Dream a Little Dream (The Silver Trilogy) (F) by Kerstin Gier Page B
Authors: Kerstin Gier
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the failure of my dream mind to think up anything better. “Ydderf, Ydderf, Ydderf.”
“That’s right,” squeaked Freddy. “You can come in.”
“Okay.” I pushed the door open. When I stepped through the doorway, I wasn’t in the front hall of the Spencers’ house, as I’d expected, but in a meadow. Although it was night, and quite dark, I could make out trees and rocks sticking up above the ground. A little way ahead of me, Grayson was sweeping the beam of his flashlight over the ground.
This version of the dream was definitely cooler than my Hansel and Gretel variation just now.
“Is this a cemetery ?” I asked.
Grayson swung around, shone the flashlight on my face, and let out a small sound of alarm.
I smiled at him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” He rubbed his forehead with his free hand. “Go away again, would you?”
“Yes, it is a cemetery,” I said, answering my own question. Because a little way off I could see the outlines of assorted stone crosses, columns, and statues. My power of vision was sensational in this dream, and improving by the second. “We’re in Highgate Cemetery, aren’t we?”
Grayson ignored me. He lowered the beam of the flashlight to a gravestone on the ground.
“How cool. I know it only from photos, but I’ve always thought I’d just love to see it,” I said. “Except not by night.”
Grayson grunted in annoyance. “Me neither. This is a totally crazy meeting place,” he said, although more to himself than me. “As if the whole thing wasn’t weird enough anyway. What’s more, no one can see more than a meter ahead.”
“I can.” I had to stop myself jumping up and down in my enthusiasm. “I can see in the dark like a cat. Only in this dream, I’ll admit, but it’s great. In the normal way I’m blind as a bat without my glasses or contact lenses. So what are we looking for?”
“ We are not looking for anything.” Grayson sounded distinctly annoyed. He was shining his flashlight on the inscriptions on the gravestones beside the path, whether they were vertical or lying flat. They seemed to be ancient. Many of them were cracked or covered with ivy. Mist drifted, true to form, over the ground, and the wind made the leaves of the trees rustle. There were sure to be rats here too. And spiders. “ I am looking for the tomb of Christina Rossetti,” he added.
“Girlfriend of yours?”
Grayson snorted, but at least he answered this time. He sounded resigned, as if he’d decided to make the best of my presence. “Christina Rossetti was a Victorian woman poet. Haven’t you ever had to analyze one of her poems? Where sunless rivers weep their waves into the deep … blah, blah, blah, something about a star and shadows and a nightingale.”
“ She sleeps a charmed sleep: Awake her not .” A figure emerged from the shadows of a weeping willow and came toward us, declaiming poetry. It was the boy who’d jumped for the grapefruit in school today, only I’d been quicker off the mark and caught it first—the character with tousled hair from our flight. Nice of him to turn up in this dream, because in the meantime I’d entirely forgotten him. “ Led by a single star, she came from very far to seek where shadows are her pleasant lot .”
Hmm, not bad—so at least in dreams there were boys who could recite poetry.
“Henry,” said Grayson, addressing the newcomer with relief.
“Where on earth have you been? The Rossetti grave is back there.” Henry pointed to somewhere behind him. “I told you to take your bearings by the creepy angel with a cowl on.”
“They all look creepy in the dark.” Grayson and the new arrival performed a kind of kindergarten finger game by way of saying hello, a mixture of high fives, hooking their fingers together. Sweet. “Thank God you’re here, or I’d have been wandering around the place forever.”
“That’s what I thought. Jasper didn’t find it either. Arthur’s looking for him. Who’s
“That’s right,” squeaked Freddy. “You can come in.”
“Okay.” I pushed the door open. When I stepped through the doorway, I wasn’t in the front hall of the Spencers’ house, as I’d expected, but in a meadow. Although it was night, and quite dark, I could make out trees and rocks sticking up above the ground. A little way ahead of me, Grayson was sweeping the beam of his flashlight over the ground.
This version of the dream was definitely cooler than my Hansel and Gretel variation just now.
“Is this a cemetery ?” I asked.
Grayson swung around, shone the flashlight on my face, and let out a small sound of alarm.
I smiled at him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” He rubbed his forehead with his free hand. “Go away again, would you?”
“Yes, it is a cemetery,” I said, answering my own question. Because a little way off I could see the outlines of assorted stone crosses, columns, and statues. My power of vision was sensational in this dream, and improving by the second. “We’re in Highgate Cemetery, aren’t we?”
Grayson ignored me. He lowered the beam of the flashlight to a gravestone on the ground.
“How cool. I know it only from photos, but I’ve always thought I’d just love to see it,” I said. “Except not by night.”
Grayson grunted in annoyance. “Me neither. This is a totally crazy meeting place,” he said, although more to himself than me. “As if the whole thing wasn’t weird enough anyway. What’s more, no one can see more than a meter ahead.”
“I can.” I had to stop myself jumping up and down in my enthusiasm. “I can see in the dark like a cat. Only in this dream, I’ll admit, but it’s great. In the normal way I’m blind as a bat without my glasses or contact lenses. So what are we looking for?”
“ We are not looking for anything.” Grayson sounded distinctly annoyed. He was shining his flashlight on the inscriptions on the gravestones beside the path, whether they were vertical or lying flat. They seemed to be ancient. Many of them were cracked or covered with ivy. Mist drifted, true to form, over the ground, and the wind made the leaves of the trees rustle. There were sure to be rats here too. And spiders. “ I am looking for the tomb of Christina Rossetti,” he added.
“Girlfriend of yours?”
Grayson snorted, but at least he answered this time. He sounded resigned, as if he’d decided to make the best of my presence. “Christina Rossetti was a Victorian woman poet. Haven’t you ever had to analyze one of her poems? Where sunless rivers weep their waves into the deep … blah, blah, blah, something about a star and shadows and a nightingale.”
“ She sleeps a charmed sleep: Awake her not .” A figure emerged from the shadows of a weeping willow and came toward us, declaiming poetry. It was the boy who’d jumped for the grapefruit in school today, only I’d been quicker off the mark and caught it first—the character with tousled hair from our flight. Nice of him to turn up in this dream, because in the meantime I’d entirely forgotten him. “ Led by a single star, she came from very far to seek where shadows are her pleasant lot .”
Hmm, not bad—so at least in dreams there were boys who could recite poetry.
“Henry,” said Grayson, addressing the newcomer with relief.
“Where on earth have you been? The Rossetti grave is back there.” Henry pointed to somewhere behind him. “I told you to take your bearings by the creepy angel with a cowl on.”
“They all look creepy in the dark.” Grayson and the new arrival performed a kind of kindergarten finger game by way of saying hello, a mixture of high fives, hooking their fingers together. Sweet. “Thank God you’re here, or I’d have been wandering around the place forever.”
“That’s what I thought. Jasper didn’t find it either. Arthur’s looking for him. Who’s
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