2
When he saw it, he was immediately taken back to that first great dream; of the fireworks and the stars, and the remnant left over which had caused him to search so earnestly that day. And now, before him, the remnant was there again; a sash of silver, luminous, twirling softly about itself; a shimmering streak of coiling mercury, dancing languidly in the darkness ahead.
He wasn’t afraid now. The object had too much the aura of a lost treasure, or forgotten friend, for that. “I know you,” he murmured, padding into the room. As if responding, the ribbon - or whatever it was - paused awhile, eddying gently in the air like a leaf trapped by a web. When Benjamin lifted a hand and reached out, it ebbed away a little, as coy as a pet surprised by the sudden attentions of its owner. “I won’t hurt you,” said Benjamin softly.
The uppermost end of the ribbon - the one closest to the boy’s enquiring fingers - seemed to regard him for a second or two, like a snake in thrall to its charmer. Then, as cautiously as an animal attracted to a curious scent, it inched towards him and contact was made. At the touch of Benjamin’s fingertips, the thing resisted no more; fluttering, it coursed around his arm, his head, his body. And with every glancing brush and tickle, there came to Benjamin some part of what could have only been someone else’s dream.
He saw a room - this room - but sunlit and vast; the door was monolithic, the ceiling a second sky. And everywhere - everywhere - there were cats: cats talking, cats taking tea in the corner, cats reading newspapers, watching television, or queueing for a train at the windowsill. Every breed, every shape and size, all going about their pursuits and speaking to each other in a peculiar mewling chatter. There was only one voice that he recognised as human - a small voice that said “hey pussycat, hey pussycat,” or “why won’t you talk to me, pretty cat?” over and over - and though he was sure it belonged to Maddie, it didn’t quite sound like her. So he whispered “stop!” and the dream vision fell away. Immediately, he went over to his sister’s bed, being as careful as possible not to tread on any night-hidden toys.
From what he could make out, Maddie seemed fine. To be sure, he lowered his face to hers and turned his head so that he could feel her breaths against his cheek. Again, fine. For a moment, he considered waking her up, but thought better of it after imagining what her reaction to the silver ‘thing’ in her room might be like. No, Maddie was fine as she was; peaceful, very much asleep, and probably dreaming.
Probably dreaming, in fact...of cats.
That was it! Maddie’s dream - it was the dream he’d just seen. But why had her voice sounded so different? Simple: it was like hearing yourself talk on a tape recording. In the dream, Maddie had spoken like that because that was how her own voice sounded to her. Case closed, then, as far as that particular mystery went. What was not so easily explained, of course, was the very fact of being able to see into her dream in the first place.
He looked at the ribbon. It had moved away from him, and its dance was calmer now, more sedate. “What are you?” he asked, not honestly expecting an answer. “Just what on earth are you?”
Almost as soon as the question was voiced, the thing acted. With a twirl, it looped about the room, and before Benjamin could say anything else, it had flitted out through the bedroom doorway and gone out onto the landing beyond.
Benjamin was about to give chase - then froze. Despite the chaotic jumble of his feelings - the excitement, the trepidation, the amazement, the doubt - he was still possessed of enough common sense to know that charging around at this time of night would not be a very good idea. So he took a moment to catch his breath and compose himself, and only then did he proceed. Cautiously, he crept away from Maddie’s bed and began to follow the ribbon.
When he reached the landing, he thought, at first, that the thing had disappeared. The tiny spark of dismay that rose in him did not last long, however; peering down the staircase, he was gladdened to see that the ribbon was still here. It was slinking away from the foot of the stairs, the mute light of the hallway doing nothing to deter its gleam.
Benjamin ventured carefully, descending one step at a time. Though his eyes had already become well accustomed to the dark, it was still difficult to see clearly, and what he in his haste might take as another stair could quite easily be a potential accident in disguise. Even so, he did not dawdle; there was a determination about his quarry that seemed to verge upon impatience, and he felt that if he were to lose sight of it again, then there was every chance of losing it forever.
