Chapter 218: Undreaming Order Headquarters

Chapter 218: Undreaming Order Headquarters

Siobhan

Month 8, Day 25, Wednesday 10:20 p.m.

Millennium wanted to accompany them to the headquarters of the Undreaming Order—Siobhan was deeply reluctant to call it a “church”—but Gera and her brother Lynwood insisted that the boy stay home. Their refusal to involve Miles only made Siobhan more apprehensive. ‘What am I about to walk into?’ She imagined a cabal of people staring out from the deep shadow of hooded cloaks, each carrying a pet raven in their arms and doing strange pseudo-rituals to give themselves imaginary powers. She rolled her shoulders to release the tension there. ‘It probably won’t be that bad.’

As they walked through the night streets toward the headquarters, Lynwood tried to make awkward conversation that quickly petered out, while Gera remained almost entirely silent. Siobhan grew tenser in turn, and found herself fiddling with her mother’s ring on her finger and brushing her arm against her side to feel the press of the black sapphire Conduit against her ribs. She forced herself to relax as they arrived at the building, which was a few blocks east of Lynwood Manor.

The Undreaming Order headquarters was a two-story, sturdy circular building, made of white stone that was stained brown with the signs of age and neglect. The shutters in the sparse windows had all been painted black and locked. There was no dome atop the roof, but several ceramic tubes to allow rainwater to run off the flat surface, instead.

Several enforcers and their dogs were visible along the street, some obviously on guard, but a couple seemingly just lounging around in plainclothes. Most were from the Nightmare Pack, but a couple she recognized from the Verdant Stag. None directly guarded the entrance.

Lynwood noticed the direction of her gaze. “About half are on the payroll. The rest...well, some volunteers have taken it upon themselves to start a protective roster. Giving a tribute of their time, as it were.”

“Have you had trouble with security?”

“Some,” he admitted, his amber eyes almost reflective in the light of the nearest streetlamp as he watched her warily. “Nothing that you need to be concerned about, I believe. We have handled it.”

Siobhan stepped forward and opened the front door. Only darkness waited beyond. In fact, it was a little too dark, as if something were preventing the light of the street lamps from passing the threshold. Siobhan wrapped her shadow around herself for comfort as she waved her hand through the doorway, feeling an almost imperceptible chill from the leather anklet that was supporting the spell.

Lynwood stared at her inky-black hand, a midnight that stood out starkly blacker than the pseudo-darkness within. “There is a second door, just a few feet in.”

Siobhan stepped through the threshold. She stood in the darkness a moment, allowing her eyes to adjust, and soon made out the faintest glow of words a few feet above her head. Painted on the wall in a simple, elegant script: Fear neither the darkness nor the unknown.

Siobhan couldn’t help the smile of surprise that spread across her face. “I like it,” she announced, before taking two more steps forward and opening the second door, which sat directly beneath the words.

The room beyond reminded her just a little of the University’s Citadel—the main building where all of the classrooms and several labs were hosted—probably due somewhat to its shape. The walls curved around in a wide Circle with evenly spaced doors leading to five other rooms, and the ceiling was high. On the far end, a staircase lead to the second story.

Most notable, however, were the ongoing renovations.

Deidre Johnson, wearing a long black cloak with a fringe of shimmering black feathers, stood in the center of the room, supervising and directing the efforts of half a dozen workers. One side of her head was still scarred and bare, but the hair on the other side had started to grow out again, and she wore it curved over and hanging down to her other ear to freely expose the bald side. Her back was to the front doorway, so Siobhan observed unnoticed.

One worker was scrubbing with an enchanted brush that left the stone of the walls almost sparklingly white. Another was on a ladder, stringing up decorative, full length black curtains in intervals near the edge of the ceiling.

Siobhan squinted and reassessed. ‘Not curtains, but possibly tapestries, done in silver thread on velvet?’ She made out a few familiar images—ravens, and her shadow-familiar.

“Up one inch on the left,” Deidre called to the tapestry-hanger. “And make sure to pull it tight. Do you think the Raven Queen abides sloppiness?”

