Seven Dreams (2 page)

‘
Wha...’ spluttered the dark figure. There was neither
hoarseness nor gruffness in that single syllable; it was spoken
instead in the unmistakeable high, clear tones of a woman. A fairly
young one, most likely. ‘How did you know?’

‘
My
dear,’ said Lady Fenella grandly, ‘You are speaking to an expert.’
Her voice, too, had changed; all of its exaggerated plumminess had
disappeared, and a mild Irbellian accent had emerged. She made a
curtsey of exquisite gracefulness, a single dimple appearing in one
cheek with her mischievous smile, and straightened. ‘We’ll return,’
she said. ‘I would take you along in the carriage, only I would
find that a trifle difficult to explain. The needs of the
masquerade must always come first, as I’m sure you
know.’

With this
pronouncement, her ladyship got back into her spectacular carriage
— the paint of which, upon closer inspection, might appear to be a
little
too
shiny, and perhaps rather too new — and waited
while her brother regained his seat beside her. She thumped twice
upon the roof with a suitably commanding air, and the carriage
drove off once more.

‘
Serena,’ said Lord Bastavere. ‘What was that
about?’

Miss Serena
Carterett shrugged. ‘I never pass up the chance to recruit, Fabe.
Good people are awfully difficult to find when you want
them.’

Her brother, Mr.
Fabian Carterett, merely sighed and flopped back into his seat.
‘Whatever you say,’ he replied.

Serena
smiled.

They arrived at
the ball later than planned, but since that only emphasised their
importance, neither one of the siblings considered it at all to be
regretted. In fact, many others had had the same happy thought, and
their carriage was obliged to wait in line for some minutes before
they could be gracefully ejected from it and welcomed into the
house.

Dame Halavere’s
abode was sumptuous indeed. It bore a suitably symmetrical facade,
was several storeys high, and constructed from an excessively
attractive (and expensive) silvery-coloured stone. It was sizeable
enough to contain twenty bedrooms at the least, and the grounds —
though little of them could be seen in the darkness — were
extensive. Serena gazed at the whole picture with undisguised
covetousness for some moments before she ventured up the several
steps to the entrance, her brother solicitously holding her
arm.

Dame Halavere
herself was stationed near the front of her grand hall, still
poised to welcome her guests. She was aged somewhere in her
thirties, Serena judged, with handsome features and the pure,
snow-white hair that proclaimed her Lokant heritage. She wore it so
proudly, in fact, that she had single-handedly overcome some of the
wariness — nay, even prejudice — that had greeted the Lokants upon
their coming to prominence within the Seven Realms. They were not
native to Serena’s world, and wielded strange and powerful
abilities which bore little resemblance to the sorcerous magics
which were familiar, and trusted, within the Seven. The draykoni,
likewise, were but newly restored, though they had become steadily
more prominent during the last two years. It fell to individuals
such as Dame Halavere to overcome the natural cautions of an
alarmed people, and since she wielded such fearsome weapons as a
beautiful smile, an undeniably handsome cleavage and all the most
desirable trappings of wealth, culture and sophistication, she was
doing an admirable job of it.

Serena eyed her
with some misgivings, watching closely as her hostess greeted those
ahead with perfect graciousness and civility. Halavere was a
high-ranking member of a new Lokant organisation. Its inevitably
wordy name — the Lokant Heritage Investigation and Training Bureau
— was typically shorted to the LHITB, or just the LHB. Dame
Halavere had received significant training; Serena’s sources
reported that she was a strong medic, but showed little talent at
the art of dominating the minds of others. This latter, of course,
was responsible for much of the distrust aimed at the Lokants and
their part-blood descendants in the Seven. Indeed, if Dame Halavere
were skilled at such an art, she could force Serena to see whatever
she wished her to see, concealing truths behind a species of
illusion. Then, of course, it would be virtually impossible for
Serena to discover anything at all about the questionable
activities she strongly suspected Dame Halavere of indulging
in.

