In Your Dreams (49 page)

‘No, I've never done it before.'

‘Eek,' Paul said. ‘I mean, you must've. You can't learn to fly without being taught how to land.'

‘Who said I ever learned to fly?' Benny replied. ‘Now, I wonder what this knob here does.'

It's not visible from the street, or from the air, come to that, unless you know what you're looking for; in fact, it's only there if you say the magic words in the right order and your security code is up to date. But there's a helicopter landing pad on the roof of 70 St Mary Axe, and Benny landed on it as gracefully as a mayfly settling on the petals of a rose. Which meant that either he'd been kidding or he was very, very lucky.

‘It's all right,' he called out over his shoulder, as he cut the engine. ‘It's safe, you can come out now.'

Paul uncurled slowly. ‘You sure?'

‘Chicken,' Benny replied, leaning across and opening the passenger door. ‘Anyway, that was the easy part. Now we've got to get to our offices without Dennis Tanner seeing. Not supposed to leave the office without telling reception. He can get really snotty about it sometimes.'

Benny led the way across the roof to a trapdoor. He grabbed the iron ring and tugged, but it wouldn't move. ‘Bolted,' he muttered in disgust.

Paul looked round. No other way off the roof that he could see. ‘What're we going to do now?' he said.

‘And you're the one who's supposed to be the trainee sorcerer,' Benny replied. ‘Magic. Just watch.'

Benny walked back fifteen paces, took a run-up, jumped and landed with both feet together on the trapdoor. It collapsed under him, and he vanished. A split second later, Paul heard a dull thump.

‘Are you okay?' he called down the hole.

‘Fine,' replied a somewhat ragged voice from down below. ‘Good magic, that – I learned it from some guys at a rugby club I used to belong to. Hold on, I'll get the ladder.'

Getting Sophie down was a grim business; Paul was terrified of dropping her, Benny was rather more concerned about waking her up, and in the end she slithered down the last few rungs on her back, until Benny was able to catch her. Fortunately, a gentle snore reassured both of them that no harm had been done.

‘Problem is what to do with her till we've figured out how to do the swap-over,' Benny said, hoisting Sophie over his shoulder. ‘Not your office, it's the first place Judy'd look. Ditto mine. Strongroom's out, it's perishing cold down there and she might wake up. Ricky's room, maybe, but I don't trust him not to wake her. Which leaves the closed-file store or the women's toilet, and I'm not setting foot in there.'

‘Why not?'

‘Embarrassed,' Benny said shortly. ‘Closed-file store, then. Good hiding place, nobody ever goes in there unless they're daft or crazy or suicidal or they want an old file really, really badly. We can dump her in the weapons locker. Reinforced steel door, and there's only two keys, mine and Ricky's.'

That sounded reassuring enough, though Paul had his doubts about whether any door could keep out Countess Judy and her followers. But he asked Benny if he'd mind taking off his Fey grey-shape robe and then folded it to make a pillow for Sophie (‘Ah, how sweet,' Benny cooed, and mimed sticking a finger down his throat), and watched while the door was closed and locked. ‘Right,' Paul said. ‘Now give me the key, please.'

Benny looked at him for a moment, as though deciding what would be the most appropriate way to slaughter him. Then he handed the key over without another word.

‘Now what?' Paul asked.

‘I'll go and have a word with Theo van Spee, if he's in,' Benny replied. ‘At least he may know where old Mr Wells has got to, even if he can't do anything himself. You,' he added thoughtfully. ‘Dunno what to suggest, really. Piss off, keep out of sight and don't talk to any strange women. You could even,' he added, grinning, ‘do some work. You know, the stuff they pay you for.'

‘As opposed to getting killed and eaten,' Paul replied gloomily, ‘which is what they bought me for. You know, there are times now and then when I wonder if wouldn't have been better off going to law school, like my mum wanted me to.'

Benny thought about that for a moment. ‘Nah,' he said. ‘Not a great deal in it, but at least this way you get to keep your self-respect.'

Do some work
, Paul thought.
Well, why not?
If he could remember as far back as, what, the day before yesterday, Mr Tanner had dumped a thick wad of bauxite pictures on his desk and snarled something about
urgent
. It was all pretty remote, but if it came to a point where allies could help him, maybe Dennis Tanner would be more inclined to be on his side if he'd just pinpointed the biggest bauxite find of the last hundred years. Crazy enough to be plausible, he decided, and headed for his office.

