I stare at her as she starts laughing then she drifts away into the darkness. I search, wondering where she’s gone, before eventually dismissing her. I’m not here for Lilith or her crazy talk.
I’m not sure what to expect when I reach the town again. I’ve only been here before when it’s night in the real world. Being here in the day could be very different. I’m almost disappointed when I realise everything is the same. A bit quieter perhaps, but it’s still sunny and there are still people. The plus is that it’s unlikely the Mayor will be here. He can’t sleep twenty-four hours a day.
I keep my head down. I don’t know many people here but after reading the Somnolence message board, I’m pretty certain that most people know who I am. It’s an unsettling thought. Hopefully, they’ll all be too engrossed in their own day to pay any attention to me.
I know that walking through the front doors of the Department headquarters will do me no good. I may have faced down that guard but there will be plenty more where Officer Effrayant came from. I’m aiming for stealth so rather than heading for the square, I edge right. I know the river is up ahead but that’s not what I’m looking for. I find the street behind the Department and go down it; I need a back entrance.
I squeeze through a gap between two houses and find myself in a small unkempt area of land. Rubbish is strewn everywhere, patchy grass springs up from between broken cobbles and there’s a distinct smell of eau de rot. I even spot a couple of animal skeletons. It’s like a vision of council housing estates that you only see in tabloid newspapers or in skewed right-wing documentaries. Somehow it fits with the looming Department building next to it. It’s as if the Dreamlands themselves are pointing out that there’s something wrong with the whole set-up.
I walk along the side of the building, hoping for an open window or a back door but the only windows I see are boarded up and there doesn’t appear to be any other way inside. It’s not until I reach the far end and see a dangling rope that I finally stop. My eyes travel upwards. The rope reaches all the way to the top of the building and, if I crane my neck, it looks like there’s a grappling hook at the top. I give the rope an experimental tug; it feels sturdy and new.
I glance around. Is this part of the Dreamlands? Is the rope here to help people sneak inside? I feel as if there’s a supernatural being following me and helping me out. I was right: all good adventures really do include rope in them.
In the real world, I’d have been nervous about trusting my weight – and my athleticism – to a manoeuvre like this. Here it feels like things are different and I barely hesitate before reaching up and planting my feet flat against the wall. I raise one hand over the other, making astonishing time then, when I reach the top and pull myself over, I look around. The building is so tall that I can see over the whole area. The forest is in front, a cloud of darkness that stretches for what seems like miles. To my left, I see the river. In the other direction, I make out the pub where Bron took me a lifetime ago. I can also see a market and various shops. I realise there’s a lot of the town I’ve not explored yet. The fairytale castle looks inviting.
I hope to catch sight of the Bubble and the billions of doors containing billions of subconscious minds but it’s misted over. It’s a clear white mist, though, not like the grubby dark smog that’s hazing over a large area to the north. I shiver involuntarily. That must be the Badlands.
I look down at the square. Ashley’s familiar figure is there, gazing upwards at Salib’s statue. Another woman stands next to her, gesticulating worriedly. As I watch, Ashley squeezes her shoulder then hugs her. Even from this distance, I see the woman relax.
It’s tempting to stay up here and spend more time taking everything in but I’m not here as a tourist. I need to do something about the mare. Or rather mares – because who knows how many the Mayor has managed to entrap?
Working on the premise that the rope which helped me clamber up here has to lead to something, I focus on the rooftop. For the most part it’s flat and unremarkable but, in the far corner, there’s something that looks like an opening. I jog over.
It’s a trapdoor – like the sort of trapdoor you might find in the pages of a comic book. Unlike the rest of this place, it’s made out of neatly sanded planks of wood. There’s a small roped loop for a handle. It’s so incongruous and out of keeping with the rest of the Department’s office block that I assume it’s here to help people sneak in.