The object made its way into the kitchen, and Benjamin caught up soon after. The windows above the sink, he noted, had not had their curtains drawn, and the place was radiant with a shy, dusky luminosity. In this new light, the ribbon appeared to gain a thousandfold in how it sparkled; and when it sailed over to the door opposite - the one that opened out to the garden - it went no further. Like a snuffling creature that suddenly finds its route barred, it waited for a moment, then tried again - except that this time, it drifted downwards, toward the bottom of the door.
Benjamin walked closer. “You want to go out - is that it?” he said.
One end of the ribbon reared up, nodded - or seemed to - and then, like a withdrawing tongue, quickly slipped away through the gap below. Benjamin, blinking like a boy who has just woken up, could only stand there and stare at the place where, a mere second ago, this most amazing...thing had been present.
He felt disappointed. It was gone.
It was over.
But then he noticed that the key was still in the lock; his mother must have forgotten to remove it when closing up for the night. His heart tattooing, he approached the door, and ever-so-carefully turned the key, then the handle. Don’t creak, don’t creak, he thought, as he pushed the door open. Thankfully, the hinges kept quiet. Outside, the fresh, dewy air of springtime in darkness hit his breaths like menthol. He closed the door as unhurriedly as he had opened it, and left it unlocked.
Beneath a sky tinctured with morning light and demure stars, the pursuit continued. The ribbon was fluttering close to the back gate now, and Benjamin knew that it would not be long before it was in the alleyway beyond. “Where are you taking me?” he asked, as the ribbon, by way of reply, flitted out between the gate and the gatepost. Benjamin, left standing, was once more faced with the prospect of crossing a threshold as quietly as he could.
The gate was high, though the uppermost bolt was easily within reach. Catching hold of it, the boy carefully pulled the bolt down. It was cold and stiff, but generally noiseless. The worst of it was a slightly jarring clunk that came when the bolt was finally released, but even the strange, enveloping silence of encroaching dawn couldn’t offer much strength to the sound. Letting the breath he’d been holding go, Benjamin crouched down and likewise worked the lower bolt free. Once done, he gingerly pushed the gate open - and then halted.
What am I doing? he asked himself, looking back at his house. All of a sudden, he felt vulnerable and uncertain, and not a little afraid. Where was this ribbon leading him? What did he hope to find at the end of the chase? He shook his head, frowning, and was on the verge of returning home when another, infinitely more delicious thought suddenly swam up.
Why shouldn’t I?
In the cold twilight of early morning, his house appeared gloomy and lifeless; no haven there, nor adventure. But out here? And further? Something more; something amazing. Something that had intrigued him once and been lost; something that might not only give him the right answers, but the right questions to go with them as well. He smiled, and before taking up the chase again, he whispered, “don’t worry mum, don't worry Pete. I’m only making the best of my dream, that’s all.”
And then he was gone to his secret pursuit, trailing the ribbon as it coursed away to who-knew-what, while the first, fluting notes of birdsong brought a tint of daybreak to the air. He thought about checking the time, then realised that he wasn’t wearing his watch. Not that it mattered, in any case; he was more concerned, at that p
oint, with the cold, and bemoaned the fact that he hadn’t had the presence of mind to put on some proper clothes. Pulling his dressing gown tighter to himself, he picked up his pace, hoping that what he gained upon his mysterious quarry might also be matched by the heat of going faster.
He was not far behind, then, when the ribbon swooped into the short narrow lane that branched off from the alleyway. This was the very same lane that led to Wandringham wood, and before long, both Benjamin and his sinuous target had reached the small, scrubby field that lay between the houses and the woods themselves. When he at last realised where the ribbon was taking him, he faltered. Up ahead, the trees loomed like thunderous clouds. The ribbon did not stop.
Benjamin, panting, leaned over, his hands on his knees. No way was he going to go into those woods. As much as he wanted to see where the ribbon was heading, it simply wasn’t worth risking it in a place so dark and sinister, where every furtive sound would make him wish that he was not alone. Wandringham wood had a reputation of being haunted, too. Perhaps not by daylight, but in darkness, certainly. No, he was not going to go there, no matter what the prize.
