Storm Dreams (The Cycle of Somnium Book 1) (10 page)

The fighters looked like the Armada Albatrosses he’d fought after his rescue. There was no time to manoeuvre away. He would have to take them out of the sky before they could report him, assuming the Everdream didn’t already know.

Cassidy checked his guns and moved to engage. Another Albatross breached the mountain’s peak, followed by a tri-wing Fokker. The Fokker rolled, burst between the other two and curved, cutting one off from firing.

Cassidy throttled back. He knew that Fokker. It was burned into his broken dream memory the same way it was probably burned into every pilot on both sides in the Great War. The entire fighter was painted a shiny blood red with white trim and a black iron cross on its wings. Heat rose in his chest as the Fokker banked and dove, slipping between the other fighters again and again as it manoeuvred for a good shot. The goddamned Baron. He forced his thoughts through the anger. Is the enemy of my enemy my friend today? The same unnamed hatred for the German pilot flared like a flame across spilled gasoline. But, if the Armada ships downed Richthofen, they’d be on him and Ned in seconds.

“Oh, for God’s sake, just help him,” Ned hollered from the rear seat. “They’ll kill us.”

Cassidy seethed. He sped up and locked onto the closest Albatross. The fighter turned to make another go at the red Fokker. No time to play fair. Cassidy nosed down and opened fire, catching one Albatross’s tail rudder with a shower of rounds. It rolled out of control and fell out of the fight.

The Baron’s tactics were amazing, Cassidy thought, in spite of himself. Not quite the pilot he might have expected though. Instead, the German made no overly intricate manoeuvres to outwit his opponents. Nothing spectacular or fancy. He stuck to smooth calculated moves that put him into position for firing where he couldn’t be hit. The Baron’s Spandaus let loose and a second Albatross fell into a nose dive.

Despite the flawless execution of Richthofen’s flying, the Baron looked hesitant. Seemed to be taking several extra seconds to shoot. Cassidy throttled back, dove and fired on the third Albatross. The red fighter let loose both Spandaus again and their combined guns shredded it to bits of metal and canvas.

Cassidy trained his guns on the Baron. The tri-wing flew in a slow steady arc and made for the island. The Spandau levers felt cold as the red Fokker crossed Cassidy’s sights, continued past and down to the flat surface.

Cassidy put down and pulled his older modified Fokker up beside the newer tri-wing. He watched the German climb down. Richthofen looked older. Slower. Cassidy hopped to the ground. “Come on,” he said to Ned, and slapped the fuselage with his gloved hand. The younger pilot pried himself from the back seat. His head had been down, his entire body packed into the seat. He’d probably spent most of the battle with his nose between his knees.

“Cassidy,” the Baron said. He’d already removed his leather gauntlet and extended his pale fingers.

“Baron,” Cassidy said in a cool tone. He didn’t extend his hand.

“Manfred, please,” the German said, withdrawing the handshake. “There are no Barons in Germany.”

“What happened to your head?” Cassidy asked.

Richthofen touched the white bandage that wrapped around his crown and extended below the flight cap. “I was wounded a few days ago. Is nothing.” The German brought a fist to his chest. “You and I fought as one. Let me buy you both a drink.”

“I’ll buy myself a drink,” Cassidy said, pushing past.

Richthofen shrugged.

The two buildings on the small island turned out to be a very small hotel and a pub. Cassidy and Ned headed for a drink, and the Baron followed close on their heels. The pub looked like it had come straight out of New England, but like everything else in the Twilight, it was a patchwork of various decades crossed with truly foreign accents. Oil lamps stood beside arc lamps. The doors and windows opened automatically with exposed gears and pistons that made the decor both futuristic and archaic at the same time. Cassidy pulled up to the green coppered counter and ordered whisky on the rocks. Ned took a golden lager.

Richthofen sat on a stool beside Cassidy and ordered dark cognac. He still moved slower and seemed more distant than Cassidy remembered. “So,” the Baron said, after a long sip, “how is the captain enjoying his new pilot?”

Cassidy held his temper. He sipped the cold whisky and looked at himself in the bar mirror noting how different
he
looked from the last time he’d stared at his visage. Not his image, per se, but the way he saw himself. The world wasn’t new and unknown anymore. This time he and Richthofen looked like comrades in arms after a great battle. Cassidy glanced away. “Banner’s gone,” he said, snarling his words. “They’re all gone.”

Richthofen narrowed his eyes. “They’ve left the Twilight?”

Cassidy bit back several colourful adjectives and downed the rest of his drink. “Another,” he said, as the barkeep took his glass. “Falkenberg--. They’re in the Everdream. Maybe dead. I don’t know.”

The German set down his cognac. “They’ve got the Zeppelin? The
Nubigena
?” He leaned back and ran a hand over his bandages.

