change course. I open my eyes in time to see a young boy, surely no older than eight or nine, staring upwards and shaking with anger. Inexplicably, his hair is blue. His eyes meet mine for a split second before he looks away, then he raises one hand and points towards us. The dragons shrieks once more and swerves right. This time, it gets close enough for me to do what I need to do.
I ignore the sharp metal of the coxcomb and yank hard. Two tugs and it’s free. Thank heavens for the old-fashioned nature of the Dreamlands town – because now I have an iron wind vane in my sweaty palms, with a toothless cockerel perched on the top.
‘North, South, East or West?’ I shout. ‘Because it doesn’t matter which way you go, you’re dogmeat.’ And I slam the vane under one of the dragon’s scales. Not a moment too soon, or the Traveller below would have been chomped.
The dragon jerks upwards, screaming. It spirals higher and higher as I work the cockerel’s iron head deep into its body. Abandoning all thought of a quick, tasty, human Traveller meal, it goes into a frenzy. Its tail whips from side to side and its wings beat even more frantically. Air rushes past my face as the dragon makes a beeline for the Badlands. Oh shit.
It picks up speed. For a moment, I’m tempted to let it carry me straight into the grubby cloud but that means leaving behind the Department – and Ashley. Not to mention really pissing off Dante. Although I know I’ll need to enter the Badlands at some point, I’m not stupid enough to go in without being armed with some foreknowledge. My old cautious self is good for something at least. But with the border fast approaching, I’m going to have to work out a way to get back down to the ground ‒ ideally without any broken bones. I need the river.
I jam the weather vane further into the dragon, wiggling it to the right. It has the intended effect and the dragon angles itself to the right.
‘Just a little bit more,’ I urge, trying again. ‘Just to the river. I’m sorry about the yoga comment.’
The dragon screeches and I feel it vibrate and shudder. Twenty metres. Fifteen. Ten. Five. Come on. The moment I feel its muscles bunch as it tries to steady itself and head back towards its destination, I let myself drop. I tumble through the air, aiming for the river and not the hard ground. I stretch out my arms like a champion diver; three seconds later I’m in the water, my fingertips scuffing the river bed.
Even though I landed in the water, it still hurt. I kick hard, willing myself back up to the surface as my lungs start to burn. When my head breaks free, I see the ox blinking at me in surprise as the current grabs me and takes me away, pulling me backwards.
A splash of water smacks me in the face. I start to choke and my arms flail around. I hear a shout just as my fingers find the end of the rope that’s been flung in my direction. I manage to grab onto it, praying not to let go as it’s pulled in towards the bank. Eventually, spluttering and soaked, I hit dry ground.
‘Christ, Zoe,’ Bron whistles. ‘You don’t do things by halves, do you?’
There’s a snort. I glance over and see Esme coiling the rope round one arm. I must look astonished because she rolls her eyes. ‘A useless dreamweaver has got to be better than no dreamweaver at all,’ she mutters.
I stagger to my feet as a man appears from behind them. He’s wearing a dark, severely-cut suit; there’s a sense of wiry strength concealed beneath it, despite his apparent lack of muscles. I look into a pair of cold eyes and recognise his voice immediately as that of the first Department speaker.
‘I think we need to talk.’
Chapter Eight
I always wished for this, but it’s almost turning into more a nightmare than a dream.
Eminem
I smile pleasantly at the three Department stooges. They’ve taken me to one of the dark rooms underneath the ugly building which the Mayor used to call his own. I could
I ignore the sharp metal of the coxcomb and yank hard. Two tugs and it’s free. Thank heavens for the old-fashioned nature of the Dreamlands town – because now I have an iron wind vane in my sweaty palms, with a toothless cockerel perched on the top.
‘North, South, East or West?’ I shout. ‘Because it doesn’t matter which way you go, you’re dogmeat.’ And I slam the vane under one of the dragon’s scales. Not a moment too soon, or the Traveller below would have been chomped.
The dragon jerks upwards, screaming. It spirals higher and higher as I work the cockerel’s iron head deep into its body. Abandoning all thought of a quick, tasty, human Traveller meal, it goes into a frenzy. Its tail whips from side to side and its wings beat even more frantically. Air rushes past my face as the dragon makes a beeline for the Badlands. Oh shit.
It picks up speed. For a moment, I’m tempted to let it carry me straight into the grubby cloud but that means leaving behind the Department – and Ashley. Not to mention really pissing off Dante. Although I know I’ll need to enter the Badlands at some point, I’m not stupid enough to go in without being armed with some foreknowledge. My old cautious self is good for something at least. But with the border fast approaching, I’m going to have to work out a way to get back down to the ground ‒ ideally without any broken bones. I need the river.
I jam the weather vane further into the dragon, wiggling it to the right. It has the intended effect and the dragon angles itself to the right.
‘Just a little bit more,’ I urge, trying again. ‘Just to the river. I’m sorry about the yoga comment.’
The dragon screeches and I feel it vibrate and shudder. Twenty metres. Fifteen. Ten. Five. Come on. The moment I feel its muscles bunch as it tries to steady itself and head back towards its destination, I let myself drop. I tumble through the air, aiming for the river and not the hard ground. I stretch out my arms like a champion diver; three seconds later I’m in the water, my fingertips scuffing the river bed.
Even though I landed in the water, it still hurt. I kick hard, willing myself back up to the surface as my lungs start to burn. When my head breaks free, I see the ox blinking at me in surprise as the current grabs me and takes me away, pulling me backwards.
A splash of water smacks me in the face. I start to choke and my arms flail around. I hear a shout just as my fingers find the end of the rope that’s been flung in my direction. I manage to grab onto it, praying not to let go as it’s pulled in towards the bank. Eventually, spluttering and soaked, I hit dry ground.
‘Christ, Zoe,’ Bron whistles. ‘You don’t do things by halves, do you?’
There’s a snort. I glance over and see Esme coiling the rope round one arm. I must look astonished because she rolls her eyes. ‘A useless dreamweaver has got to be better than no dreamweaver at all,’ she mutters.
I stagger to my feet as a man appears from behind them. He’s wearing a dark, severely-cut suit; there’s a sense of wiry strength concealed beneath it, despite his apparent lack of muscles. I look into a pair of cold eyes and recognise his voice immediately as that of the first Department speaker.
‘I think we need to talk.’
Chapter Eight
I always wished for this, but it’s almost turning into more a nightmare than a dream.
Eminem
I smile pleasantly at the three Department stooges. They’ve taken me to one of the dark rooms underneath the ugly building which the Mayor used to call his own. I could
Similar Books