It isn’t that I’m scared, he thought, as he rose back up. It just - it wouldn’t be sensible to go there. Not when it’s so dark.
Besides, it had been enough of an adventure already, hadn’t it? To chase this marvellous thing all the way here from his house, and brave both the temper of his mother and the secrets of the night in so doing. Yes, without a doubt, it had been quite an adventure. And now it had come to an end, as all adventures are wont to do. If he wished it to be otherwise, then he would have to attempt the woods.
And that, he had decided, was out of the question.
Nevertheless, he lingered. Amid those benighted trees ahead, amid all that gloom and murk, was a treasure fast becoming unreachable, and it seemed a shame to let it escape so easily. Hesitantly, he took a few steps forward - then stopped again. Silently, he debated with himself: should he go onwards, or go back; brave the woods, or be left wondering, perhaps eternally, at what might have come from continuing with this remarkable escapade. In truth, however, he was stalling, and deep down he knew it. With an abrupt, almost adult finality, he thought: it’s over. The game is finished and I have to go home. That’s the end of it.
He had never been a spoilt child, and was well acquainted with the fact that some things are just not meant to be. Tonight, he had experienced something truly incredible, and he would have to be content with it as it stood. The magical ribbon aside, at least he’d been daring, and gone out at an hour of night not usually reserved for children. So it was not so bad, really. He’d met the first stirrings of dawn, and heard the earliest calls of birdsong; shared a dream with his sister, and -
- and he was still hearing the birds.
Slowly, he began to turn around, in the hope of getting a better bearing on the sound. Although the birdsong was louder, it was not because more birds had joined the chorus; as before, the calls were sparse, as if issued by only a few. Therefore, the only reason that they could be louder was because they were coming closer.
He turned, therefore, and looked, expecting nothing more impressive than a fleeting fly-past of sparrows or starlings. But the wonders were not yet ready to cease, and the adventure, it was clear, was certainly not about to end.
3
Not far behind, there approached a large ornate cage, over which a fleet of singing birds seemed to hold court. It was some six or seven feet above the ground, and, at first, Benjamin couldn’t quite grasp what he was seeing. A cage? he thought; birds? What is this? Recovering his sensibilities, he soon saw that the cage was not simply floating - it was being carried by the birds, who were themselves tethered to their cargo by means of numerous, intertwining threads. Astonishingly, he could discern a passenger within the cage as well. It was difficult to make out the details, but someone was definitely there, and this someone was also singing, very faintly and very softly.
In the face of such unearthliness, the boy found himself at a loss as to what he should do. He knew he couldn’t run: both the birds and their unlikely burden were directly in front of his route home, while behind him there was only the woods - and he was not going to go there. There was no point in heading off to the left or the right, either; he’d be easily spotted. In fact, all he could really do was just stand there, agape, and hope that this incredible visitant turned out to be friendly.
Which maybe wasn’t such a bad plan. After all, the figure certainly didn’t appear to be menacing. Yes, it was strange; the strangest thing he had ever seen, in fact. But by no measure did it seem hostile. His initial shock at seeing it was probably more down to surprise than fear anyway, and with the shock now gone, what else was there to do but make the best of the situation?
Besides, it was only a dream - wasn’t it? Despite the play at realness - the frosty air, the grassy scent of night-time, the chill wetness of the dew that had soaked his slippers and the lower half of his pyjama bottoms - it was all still a dream, surely. Birds do not fly around carrying people in cages; ribbons do not breeze around of their own accord and show you other people’s thoughts. No, it couldn’t be anything but the flimflammery of the sleeping mind; marvellous, enchanting, and completely unreal.
Or so Benjamin made himself believe. Deep down, he was far from convinced.
In the meantime, the bird-borne cage had drifted even closer, and he could already perceive that the person inside was holding out some sort of rod through the bars of the cage, fisherman style. Not only that, but to judge by the shape of the figure - who, he saw, was actually sitting on a small stool - and the quality of the voice now that he could hear it better, it was plainly evident that this unusual new arrival was female.