Cassidy started his second drink. “Why do I always drink whisky on the rocks?” Cassidy mumbled. “I mean, I always think of ordering something else, but I always order the same thing.”

“I thought it’s what all Americans drink,” Richthofen said. He leaned forward onto the bar.

Cassidy watched himself and the German, there in the mirror together. Both staring at themselves. “So who finally shot the Red Baron?”

Richthofen shrugged again. “British, French, one of you Yanks? I don’t know.”

“You’re not flying right,” Cassidy snapped. He hadn’t meant for it to come out as hateful as it did.

The German took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I know,” he said. “I won’t ever fly the way I used to. But I can still drink.”

Cassidy downed another whisky, and then another. Ned sucked down lagers faster than the barkeep could pour. Six empty glasses sat before the Baron, who had to have been knocking them back while no one was looking.

“What will you do?” Richthofen asked, after a long pause. His speech slurred, his accent stronger. “Vhat vill you do ’bout Banner.”

Cassidy laughed. “I don’t know. I have no damn idea what to do.”

The Baron clapped him on the back. “Don’t worry, American. I have an idea or two.”

Cassidy remembered very little of the rest of the evening. He knew he drank a lot. Knew Ned passed out first. He knew that he and Richthofen told off-colour jokes and, or perhaps not, gotten into a fight with some of the Twilight locals.

One way or the other, it was morning. Cassidy lay in the hotel, head feeling like a Prussian regiment had decided to perform their marching drills in the middle of his skull.

Ned stirred on the floor. Richthofen hung over a chair, head back, snoring like a wounded animal. Cassidy was somewhat sprawled across the bed, but only the top half of his body actually lay on the bed proper. Seeing the German’s face still made him want to spit, but despite himself, he needed the pilot. Something about a plan Richthofen had come up with the night before.

When everyone regained consciousness and their heads cleared enough to fly, Richthofen paid for their stay and they dragged themselves to their planes. The fighters had already been refuelled. Cassidy checked the guns to make sure the belts still held enough shells for a surprise dogfight. “How far are we going?” Cassidy asked as he climbed into the cockpit. He vaguely remembered the German saying they could get help somewhere and Cassidy’s head pounded too hard to let him argue about it. Ned thudded into the rear seat, groaning as he slumped over.

“Not far,” Richthofen said, revving his own magnetos. His voice sounded pained, the hangover probably adding to his head wound. The props spun and the engine hummed. “You can fly behind me in case I betray you.”

Cassidy growled under his breath. He’d been thinking the same thing.

Richthofen guided them to a small island that looked like an industrial wasteland set in the middle of a lush rainforest. Cassidy set his fighter down near a canopy of thick foliage. He and Ned covered the Fokker with vines and leafy branches and helped Richthofen do the same. The bold red of the Baron’s Fokker required them to double the thickness.

Cassidy dug around in his cockpit. He wished he’d thought to pick up more supplies at the hotel since Karl had only loaded the craft with provisions for a short sortie. First aid kit. Rations for two days. A flashlight. Enough bullets to reload his Mauser, plus the strip his holster carried. And .45 shells for Ned’s revolver. The Baron carried nothing but his sidearm.

Cassidy shook his head. “This isn’t much,” he said, stuffing everything into a small mailbag and throwing the strap over his shoulder. “I hope someone here has food.”

“They’ll have provisions,” Richthofen said, leading them into the thick jungle.

It made an imposing obstacle. Their service knives did little good against the tree-thick vines and masses of bramble. Large gelatinous insects crawled between the trunks and roots. Snakes with wings like coloured rice paper made their way from treetop to treetop. They lit on the large membranous fruits that grew there like plump sacks of purple liquid. Perhaps the serpents were pollinating them. Like bees?

Ned kept his sidearm in his hand, pointing it at loud noises, including a flock of green cranes. Cassidy worried a shot might wake up the entire jungle, but holding it seemed to make Ned feel better. “How far to whoever we’re meeting?” Ned asked, as the leafy canopy far overhead filtered out more and more light.

Richthofen said nothing, but pushed deeper into the foliage.

“Can’t be too far,” Cassidy said to Ned as the young pilot stepped over a rotting tree trunk. “When we landed, I judged us at about a mile from whatever that complex is.”

Ned kicked at the next rotting log. It shattered into a colourful myriad of various species. A blob of fibrillating pudding, which had been lying dormant at its centre, lashed out at Ned’s boots with tendrils that looked like kelp. Ned leapt back and stumbled over a jutting root. Cassidy reached back and caught him in a firm grip. “Watch those surprises,” he said. “Rather not lose you before we’ve even gotten there.”

Ned gave a weak grin. “I don’t know what to do now,” he said. “I’ve never been anywhere but the ship.”