In fact, it was remarkably soothing, scrying for mineral deposits in a reasonably comfortable chair, his feet up on the desk, nobody chasing him or smiling meltingly at him out of deep blue eyes or hustling him down subterranean passages a few steps ahead of a posse of poor men's Nazgul. If only there was some way he could get out of this ghastly mess with the Fey in one piece (and save Sophie, of course; that was the bit that mattered, wasn't it?) he'd quite happily take his triple vow of poverty, tedium and obedience and sit here prodding photographs with his fingertip until he was old enough to retire. None of it had been of his choosing, after all; and all that garbage about heredity and being the chosen one who'd drive the Fey out of the real world for ever was slipping away like – well, like a dream. Paul peered down at his wrists; he'd taken off his jacket, and most of the blood had gone on its sleeves. All he could see were two very thin reddish-pink scars, and a few black flakes of dried blood. Surely there'd be more to see than that if he'd actually succeeded and slashed his wrists badly enough to die.

Paul sneezed, and wiped his nose thoughtfully with the corner of his handkerchief.
Did I die? Really?
Unlikely. He ran over in his mind all the improbable things that had happened to him since Ricky Wurmtoter had come crashing in through his window. Wouldn't it make more sense if he himself had broken the window – it had a tendency to stick, maybe he slammed it too hard trying to close it, and the splintered glass had cut his hands. Then he'd passed out from the shock and the sight of blood, and everything since then had been hallucinations and dreams. Fine; except that if that was really what had happened, Sophie wouldn't be locked away in a steel safe full of rocket launchers on the floor below, and she'd really have left him and gone to California. That too was rather more likely than the alternative version, but there are times when you don't want to follow the odds too slavishly.

Melze
, he thought, as a tingle crossed the palm of his hand, indicating the presence of bauxite beyond the dreams of avarice. He sneezed again. Had he really come within a gnat's whisker of falling in love with
that
? On balance, he'd rather get off with Mr Tanner's mum; she might have little round red staring eyes and teeth that you could open corned-beef tins with when the little key thing broke off, but at least she was real, once you got past the outer rind of superimposed popsy. Memories, dreams, illusions, delusions: it occurred to him to wonder if there really was a stone-steeland-concrete Dungeon of the Fey anywhere in the world. He was inclined to doubt it, because it wasn't necessary. Any human being, but particularly a human being like Paul Carpenter, was capable of constructing a far more unbreakable prison for himself inside his own head.

‘Hello.'

Paul froze, his finger between pictures. His nose was tickling again, but he fought back the impulse to sneeze. He didn't want to look up, for fear of what he'd see.

‘So you came back here,' Countess Judy went on, crossing the floor until she stood over him, her shadow covering him like a gladiator's net. ‘I couldn't believe you'd be that stupid, but I had to check.'

‘You can't hurt me,' he said grimly. ‘We've been into all this before. There's some reason I don't know why you can't touch me, so please go away.'

She laughed. ‘That was there,' she said. ‘This is here. And yes, I can't hex you or steal your soul while you sleep or stop your heart with a smile. But I don't need to. Hooray for basic technology, I always say.'

That made him change his mind and look up. Judy di Castel'Bianco was grinning, something he'd never seen her do before, and in her hand she had a big, broad-bladed knife. ‘You wouldn't,' he said.

‘Bet?'

Paul tried to get up; but the knife was ever so much more frightening even than the grey shapes or the dungeons of Grendel's Aunt. His knees gave way, and he flopped back into the chair.

‘Your choice,' she said. ‘Give me back the little Pettingell girl, or I'll cut your heart out, eat it and go ask Benny. He never could say no to me, poor little darling. Where is he, by the way? I looked in at his office, but he wasn't there.'

‘I don't know,' Paul said. ‘Look, you can't kill me, not really. You'll never get away with it.'

Countess Judy giggled. ‘What, you think someone'll notice that you aren't around any more? Or notice and care? Anyhow, I've wasted enough time lately talking to you. I'm going to count to five. One.'

Paul closed his eyes. ‘All right,' he said. ‘She's in the—'

He got no further than that; because the door flew open, and there in the doorway was Ricky Wurmtoter, still wearing his rather tattered dinner jacket and holding a large steel crossbow.

