Free Seven Dreams by Charlotte E. English Page A

with a sinking
heart. Maybe thousands. And if every other room in the Baron’s
cellar contained a similar quantity of goods, how in the world
could they identify which one was of interest to Halavere? Even if
the thing was so obliging as to resemble a classic key in shape and
structure, it could take forever to find it among all this
nonsense.
    But she had
Fabian to help her — and Jisp, or possibly Teyo. Her passenger
clambered back down her leg as she formed this thought and slipped
away. Serena caught a glimpse of a tiny scaly body scuttling
speedily away, and hastily averted her gaze in case her host
happened to look.
    The Baron began
his tour near the door, and Serena quickly realised that he
intended to recount the full history of each cabinet. Worse, he did
so with an air of decided pedantry, one hand clutched possessively
over hers as it rested upon his arm. Despairing, she tried once or
twice to hurry the tour along a little more quickly, or at least to
interrupt the lengthy flow he was working himself into, but with
little success. Lord Bastavere, with typical arrogance, rolled his
eyes and wandered off. The Baron paid little notice.
    Serena was not
left to agonise for long in this state of wretched frustration. Her
irksome guide had just launched with gusto into an account of the
provenance of a tiny painting featuring two nymphs portrayed in
spectacularly lurid colours, when a short gust of wind sent her
skirts billowing. With this unexpected sensation came the sound of
somebody jumping softly down onto the floor from a height of,
perhaps, two or three feet. Startled — for nothing her brother
could possibly be doing would explain either the wind or the noise
— she turned.
    A stranger stood
in the middle of the room, directly between a long case displaying
tarnished timepieces and an even larger case bearing a heavy load
of old coins. The woman was tall, with statuesque posture and dark
eyes. She wore close-fitting green trousers, a plain cream cotton
shirt, thick leather gloves and a purposeful expression. Her
pure-white hair was bound up in a style of severe practicality,
ruthlessly pinned down and wholly unadorned. She was not at all
old, judging from the smoothness of her skin, so she must be of
Lokant heritage.
    But she was not Dame Halavere.
    ‘ What’s this?’ demanded the Baron. ‘I sincerely hope this woman
is an acquaintance of yours, Fenella!’
    ‘ I
have never seen her before,’ Serena replied tightly. ‘Unless I am
much mistaken, she is looking for something in particular.’ She
realised, belatedly, that her role had slipped during this speech,
but the Baron didn’t appear to notice. He strode off in the
direction of the intruder, shouting imperatives and threats, all of
which she ignored. Instead of ceasing her disgraceful
intrusion and removing herself from this vicinity at
once, or even of explaining instantly how she came to gain
access to this place , the woman walked briskly to the other
side of the room. Without pausing, she drew back her arm and
delivered a swift, brutal punch to the glass front of one of the
cabinets. The glass shattered, the woman reached forth and grabbed
a single object — and vanished.
    Fabian, dashing
towards her with deadly purpose, was left standing stupidly on the
spot she had so recently occupied. The Baron was shocked into
silence, though alas, only briefly. He then responded with still
greater vituperation, cursing all and sundry and demanding
explanations of nobody in particular.
    Serena merely
stood, thinking. The woman was no Partial Lokant, that much was
clear. She was a full blood, and powerful indeed. It was known that
the pure Lokants — and, very occasionally, one or two of the
part-bloods — could transport themselves over long distances in the
blink of an eye, but it was not thought to be a flexible ability.
It required major preparation beforehand in order to do it, and
something like a waypoint had to be laid down by somebody; one