The Baron continued up ahead, pressing on as if following an invisible path apparently only he could see.

Cassidy nodded. “We’ll find the ship again.”

Ned stopped. His lips trembled. “Cassidy…I don’t think I can. I mean, I can’t go back to that place. We won’t have a chance.”

Cassidy grimaced. He turned to the young pilot and locked eyes. “I don’t know how we’re going to do it, but we owe the boys this.”

“Why?” Ned snapped. “The captain sent us out on a suicide mission.”

“That’s a point,” Cassidy said. “But we can’t let everyone down just because he made a bad decision.”

“But we’ll die.”

“No,” Cassidy said, shaking his head. “Worst case scenario, we go home.”

“That’s not my home.”

“Then what is?” Cassidy asked. “The ship? If the
Nubigena
is your home, then you’re saving it, so let’s do this.”

“Don’t stop,” Richthofen said from up ahead without turning around. “The creatures here are dangerous.”

Ned glanced at the ground where hundreds of the colourful insects had gathered around his boots.

“Just go,” Cassidy said, pushing Ned along. The young man remained silent as they made their way through the jungle until they reached the rusty pipes and spires of what Cassidy could only classify as a wreck. The city, or complex, appeared to stretch for half a mile or so. What he had taken for an industrial structure looked more like what might happen if a cluster of factories threw out all their junk and it happened to collect into the general shape of buildings. Hundreds of feet of rusty piping snaked up, down and around the giant metal drums and boxes that made up the bulk of the structure.

Smokestacks and steam pipes dotted what he could see of the roof. “People must still be living here,” Ned said, indicating the occasional bursts from the steam pipes.

The Baron led them around the wall of metal refuse until an opening between two of the metal boxes formed a narrow alleyway. Cassidy entered the tight squeeze, with Ned close in tow. Light vanished until the alleyway opened into a small courtyard.

Several people started as they entered the enclosure. Two men and a child drew back. They were dressed in leather boots, knickers and green waistcoats. The two men wore battered metal goggles on their head, and their long dirty lab coats hung down to the tops of their boots. The young boy wore brown knickers, a vest, tan shirt and flattop hat, brim backwards.

Cassidy motioned for Ned to put the weapon away. “You know these people?” Cassidy asked Richthofen as he looked from one man to the other. They looked similar, but one appeared much older than the other. Their ears were slightly pointed and their skin held the soft glow he'd come to know as clear signs of Twilight people. Neither man moved.

The German shrugged. “I know
of
these people. I visited this island once, a long time ago.”

Cassidy decided on a slight gamble. “We’re crew of the Zeppelin
Nubigena
. We’re Banner’s men.”

The two men looked at each other. The younger one spoke. “That giant airship from the real world?” he asked, taking several steps forwards.

“Yes,” said Cassidy. “We’re not Armada, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s always a fear,” the man said, looking them over as if trying to find some tell-tale characteristics in their faces. “Them don’t have much business with us, but they do come through from time to time looking for dreams.”

Cassidy nodded. “Tell me about it. This is Ned,” he said, motioning. “And this,” he said, pointing to the Baron, “is—”

“Manfred Albrecht Freiherr von Richthofen,” the Baron said. “I’m from what you refer to as
the real world
.”

Their scowls shifted into sudden smiles. “Name’s Tuck,” the younger man said. “That’s Birch, my father, and Ress, my son.”

Cassidy tipped his officers cap. “This
man
,” he said, indicating Richthofen, “said you people might know something about the Everdream.” He was going to say friend, but held back.

“We know a thing or two,” Birch said. He stepped closer. “Probably more than most. I seen that ship of yours once in port. Never got to see a
real
aerocraft before. No one in the Twilight ever seen the likes of that Zeppelin. Banner and his men. You boys are a legend.”

Cassidy grimaced. “Hopefully not.”

***

The inside looked much like the outside, except that the people there had developed some fascinating technology he’d only seen glimpses of elsewhere. The walls crawled with cogs and wheels that took up much of the space, all rotating with each other like a giant clock organism moving down the corridors.

“We study the Armada,” Tuck explained, as he led them to their rooms. “See, none of us ever fully understood what they are. We don’t understand much about the Everdream either, for all that matters, but we’ve been working on it for thirty years.”

Cassidy stopped as one of the Twilight women walked around the corner. Her round face and green eyes glowed in perfect sync with her elven features. She wore an emerald evening gown and her hair cascaded over the sides of her head in a fountain of curls and braids. Her beauty unnerved him. Something about the curve of her lips that looked both inviting and feral. “You’re the dreams,” she said, as if he and Ned might be some cute animals brought from out of the jungle. Her friend, a slightly shorter version of her, gave a small curtsy.

Cassidy and Ned tipped their caps. Richthofen gave a ceremonious bow. “Fräulein,” he said.