‘Not now, Ricky, I'm busy,' Judy said, not bothering to turn round. ‘Two.'

‘Pack it in, Judy,' Ricky said. ‘I know about Benny, and he won't be helping you any more. Put that knife away before you do someone an injury.'

Still she didn't turn. ‘Oh, right,' she said. ‘And I suppose if I don't, you're going to shoot me. Like I'd even notice.'

‘Oh no,' Ricky said, moving a step to the right, ‘I know better than that – arrows just go right through you, wouldn't even smear your lip gloss. No; like I said, Benny's no longer an option for you, so Paul here's the only one who can tell you where the girl is. Which is why,' he went on, clicking some sort of catch on the bow, ‘if you don't put that knife away and go back to your office right now, I'm going to shoot him.'

‘What?' Paul said, and his voice sounded just like Judy's, probably because she'd said the same thing at precisely the same moment. ‘No, please,' he added. ‘I won't tell, promise.'

‘It's okay,' Ricky told him. ‘Don't worry about it. I know all about that stuff,' he added, with an exaggerated nod towards the photo albums on the shelf. ‘Mr Dao told me about the nosebleed. When you get there, just ask for him, he'll see you right. Then, as soon as it's safe, I'll come down and fetch you myself, I promise.' Ricky was lifting the bow, squinting painstakingly down the arrow shaft for a sure aim, ever the craftsman. ‘I know what I'm doing,' he said. ‘There's nothing to be concerned about, trust me.'

‘But there is,' Paul shouted. ‘If you shoot me I'll die. Really.'

‘Oh, don't be such a baby,' said Ricky scornfully. ‘And keep still, can't you? These things are enough trouble without you wiggling about like a belly dancer.'

‘No!' Paul squealed. ‘You don't understand, it's not—'

But before he could finish what he was saying, Judy whirled round and lunged at Ricky with the knife. Quick as a cat, he sidestepped, swung the bow back on aim, and pressed the trigger.

‘—There any more,' Paul said, as the arrow pierced his heart and killed him.

Chapter Fifteen

‘Y
ou again,' said a voice from the heart of the mist; and then Paul opened his eyes onto darkness and knew exactly where he was. This time, though—

‘When they paged me,' the voice was saying, ‘I thought old Jacky Dao was joshing with me, because, well, their sense of humour's pretty basic around here. I thought, they're pulling my leg, I checked out the Arrivals board only the other day, and young Paul's not due down here again for donkey's years. But here you are,' Uncle Ernie went on, his voice tightening like a vice. ‘In person, profoundly dead and unfashionably bloody early. What the hell do you think you're playing at, you stupid arse? Building up your Frequent Dier points?'

Paul looked up at him. ‘I got shot,' he said, ‘with an arrow,' he added, so that the full extent of the injustice shouldn't be lost on his great-uncle. ‘Ricky Wurmtoter shot me, and now I'm dead.'

‘Balls,' Uncle Ernie snapped. ‘I've known young Ricky since he was strangling snakes in his pram. Not the sharpest rapier in the case, but a bloody good shot – he'd never have snuffed you by accident.'

‘Wasn't an accident,' Paul mumbled.

‘He shot you on purpose? Why? What did you do to provoke him?'

‘Nothing,' Paul wailed. ‘He thought he was saving me, or the world, or something. He knew about the nosebleed, but not that I'd already died once and used it up.'

‘Then why in God's name didn't you tell him?' Uncle Ernie exploded. ‘Of all the—'

‘I tried to,' Paul whimpered, ‘but he wouldn't listen. He just kept saying,
It's all right, trust me,
and then he killed me.'

‘You clown,' Uncle Ernie sighed. ‘You do realise, for want of a little care and attention on your part the whole bloody project's fucked up. My life's work. The future of the human race. Screwed. All because you couldn't be bothered to pick up a phone or write a memo.' Tongueless, he could only synthesise a clicking noise out of vestigial memory and illusion. ‘And it was going so well, too. You'd got the girl – I should've guessed it was that Benny Shumway, but at least he did the right thing when the time came, so maybe it was all for the best. If only you'd pulled your finger out and woken her up the moment you got out of the castle, everything'd have been just fine. But no, you can't do a perfectly straightforward little job without buggering it up. And I bet you forgot to burn the chalks.'