Waking in Dreamland
Waking in Dreamland
"Silence in the courtroom!" the parrots screamed. They were quelled by a sharp look from the herald. The white silk curtains at the front of the room were swept aside, and the king entered. He wore flowing, white silk robes and a turban with a huge, shining green cabochon on the feathered aigrette at the front. No matter what face he wore, the King of the Dreamland was kingly. The bones of his jaw, cheek, and brow showed the underlying strength of a noble countenance. Beneath distinct, dark brows shone deep blue eyes that moved to meet those of everyone in the room. King Byron smiled at old friends, faithful courtiers, and beloved servants of the court. The bright gaze settled momentarily on Roan, and the brows rose in pleased surprise. Roan, feeling honored by such a friendly reception, bowed deeply. Perhaps the king had been giving some favorable consideration to his suit for Leonora's hand. By the time Roan straightened up with the question in his eyes, the king's attention had shifted to the next man, leaving Roan wondering. Perhaps, since his news was good, Roan would request a brief personal interview later, to see how his fortunes stood.
King Byron settled himself, sitting upright as he could on piled cushions in a throne that had changed from marble to elaborately carved gold.
"I am happy to see everyone here," he said. "Everyone is well, I trust?"
In answer, there were affirmative murmurs and bows. The herald cleared his throat again and bellowed.
"My lords and ladies, Her Benevolent Majesty, the Queen!"
Attended by a host of noblewomen and doctors, the queen made her way to her throne, and sat down in it delicately. Rumor had had it for many years that Queen Harmonia suffered from a mysterious malady, but not even the most ardent gossips could wrench details from her medical advisors. Roan himself never saw anything wrong with her. She seemed well enough to enjoy most balls and entertainments, and was a firm supporter of the fine arts.
"My lords and ladies, Her Most Admirable Highness, Princess Leonora." There was a more musical blare from the trumpets. From between the silk curtains issued a parade of pages and ladies in waiting. A hum of anticipation arose from the crowd as Drea, the princess's old nurse, came out. She clucked, putting out a hand to offer assistance to her charge, but a soft protest made her withdraw it. Leonora emerged, straight and tall and slender, shaking her head at Drea. Roan caught the quickly hidden expression of rueful but loving amusement in the princess's eyes. The old woman would never believe that Leonora had grown up. Yet, grown up she had.
Leonora looked around the crowd anxiously as she settled onto her small, cushioned throne. She propped tiny feet in white satin slippers with curled toes on her pedestal. As her gaze fell on Roan, she smiled and appeared to relax. He felt his breath catch in his chest, and his cheeks grew warm. Roan did love her, and was rewarded in knowing that she loved him, too. Bergold nudged him hard in the ribs.
"There, and you were worried," Bergold said, teasingly. He wore an indulgent smile that pushed out his rouged cheeks.
"Shh!" Roan brushed his elbow away, but he wasn't really annoyed. The herald stood forward imperiously.
"Silence for the King!" he bellowed, deflating to half his diameter with each shout. The roar of voices dropped to a sullen mutter, and all attention turned to the throne.
"My lords and ladies," King Byron said, his resonant voice filling every corner of the great room, "We have asked you here today for the annual reports. We look forward to hearing from each and every one of you."
The voices rose into excited chattering like the parrots over their heads. Byron raised his hands for silence.
"One at a time," he said, shaking his head with a smile. "My dear Herald, call our first minister."
"Master Kaulb, the Royal Treasurer!"
Kaulb, a bent old man wearing a neat but worn set of robes, tottered forward. Roan knew him as a most frugal man, a worthy warden of the kingdom's wealth.
"Well, Your Majesty," Kaulb began, unfurling a scroll that he took from his sleeve. It unrolled for yards, bounding out of his hands and into the crowd. "The following is a list of the goods and treasures which have been entrusted to my keeping for the period of the last year. . . ."
Roan shifted from foot to foot as the treasurer went through his endless list. The old man's voice drew him into a swaying trance. Only the occasional glances at the princess kept him from falling asleep on his feet. She was also bored, but sitting with a perfectly straight spine. If she could stand it, so could he.
"And that is all," Kaulb said, at last. There was thunderous applause from the assembly as he stepped down. King Byron perked up, shifting his turban back on his head where it had slipped slightly over one eye while he nodded.
"Most complete," the king said, approvingly. "Next, sir Herald?"