Strangely, he felt reassured by this, and not a little emboldened. As jaded as he so often contrived to be, he was still at heart a very young boy; and like all very young boys, he was conceited enough to believe that women were not a threat. Yes, they were fascinating; yes, they could be infuriating; but they were harmless. He was sure of it.
Nevertheless, he wasn’t such a fool as to think his case watertight. Females, he’d recently come to suspect, knew a great deal more than they let on, and were probably inclined to smile sweetly at certain secret things which would otherwise make any male shudder. Not only that, but this particular female was obviously no ordinary female, either. A note of caution crept into Benjamin’s attitude; if he was going to do anything, it was likely to be more out of bravado than boldness now.
But before he could make up his mind as to what precisely he should do - wave and call out a greeting, maybe, or just stand there and think a little more - the stranger took command of the matter. Withdrawing the rod, the silhouette stood abruptly (much to the chagrin of the birds, who squawked irritably at the slight but sudden tilt in the cage) and marked the end the song with a barked exclamation of “HEY!”
Benjamin made to reply - but couldn’t, as he didn’t know what to say. His heart started to jackhammer.
“Hey you,” came the voice again. The figure pointed at him. “You see me? Hear me? What?”
Benjamin shook his head. He lifted his hands, held the palms out, then immediately returned them to the pockets of his dressing gown. “Yes?” he replied, unaware that he’d answered with a question.
“Oh wow,” called the figure. “This is - hey, will you wait a minute? One second? Listen - stay there. Don't move. Stay there - you get me?”
“Okay,” said Benjamin, hoping that his voice didn’t seem as weak to her as it did to himself. He shuffled his feet, both of which felt numb and heavy.
The figure looked upwards, one hand on a hip while the other flapped in a downward gesture. “Pipifret! Mansole! All of you - down! Understand? Nixletter! Nixletter!”
The strange commands were clearly meant for the birds, who pulled together into a tight cluster and began to lower both themselves and the cage. “Guess you don't get the dinnywhit speak, eh?” the figure s
aid, turning once again to Benjamin. “But no matter. They -” she nodded upwards, indicating the birds “- don’t get it much, either. Birdbrains - ha! Sorry.”
“That’s alright,” said Benjamin, unable think of any better response. The stranger, he noticed, had something of a clipped yet lyrical quality about her accent; something oriental. Which would be fitting, considering that her cage, now that he could see it better, was so patently pagoda-like in design.
“The problem, my sweet-faced child, is that I have never been very good at telling jokes,” the figure said, as the cage touched down. “And so you must ask: why keep telling them, eh? Good question, good question. I often ask myself the same, but the conversation just gets too predictable; it’s much better, I think, to drink some tea and forget about it, yes?”
Benjamin shrugged, watching as the birds gradually took roost on the top of the cage. A moment or two later, the whole front part of the cage swung open, and the occupant was free. With small, quick steps, she shuffled over and spared no time in making herself known to him. “I’m Lilac Shun - Ray,” she said, holding out a hand. “That’s Lilac zed, haitch, ee, en, are, ee, eye. Lilac Zhenrei; and it is an honour to meet with you, sir.”
Lilac Zhenrei was a petite, pretty young woman of Far Eastern looks and Far Eastern style. She was dressed in a silky two piece suit, darkly greenish in hue, that was embroidered with a gold confusion of clouds, whorls and dragons. Her black hair was not too long nor too short, and had been pulled back into a frizzy, puffed-out ponytail. Her smile was warm, and her jet-black eyes glittered with good-humoured mischief. Benjamin’s inkling that she had been carrying a fishing rod was also confirmed; tucked under her left arm, in the manner of a swagger stick, was the very same article, albeit much smaller than anything like those used by his uncle Terry. As for the other paraphernalia, it consisted only of a satchel at her side and a long trumpet-like object strapped across her back. When she crooked an eyebrow, it somehow managed to turn her unfaltering smile into the knowing welcome of a long-time friend. It was almost as if he had known her all his life.