Where there were no tapestries, the walls sported both small recesses and directly mounted shelves, several of which displayed thematic decorations: a vase full of raven feathers; decorative glass artifacts filled with potion of moonlight sizzle that continuously circulated in a bubbling, glowing riot; a platter full of shiny, random baubles, coins, and broken jewelry; a bell jar protecting a glowing, many-petaled fungus; an empty cage made of gold filigree that had been torn and warped, as if something powerful had torn its way free from the inside.

The black-painted ceiling glittered like the night sky. It was embedded with a myriad of light crystals in the shape of varied, artistic stars that sometimes grew ornate enough to look more like snowflakes, and which seemed to have been made of moonstone rather than quartz. Altogether, the large circular room was illuminated with a soft, cool ambiance, which seemed just on the edge of being swallowed by shadow.

One of the workers had a box, from which they took a heavy gold crown covered in what looked to be rubies and diamonds. They moved to put it into one of the display alcoves.

Deidre pointed and cleared her throat loudly. “What is that?”

The worker turned, and Siobhan recognized her as Martha, who worked as a caretaker for Miles. “A donation,” Martha said.

Deidre frowned at the crown. “Is it real?”

“...Yes? But I think a thaumaturge made it, if that’s what you mean.”

“Does it do anything interesting? Any magic? Or carry some specific symbolism?”

Martha opened her mouth, then closed it again, and held out the crown to Deidre helplessly.

Deidre turned toward the stairs on the far side of the bottom floor, smiling proudly at the group of workers whispering together as she and Siobhan passed. “The Undreaming Order was founded by several of us who you helped directly, my queen. We know that not even your time is given freely, except, perhaps, to the children you have taken under your wing?”

She looked to Siobhan, but when Siobhan raised one silent eyebrow, Deidre continued. “Debts must be repaid, but as you told Mrs. Dotts when you saved her from her attackers, perhaps not directly to you. To be honest, many of us might not even be able to repay you directly. What could we have that you would need? So we decided to help others as you had helped us. Of course, our powers aren’t as great and our time not as valuable, but that only means we need to put in more effort.”

The second floor had columns of white stone holding up the roof where below had been walls, leaving the whole area open, except for a few freestanding curtains dividing the outer area. The floor on this level was polished marble instead of wood, and held a huge Circle with the symbol of a eleven-pointed star within. Beyond the boundary of the columns, several smaller Circles ringed the room.

“The building was originally built by a group of wealthy time-travel enthusiasts,” Deidre said with a wry twist of her lips. “They ended up massacring themselves in a magical accident about eight years ago. It was extremely gruesome, apparently, and word of the details spread quickly along with some rumors that the place retained traces of their magic, leaving people reluctant to buy it. Which is why the Undreaming Order was able to rent it for so cheap.”

This floor had no windows or shutters along the walls, only a single, man-hole sized piece of crystal set into the center of the roof. The ceiling had been decorated with more light-imbued moonstones, however, which illuminated the expansive area nicely.

Deidre pointed to one of the curtained areas, and they began to walk. “We argued quite a bit about how much would be enough to pay back your benevolence for sure. Saving three lives? Seven? One hundred? And of course, it’s not so easy to simply save the life of someone unjustly imprisoned and tortured. Those are hard to find, and we weren’t sure if you would want us to try to free people from the Crowns’ labor camps—”

“Definitely not,” Siobhan snapped.

Deidre’s scars flushed red and then white, but she nodded and continued walking. “Yes, well, we thought a much larger number of smaller rescues and help given to those in need could, well, add up, as it were.” She cleared her throat before drawing back a curtain to show an area filled with simple bunk beds, all empty. They continued on.

“And to those we help, all those who are not orphans, we pass along the burden. They, or their parents, must help others thrice the amount they have been helped, and so on. We can give guidance and offer opportunities for service, but the final choice of who they help and how they do so is up to them. Though we strongly suggest coming to a meeting or two so that they can get an idea of the kinds of acts you might prefer.”

The second curtained area held a single cabinet that contained only three hand-made dream-catchers. “This is where we will keep magical items that might be of some utility, but aren’t healing related. We have a few artifacts and potions, but they have all been assigned to one of the teams currently out on a mission of service.”

Siobhan frowned. It was already after eleven, which seemed rather late to be handing out bread to the homeless or whatever it was they did.

The next area was a very sad library. In fact, it might even have been more like a sad “reading nook,” as there were only two chairs and the bookcases were mostly empty.