"Carodil, Minister of Science!" the green-clad man bellowed.
The Science party was at the far side of the hall from the historians, a cluster of blue-and-white-robed men and women, most of them young. Science had more apprentices than all the other ministries put together. Carodil was a tall, slim woman of middle years. At present, she had a dainty, round face with a milk-white complexion that contrasted with her sharp, dark eyes and dark hair. She offered a shallow bow from where she stood.
"I defer to the next minister, Your Majesty," Carodil said, offering a shallow bow. "My report is of some length and some moment. I would not want to make anyone else wait their minor reports for me to finish. Perhaps I should go last."
"Some length is some moments," Bergold whispered to Roan. "What a pretentious speech!"
"Very well," the king said, flicking his fingers toward the herald. "Call the next minister."
The herald described a magnificent and deferential bow, contrasting deliberately with Carodil's arrogant dip, and the muttering began again. It stilled only faintly when Galman, the Royal Zoologist, strode forward. He was a big, hearty man, with a booming voice. Without waiting for his robes to stop flapping around his ankles, he threw up his hands.
"Good news, Your Majesty, friends! I've just received word from the town of Ephemer that a pegasus has been sighted in Wocabaht!" Joyful hubbub broke out.
"Ooh! What kind?" Princess Leonora demanded, leaning forward on her dainty throne.
"A white one, Your Highness, with gray ticking on the wings and tail," the zoologist proclaimed, with a courteous bow to her.
"Ahhh." The sigh of satisfaction ran throughout the throne room. Of all the remnants from the Collective Unconscious, mystical creatures aroused the most excitement. Even Roan, well traveled though he was, had yet to see most of the fabled beasts that still occasionally turned up in the Dreamland.
"It was first seen grazing the tops of a couple of apple trees in the witness's orchard near the town of Sona," the zoologist continued, excitedly. "It flew off toward the mountains. As soon as the man found he could not follow it on foot, he went immediately to fetch the local officials. A small party has been dispatched to see if they can pick up its trail."
"They won't find it," Datchell said, shaking his camel's head. "They were lucky to see it once in a lifetime. Why, I recall the last time I heard reports of dinosaurs, and that was thirty years ago. The footprints stopped at the edge of a swamp. Not a trace!"
"I saw one of those Neanderthals, once," said Telsander, a Continuity minister, staring at the ornate ceiling with slitted eyes. "A female, she was, wearing shaggy hides and necklaces. Thought I caught a brief glimpse of a male caveman, too. He was sitting on the side of the path beyond her. They both vanished. Hum! It's always astonishing how these things hang on. Cave people have been listed in the historical records for over ten thousand years. They are Real."
"I saw a caveman some years ago," Roan raised his voice.
"Did you, now!" Telsander said, whipping a small book and a pencil out of a pocket in his robe. "I wonder if it was the same one. Being only a race memory, the fellow wouldn't have aged. Give me a description, as detailed as you like." He licked the end of the pencil, and held it poised. Roan took a deep breath.
"Hush!" Thomasen said, deflating them both. "You can find the details of his observation in the Akashic Records. I want to hear more about the pegasus."
His mellow voice carried far enough for the zoologist to hear. Galman turned toward the historians with a slight bow.
"No more to tell," he said, apologetically. "I agree that it's doubtful our witnesses will see anything more of them. It's impossible to hold onto the older memories for long."
"Mmph!" Carodil snorted, with a significant look toward her entourage, who looked secretly smug. Roan gave her a curious glance.
"Call Micah, Historian Prime!" the herald announced magnificently.
The historians made way as their senior walked forward with his head down, shifting his face from that of a camel to something more human.
"Your Esteemed Majesty," he said, raising a pleasant, wrinkled face to the king. Roan felt his heart sink with dismay. The man's lecture voice was just as Roan remembered it: a monotonous drone that made him tired just to hear it. With any luck, History's report would be short. "I am pleased to report that data are being kept correctly up to date, with no verifiable errors being entered into the permanent record. As this is the beginning of the spring season, we close one volume in which all observations are noted down, and begin the next. This new year makes eighty thousand six hundred and fifty-seven that we have recorded in the archives of the Dreamland since its beginning in one form or another. We are proud of our diligence," Micah had to raise his voice over derisive cries of "ho-hum!" and other catcalls, "but Your Majesty, since we are supposed to keep track of all events of importance happening anywhere in the Dreamland, it would be helpful if we could get more assistants."