Serena did not
entirely trust her sources. If Halavere had concealed her talents
in this area, it was better by far that she should never have
reason to distrust Serena and Fabian.

Hence the
masquerade. Serena gathered the silly, self-important and vivacious
persona of Lady Fenella Chartre around herself, drew herself up to
her full (albeit not especially impressive) height and stepped
forward in her turn.

‘
Dame
Halavere! Such a delightful ball! I am enjoying myself immensely
and I have but just stepped through your doorway.’ Serena curtseyed
and simpered, as Fabian made his bow.

‘
Ah,
the sumptuous siblings,’ said Halavere, with an arch look at
Fabian. He did make a very handsome lord, Serena had to admit,
especially with that gorgeous blond wig. Ever quick to use every
possible advantage, Fabian bestowed upon his hostess a silky smile
in response, and held her hand just a little too long.

‘
You
are most welcome, and I hope you will enjoy yourselves,’ continued
Halavere. With that they were dismissed; Halavere turned to greet
the next guests in the line, and Serena and Fabian were free to
wander into the rest of the house.

The ballroom was
gloriously lit up with floating lanterns, and decked with wondrous
flowers in hues of indigo, cream and gold. Strains of beautiful
music drifted forth, and the air was filled with the delicious
fragrances of flowers and edible delicacies. Serena could not
repress her delighted smile as they entered, her gaze wandering
from the many guests whirling about the floor, to the stunningly
decorated walls and the vast bowls full of colourful punch standing
on tables along one side of the room.

‘
Remember, we are
not
here to dance,’ whispered Fabian,
her delight evincing only a disapproving frown in
response.

‘
But
we must dance a little!’ she whispered back. ‘How very odd it will
appear for us to attend a ball without dancing! We do have parts to
play.’

‘
One
dance, and you may dance with me,’ Fabian conceded, and immediately
led her onto the floor. The orchestra was playing a mellifluous
waltz at that moment, which suited Serena perfectly. Her natural
tastes for music, light, colour and liveliness led her to exult in
all events of this kind, and ensured that Lady Fenella Chartre was
one of her favourites of all the roles she played in the course of
her duties.

She was, in
truth, an agent of an investigative bureau in Irbel. Their
organisation bore strong links to the government of her home realm,
but was largely independent and funded by private individuals.
Their acknowledged purpose was to oppose crime in all its forms,
but its focus was upon organised crime, and upon one group in
particular: the largest, most extensive and most ruthless of all
the criminal organisations of the Seven.

They called
themselves the Yllandu, which meant “Unspoken” in Ullarni. Serena
supposed it was intended as a reference to the extreme secrecy of
the organisation itself, and all of its activities. The name
sounded absurd to her; she and her band tended to call them the
Unspeakables instead, which amused them all greatly. But the
Yllandu were no laughing matter. The organisation was vast,
spanning all of the Realms except for desolate Orlind, and there
was no low to which they would not stoop.

More worryingly,
they had adopted the new Lokant and draykoni descendants with
enthusiasm and had been attempting to recruit all of those who
showed even the least skill in any related area. It had been
whispered that they had even attempted to sway the founder of the
LHB, Lady Evastany Glostrum herself, though of course her ladyship
had proved impervious.

Dame Halavere
probably had not. Her name had come up repeatedly in connection
with several recent crimes, and though they were but rumours,
Serena’s superiors had judged it best to investigate. Word had
reached them of a meeting that was to take place tonight, under
cover of Halavere’s grand ball. The topic under discussion was to
be a new job — and not just any job.
This
job was extremely
important, enormously lucrative, and to be entrusted only to the
most talented, most loyal, and most reliable of the
Unspeakables.

Unfortunately,
nobody had any idea what the job
was.
It fell to Serena and
Fabian to keep Halavere under close observation tonight, and
attempt to overhear whatever was said at that meeting. There were
only a few obstacles in their way: namely the presence of
approximately two hundred other guests, the necessity of concealing
themselves and their true purpose from their hostess, and the minor
complication that they had no idea who Halavere might be meeting.
Or whether she would even risk attending that meeting in
person.

