Page 29 of A Theory of Dreaming
“What in the name of all Saints—” Preston started.
As he drew the covers off and stumbled out of bed, he realized the knocking was not on Effy’s bedroom door. It was on the front door, though the racket was reverberating so loudly down the hallthat it seemed just nearby. Preston pulled on a shirt and pants, and Effy wrapped herself in her robe.
He was in such a rush that he almost forgot his glasses, and snatched them at the last second from the bedside table. Effy started first down the hall, and Preston followed, but someone else beat them there. Rhia, dressed quite a bit more appropriately in her school uniform, was standing on her tiptoes and looking through the peephole.
“It’s some deranged-looking man with a black mustache,” Rhia said. “Do either of you know him?”
Dread swelled up in Preston’s chest. “Yes,” he said in a tired voice, “I do.”
“Well, tell him that decent people are trying to sleep at this hour.” Rhia gave him a withering look. “And tell him I can smell booze through the crack in the door.”
Preston let out a breath. With one last glare, Rhia turned on her heel and walked back down the hall. As she passed, Effy mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Rhia said softly back. “It’shisnutter, not yours.”
“Unfortunately,” Preston muttered. Through the peephole, he saw Master Gosse raise his hand to knock again. Before he could, Preston hurriedly jerked open the door.
“Thereyou are, Héloury,” Master Gosse said, and without preamble, pushed his way into the corridor. “I went to your dormitory, but your roommate informed me that you were likely to be with your paramour instead.” He gave Effy a long, probing glare.She flushed and pulled her robe tighter around herself. “Miss Sayre, if you don’t mind—”
“What are you doing here?” Preston cut in sharply. He angled his body so that he was firmly between Master Gosse and Effy, obscuring her from his adviser’s view. “It’s first thing in the morning.”
“Yes, well, I’ve been up all night. After you left me so abruptly last evening, I spent hours ruminating, researching, probing the libraries for all they might offer, scouring the city for any hints and clues that might be useful—”
“And drinking?” Preston prompted.
“It helps oil the gears of the mind,” Master Gosse responded primly. “Anyway, I need you, Héloury. Now.”
Preston inhaled, and with his breath, he felt his anger return to him. The same anger he had felt yesterday, when Southey had poked and prodded at him all through class; the same anger he had felt when Master Gosse had dragged him to his office, forcing him through the motions of this ridiculous ritual. The same anger that had kept Master Gosse at a distance, trapped outside the palace walls, asleep but incapable of dreaming.
Did he really have that power?
Real power, he thought drearily, would be to make Gosse wither and vanish on the spot. Preston wanted nothing more than to shut the door in his face, retreat into Effy’s bedroom, and hold her for just a little bit longer, as the morning light washed over them and turned her hair the hue of bright, untempered gold.
Instead, he said, “Give me a few minutes to get ready.”
He managed to maneuver Gosse back through the door, but before he could close it, Gosse held out his arm and tapped his watch meaningfully. “Well, hurry up. I don’t have all the time in the world.”
Preston felt too weary to even reply. Once Gosse had been herded out, he turned to Effy and said, “I’m sorry.”
“Gosse seems to be in a... curious mood lately,” she replied.
Preston would have called itobsessive,demented,harebrained, orloonybeforecurious. Sighing, he told her, “I know. He’s always been prone to flights of, ah, fancy.”
He wasn’t sure exactly how much Effy had overheard of their conversation in his office. Preston had already made the decision to keep her out of all this—well, he still didn’t know whatall thiseven was. But he did know this was a burden she shouldn’t have to bear. She had fought so hard to free herself of the Fairy King and all the evils of the unreal world. What right did he have to plunge her back into it?
Effy’s throat bobbed, and she stared for a moment at the floor. Then, looking up again, she asked, “This sounds silly, but... he isn’t harming you, is he?”
It was a question that Preston found unexpectedly difficult to answer.
“No,” he said, his voice a bit thick, “no, he’s just dragging me along with his whimsical schemes. He’s eccentric, but he’s harmless. It’s no worse than being at the mercy of Ianto Myrddin.” He tried a gentle smile.
Effy didn’t smile back. “I would hope that we didn’t just trade one capricious tyrant for another.”
“Capricious, maybe.” Preston reached for her hand, his fingers swanning through the silk of her robe and the lace-edged folds of her nightdress. “But not a tyrant. Just a fanatical dreamer.”
I should have known.
It was all Preston could think as Master Gosse led him, still bleary-eyed with sleep, through the streets of Caer-Isel. The morning after a mild snow, the streets had the icy sheen of danger, and he was shocked that Master Gosse was able to navigate them so confidently, given the shakiness of his sleepless night and—from what Preston could smell—a truly astonishing amount of alcohol.
