. I want to look at your license," the doctor said.

"She's Tziga Hame's daughter, Laura," one of her captors said.

The doctor gave Laura a careful, appraising look.

"She was walking Inland along the rail line about an hour from the tower. The gate at the beginning of The Pinnacles was hanging off its hinges. The detour gate was smashed to bits. But the girl was on her own when we found her."

The doctor looked into her eyes. "Did you break the gates, Laura?"

"They were already broken," she said. "I wondered whether there was some emergency. I went in to see if I could be of any a.s.sistance." She lifted her chin and stared at him, cool and defiant.

One of the rangers snorted in disbelief. "Who worked the cable car, then?"

Laura said, "I was so determined to help, I went up the cable hand over hand."

The ranger hissed in anger and reached for her, but the doctor fended him off. "There's no need to press her. We'll know her story soon enough."

To Laura he said, "I'm sure you understand that you're in trouble. You've trespa.s.sed. And there's the matter of damage to property."

Laura didn't like to meet his eyes. There was a look in them, a cold, stripped-down look, that frightened her. Instead she turned her attention to the rail line, which, she saw, didn't end at the platform but went away, dead straight, Inland. She asked, "Is this the Depot?"

"Yes, it is. But where did you hear that name?"

"I don't remember. What's out there?" Laura pointed along the line.

"The railway is being extended solely in the interest of exploration. Believe me, the farther you go, the less memorable it is. But I suppose you are one of those dreamhunters with romantic ideas about the hinterland? About a dream like Koh-i-noor? A big, matchless diamond of a dream."

He was making fun of her. He was all scorn and cynicism; a fortress defended, but defending only emptiness. That was what she could see when she looked into his eyes. He knew he was doing wrong, and meant to go on doing it, but was still capable of feeling resentment when anything reminded him of it.

Laura remembered seeing a similar expression in Maze Plasir's face when she'd asked him about supplying nightmares to the Department of Corrections.

As these thoughts went through her mind, she began unconsciously pursing her lips and shaking her head.

"Are you about to scold us?" the doctor asked, sarcastic.

The look she gave him. The doctor remembered it all his life. She met his eyes, her expression icy and knowing. It wasn't bravado. She didn't strike him as brave. She was still shivering and clutching her torn shirt closed over her tiny b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Fear was there in her body, frank fear in her tremors and whitened knuckles. But she looked like someone who couldn't feel her own fear, because it was being interfered with by faith. Faith was pouring out of her face at him, bigger and louder than anything. She looked like a saint.

It was very impressive. But being impressed only made this man feel spiteful. He leered at Laura Hame. He said, "I'm pleased to see you're not afraid. You have no reason to be, as you'll soon learn." He nodded to the rangers she'd come with, one of whom laid a hand on her shoulder while the other knelt to unlace and remove her boots. The doctor smiled more widely and added, "I know you'll be very happy here."

The hut had a wooden floor, and white dust had gathered in its corners. It had a window with bars on it but without gla.s.s. There was no need for gla.s.s, no cold to combat, or wind to screen. A thin mattress was set square against one wall. There was a bucket: clean white enamel, with a lid. There was no other furniture.

An hour after Laura was put into the room, the door was unbolted and a tray delivered to her. On it were a mug of water and oatcakes topped with honey. There was also a bowl full of some kind of cold tomato concoction and an orange.

Laura sipped the water slowly. She wasn't so much planning an escape as just meaning to. Because she meant to escape, she would take every opportunity to store water in her body. She drank slowly with the idea that she, like an indoor plant, would absorb more water if watered gradually. As she sipped, she looked through the window at the people in yellow.

She saw one she recognized. It was Maze Plasir's apprentice, Gavin Pinkney. Oily, snide Gavin-who had pa.s.sed in the Doorhandle Try last autumn, and who was licensed before Laura since he didn't catch dreams about convicts.

Gavin was sitting, holding his bare toes in either hand and rocking gently back and forth.

Laura put her face against the bars and called to him. "Gavin!"

He was slow to react to his name but turned to her smiling already, then beamed. He got up and came over wearing a goofy but completely genuine grin. "h.e.l.lo," he said.

"Gavin, how long have you been here?"

He shrugged. "It's great here," he said. "Though I could murder for a bit of cooked meat."

"A while, then?" Laura said.

"I'm so glad you've come," he said. "You'll find you feel better almost immediately."

Laura nodded to encourage him, and he began to echo her nod, his eyes creased with smiling. "It's wonderful that we're together," he said.

"You and me?" Laura was astonished. He'd shown no sign of liking her before.

"All together," he said, in a singsong voice. "It was all worth it."

"What was?"

"The work, the chances I took. Time well spent, to end up with this-this full well of time." Gavin's voice was nasal-his usual quacking voice, but his tone was so serene he sounded mesmerizing. "And we have the whole day ahead of us," he said. "This beautiful day." He looked around, his face shining, as if illuminated by brilliant spring sunshine.