Free Johannes Cabal: The Fear Institute by Jonathan L. Howard

sneered at them as failures. While real knowledge, even experimental knowledge, could be gathered in dream, itwas of no consequence if it could not be communicated somehow to the waking world. With the Silver Key in his possession, Cabal planned to make several unannounced visits on such reprobates, and gather their knowledge, by hook or by crook or by the patient application of thumb screws. Cabal didn’t mind: once in the Dreamlands, he had all the time in the world.
    There was the small question of the Institute members’ notable naïveté. It was customary for payment to come after the service, yet here he was with the Silver Key in his bag, which he wanted, and the company of three idiots dressed like mechanicals for a production of
Henry VIII
, which he didn’t. It would be simplicity itself to zig when they zagged, or duck into the shadows while they were otherwise occupied, or, if all else failed, shove them off a convenient cliff. The Dreamlands certainly didn’t seem to be short of dramatic landscapes, so Cabal imagined there must be any number of convenient cliffs to choose from. That he did none of these things, no matter how personally amusing he might have found them, was pragmatic. The Fear Institute Expedition could and probably would run around until it was blue in the face and never discover the Phobic Animus, if it had the decency to exist. He truly did not care. What was important to him was that they would cover ground in doing so, establish protocols of behaviour, perhaps even make reliable contacts. All of these things would be useful to Cabal when he undertook his own projects. So, while the others were under the impression that all were united in the fool’s errand, Cabal knew the true function of the journey was that of a reconnaissance. Plus, as he had realised earlier, there was safety in numbers, particularly when the rest of the party was made up of sacrificial victims tothe higher purpose of Cabal’s continued existence. ‘All for one and one for all’ would be their motto, even if only Cabal knew that the former ‘one’ would always be him, and the latter would not.
    ‘You’re smiling, Mr Cabal,’ said Bose, smiling broadly himself. Cabal’s own slight tightening of a few muscles was not in the same league as Bose’s open and cheerful expression, but it was at least recognisable as a cousin. A fifth cousin of a disgraced forebear. Bose continued, ‘You have faith in our mission, then? You see a happy conclusion ahead?’
    Cabal thought of the Silver Key in his bag and pushed his face another few millimetres. The muscles creaked a little, but it had been some time since he had felt something akin to joy. ‘Yes, Bose. I think with a little caution and circumspect prudence, combined with the will to take immediate action when the need arises, this could all go very well.’ He looked on towards the river. ‘Do those look like clifftops over there?’
    Bose squinted. ‘I’m not sure. Perhaps. Why do you ask?’
    But Johannes Cabal said nothing.
    As it turned out they
were
clifftops, but the drop below them was ridiculous rather than vertiginous and entirely unsuited for
ad hoc
murder. It was little more than a bluff overlooking, by a height of a few yards, a sandy bend of the riverbank where perhaps once the Oukranos had considered meandering before deciding it was too much effort.
    They stood atop the bluff in silence and admired the view because the view was impossible not to admire. The Oukranos river: as mighty as the Amazon, as broad as the Mississippi, yet as clear as a mountain stream. Light penetrated a long way down, allowing them to see the stony riverbed from thewater’s edge out until the water grew too deep and blue and shadowed. Fish, extraordinary fish that had never swum in the seas of Earth, passed by or lazily beat their tails to hold position close by the rock- and pebble-strewn bottom.
    Beside him, Cabal heard Shadrach breathe, ‘It’s beautiful . . .