The two women walked on, glancing over their shoulders. Ned gulped.

“Yes, we were a scientific observatory,” Tuck continued, as if he hadn’t noticed the women. “I mean we still are, but we sort of decided to stay after the official project was over. We’ve done a lot of research.” The three pilots continued staring after the two women for several seconds before catching up to Tuck, who rattled on without a break. “My father has been here since the beginning. Then I joined. It’s an intriguing study, to say the least.”

Cassidy gave him a half-smile as they entered their new rooms. “That’ll all come in handy, I’m sure.”

Tuck stepped forwards to follow them in the room. Cassidy reached out to shake his hand. “It’s been a pleasure, but we’re very tired.”

“Of course,” Tuck said with a weak smile. “Perhaps in the morning.”

“I need a bath,” said Ned as the door shut. “And a stiff drink.”

Richthofen seconded the call for a drink, but opted to go to his own adjoining room first and make himself more comfortable.

Ned started into the lavatory, but turned back. “Do you think they have any…you know…
other
kinds of women here?”

“You mean prostitutes?” Cassidy asked prying the boots off his swollen feet. “You ask, and I’ll kill you.”

Ned grinned. “It’s just been a while, okay?”

The lavatory door closed and Cassidy lay back on his small bed. It made him think of the luxuriant hotel in Arcadia. The memory of silk dangling from the ceiling and Shea across his bed felt like it had been years ago. Shea. All legs, beautiful curves, soft skin…and her eyes. Cassidy put his arm over his face and pictured her just as she’d been that night. Naked. Comely. Crawling with vines painted into her skin. Spread out for no other reason than to please him for an hour. Why hadn’t he touched her?

Cassidy stood up and tried to shake the images out of his head. The ghost of something still nagged at the edge of his mind. Had he ever loved anyone before, or just wanted to? If he’d only been born minutes before Banner found him, why did he feel old? There was a lifetime hiding somewhere. One he’d lived, but was now blocked up in the recesses of his head. That or he was a baby born walking.

He peeked through the doorway to the German’s room to see if he was already asleep. Instead, he found Richthofen sitting at a small table changing the cloth wrapping on his head. “I’m sorry,” Cassidy said, turning away.

“You’ve seen worse,” the German said.

“I suppose,” Cassidy said, stepping through the door. “But not since my dream.”

Richthofen tried to nod, but winced. “How much do you remember?”

“Not much,” Cassidy said. “Bits and pieces.” The cloth wrapping lay on the table now, exposing a deep gash and dried blood. “Why do you want to help Banner?” he asked, with more anger again than he really felt.

The German shrugged. “Banner is a friend. And besides,” he said, pulling a clean strip of cloth from his mailbag. “There is little left for me back home.”

Cassidy couldn’t resist a small scoff. “Why? You’re the biggest killer the Germans have. You must be a hero to them.”

Richthofen put the cloth down on the table and dabbed at his head with a wet towel. “Heroes are only good when they are being heroic, or when they are dead. I am neither right now.”

Cassidy leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “What, you haven’t killed anyone lately?”

“It’s a war, Mr. Cassidy. I don’t want it any more than anyone else.” He gestured in the air as if regarding something far off. “Someone made someone angry. So they assassinate Ferdinand and now everyone is having us kill each other. We fight for whatever country we happen to be born in. I fly. I shoot down fighters. I am a hero. But I will never fly like that again,” he said, motioning to the wound on his head. “I am slow now. I will eventually be shot down.” He looked at the floor, took in a great breath of air and let it out in a deep sigh. “I want to be shot down. I’m tired.”

“Don’t they notice you’re gone when you come here?” Cassidy asked.

“Not really,” Richthofen said, shrugging.

“Don’t you tell them about it?”

Richthofen snorted. “Would you? They’d say my wound has made me mad. I’d rather die now than face that.”

The German’s eyes made Cassidy uncomfortable. They pleaded, as if he wanted Cassidy to pull the trigger. “I don’t know if they’d give you a medal for dying in the Everdream,” Cassidy said.

Richthofen gingerly wrapped the clean cloth around his head and fastened it with a clip. “How many Iron Crosses do you think it would take to drown me?”

Cassidy scowled, turned on his heel and returned to his room. He still couldn’t place why he felt so much anger for a man who had killed pilots from a country he hardly recognized. The rage felt like more than it should be. He wasn’t a citizen of anywhere.

The bed looked good. Fresh. Clean. He lay down and wondered if he’d dream.

A knock sounded at the door. Cassidy groaned and pulled himself off the bed. It was Tuck. “Sorry to bother you,” the Twilight said, smoothing the sides down on his handlebar moustache. “I know you’re resting, but—” He broke off as if uncertain how to finish the sentence.