"Oh, come now, Micah! We need more help, if anyone does!" Galman protested.
"I say no, Your Majesty," Micah said, raising his voice over complaints from all the other ministries and offices present. "You will of course forgive me mentioning it, Your Majesty, but not only are we expected to keep track of his department's discoveries, but of every other ministry, not to mention maintaining every volume in a readable condition, and the collection in its entirety." He looked hard in the direction of Carodil's people. "Some people do not understand that the historical records may not be checked out. I am stretched to the limit providing copies to those who request them. Assistance is at a premium just now."
"I will take the matter under consideration, good Micah," King Byron said. "Next, please?" Roan fought a yawn down just in time to hear the herald cry out a name not his.
"Call Romney, the Royal Geographer!"
In answer, a single woman pushed through the crowd to stand before the throne. Roan smiled at her, and received a friendly nod. There were murmurs of approval. Romney was the most well liked of all the cabinet ministers. She had a most adaptable nature, which suited the ever-changing face of the Dreamland map in her care. At present, she was short, dark, plump, and vivid, with ruddy cheeks and brilliant blue eyes. No entourage accompanied her, but she had allies and friends everywhere in the room.
She had a small square of crisp, smooth canvas in her hand that Roan recognized as the Great Map of the Dreamland. At the king's signal, Romney began to unfold it. It doubled in size again and again until she was quite hidden behind it. Two footmen ran forward to help her place it on a map-stand near the throne. Once extended, the canvas filled with fine, black lines, dots, and lettering, and gradually brightened with color appropriate to the topography: blue for rivers and lakes, green for lowlands, and gradations of tan and brown for highlands. Romney strolled around to the front of the chart and pointed toward a large patch of brown.
"Currently, I can report an outbreak of mountains in the southwest of Rem," she said. "Subsidence along the Lullay near Hiyume in Elysia over the last few months has replaced meadowland with low-lying jungle terrain. Very swampy and bad-smelling. We're getting reports of some unusual wildlife. Not all of it is welcome. Mosquitoes the size of your fist. They're banding together and carrying off farm animals." People in the crowd gasped, and Romney nodded solemnly.
"That's more up your street," the king said, nodding to the Royal Zoologist, who penciled a swift note on his silk sleeve.
Romney gestured energetically as she indicated change after change in the terrain that had occurred over the previous year. "Tangeray River has moved closer in toward the town of Osier," she said, pushing the air with both palms as if helping the stream along. On the map, the thin blue line appeared to nudge the black dot marked "Osier," which tried to avoid contact with it. "Resulting in the whole Tangeray valley shifting to the southwest. The chances are about sixty percent for flooding in the town." Her hand swept down over the dot. "The citizens are being advised to take precautions. We'd like to scotch this situation before it becomes an emergency. I'm afraid if the Tangeray succeeds in flooding Osier, there may be other bank takeovers elsewhere in the province. More as it develops." She pointed at a pair of high cliffs facing one another over the border of Rem and Wocabaht. "We've got an escalation going on I think we can attribute to rivalry between two villages on either side of the divide. These bluffs started off as low hills, but now there's some substantial headlands on each side, and growing higher every day. They aren't tall enough to interfere with climate. Nothing cloud-high as of yet. I've got an observer staying close to the action." She stepped away from the map and folded her hands. "That's about it, Your Majesty, but I spotted Master Roan over there. I'll just keep the map open, with your permission. After he speaks I may have some updating to do."
"Very well," the king said, beckoning to Roan.
"Oh, my news is of little importance," Roan said, casually, with a glance back toward the clutch of scientists. "It can easily wait until later. I would be happy to defer to Madame Carodil. The Minister of Science seems to have some interesting and, no doubt, vital news to impart." He bowed deeply, both toward the throne and again in the direction of the Minister of Science. "I am most curious to hear what she has to say." Carodil, now fully seven and a half feet tall, glared at him. He smiled at her, trying to look innocent and knowing that his face wouldn't alter and betray him. Bergold, half-hidden behind him, nudged Roan in the ribs with an elbow and let out a chuckle.
"Yes, all right," King Byron said, impatient with the infighting and the delay. "Call Carodil."
"Call Carodil, Minister of Science!" bellowed the herald. Everyone turned to face toward the group at the back of the hall.