Fortunately, the
Carteretts had one or two other colleagues stationed around the
house tonight.

In the cloakroom
of Dame Halavere’s country mansion, two temporary members of staff
were hard at work accepting the many cloaks, coats, mantles, hoods
and scarves of their employer’s guests, and assisting them in
changing their outdoor shoes into dancing slippers. Teyodin Bambre
was a little too tall to be strictly nondescript, but he had
covered his shaggy, dark brown hair with a neat wig of an
indeterminate hue and had adopted besides a bland expression
perfectly suited to his role for the evening. A man of early middle
years, he wore his age well, though there were a few tell-tale
lines around his eyes and mouth. He attended to the gentleman
guests with gracious solicitude; a worthy servant, but never so
helpful as to excite comment, or to encourage anyone to remember
him.

His colleague,
Egg (or Egrenne, though she hated to be addressed by that name)
performed the same service for the ladies. She was ten years
younger than her associate, in truth, though she could have passed
for a few years younger still. Her skin was also a few shades
lighter than his darkish brown, though neither could be called
pale. Her dark red hair was concealed beneath a black wig, she had
bound almost flat the feminine assets which could not help but
attract attention, and she was attired in the uniform livery of the
Morann family. Teyo did not even glance at her as he went about his
business, nor she at him; they were too well practiced at this art
to betray any acquaintance with one another.

As Teyo worked,
he set about committing to memory every face that appeared before
him, together with any memorable details about that person and, if
he could contrive it, their name. He also kept his ears open for
any snatches of overheard conversation that might help him to
determine who among Dame Halavere’s guests was her appointed
contact.

They had been
assisting the guests for an hour already, and the task seemed
endless. Just as the flow of ball attendees seemed to finally be
slowing down, a fresh flood of them would burst through the doors,
setting Egg and Teyo bustling once more. Teyo’s memory was
excellent, but even he was beginning to lose track of the many
faces that had passed before his eyes. Most of the conversation he
heard, moreover, was vacuous in the extreme and of neither use nor
interest to him.

...delightful party... Dame Halavere so beautiful... goodness,
but these shoes do pinch! I hope I shall be able to dance in
them... careful with that, man, it is the finest silk! Who can that
lovely young woman be, there in the violet gown? ...heard about
Miss Galler? Cannot countenance how she can show her face...
shabbiest of refreshments at Sir Tatton’s last week, do hope Dame
Halavere’s will be better...

In addition to
all of this, Teyo was also obliged to keep track of his companion,
friend and co-spy, Jisp. The creature was tiny, lithe and
orange-scaled, with a blunt snout and lively black eyes. The sticky
yellow pads to her toes allowed her to climb anywhere and
everywhere, and he had frequently found this to be a useful
talent.

He had discovered
his draykon heritage a year ago, and very suddenly. He had been
wandering across a field, deep in thought, and abruptly he had not
been human anymore at all. He did not know how his sudden
transformation had come about — certainly through no will of his
own — but he understood it to be an increasingly common occurrence
these days.

He had received
training since, and one of the best perks of his unexpected
heritage was his ability to bond and communicate with animals. He
and Jisp had formed a strong friendship soon afterwards, and they
were greatly attached to one another.

Not much
happening down here,
she reported from somewhere beneath a pile
of shoes.
These things stink.

Okay, switch
to the pockets,
he instructed her. He could not, as a servant,
risk going through the guests’ pockets himself; if caught, he would
be instantly dismissed and his part in the evening’s job would be
over. Jisp, however, was perfect for the task. She instantly busied
herself with climbing the ranks of coats and cloaks which hung on
racks behind him, and nosing her way into all the nooks and
crannies they contained. She transmitted to him a series of mental
pictures of everything that she found within: handkerchiefs,
snuffboxes, an occasional pipe or pot of rouge. Nothing of
interest.