“We are keeping both valuable and controversial texts here, as the second floor is not free to the public. So far we have some banned books on history, two magical textbooks that might be of use to someone who already had some schooling, and a few copies of the People’s Voice that Lord Stag donated.”

Siobhan reviewed the magical textbooks, but found that both were mid-level treatises on witchcraft, with a somewhat narrow focus. Something about the bare shelves made her feel hungry and on-edge. She resisted the urge to fidget, instead checking her posture from head to toe. She lifted her chin and gestured for Deidre to continue with the tour.

The next curtained area was divided into two. On one end was a station set up with a table of locks, and then over a dozen free-standing doors and window with their own locks. On the other end was a small obstacle course covered in bells, that Siobhan belatedly realized mimicked what one would encounter if climbing the side of a house, then walking along the rooftop, before climbing through a window and down a rappelling line.

“Lock-picking training, and then a bit of practice to help improve stealth and balance,” Deidre said. “Its best to gain real skill in case you can’t rely on magic. We have a few lock-picking artifacts, and some boots of silence—all assigned to the current team—but it’s not really enough to ensure safety on a mission.”

Siobhan stared for a long time, realizing that she had forgotten to ask a critical question. “What, exactly, is tonight’s mission?”

Deidre smiled wide and proudly. “We’re rescuing two children from an abusive household. We got reports from some concerned citizens. To be honest, most of the reports and requests aren’t things we can help with. Many want to meet you, but we would never impose on your time with such. But even if the request is reasonable, and not just another plea to help someone find love or acquire riches, we don’t have the manpower or the resources. We try to direct the sick and the starving to the Verdant Stag.”

Deidre raised up a hand as if to stop Siobhan from speaking, or perhaps as if she were making some sort of pledge—fingers together, palm outward. “And, before you ask, we do make sure to do our due diligence before authorizing a mission. Children being a little too thin, well, that’s not always the guardian at fault. Being shy and skittish could be a kid who’s seen what happens in a dark alley at night and knows not to trust outsiders. But we take note of strange injuries, especially when they don’t get any treatment. And then, what sealed it in this particular case is one of the flock saw the children praying in front of a little altar they put together in a hidden spot. An altar with raven feathers.” The reverence in her voice was obvious, and she gave Siobhan a significant, heavy look.

Siobhan pressed her fingers to her forehead to suppress her sudden vertigo. ‘The Undreaming Order, acting indirectly in my name, just kidnapped a pair of children. Fuck.’ She took a deep breath, and then asked aloud, “How do you plan do deal with the repercussions?”

Deidre nodded happily, as if she had been anticipating this question. Her hand rose again, and she lifted a forefinger. “First, we’ll threaten the abusive guardian into silence.” Another finger rose. “Then, we’ll get the children the care they need and take statements and evidence we can use if the coppers try to get involved. One of our awakened is a solicitor.” A third finger. “We will care for the children until we can place them in a safe home, ideally with one of the flock.”

There were so many holes and potential pitfalls in Deidre’s three-step plan that Siobhan didn’t even know where to start. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, the sound of the front door slamming open echoed up from below, followed by a woman’s shout.

“We’ve got an injury! Someone fetch the healer.”

Siobhan had turned, crossed the open space, and was running down the stairs before she even registered the decision to do so. Two workers had already started running to fetch a healer, and the rest stood outside the sparsely furnished healer’s station. The Undreaming Order team was already within, but both she and everyone else in the room froze when she passed through the doorway.

A teenage girl that looked vaguely familiar was holding the hands of two younger children, while an old, somewhat ragged man covered in several wounds and leaning on a crutch made of sticks and rags stood at the edges of the group.

Jackal, the Nightmare Pack enforcer that had been captured while trying to protect Millennium, was bleeding heavily from the arm, and frozen halfway into swinging onto one of the patient beds.

And finally Sharon, Oliver’s cook and eminently sweet middle-aged lady, had what looked to be a battle wand in one blood-covered hand and grease-paint covering her face so that she could easier blend into the night. She was helping Jackal onto the bed. “Ah, the Raven Queen, are you? Well met, dearie,” she said, completely unperturbed by Siobhan’s presence. “Would you mind healing this poor young man with some of your famous blood magic?”